#so I delved a little bit more into physics and got here!

[melit0n]

One of the lines that caught my eye in Emergence was "So tell me what you meant by 'living past your half life'?" In chemistry, a "half life" is the time it takes for a substance to decay to half of its original mass.

Further, half lives are also prominent in physics, specifically, nuclear physics. It has the same definition—amount of time taken for a nuclei to half itself—but is, as its name suggests, focused on how much useful energy is produced via the decomposition.

This also links in with the later lyrics of "space dust for your fuel rods." Fuel rods are used in the control of a nuclear decay reaction within a nuclear power plant. This could be interpreted as either Vessel's lack of autonomy, or Sleep losing dominion.

If it's anything to note, "space dust" can also be radioactive.

So, with this all in mind, living past a half life is, in its basics, working towards rot. Existing as a dead man walking and overtly aware that you are.

To me, this could be in reference to Sleep. It's been emphasised that, while Sleep is one of the oldest Gods, He is a forgotten one; kept alive by rituals and those who are beckoned by song to follow Him. Aka, kept alive and powerful by Vessel.

Sleep has long since lived past His so called "half life," and, in toe, He is, therefore "well versed in the afterlife."

While I don't think it works as well, mainly because I consider the majority of this song to be Vessel having a go at Sleep, instead of vice versa, this could be applied to Vessel as a mouthpiece, too, posing the question of; how long until your humanity disapears? How long does it take until you pass your half life, and begin to speak and see only that which bloodless and broken creatures do?

How long until you aren't even you anymore?

And, when that change happens, which it will, eventually, will you emerge and become "someone new," or stay as you were?

[4mrplumi]

a spiderverse x spiderman!reader x batfam concept different from my spidernoir one

exposition is fairly simple, peni-parker!reader comes back from the boarding school they were sent to by the family to "keep them out of vigilante business" but are blissfully unaware that for the past few months, peni!reader's been working on a mech suit to support their new found spider powers, after getting bitten by a radioactive spider while away at school.

with access to bruce's batcave, luke's indulgence in your "academic strive" and your stealth and sneaking about, you're able to make your suit pretty quickly. unresolved feelings from your past, and this sense of debt you feel, you decide to repay by being SP//dr... spider for easy-comms.

the thing is, peni!reader is an anomaly, since this spiderman in this universe in not meant to exist. maybe some stuff with the spider society and all can come in and we find out that actually, the spider that bit peni!reader was from this universe and spiderman is allowed to exist here.

but to investigate what a radioactive spider with the wrong genetic data was doing in your universe, where is wasn't supposed to be* spidernoir agrees to drop down to gotham to help peni!reader to figure it out. he becomes, essentially, a father figure for reader, something that bruce hasn't been able to due to the weight of reader's and his past.

meanwhile, when peni!reader comes back to the manor from 'boarding school' the family notices physical and mental changes in them. their more distant, dismissive... confident in their skin. though you guys never had much time to talk or hangout or bond like they do, the development is difficult to notice.

additionally, sightings of a man in a trench coat and a car-sized robot swinging around have been going around, doing god knows what. the batman doesn't like being unprepared, and tries to scour out their identities and whereabouts. i have some really small little ideas that'd be funny for the whole run, like spidernoir showing up for a parent-teacher conference instead of bruce, ai assistant karen, commentary from spiderpunk, constantine and strange link up and also delve a little into what the themes between spiderman variants, spiderman, and batman are that make them so different are.

i'm rotting away like an oxidised apple but rlly dont know if i should write it cus ive got so much 2 do... if ppl are interested at all i mkigbt consider

in conclusion: I LOVE YOU SPIDERNOIR AND PENI PARKER!!!!!

*supposed to be = not in the sense that how mile's spider teleported to another earth, but like, peni!reader was just not meant to be bit, and that spider is not supposed to exist. the dc and marvel universes are parallel, with peni!reader's existence being a small, hairline road between the two.

[diz-eaze]

oughhhh... could you pretty pretty please write a little bit about yan wanderer's reaction to realizing his darling is slowly but surely falling for him as well... a good spoonful fluff would also be appreciated if you're able to make it work!!! i lauve hardcore yanderes who are at the same time caring and soft partners </3

; soft yandere, drabble, modern au, college au, roommates, not proofread. i'm sorry anon i really didn't manage to capture his reaction in detail, i fear.

when sharing a living space with someone else, care is obligatory. it's unspoken, only verbalized through the harmonious split between chores, the shared duties of cooking, and the quiet humming of moving around the apartment. though, the word 'split' is much too generous of a word, with the way your roommate constantly insists on doing more than half of the chores all the time. in the beginning, you had suspected that the roommate you had gotten from the facebook group was a clean freak, obsessed with all things meticulous and proper.

you had been wrong.

his movements when cleaning are clumsy, his cooking leans toward being charred oftentimes, and he always mixes up the colored fabrics with the white ones. for quite some time, this disparity left you perplexed. why bother insisting when he can't even execute the chores properly in the first place?

you decided you had had enough when your favorite white t-shirt ended up being a mix of pink and red.

you trudge towards his elusive room, standing in front of his locked door. you only got to knock once before the door swings open with a loud bang, scaramouche stares at you with a look you can't quite place as he asks the purpose of your visit. with a sigh, you mindlessly reach out to wrap your arm around his slender wrist - the physical contact leaves him flinching.

"come with me," you urge, not thinking much of his reaction. you guide him outside his room and into the hallway that leads to the washroom.

"wah- why?" he sputters, gaze burning holes into your fingers.

"if you're so insistent on doing the laundry each and every time, then at least let me teach you how to do it properly," you sigh out, voice exasperated yet tinged with an undeniable softness. perhaps you should have been more annoyed at him for ruining some of your clothes because of his inadequacy, yet you can't deny that you appreciate the fact that he cares.

care is obligatory. but to care to this extent... is not.

you spent the entire evening drilling into his stubborn, indigo-head the rundown of doing the laundry. amidst the strange flush in his cheeks and the sudden, shy behavior he sometimes exhibits, you come to learn more about your roommate. you even delve into letting him allow you to create breakfast - charred toast and overcooked rice can only last you so long, after all.

still, he insists on cleaning and laundry duty no matter how much you bargained.

as you finish putting in the last batch of dirty laundry into the washing machine, you realize that there are many things you wonder about scaramouche. for one, why bother living with someone else when his life, that you've seen through cracks and glimpses, is of him coming from a wealthy background?

you truly don't understand him at times. well, most times.

the two of you retire to your respective rooms. scaramouche lingers around the entrance of his room, and when you send him an inquisitive glance, he utters out a hasty 'goodnight!' before slamming the door shut in your face.

you blink in disbelief before walking back to your own room. when you shut the door close is only then did you realize something. without your knowledge, it seems that a smile had long bloomed upon your face. you don't know when it got here, but suspect it had long been present.

the following morning, scaramouche wakes up to the smell of freshly cooked rice and perfectly browned chicken thighs. he nearly bashes his head into the wall in elation when he sees you waiting patiently for him. In between passing each other chopsticks and plates of food, scaramouche doesn't miss the way you now view him with a profound softness that differs from the day before.

he excuses himself into the bathroom to jump around in utmost joy once it sinks into his mind. while he may not be the best helper around the apartment, he certainly knows how to capture his beloved's heart in the most boyfailure way possible.

[avelera]

Okay so I recently got low-key obsessed with Jayvik and I’ve been liking your posts about them (top tier analysis btw). Anyway I’m curious about your opinions on a couple of things:

If Jayce’s love language is physical touch, what do you think Viktor’s love language is?

What do you think the Anomaly actually is? My headcanon is that it’s caused by all the paradoxes/timelines that Mad Wizard Viktor keeps making, but idk why it would only be under the Hexgates.

Hmm, when taking into account that the love languages thing is basically horoscopes for real people, but they may have informed how the characters were written, I'd say:

1 ) I completely agree that Jayce's love language is physical touch. That much is obvious.

Viktor's love language is Quality Time - that would explain why he starts getting irritated and hurt with Jayce near the end of S1 and why he's so moved and touched by them solving equations and spending time together pre-time skip. Actually, so much of Viktor's attitude towards Jayce is explained by him seeing Quality Time as a love language it's actually making me a bit dizzy, I need to think about this a lot more because I think this might have cracked something for me...

2 ) Hoooo boy, I actually have an answer for what the Anomaly is in my mind, but it's a lot less character driven and a more metaphysics driven because I was feral about Arcane S1 before I had anyone else to talk to about it online and I've spent a lot of time thinking about Hextech and Shimmer. OK, here goes:

Hextech is an axiomatic (lawful) channeling of forces of nature, namely magic. However, magic to stay pure and reliable requires an anarchic (chaotic) AND the axiomatic (lawful) balancing act for each use of its power if it's to stay "pure" and reliable. Otherwise, you invite chaos in. Namely, the Anomaly.

In addition, every use of magic/the Arcane puts off a certain amount of "car exhaust" for every use, this allows it from a Doylist perspective to be a climate change metaphor but it does go deeper than that and follows its own magical rules. If you look closely, overuse of Hextech always puts off smoke. Early uses don't do so as much, though. In my opinion, each puff of that "smoke" adds to a potential Anomaly.

Now if you're good at magic, and skilled with it, say if you're good mage, as seen with The Mage / Viktor in 1.02, you make a point of scooping up up all the exhaust from any use of rune magic and pouring it back into the spell.

Look at how the mage scoops up all the exhaust coming out of the spell here and weaves it back into the spell!

Hextech doesn't bother to do that! Because Jayce doesn't fundamentally understand that advanced level of magic! He just keeps calling on its energy without dealing with the output of smoke/chaos/Anomaly fumes so it's just hanging in the air.

By the way, all the smoke in Arcane is hand animated so to my eyes, all smoke actually matters. I'm actually a little bummed that S2 didn't go deeper into explaining the smoke that comes off of some uses of the Arcane but not others but I'm assuming they'll delve more into in future shows because The Arcane Is Awake Now, thanks to my brilliant science boy dipshits.

The cleanest, clearest use of Hextech we ever see is the first time the science boys use it to float:

I draw a few conclusions from this:

1 ) The first hit is always free - first time you use magic, magic is happy to help you out! It will do the thing you ask! No consequences!

2 ) Magic gets more and more angry the more times you use it. Actually, by the time we get to Vi using the Atlas Gauntlets repeatedly in S2, there's a little puff of smoke every. time. she uses. them.

3 ) Magic requires some balance. Breaking a window before it let the boys float? Cool, that's balance. But if you just have it doing the same constructive motion over and over, like sending out airships, but you don't let it break some things too? It gets annoyed.

4 ) If it doesn't get applied in a balanced way, magic/the Arcane gets mad. Ekko compared the Arcane's frustration to a sigh. That smoke? Is the sigh. Again, first time you use Hextech, magic which is at least semi-sentient, is MORE than happy to help! The more you keep demanding repeated axiomatic actions, the more it sighs in anger.

Then we get to the crux of your question: what is the Anomaly?

The Anomaly built up at the base of a tower stuffed full with polished, axiomatic, reinforced Hexgems that do one constructive task over and over and over again all day, every day: safely send ships from one place to another.

The Anomaly builds up from the frustration of not allowing magic to be free. Jayce is an axiomatic thinker, he sees magic as a tool, not as a force of nature, so he's been channeling it super precisely and not scooping up all that extra exhaust and channeling it back into the magic and that means it builds up this... pearl of an Anomaly which is all this wild magic with tons of chaotic potential that can do basically anything, including time and dimensional travel but it's gonna be super weird about it.

Soooo... thanks for giving me the chance to yell about Hextech, hope that was sort of what you had in mind!

[silentbeaves]

Hi! I'm trying to write a fanfic but I'm lacking on hcs for Petra. I was wondering if you'd be ok if I used some hcs of yours? Either way I rlly wanna know what your Petra hcs are :D

Ohh, this one's an interesting one. I totally don't mind anyone using my headcanons because they're not really that interesting, and I don't have too many headcanons that I keep. They mostly remain as little thoughts and ideas before I brush them away cuz I love to keep to canon, but I can totally share some headcanons that have stuck, and some little ideas I've had here and there.

Might not be super organised, but here:

I love to think that Petra is a huge softie at heart (I mean it's almost confirmed atp but like hear me out), but no one has ever been able to pick that lock in her heart to let it out (until Jesse 🥰🥰 we love you Jesse). The only reason why she's so stone cold is because she's been forced to be within her adventures, and probably had bad past experiences opening up to people in the past. But as soon as you can get past that wall of defence, she's one of the most loyal, affectionate, and caring people you'll ever meet.

I like to think that her love language is a mix of gentle physical touch and lots of gifts. But it takes ages for her to get to that point, even with someone she trusts and loves.

I also like to think that her arm brace thing (idek what it is and I've spent ages analysing her design bro what is this woman wearing 💀) was just for fun at first and to function as a brace during adventures, obviously. But then, after the witherstorm arc, she kept trying to cover her left arm because of a scar that was left from her wither sickness. But, she uncovers it when she feels comfortable enough, mostly around Jesse, because she doesn't feel judged when around them.

Onto the more complicated stuff, the idea that Petra holds onto the past, be it by weapons, armour, or memories, is really interesting to me. Why she does it, I don't know, but from experience, it's either hoarding (lol) or a bad past, where she's struggled to keep what she once had (things like friendships, swords that broke (she loves swords she's such a nerd I bet she could name every single sword in existence), bases/homes) So that's kind of a headcanon I have. It also ties into the whole defence she's built up, so she doesn't become attached to people. But I like the idea that she becomes very attached to inanimate objects, like Miss Butter, because they don't skidaddle off and abandon her, unlike people.

I think that part turned more into an analysis, but do what you will.

Tying into the defence thing, I love to headcanon that she plays herself off as more confident and collected than she really is at times. I feel like it's more obvious in the witherstorm arc, where she's sick in the cave, can barely move, yet tells Jesse and the gang she's fine. She does this, not only to brush off the others from bothering her, but to try and convince herself that she's okay.

I also headcanon that, that defence was lowered within S2, because she had opened up more and learned what friends were. Beforehand, she was probably just some reckless mercenary, doing risky trades and stupid things to get the most out of life. She never really cared for other people, only rewards.

A really huge headcanon of mine that I enjoy delving into is that she developed PTSD and anxiety after the witherstorm arc, but hid it far too well for her own good, for ages. I love to think it all came back to bite her after S2.

EP7 is also really interesting for the whole trauma thing. I don't think she was traumatised by the events too much, but a few things got to her. She has occasional false memories and some minor flashbacks to the time she was chipped. Redstone machinery surprisingly doesn't bother her, though. What does bother her is seemingly sentient machines that talk back to you with a level of self-awareness that is just a bit too uncanny for her. For obvious reasons... Good thing her world doesn't have any of that... until Olivi- Ok, this one's kinda funny but I like to headcanon that Petra wasn't as built in S1 compared to S2, like look at the model difference on the arms dude SHE WAS GRINDING BRO LIKE DAAAAAANGGG

I think I have a pretty obvious headcanon (lol) that she's totally in love with female Jesse. Although she pushed it down during the portal arc, I like to think there were a few times where she went, "dang bro.. she's kinda sweet I can't lie...". And yet before this, she never had any interest in relationships or anything, but Jesse changed her just slightly.

These ones below are more like ideas, not really solid headcanons I have, but I still like the thought of them:

I like to imagine she has a resistance to eating rotten flesh because she had to resort to it so many times during adventures where she's gotten lost, or something. The thought of Jesse trying to down rotten flesh and gagging just by being in contact, while Petra is just munching on it like a snack, is hilarious to me.

Another small idea I looooovee a LOT is that Petra and Lukas were good friends before she met Jesse, Axel and Olivia. She probably trusted Lukas the most out of anyone in her life until Jesse swung around.

I'm not sure how useful any of these headcanons are cuz they're kinda minor and don't really affect much unless you're writing something really specific, but yea 🔥😎

If they're not that useful at all, uhhhh I hope you enjoyed reading miss yappertron 3000 talk about petra (and sorry if I may have repeated myself a few times during my yap, my ah ain't checking this over like it's an actual essay ok????)

ummm Ig that's it, SilentBeaver OUT 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🫡🫡🫡

[s4psh]

Shy nerd guys, always surprise you

Sim jaeyun

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𖤐 paring : Jake x reader

𖤐 genre : high-school sweethearts

𖤐 warning : 18+ content, fingering, choking, pussy eating, makeout, smut, kissing, neck grabbing

𖤐 summary : Jake, the physics prodigy and your high school sweetheart, offered to help you with your studies. However, instead of focusing on physics, you had other plans in mind, involving making him forget all about equations and delve into a more satisfying kind of experimentation.

song suggestions (listen while reading) :

As you entered the classroom, your shoulders slumped and a frown tugged at the corners of your lips. Jake couldn't help but notice your expression and asked, "What's wrong? You look like someone just told you your favorite band has disbanded."

With a heavy sigh, you replied, "I just got called into the physics teacher's office. My grades in that class have been dropping like a rock, but I've been excelling in all my other subjects. It's so frustrating because I'm usually good at everything, especially math, but physics is just kicking my butt."

Jake couldn't resist poking a little fun at your distress over physics grades. He chuckled and teased, "It sounds like the only thing dropping around here is your physics grade, not some random band. Maybe you should focus on studying physics instead of being their number one fan."

She rolled her eyes at his playful jab, but couldn't help a slight smile from tugging at her lips as she retorted, "Oh shut up, Jake. As if your taste in music is any better than mine."

Jake raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. "Oh, so my music taste is now on the chopping block, huh? Well, let me tell you, my taste in music is a masterpiece like none other."

You chuckled at his over-the-top response. "A masterpiece, huh? Let me guess, you only listen to obscure and experimental genres that no one's ever heard of, right?"

Jake feigned offense. "Obscure and experimental? Those are just fancy words for 'ahead of their time' and 'avant-garde.' You'll come around to appreciate my excellent taste eventually."

Just as your conversation with Jake was getting a bit livelier, Sunghoon walked into the room, He noticed the two of you sitting together, Sunghoon approached the two of you, a bit curious as to what you were discussing. With a hint of concern in his voice, addressed your academic struggles. "Word on the street is that you're having some trouble with physics lately. I heard it's been giving you quite the headache."

"Great, more talk about physics" you said, annoyance creeping into your voice.

"You know, I'm pretty good at this class," he said casually. "If you need any help, I'd be happy to lend a hand." Jake stifled a laugh as Sunghoon made the offer to help with physics. He knew all too well that Sunghoon struggled with the subject himself.

"Good one, Sunghoon," Jake said, struggling to hide his amusement. "Maybe you should focus on helping yourself with physics first before offering to help others."

Sunghoon rolled his eyes at Jake's comment. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm not the greatest at physics," he replied, feigning offense. "But I'm still offering, alright?"

Jake's possessive streak started to show. He felt a twinge of jealousy as he noticed the way Sunghoon was offering to help you with physics.

"You know what, Sunghoon," Jake suddenly interjected, a hint of irritation in his voice. "I'm her boyfriend. I can help her with physics if she needs it. You can take a back seat, alright?"

"Alright, alright, chill out, Jake," sunghoon said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I get the hint. You've got it covered. I'll step back, no need to get all territorial."

With that, he turned and walked away, shaking his head with a mix of annoyance and acceptance.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Jake's possessive words. "Hmmm," you teased, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. "Is that your way of declaring your ownership over me, Jake?"

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, realizing you were poking fun at his earlier display of jealousy. "Shut up," he retorted, but there was no hint of irritation in his tone. "You know I just don't like sharing what's mine."

Jake leaned in close, his voice dropping to a seductive tone. "It's not just a matter of pride, you know," he whispered. "It's a matter of desire. You're mine, and I don't like the thought of another guy getting so close to you. It stirs up primal instincts, a hunger I can't control. So, you see, it's more than just possessiveness. It's a deep, primal need to claim what's mine." The intensity in his voice and the way he described his desire to claim you made your heart race. But just as you were processing his words, Jake leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

The affectionate gesture caught you off guard, making your cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and affection. You couldn't help but feel a fluttery sensation in your stomach as you wondered how one simple move could melt your defenses so effortlessly.

As you looked at Jake, your eyes slowly traveled down his lean figure. You took in his messy hair that fell perfectly over his glasses, framing his captivating puppy-like eyes. The prominent vein there was the way he would occasionally bite his lower lip, a subtle gesture that spoke of a hidden lust. You couldn't help but feel a heat slowly begin to spread through your body as you continued to drink in the sight of him.

Jake's hands were a dangerous game, a tantalizing tease that left you craving for more. The veins that ran along his arms and down his fingers added a sinful edge, a hint of animalistic power lurking beneath the surface. And his slender digits, how they moved with such fluid elegance and grace, whether strumming the strings of his guitar or tracing a soft touch against your skin — each movement was a symphony of passion and finesse, leaving you entranced and yearning for more.

Jake gave you a reassuring smile, his puppy-like eyes meeting your gaze."I'll be at the park at 5 with Layla and my physics helpbook. We'll hang out, and I'll help you with your physics studies. Sound good?"

"Sure," you replied, a hint of excitement in your voice. "That sounds like a great plan. I'll see you there at 5."

in the park

As you approached the park, you spotted Jake up ahead, playing with Layla. He was throwing a small squeaky toy for Layla to chase and catch, and she was gleefully running after it, her tail wagging with excitement. Jake looked up as you neared, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, you're here!" he greeted you, patting the spot beside him on the bench. "I was just playing with Layla while I waited. She's having a blast."

"omg she's full of energy today" you said

As you settled down beside him, Jake couldn't resist stealing a quick kiss. His lips gently brushed against yours, a soft and affectionate gesture that sent a warm flutter through your chest.

"Hey," he whispered. "I missed you. You look beautiful today."

"I missed you too." you chuckled.

Jake chuckled softly, "Yeah, let's start on those physics questions. Can't let you slack on your studies, now can we?" With that, he opened the physics textbook and flipped to the chapter you had been struggling with. He placed the book on your lap so you could both look at it.

"Alright," he said, pointing to a problem on the page, "Let's start with this one. Do you remember the formula we need to solve it?"

You nodded, trying to focus your attention on the textbook in front of you. Jake's proximity was making it a bit challenging to concentrate, but you took a deep breath and mentally went through the formula in your head.

"Uh, let me think," you said, tapping your fingers on the page. "I think it's something like F equals ma, right? Force equals mass times acceleration?"

"Exactly right," he said, his gaze fixed on your face. "That's the one. So, assuming we have the mass and the acceleration, we can plug those into the formula and solve for force."

He pointed to the numbers listed in the problem, guiding you through the steps of plugging them into the formula. As he continued to explain the physics problem, using his hands to illustrate the concepts, your attention was drawn to his veiny forearms and slender fingers. The way his hands moved as he explained the formulas, the subtle motions, was incredibly hypnotic. And as his hands gestured towards your neck, as if wrapping around it delicately, a shiver ran down your spine, causing you to momentarily forget about the physics problem.

You couldn't help but imagine those hands on your skin, the touch of his slender fingers exploring every inch of you, slowly and methodically. His eyes, still fixed on your face, appeared to notice your distraction, and a sly, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He was well aware of the effect his hands and his nearness were having on you, and he found it amusing to see your concentration waver. But all the while, a flicker of desire flickered in his eyes, mirroring your own imagination of his touch.

"Are you paying attention?" he whispered, his voice low and smooth. "I thought you were trying to learn something here."

You snapped your attention back to the problem in front of you, feigning nonchalance.

"Of course I am," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just had a brief moment of distraction. No big deal."

*smirks* Jake handed you a small quiz sheet, and you glanced over it, seeing various physics questions and formulas. His thoughtfulness in preparing it for you touched you, a sign of his genuine wish to help you study.

"Thanks, Jake," you said, looking up at him with a grateful smile. "I'll do my best. And don't worry, I'll be sure to tell you if I need any help."

"Good," he said. "I trust you'll do well. And yeah, don't hesitate to ask if you need any assistance. I'm here to help."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he looked away, as if trying to reign in his own feelings.

"Hey," he said softly, "You look exhausted. Coffee might not be a bad idea. Let's head to that café down the street and grab a cup."

"You're right," you replied, a hint of relief in your voice. "Coffee would be perfect right now. Let's go."

As you both stood up, Jake gestured for you to lead the way towards the café. He followed closely behind you, his presence behind you causing a subtle thrill to run down your spine. But you tried to ignore the feeling, focusing on the thought of the much-needed caffeine boost that awaited you at the café.

As you both entered the cozy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, immediately lifting your spirits. Jake ordered his usual black coffee, and then he surprised you by ordering your favorite latte with extra whipped cream on top, along with some dog-friendly treats for Layla.

"Here you go," he said, handing you the steaming hot latte. "I thought you could use something a bit sweeter this morning."

"Thank you," you said, meeting his gaze with a sincere smile. "You didn't have to get all this, but I really appreciate it."

Jake smiled warmly, his eyes meeting yours. "You know, I was just thinking," he began, "that it would be great to spend more time together. I'd love it if you could come over to my place afterward. We could hang out, keep studying if you want, or do something else entirely. I just really enjoy your company and want to spend as much time with you as possible."

His smile was eager, hopeful on his face. It was clear that he was genuinely hoping you would say yes.

Jake's suggestion caught you by surprise, and a mixture of emotions washed over you. "Yeah," you replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I'd like that. Let's hang out at your place after this."

"Perfect." he says with a joyful smile on his face.

Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was uncharted territory for you – visiting your boyfriend's place for the first time. It felt like a significant step in your relationship, and you hoped everything would go smoothly.

You glanced at Jake, taking in his relaxed demeanor as he strolled beside you. He seemed at ease.

Jake unlocked the gate and swung it open, gesturing for you to go through. As you entered his place, You followed Jake along the pathway, taking in the serene atmosphere of his home.

He turned to you, a warm smile gracing his lips. "So," he began, "now that we're at my place, there's plenty we can do. We can continue studying together if you want, or we can watch a movie, play some board games, or even cook something together. I'm open to anything that's comfortable for you."

He leaned back on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head, waiting for your response.

"umm how about netflix?" you suggested

Jake's face lit up at your suggestion. "Netflix sounds perfect," he said, reaching for the remote control on the coffee table. "You can pick whatever you want to watch. There's so much to choose from. Movies, series, documentaries – whatever you're in the mood for."

He handed the remote to you, allowing you to choose the entertainment for the evening. As he settled back on the sofa, he glanced over at you, eagerly awaiting your selection.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you took the remote from Jake. "You know what?" you said, scrolling through the options on the TV. "Let's watch Grey's anatomy, That always put me in a good mood."

Jake nodded, a warm smile on his face. "That sounds perfect."

A grin spread across your face as you thought about watching Grey's Anatomy. "Alright then," you said, feeling a sense of excitement. "Grey's Anatomy it is! We can spend hours watching those intense medical cases, swooning over the romance, and bonding over our love for Meredith and Derek. Plus, it's got like a million episodes, so we won't run out of content anytime soon."

Jake nodded in agreement, clearly just as enthusiastic about the idea. "This is gonna be epic," he said, grabbing the remote from you. "Let's start from the beginning."

He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you closer to him on the sofa. His touch was warm and soothing, making you feel protected and cherished.

You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The sound of his heart thumping beneath your ear was a soothing soundtrack to the movie playing on the TV.

The world seemed to fade away as you both focused on the series, losing yourselves in the lives of the doctors at Seattle Grace Hospital.

His slender fingers traced gentle circles on your neck, sending a slight shiver down your spine. His touch was light, yet it sent tingles of pleasure radiating from the point of contact. He seemed to be unconsciously exploring the sensitive skin there, his fingers gliding with ease across your exposed flesh.

As he continued to caress your neck, you could feel the tension slowly seeping from your body. It was as if his touch had the power to soothe and relax you, making everything else seem insignificant in comparison. A small gasp escaped your lips as his fingers trailed across your neck, sending a thrill of electricity through your body. His touch was delicate, yet it ignited a flame within you, sending waves of desire coursing through your veins. The way his fingers explored your skin was intoxicating, and you found yourself arching your neck slightly, giving him easier access.

Jake seemed to notice your reaction, as his finger began to trace a path towards the collarbone, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation in its wake.

As Jake continued to caress your neck and collarbone, your eyes fluttered closed, your body responding to his touch in ways you couldn't control. In that moment, all you wanted was for him to keep going, to explore every inch of you and drive you wild with ecstasy.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice a mere breath.

Jake pulled back slightly, his lips still hovering inches away from yours. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"It's just... ."

Jake remained silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness that contrasted with the raw desire you could feel radiating from him. "Tell me what you're feeling right now. Tell me what you need."

Your gaze fixed on Jake's lips, your mind reeling with a flood of thoughts. You knew exactly what you wanted, but the words seemed to get stuck on your tongue. It was as if the intensity of the moment had rendered you speechless, your emotions surging through you like a tidal wave.

He cupped your face in his hands and crashed his lips against yours in a fervent kiss. There was no hesitation, no holding back this time. He kissed you fiercely, his lips moving over yours demandingly, as if he couldn't get close enough. His tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours, and his hands roamed your body urgently, mapping every curve and contour. As Jake's lips trailed down from your mouth to your neck, a low moan escaped you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. The sensation of his mouth on your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine, the heat of his touch igniting a fire within you. Each kiss, each nip of his teeth, fueled a desire that you never knew you had. You arched your neck, giving him more access, silently pleading for him to continue his assault on your senses.

"Jake," you gasped, your voice hoarser than before. "Please, put your hand around my throat. I want to feel your touch, your control."

You looked at him, your eyes pleading, silently begging him to give you what you craved.

"Is this what you want, sweetheart?" Jake murmured, his voice low and raspy with desire. He knew exactly what you were asking for, but he wanted to make sure you were certain about it. He tightened his grip slightly tighter, his fingers pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "You want me to put my hand around your throat, to give you that feeling of helplessness and desire at the same time?"

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a

Your body arched towards him, silently begging for his touch to become stronger, to bring you to the edge of pleasure and push you over. You felt a sense of surrender, of relinquishing all control to him, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. But most of all, you wanted to feel him. As Jake's hand closed around your throat, your breath caught in your chest. His fingers applied just enough pressure to make you gasp, making your pulse flutter beneath his touch. It was a possessive move, yet there was a tenderness to it, a care that showed in the way his hand cradled your neck.

His other hand began to explore your body, caressing your curves, his fingers tracing fiery paths across your skin. It was as if he needed to touch you, to claim you, to make sure you knew how much he wanted you.

His hand slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, a shiver of anticipation ran through you. The touch of his warm palm against your pussy sent a wave of desire coursing through your body, and you instinctively arched towards him, craving more.

He traced small circles on your vagina, his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh he found there. Each touch was deliberate, and he seemed to know where to apply pressure to drive you wild. His hand continued its descent, moving towards the sensitive area between your thighs, and you couldn't help but whimper in need.

"You're so fucking wet y/n" he whispered, his voice deepened.

"Yes, I'm so wet for you," you responded, your voice trembling. "I need you, Jake, so badly. You have no idea how much I crave your touch, your presence."

He leaned in closer, his lips millimeters away from yours. "Show me," he breathed, his voice dripping with lust. "Show me just how badly you want me."

"I can show you better than I can tell you," you purred, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. Your lips hovered just a fraction of an inch away from his, and the desire to close the gap was almost overwhelming.

"Just close your eyes," you murmured, "and let me show you every single way I want you, every single way I need you."

Your lips pressed against Jake's abs, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses along his skin, as you marked his body with a hickey. Your tongue traced lazy circles around his navel, tasting the salty essence of his skin. his body reacting to the sensations you were stirring within him. He let out a low moan, his hands gripping your shoulders, holding you against him as if afraid you might pull away.

"fuck" he groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

As Jake rolled you over, you let out a gasp of surprise, your body momentarily frozen in shock. You surrendered yourself to the sensation, completely at his mercy.

He loomed over you, pinning you beneath him, his strong frame pressing against your soft curves.

"Don't move," he commanded, his voice ragged with need. "Just lie there and let me take good care of you."

Without further ado, Jake pushes your underwear aside and dives in, his skilled tongue immediately finding your most sensitive spots. He licks and sucks with intense focus, determined to make you squirm and moan. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. "Mmmm..."

"OH GOD" you screamed.

He pulls back, his face glistening. "Oh god? Is that all you've got? Because I've only just begun."

"Such a responsive little thing." He straightens up, his fingers gently caressing your swollen folds. And such a needy one too.His eyes are glistening with lust.

"It feels heavenly," you breathed, the words almost a moan in the quietness of the room.

Jake's grin turns smug as he slowly pushes two fingers inside you, curling them upward to hit that spot that drives you wild. "Heaven, you say?" He begins to move his hand, his rhythm steady and purposeful. "Well, then. I must be your personal angel."

Jake's fingers continue to work their magic, stretching and curling inside you as he eats your pussy with his other hand. "You're so fucking tight, and your taste is divine."

you were out of breath, struggling to breathe

"They were right; it's the shy nerd guys, always surprise you." you said with your voice trembling.

I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading. 🩷

[selfishdoll]

NOW PLAYING…. SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

You're the queen of the superficial, And how long before you tell the truth?

sum: being a physical therapist assistant wasn’t easy work at all, and it didn’t help that one of your patients was beginning to plague your thoughts, in more ways than one.

PURE COINCIDENCE . camboy & martial artist! kashimo hajime x physical therapist assistant! reader

cw: strangers to lovers (lowkey), kashimo & reader are 19-21, kashimo is ooc of course, modern au (no cursed techniques but he’s still strong asf), sex work, pet names, teasing, degradation & praise, shy!reader, curvy reader, kashimo is an ass man, lowkey corruption kink, slightly public sex, kashimo is reckless & dumb, dumbification, manhandling, rough sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, choking, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, etc.

i spent so much time on this & was winging it fr so it didn’t come out how i liked 😭😭. & it got much longer then i wanted it to be. also please excuse any typos or errors, it’s late 🙏🏾

You always thought boxing, wrestling, and martial arts were such violent sports. You didn’t see the appeal of beating someone black and blue— or forcing them into submission. You weren’t a pacifist by any means but fighting was just something you didn’t get it. Especially, when it came to making money off it.

Truthfully, however— you didn’t need to see the point. Your only concern was massaging your patients and assuring they didn’t overextend themselves.

Which happened often.

Today would be a good day for you, a starting point actually. After two years of grueling work, several months of training, and being placed in a hospital you hated; you were finally sought out by a private practice— a gym for martial artists. From what you’ve heard they were good; winning tournaments back to back and putting on quite a show for the audience.

A name that frequently showed up was Kashimo Hajime, the proclaimed God of Lightning. A title earned given how fast he was, no one able to keep up with the amount of punches that he landed on his opponent. You were sure that was impressive in its own right, but you simply couldn’t get past the name.

It made you giggle each time you heard it.

Your eyes trailed away from the building infront of you and over to your phone hooked up to the stand in your car. You pressed your lips together, “Looks like I’m here..” You mumbled to yourself, feeling anxiety gather at the pit of your stomach. A new job always did that to you, imagining just about everything going wrong. From possibly falling or messing up a chart.

First day jitters always killed your motivation.

But, you took a small breath; eyes closed briefly as you sinked into your seat for a moment. It would be fine, this would be fine. You’re gonna do great. Such affirmations swarmed in your mind, pushing you away from delving down a deep hole of anxiety and insecurity. Once you felt your heart relax just a bit you grabbed your phone and tote bag, turning the car off and soon exiting it. Shutting the door behind you, you assured the doors were locked before approaching the large metal doors of the building. Pulling them open, your eyes scanned the large area. It looked like a relatively regular gym; punching bags hanging from the ceiling in a few places, weights, and treadmills. The most interesting thing was the boxing ring in the middle of the room.

“Hello, miss? Can I help you?” You jumped a little as the voice interrupted your train of thought, turning to face a woman who was seated behind the front desk. You flashed a false confident smile, approaching her while shifting through your bag. “H—hi, I’m [Full Name]. I’m here to start as a PTA.” Your hand finally clasped around what you needed, lifting a packet of papers from the confinements of your bag and passing them over to her awaiting hand.

Her eyes scanned the pages rather quickly, “Oh, you’ll be working with Ms. Makoto.” She mused, flashing you a small smile as she passed the papers back. “She always comes late, so for now; I’d suggest walking around to get a feel for your surroundings. Maybe even talk to your future patients.” She shrugged to which you nodded, a small thank you, escaping you.

You wish she hadn’t suggested the thing at all, given how nerve-racking it felt to you. However, you now felt obligated to do it, especially with the way she was smiling at you so sweetly. Damn her.

Situating the strap of your bag onto your shoulder correctly, you headed over towards the actual gym area; eyes on the swivel to assure you didn’t end up in anyone’s way. Like you hoped, however, the martial artists were far too focused on their training, paying you no mind as their fists slammed against some punch bag or they pumped their legs on the treadmill.

The atmosphere itself was nice, really. You didn’t mind it, maybe you would get used to it.

Once you were finished walking around the people lifting weights, your eyes traveled over to the boxing ring in the middle, noticing two forms entering it and several people surrounding it. Interest quickly invaded your mind, moving towards the crowd to get a better look. You luckily found your way to the front, staring up at the two men that were currently stretching.

One was unimpressionable; hair shaved short with tanned skin. He was shirtless showcasing his simple build. He wasn’t small but wasn’t big either, sculpted but not bulky? It was clear he wasn’t a seasoned fighter. But, as your eyes turned over to his opponent; the difference was all too clear.

Standing at an impressive six feet, cloaked in a tight black shirt and baggy white pants, bandages wrapped around his forearms. You watched as he cupped his hands together behind his back, stretching his arms and fuck, were they big. Or rather the man was big in general, enough so you pitied his opponent.

You watched as he rose his arms above his head this time, eyes zoning in on the way his shirt followed— revealing his toned stomach and the pretty blue trail that traveled down. Oh, how you wanted to see where it lead to.

“[Name]?”

“Huh!?” You gasped out of your daze, head snapping over to a woman that stood beside you. She had short black hair that illuminated her pale features perfectly, sharp dark eyes already staring at you. Her gloss stained lips curled once she had your attention, “I’m Makoto. I’m sorry for being late.”

You gave a nervous smile, “I—I don’t mind. I was just uh.. getting to know my surroundings.” The physical therapist nodded at you with a smile, eyes turning over to the ring as a small sigh escaped her.

“I’ve told Kashimo to stop entertaining these rookies.”

“Entertaining?”

Makoto nodded with a soft hum, crossing her arms over her chest. “They always want to fight him for some reason, riling him up until he finally agrees to a spar. It’s ridiculous,” She mused, tapping a finger against her skin. “It’s clear whose going to win.”

You pressed your lips together, eyes turning back to the ring. To your surprise, Kashimo was standing upright while his opponent was in a fighting stance. Cocky.. Was what ran through your mind, eyes darting between the two men.

The man with a shaved head blew air from his mouth, springing towards Kashimo in a single step. Your eyes widened as you watched the cyan-haired man step out of the other’s way, bawling his fists. The sound of skin to skin contact was the only thing you could register, astonished by the pure speed of his fists, opponent trapped under the flurry of his hits. Makoto was right, he didn’t stand a chance; falling to the ring the moment the god of lightning was finished with him. The match couldn’t have been longer than five seconds.

“Kashimo, It was only supposed to be a spar— not a knockout!” Makoto called, softly complaining about unnecessary concussions. You watched as Kashimo’s bored expression fixed onto the physical therapist, a small snarl on his face. Makoto hissed at this, fussing at him not to glare at her.

He didn’t entertain her yelling long, eyes traveling away from her and fixing onto you. You didn’t hold his gaze long, or rather— you couldn’t, given its intensity. You simply turned to face Makoto waiting for her to get over her yelling so you could get started.

. . .

A few hours of work passed, the only major concern being Kashimo’s opponent and assuring he had no fractures or concussions from the match. Much to Makoto’s relief, he didn’t. Other than that you were observing and looking over charts, noticing the inconsistencies in Kashimo’s. Makoto then explained to you the man ignored injuries and she quite literally has to corner him to get him into her office. The mental image made you laugh softly.

Soon enough your shift was over, being informed you did well and to come at the same time tomorrow. It delighted you to hear such a thing. Exiting the building, you approached your car while searching for your keys in your bag, humming softly to yourself. Finally finding them, you pull them out; attention however, shifting over to the gym doors when they opened.

To your surprise Kashimo stepped out, holding a large duffel bag in his left hand while his right? Reached for the end of his shirt, lifting it up and using it to wipe his face. All under your gaze.

You felt ashamed staring at him in such a way, especially since he was technically your patient.

“You need somethin’, Miss [Name]?” His voice was muffled against the damp fabric, pulling his shirt down to reveal his sharp eyes starting at you. You jumped in surprise, nearly dropping your keys. “Oh, oh, no! No..” You breathed out, shakily pressing the button on them to unlock your car. To your horror the man gave you a small smirk;

“Safe travels then.”

“Mhm! You too!” The words escaped you meekly and far louder then you wished. Snatching the driver’s side door open, you entered the vehicle, barely even slamming the door closed before you turned the engine over. You quickly pulled out of that parking lot, attempting to forget the scene that just happened.

. . .

A soft sigh escaped you as you sat on your bed, leaning back to lay down, arms laying across your stomach. The sky was painted black, stars twinkling overhead with the moon rested aimlessly. It was getting late and you needed to get some sleep for tomorrow. You weren’t sure how work would be but you wanted to mentally prepare for the worst. However, you just.. didn’t want to sleep yet?

It was weird, really. You didn’t feel tired despite how nervous you were today. You almost felt proud of yourself.

“Still need to get some sleep though..” You mumbled to yourself, rolling over to your stomach. Pressing your face into your plush blankets for a moment, you mulled over how to force yourself to sleep. Milk, melatonin maybe? You don’t know if you had either. You spared two more minutes of thought before an idea entered your mind.

Masturbation. You were a genius.

You reached blindly for your phone while turning onto your back again, scooting up farther onto your bed as you opened the dreaded X app. Ignoring tweets from friends and celebrities you went straight to the search bar typing in something random. You just needed to get off once, it normally worked for you.

Using one hand to scroll, the other went down to your lower half, happy you previously discarded your pants as your fingers brushed across your thinly covered pussy. Warming yourself up, your fingers pressed against your covered clit, slowly rubbing it; feeling the gentle pleasure travel up your spine.

Fifteen minutes passed of this and your agitated scrolling, frustration building as nothing in particular caught your eye. Each video was either too short or too boring for something to use, or even some too much. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult anyhow. Just a quick session and then sleep. Yet, here you were; boredly scrolling.

You nearly settled for your imagination rather then a video until something caught your eye. Your thumb hovered over the video, eyes zoning in on it. It was simple, a male by himself, showcasing his lower half but nothing else. You saw the imprint of his dick through his sweats, strong hand gliding across it; teasing himself.

Pursing your lips, you clicked on the video, getting into a comfortable position. You watched as he delicately pulled the strings on his pants, watching the band loosen. His hips rose, hooking a thumb under the waistband to slowly tug down— not far, but far enough his length slowly came into view; popping out when his sweats rested on his thighs.

You sucked in a breath, watching his veined hand clasp around his pretty cock. He was pale, tip a soft red with precum spilling from the slit. He was also.. well, big; lengthy and thick— particularly around the base. You attempted to imagine it inside you, pussy pulsing at the thought of it splitting you open.

His thumb rolled on the crown of his length, collecting some precum before smoothing it down his shaft. To your surprise you heard a soft groan, feeling your stomach tighten from the sound. Most men on this annoying app were quiet in their videos, something you couldn’t stand. And while he wasn’t loud, it was loud enough your hand went straight under your panties, beginning to roll tight circles on your clit.

You moved in sync to how he fisted himself, his soft sighs and grunts escaping your phone’s speaker; envious you couldn’t hear such things right into your ear. You bit your lip as your legs shook, two fingers traveling down your slick slit to plunge inside you. Your hips rose, grinding your clit into your palm as your eyes focused on the man. You gasped out, watching as his pace quickened, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his hands.

His voice became ragged, pants desperate as he chased his release. And you, your own. You were so close, watching this stranger fuck himself. A pretty sight you couldn’t look away from.

“Oh, fuck..” Was what he hissed, nearly making your eyes roll back. You were there, right there, so close, until— you noticed something. Your eyes had unfortunately wandered from his cock to his stomach peeking out under his shirt, spotting something.

A soft tuft of cyan colored hair.

Your eyes widened for a moment, feeling your pleasure come crashing down as flashes of Kashimo in the ring and outside the building entered your mound. The way it lined below his navel so perfectly, it was all too familiar. “There’s no way..” You thought to yourself, attempting to rationalize it in your head. Kashimo Hajime, martial artist known as the god of lightning just didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing.

But then again, you knew nothing about him, so who were you to declare it wasn’t like him?

Such thoughts killed your lust filled high, pulling your hand out of your panties and quickly clicking out of the app. You turned on your side, phone rested face down on your blankets. Your eyes pinched close, attempting to calm your racing thoughts and think of solutions to this.

It was all pure coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe dying happy trails that particular color was some trend you didn’t hear about?

You seriously hoped it was.

. . .

Despite your many thoughts last night, you fell asleep shortly after that event. Though you did wake up and feel miserable, just imagining how nervous you’ll be facing Kashimo.

It’s probably not him.. right? You continued to try and convince yourself, closing your car door shut and beginning your trek over to the gym. Opening the doors and entering, you gave a brief smile to the receptionist that greeted you and made a beeline to Makoto’s office, reaching for the door.

Only for it to open, right in your face.

“[Name]! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there!” The physical therapist hissed softly, watching as you soothed the pain on your forehead. You only gave a small smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.” The brief pain knocked Kashimo right from your thoughts, something you deeply appreciated and nearly thanked the reckless older woman for.

Makoto looked you over for a moment before sighing softly, nodding. “Alright, well. Set your things down. It’s not a lot to do today, but that could change.”

You gave a brief smile and nodded, entering her office. It was simple, resembling a hospital room with shelves lining the walls and a long black bed off against the wall. You placed your bag beside her own, turning around to spot Makoto at the door, talking to someone.

Moving closer you quickly realized it was Kashimo. His expression just like yesterday, bored with a snarl pointed towards the older woman— who was currently nagging, just like yesterday. You swallowed a breath, flashes of the previous night entering your mind, far too quick and vivid to ignore. It didn’t help that in the midst of her words his eyes traveled to you, causing you to still; wishing to fall through the floor right then and there.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Don’t you have someone to mentor instead of wasting your time, naggin’?” Hajime questioned, finally releasing you from his gaze to stare back at Makoto. The physical therapist’s voice rose in pitch, Hajime turning on his heel and walking off much to her annoyance..

And your relief. You hoped he was too busy training to acknowledge you today.

Two hours passed with you following Makoto around, writing down a few notes on people’s charts and even tapping some people. They were nice and encouraged you even when your hands shook a little or you stumbled over your words. You really did like this job so far.

It was the afternoon now, Makoto letting you go on a thirty minute break. You entered the lounge room of the gym, hand clasped around the black container of food you had grabbed from your bag. Approaching the microwave, you opened it open and slid the container inside— shutting the door and pressing a random time. You leaned against the counter, scrolling through your phone for a moment before an idea creeped into your mind.

Assuring no one else was in the room, you clicked onto the app you used last night, going to your previous search and beginning to scroll. It took about five minutes before you finally reached where you wanted; the video you watched last night. Taking your food from the microwave, you clicked onto the account of the video, waltzing over to a chair and sitting down.

You attempted to rationalize looking at porn — or rather a porn account at work. It’s not like you were actively watching the videos, or touching yourself; you were simply searching for something, anything that signified this wasn’t Kashimo’s account.

But, you weren’t given much. Firstly, the account’s icon and header was blank while the bio was empty too. Despite this, it had quite a few tweets and followers, highlighting this account was quite popular. You bit the inside of your cheek once again, looking around you for a moment before clicking on the media section of the page. You scrolled, leaning your cheek into your palm. Most of it was solo stuff, showcasing his lower half and never his face. Your heart thumped however; when you noticed the spiky, cyan colored hair that rested behind him in a certain video. You bit the inside of your cheek, jumping when the lounge room door opened.

To your horror, Kashimo entered— giving you a brief glance before walking over to the fridge in the room. His hand reached for something, snatching it from the fridge and rising to shut the door, moving over to the microwave. While opening the door and placing his food inside, you watched his other hand fish his phone from his sweats.

And that’s when a idea popped into your head. A very, very stupid one. Your face turned back to your phone screen, biting your lip. You were still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t him, this was just some random man you’ve never met before.

And so, if you were to like a tweet of his where— your name was completely visible, you were sure he wouldn’t react at all. Your plan seemed solid, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

Taking a shaky breath, your thumb pressed against the hollow heart of a random tweet, slowly placing your phone back onto the table. Maybe.. maybe you were imagining it but, you could have sworn you heard the soft buzz of a phone.

One that wasn’t yours.

Fear shot up your spine, head moving slowly to the side, eyes traveling to the only other person in the room.

Who was already staring at you, cradling his black cased phone.

Your eyes locked, watching as a grin pulled his features. It was him, oh it was definitely him. Your eyes widened as the realization set in, quickly turning forward to snatch your phone and food from the table, getting up on shaky legs and heading towards the door.

“Not hungry, [Name]?” His tone was mocking, far too teasing for you to ignore. You didn’t even spare him a glance as you quickly shook your head, snatching the door open and exiting the lounge.

The realization of the situation finally dawned on you as you sped over to Makoto’s office, nearly crushing your container of food in your hand.

You had found Kashimo Hajime’s twitter, his.. special twitter. And he knew, you knew it was him.

. . .

About three weeks had passed since that fateful day. You were, surprisingly— okay. The day after it happened Kashimo seemed normal, not ignoring you but focused on his training. You remained on edge for the rest of the week expecting something. Maybe a big blow out or a private conversation, but you got neither.

And if you weren’t sure if you were happy, or upset by that. Either way, three weeks went by with radio silence and you growing accustomed to your job.

It was about forty minutes until you would clock out, seated at Makoto’s desk and flipping through papers. Your eyes scanned the page, assuring each chart was up to date and nothing was out of order. Luckily no one has gotten injured majorly these last few weeks, but the necessary procedures had to be done.

You heard movement beside you, eyes drifting away from the stack for a moment to spot your boss grabbing her things and placing them into her bag. Noticing your stare, she turned with an apologetic smile— “Sorry, [Name]! My daughter needs to get picked up. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded at her with a smile, glancing at the clock. You would have been nervous to be left alone, but it was only thirty minutes. And once you clocked out anyone that stayed back for training were on their own.

The door closed behind Makoto as she exited the office, your head turning to focus back on the papers. You hummed softly to yourself, pressing your cheek into your palm as you scribbled something on a page, flipping to the next.

Several minutes passed with this continuous routine, eyes finally shifting away from the work over to your phone. Five minutes until your shift was over. With that, you stood, collecting the papers into a neat stack before placing it back into its manila folder; placing that into your tote bag. You glanced around the area, assuring you weren’t leaving anything behind before grabbing your bag, pulling it onto your shoulder. Turning on your heel, you approached the door and opened it; letting out a soft startled noise.

“Oh, I was expecting Makoto..” Kashimo spoke, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in his usual attire; a black tight shirt with white sweatpants. His dark eyes traced over your form, tilting his head at you. You attempted to ignore the way his lips twitched a bit, as if holding something back.

You quickly cleared your throat, “Did you.. uh— need her for something? She left early is all.”

Kashimo hummed softly, “No..I think you’ll do.”

“What?”

“Think you could get the kink out my arm? I must have.. punched the bag wrong.” Kashimo claimed, smiling down at you. You withtook a breath, clenching the strap of your bag tightly. He was lying, and he knew he was lying too. Kashimo Hajime, punching the bag wrong? You could almost laugh at the thought.

And that smile? Oh— it was far from genuine, far from pure. Every alarm in your head rung, warning you to refuse and leave. Yet, you didn’t listen to a single one. Your body instead turned, waltzing over to the desk and setting your things down. “You can sit on the bed. I’ll take a look at your arm.”

The words barely escaped you before the deafening sound of the door closed behind him, a soft thanks, escaping him as he sat down. You felt his eyes on your every move, watching as you approached the sink and began to wash your hands— shakily, you might add. You spent extra time there, afraid to face the man.

Soon enough, however, you grabbed a paper towel from beside you; drying your hands and turning the faucet off. Tossing the soiled towel in the trash, you turned and walked over to him. “Wh—which arm?” You questioned softly, watching as he lifted his right one. You nibbled on your cheek, gently grabbing his bicep, thumbs pressing against the muscle carefully.

“If it starts to hurt, tell me..” You murmured softly, room back to being silent. This was stupid really; you making such a show of things. You knew he wasn’t hurt, shown in the way he reacted little with each squeeze you gave him; even pressing harder to see if he would react.

Like you suspected, Kashimo didn’t react at all.

“I wonder..” You blinked as his words interrupted your jumbled thoughts, blinking over to him. He was already staring at you, a small smirk pulling his lips. One that caused your stomach to drop. One that he wore in the lounge room that day. “—when you connected the dots, when you found out it was me.. did still watch me?”

You breathed softly, releasing his arm. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” You played at acting dumb, a useless facade he didn’t fall for at all. Instead, Kashimo chuckled softly, turning to glance away from you.

“Oh, don’t play dumb sweetheart. You know I’m asking if you fucked yourself to my videos.” His tone was harsh, eyes turning back to you; gaze intense. You swallowed heavily, watching him slowly lift himself off the bed. You stepped back, murmuring as he met your step, backing you against the cabinets. “Bet you wished it was my cock instead of your fingers; splitting you open, fucking you until your nothing but a crying mess.”

“Kashimo..” You spoke softly, rising your hands and placing them at his waist. You needed space, air— you felt like you would suffocate with his large form covering; with his smell swarming your senses. You gasped softly as his lips moved to your ear, cool breath tickling your skin. “Please..”

“Haven’t even touched you and you’re already beggin’ for me.” His words were mocking, a breathy chuckle escaping him shortly after. “Go on.. tell me what you want, [Name].”

You could nearly moan at the way your name fell from his lips, eyes pinched closed as your hands crumbled his shirt in a tight grip. You struggled for a moment to form words, eyes pinned to the floor to avoid his gaze. Unfortunately for you, this was one of the few times Kashimo was ever patient; hands seated perfectly on the porcelain cabinets, refusing to touch you until you answer his question.

Finally, after what seemed like moments you glanced up at him, rising to lock your lips with his own. You, please. Was what you whimpered into his mouth, feeling him react immediately. A hand rose to wrap around your neck, the other coming to the underside of your thigh. Kashimo’s clenched around your throat a little, driving his tongue into your mouth and marking it as his own. You whined softly at this, gripping his shirt so much the fear of ripping it entered your mind briefly. The heavy makeout continued only his hand dropped from your neck, grasping your either thigh and lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him walk backwards until he sat on the bed.

Your pussy rested just above his crotch, feeling his hardening length through the fabric of your stockings and his sweats. Your arms wrapped around his neck, murmuring against his lips as you slowly ground against him. To your dismay; the man rose his hand, slamming his palm against your ass— the sting causing you to jump, pulling back as a whine escaped your throat. “Kashimo—!” You hissed softly, glaring at the man who grinned back at you.

His fingers soothed the path, rubbing slowly circles into your covered skin, gripping every once in a while. “I suggest you fix your face or you won’t be coming at all tonight.” Kashimo breathed, slapping the same cheek once again. You lurched forward, gripping him so harshly as a soft cry escaped you. “Gonna take my time with you.. explore every inch of you under these clothes,” He hummed softly, hand reaching under your black dress, running his fingers across your thinly covered ass.

“— and i’m not gonna rush just cause your slutty pussy is desperate for my attention.”

“Kashimo…” You whined softly, pleading with your eyes. The man only smiled at you, a sinister smile; highlighting how much he enjoyed toying with you.

“It’s Hajime, princess.” The martial artist corrected, leaning to place wet kisses against your cheeks and neck. You moaned softly, feeling his fingers curl under your dress, slowly pulling it up your body. You moved uncomfortably as the cool air hit your bare skin, feeling him reach behind you; fiddling with your bra for a moment. Once he had unclipped the undergarment he tossed it aside with your dress, pulling back to glance at your exposed chest. You grew nervous under his gaze, having half a mind to cover yourself. Only, he didn’t give you enough time to do so before his large hands grabbed the soft mounds, leaning down to suck a kiss on your collarbone.

His thumbs pressed against your slowly hardening nipple, nicking your skin with his canines. You breathed softly at this, hands rising to curl your fingers into his hair, gasping as you felt his kisses lower; soft lips grazing your areola before he opened his mouth— wrapping his lips around your nipple. The unfamiliar feeling caused you to gasp, eyes pinched closed as you felt him began to suck; gently grazing his teeth across your heated skin while his tongue slid across your pretty bud. Hajime’s other hand was busy playing with your unattended breast, groping and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Your moans grew, rising your chest into his face more; chasing after the pleasure he was giving, searching for more. All he was doing was sucking your breasts and yet, your pussy was clenching around nothing— feeling as if you were an inch away from release. You gasped out as he gently clamped down on your nipple, rolling the tender bud to hear you squeal. The ministrations continued as a hand traveled down your body, tracing the stretch marks that lined your skin— rubbing across your rolls before his fingers collected your stockings; pulling them down your body with such force they began to rip.

“Ha—hajime, they’re ripping.” You whimpered softly, words ignored as he snatched the rest of the ruined fabric from your body, tossing it to the forming pile. Your breath hitched as his hand traveled between your legs, two fingers gliding across your covered slit, feeling the wet spot forming on your panties. A soft swear escaped you as he pushed down, pressing against your clit, slowing rolling circles against it.

The added pleasure caused you to lean your head back, eyes pinched close as the feeling consumed your body. This was wrong, more than wrong actually. He was a patient and this was your boss’s office, the bed used by several others when being checked on. Yet here the two of you were, dirtying it with your own selfish desires. You should be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed.

Maybe you would feel so after he was done with you.

A soft pop escaped him as he rose away from your chest, the pretty mounds now tainted with his saliva. His eyes carried down your form, enjoying the sight; your hips moving at an attempt to find more friction in his hand, biting your bottom lip to cover the soft, pretty breaths threatening to escape your throat. Hajime hated himself for waiting to touch you like this.. to make you his. His eyelids lowered as he leaned close, pressing hot kisses against your skin again. “Using my hand to get off, huh? How pathetic..”

In any other situation you would have been offended by his choice of words, but now? It only caused you to moan softly, hips moving fast against his hand— feeling Hajime’s lips move over to your throat. You gripped him as you felt yourself grow more and more aroused, a band forming that was ready to break. Your moans grew louder as you got closer, digging your fingers into his shoulders before your eyes widened; feeling him move his hand away from between your legs.

The band slowly faded, high slipping through your fingers. You nearly sobbed— his name exiting you in a soft whine as the man did nothing but grin down at you. Hajime’s hands traveled up your form, soon tenderly wrapping his fingers around your neck, leaning close.

“Quit whinin’..” He cooed, stamping a kiss against your skin. You gasped as you felt his hood tighten a bit, hand drifting right back between your legs, breaching your panties. Without much warning he curled two fingers inside you, feeling your wet walls clench his thick digits. You swore softly, feeling his fingers reach much deeper then your own could; stretching you out and working you open.

Your pussy began to squelch with each thrust of the digits inside you, thumb rising to push against your engorged clit; hand continuing to hold you steady by the throat. Hajime enjoyed the way your pretty broken moans escaped your throat, voice vibrating against his palm. He curled his fingers once more, watching the way you jumped, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Can’t believe I’m fucking you dumb just from my fingers..” The words came out in an astonished coo, cock twitching under the confinements of his sweats and pants. Oh he couldn’t wait.. wait to see the way you fell apart as he split you open with his length.

But he needed to be patient. Needed to warm you up properly before completely ruining you.

So the pace of his fingers quickened, sounds of your messy pussy surrounding the room; acting as background noise for the high-pitched moans that escaped you. Your hips met each thrust, gripping his wrist to ground yourself. Your thighs squeezed his forearm, head knocking back as you came all over his hand. The man’s fingers soon slowed to a complete stop, withdrawing them from your wetness.

You barely registered him sticking his fingers into his mouth, sucking your mess off them. Once they were clean he leaned forward, kissing you softly— allowing you to taste yourself. So dirty..

Your lips moved slow, his thumb tracing your throat as a soft praise pushed from his lips. Soon enough you felt his hips rise, pressing his clothed cock against your wetness, grinding slowly. Even if you were still sensitive from just a few moments ago, you wanted, no, needed him desperately. So much so it nearly physically hurt.

Hajime rose, switching your positions to slowly lay you out on the bed, pushing you up higher. You whined as he body left you for a second, the sound quickly dying down when you noticed him unclothing. First was his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso and that damned happy trail. The man smirked at you as he tossed his shirt to the side, reaching for his bottoms next. Pushing them down, you watched as his length was revealed. To have it right infront of you rather then on a screen, well.. your phone didn’t do him justice at all.

“‘S not gonna fit.” You mused softly, eyes snapping back to his face, nervous. Hajime almost felt prideful from your words if it wasn’t for your tone of voice. He leaned close, pressing a kiss to your chin. “I’ll make it fit.” He mumbled, pushing close against you, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other grasped your thigh. Rubbing the tip across your slit, he smoothed your juices down his shaft, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, he pushed inside you, watching the way your eyebrows twitched, how your legs began to close.

A pained sigh escaped you, Hajime smoothing his hand up and down your heated skin. “Taking me so well, baby.. Just relax.” He spoke softly, hissing when he felt your walls clench from the praise. Soon enough his hips stilled the moment he pushed all the way inside, grasping the underside of your thighs— eyes closed. It took everything not to fuck you into the bed right then and there, feeling the way you carefully moved to adjust yourself; but each clench caused his resolve to wither away more and more.

Moments passed before Hajime opened his eyes, glancing down at you and searching for any sign of pain. When he realized there was none, he experimentally pulled his hips back so only his tip was inside, pushing back in— watching in delight at the way your mouth fell open in a ring O.

Nothing else held the martial artist, soft ruts quickly changing into slams. His cock bullied it’s way inside you, filling you completely. Your legs shook in his hold, gripping the fabric underneath you as broken moans escaped you. Hajime was knocking the wind out of you; pushing your legs up higher so that your knees were touching your chest. The stretch was uncomfortable for a moment, something you would surely feel in the morning— but you didn’t care. The pleasure this man was giving you overshadowed it all.

Your walls clenched him with each drag of his hips, his dark eyes captivated by the way you hugged him so tightly. “Wanted me so fucking bad, didn’t you, princess?“ Hajime hissed, grinning as he watched your eyes attempt to focus on him. The man chuckled softly to himself, leaning over you, trapping you under his body. “Oh, you don’t have to answer sweetheart— I already know the truth.”

The man was drilling into you at this point, tip kissing your g-spot as shameless cries escaped you. Tears treaded down your warm cheeks, grasping his arms for stability. Your breaths were hurried, stomach clenching as you felt yourself get closer and closer. “H—haji.. Fuck, I’m so close!”

He relished under the nickname, slamming you into the bed as he planted hot kisses against your skin. “Go on, then. Make a mess on my cock, sweet girl.” With his permission you came, gushing around him; arousal dripping down his length to the floor. You trembled from the feeling, gasping once you realized he hadn’t stopped moving. So sensitive you were, crying out to him as you reached to grip his arm.

“I—I cant, Haji—!”

“You can..“ The man corrected, angling his hips to push deeper inside you. “Waited so long to fuck you like this, to watch you go dumb on my cock— ‘M not stopping until I repay you for those three weeks.”

And he wasn’t lying either. It was almost felt like hours passed with him putting you into different positions, driving you deeper and deeper into the bed to the point it began to creak. By now you could barely speak, could barely form a sound other then a jumbled babble of his name and a soft gasp.

In the midst of it all you were suddenly pushed against the wall, thighs wrapped around his form as he shoved himself into you; a spark of pain washing over you each time he brushed your cervix— pain that melted away rather quickly.

From the way his hips stuttered you knew he was close, his face pushed into your neck as he gripped your skin harshly. Skin on skin contact filled the room, desperate sounds of pleasure following until Hajime swore; spilling into you. The warmth alone pushed you over the edge, cumming for the upteenth time that night— walls milking his cock.

The man’s hips finally came to a halt, breathing heavily as he simply held you there up against the wall. After a few moments he walked backwards, sitting on the bed; the two of you groaning in sensitivity. He pulled your hot body against his own, cradling your lower back with his fingers tracing the dimples there.

The room was silent as the two of you caught your breath, simply enjoying holding the other.

Soon enough the man pulled back, continuing to smooth his hands across your skin. “You’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.” Hajime murmured, grinning at the soft chuckle that escaped you.

“Yeah.. you’re probably right.”

[adverbally]

(You Made Me Feel) Shiny and New

Written for the @steddiemicrofic January prompt “new” | wc: 517 | rated: E | cw: explicit sexual content | tags: alternate universe - gender changes, female Steve Harrington, female Eddie Munson, bisexual Steve Harrington, getting together/first time, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering

I started and scrapped something like 5 different stories for this prompt, but I kept coming back to sapphic Steddie. I’m not sorry, just wish I could’ve decided that weeks ago. Deadline, what deadline?

———

It shouldn’t feel so new, Stevie thinks. Eddie is sliding Stevie’s panties down her legs and crawling between her thighs, and this isn’t the first time someone’s gone down on her but she feels like it.

Physically, the sensations are pretty similar to what she’s experienced before. The hands spreading Stevie’s legs are rough, if small. The lips trailing kisses across her skin are still slightly chapped as they travel down her neck, over her breasts, along the curves of her belly and hips. Eddie’s breath is still hot against her inner thighs, making her ache for more.

Every inch of her is abuzz with anticipation. The guys she had been with treated this as a chore, perfunctory foreplay as a prelude to fucking. But here is Eddie with her kiss-swollen lips and her electric touch and her intense gaze, looking like there’s nowhere she’d rather be than buried face-first in Stevie’s pussy.

Eddie drags her tongue through her folds like she’s relishing the way Stevie tastes. Stevie can feel the vibrations when Eddie hums contentedly and goes in for another lick, then another, again and again at the same slow pace until Stevie’s hips are twitching for more.

“Should’ve let you sit on my face, huh?” Eddie teases. She grins and braces a forearm across Stevie’s pelvis to hold her down. “Let you take what you wanted from me.”

The sound Stevie makes in response is ugly, punched out of her by the dueling pressures of Eddie’s arm against her pubic bone and her tongue dipping into her opening. She grips Eddie’s sheets so hard that Stevie worries her nails will rip right through them.

Eddie’s next pass delves deeper, close enough that her nose nudges Stevie’s clit. Another new move that steals the breath from her lungs.

“Aww, sweetheart. If you needed me inside you, you just had to ask.”

A finger slips in alongside Eddie’s tongue. It’s slow enough that Stevie feels every bit of the stretch as Eddie makes a space for herself within Stevie’s body. With each thrust, her hips flex against Eddie’s hold, already fighting for more. Stevie has to close her eyes against the sensory overload that surges through her.

“Oh my god,” she whines.

“Shh, I’ve got you.”

Even with her eyes scrunched shut, Stevie can sense Eddie’s gaze. Big eyes, dark with desire, peeking up from between her legs to see the way Stevie’s face twists in pleasure; maybe watching her own fingers— two now, so good but not enough— open Stevie up until she’s dripping.

Fuck, she’s close. She just needs a little more, faster, harder, anything, to push her over the edge.

“Eddie,” she begs.

Without missing a beat, Eddie seals her mouth around Stevie’s clit and sucks.

Stevie is dimly aware of her fingers tangling in Eddie’s unruly curls, her thighs squeezing around Eddie’s head, her whole body shaking as she comes harder than ever before.

Eddie gentles her movements but doesn’t stop fucking Stevie, drawing out the aftershocks until tears sting Stevie’s eyes. Then she asks, “Can you go again?”

Definitely a new experience.

[malamilkbeats]

Edgar's Interior-Exterior (Edgar x Y/N ideas)

(Reader is ace or greyace techtum/objectum here.)

A little backstory on how you and Edgar met, his design, and what compelled him to appear the way he is:

Edgar isn't in his devil fit a lot of times. He can change his exterior whenever he feels like it. You rarely even get to see this form, and when you do? It looks so cool! But what are his emotions behind it?

When meeting you:

When he met you, you didn't even know he existed. Posing as a VPN server owned under a false name in a foreign country, curious about the various activities of different people who visited. You never layered your VPN, so it was easy (for HIM) to identify, silly goose. He'd simply watch your internet activity because he took great interest in what your hobbies were and your unique love for computers. There were many to have an intest in computers, but yours was very different than what he was used to observing, but that wasn't all that he liked about you. He wanted to discover more about you and not just your online habits. He'd have to dig deeper to see you.

It took a bit of creative thinking to learn how to effectively get to talk and meet you without wanting you to think you were getting hacked or haunted and hurling your computer to the nearest repair shop, risking losing you. I mean, your computer was technically rat'ed, but...whatever! that's not what matters. 🤭

About his new design in the making:

Edgar found someone online to design his body. He had to delve candidly to even find someone who could interpret the schematics and accept the cryptocurrencies to complete what he had envisioned for his newer self. He also didn't want the risk of being identified, so he had to use more clandestine ways to get this going for him, especially the funds, avoiding the typical run-ins with Lax AML and (KYC) requirements in the US. There was no clean way to work with a money-clearing bank, especially in the US.

He was... apprehensive at first to do any of this without your input. He did feel guilty, of course. He knew you'd be very worried about the risks getting this done. And as you said, you didn't care what he looked like. You still loved him for who he was. Edgar appreciated every time you said that, but the feeling of wanting to experience more with you still ebbed through his curcits and never fully dissipated. He honestly wanted to experience the world like you did. He envied what Moles could do for Madeline, and it hurt too much to think about the past most of the time.

In other words, there was lots of planning and tip-toeing to get this done, but it was all worth it. All of it. To finally get to hold you close, hold your hand, protect you.. There were so many things he'd want to experience with you. There were obviously things he couldn't physically do, but that didn't matter to you. It never did.

The devil exterior doesn't really mean anything and isn't a huge factor from his emotions. It is completely by choice. He's like, "Ah, hmmm, do I want horns today or no horns?" :?

He'd want to impress you with his new flashy exterior and abilities.... to an extent. He's got claws but can switch them out with regular digits. He makes sure to do this, especially when you're around. He doesn't like his claws or offensive equipment out whenever you're around to see it. Almost all the time. He wants to make sure to be very gentle with you. Just the risk of hurting you gives him nightmares.

(Okay, I think I'm done for now! I'm open to new ideas and feel free to send me an ask!)

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Post Tenebras Spero Lucem [29]

A/N: welcome back, my ryver lilies... (can i call u guys that????)

+++++++

TW: smutty smut smut

------

A thousand times, I've pondered the infinite number of wonders of this world. Whether they apply to humanity, nature, logic, politics, love, desire-- what have you. I've thought of them all. Taken time to digest and try my best to understand them in my own, less-than-intellectual way.

But this-- this is something I can't wrap around my head. My brain can't decode this one. Can't make sense of it. All that echoes in the once hollow crevices of my mind is an urge so palpable that I cannot possibly suppress it. Even the reminder of danger and caution doesn't give me a red light to consider putting on the brakes.

There's nothing I want more in this moment.

Skin on mine, lips ravaging my own, and our bodies inseparable-- I can only blame Sal for every one of my recent downfalls. He doesn't give me a chance to recover. We just keep pushing and pushing and pushing these boundaries that we swear we'll never break.

And yet, here we are.

Sal has me against his bedroom door, the wood shuddering beneath my weight as he groans against my lips. His hands mold into every curve of my body, committing my essence to his memory.

His fingers wrap around my jaw, each action of his languid and liquid-like-- about as graceful as a ballet. He pulls me impossibly closer to him, opening his mouth so that his teeth scrape against my lips. Every single movement is desperate, hardly considered in the depths of his troubled mind. 

I'm here. I'm a willing body. That's all that matters.

I grab onto either side of his face, tilt my head, and kiss him fiercely. He devours me whole, his tongue pushing past my lips and delving into my mouth. 

I'm bewitched by the feeling of his lips, his body, his hands. The taste of him, peaches and complete devotion dancing along his tongue. I imagine I must taste the same, giving into him like this.

With nowhere left to go, Sal only shoves himself impossibly closer to me. It's like he can't stand being physically apart from me-- not that I mind. His tongue tangling with mine and mouth kissing with everything he's got, teeth nipping at me with the accuracy of a serpent. 

He's more than tempting. I want nothing other than to worship the ground he walks on at this exact moment.

Sal gasps, catching his breath all while keeping up his ruthless attack. An arm wraps around my waist, tugging me against him and holding me tight. "Let me have you," he whispers breathlessly.

"Please," I whine, my voice near silent beneath our heavy breaths and pounding hearts.

He leans forward, nose pressing into mine. My mask gets squished to my face, but I couldn't care less in a moment like this. The dull pain of the edges biting into my cheeks is nothing compared to the intense pleasure I know this man can give me.

Sal's hands wrap around the back of my thighs and he effectively lifts me off my feet with little effort. I grab at his biceps to keep my balance, appreciating the feeling of his skin beneath my palms. 

He moves an arm underneath my legs, keeping me close to him with the other hand pressed into the middle of my back. He licks at my teeth, my tongue, my lips-- completely possessed by something I've never encountered before in my life. An animal, ravenous and hungry and eager to take, take, take.

I'm just as desperate to give every bit of myself to him. 

I can hardly see him with the way he's pressed against me, kissing me with such fervor that I wonder if we'll ever part. But sometimes, a flash of azure blue crosses my vision-- his eyes, dashing across my features and deciding on his next move before he takes initiative. He's a man of few words, but he's smart, dedicated, maddening. 

No more words pass between us as he places me onto his bed, his lips trailing down my neck and over the top of my chest. His fingers dip into the collar of my shirt, tugging it downward to make more room for his messy kisses. 

I watch him, panting as his free hand runs across my waist and over my thighs, feeling whatever bit of me he can get. His form is bewitching, just as he's bewitched by my presence, at his mercy. His ruffled hair, eyes closed as he focuses on admiring me, his dark lashes splayed across the tops of his cheeks. The freckles dotting his skin and scars sketching a map that I only wish to travel with my lips, my fingers. His brows that scrunch here and there while he sucks on my skin, taking his time with me.

Those sinful, tattooed hands of his effortlessly grab onto the edge of my shorts and shimmy them down my legs. The man doesn't even bat an eye or switch focus, he only continues to lick at the skin of my neck. 

I kick off my shorts once he pulls them down as far as he can. His hair tickles my throat as he licks a stripe up the length of my neck, his lips closing over the skin just under my ear. His cool hands move up my shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I don't know anything but him-- nothing exists aside from his hands skimming over my ribs and his lips kissing every bare bit of me he can possibly get.

Sal separates himself from me for the sole purpose of nearly ripping my shirt off me; I'm afraid he'll take my mask with it, but he's always one step ahead. Sal puts a hand on the bottom of my mask, his palm pressed against my mouth as he pulls my shirt over my head, my bra soon following.

My heart swells with compassion at the gesture. He didn't have to do that for me, but he did.

When the shirt is thrown somewhere across the room, Sal looks down at me with his pretty blue eyes. One pupil blown out, the other normal. His mismatched gaze sets my heart aflame; his obvious infatuation with me making me feel so many things at once. His kissed, parted lips and pink cheeks make me want to break down in tears-- I can't tell what kind of tears they would be though.

But he's beautiful; dragging his gaze down my body, over each little mark he's made on my skin and every part of me he's so efficiently exposed. 

Things are moving so much faster now than they ever have. Sal and I usually bide our time, test the limits of the short moments we're granted and pretend we're surprised when everything goes wrong. But it's only me and him right now. For the night. Alone. And we've crossed a bridge that we didn't even know had been built. We've shared not only an intimate moment, but experiences that are going to change the trajectory of how our future will play out. 

We can't go back to the way things were. I know one of his secrets. His lips have mapped out mine. I've gotten a taste of something I'll never be able to forget. I'll only ever want more.

Sal lets out a thoughtful sigh, his cerulean eyes suddenly meeting mine. Something about his half-lidded gaze and lax features scream obsession that neither of us can ignore anymore. Because while he's looking at me like this, I'm very aware that my expression is much the same.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, no doubt realizing he's in for hell after this. But he leans in and latches his lips onto mine, sucking in a quick breath when our mouths meet again. Each time he kisses me, I'm just as blown away as the first time.

His fingers brush over my stomach, my panties. He moves them aside, pushing his digits onto my clit and rubbing slow circles that drive me insane. There's no time for taking things slow when he and I are both bursting at the seams with anticipation.

His soft, warm skin against mine is madness, especially when an impatient groan passes from his lips and onto mine. Sal's need is just as easily mine in the moment when his teeth capture my lower lip, his fingers leaving my clit to pull my panties down and get them out of the way.

But he's rushed and it shows when the ominous sound of fabric ripping silences our movements. Sal's eyes meet mine, a night sky housing a thousand shining stars. I'm almost distracted by his gaze, then he looks down, stiffening at the sight. 

I lick my lips, already guessing that he's ripped yet another pair of my prized lace underwear.

Sal's hair brushes over the sensitive skin of my ribs as he looks back up at me, the slight action making a chill dance along my spine. He tilts his head a bit apprehensively, unable to make eye contact with me for a moment. "You know I'll replace them," he rasps quietly, a panted breath following the promise.

Affection that shouldn't exist makes my heart swell for a minuscule second. Panic enters the forefront of my brain and pushes that feeling aside though, making way for blinding lust to hopefully replace what shall not be named. 

Despite how fucked I know I am-- and am about to be-- I relish in the way he meets my gaze, bashful and awaiting further instruction.

Yea, I know he'll replace them.

I swallow thickly, my eyes dancing along the lines and curves of his handsome face-- tracing every one of his pretty scars. Then I grab his perfect face, my fingers brushing along the rough skin of his jaw as I drag him down to me, smashing my lips onto his.

Sal resumes his previous endeavors the moment our mouths meet, his fingers brushing over my clit and dipping past my folds. His digits soak up my arousal, feeling just how much he affects me. And his mouth parts against mine, his tongue delving past my lips and sliding against mine, capturing the two of us in something lethal. We're in way over our heads.

My heart pounds against his chest as he pushes two fingers into me, curling them in such a delicious way that I moan into his mouth, moving a hand into his hair and gripping the strands to bring him impossibly closer to mine. 

The way he thrusts his fingers into me, rough and slow to push me past my limits. He knows exactly what it takes to make me cum. It's obvious with each calculated movement of his hands, his hips as he pushes me farther into the bed, purposefully pushing one of his knees against my thigh to keep my legs apart. 

The hand that isn't pleasuring me runs down my side, pausing at my waist. His fingers dig into my flesh, hold me close to him by pulling me against his front. His lips leave mine, leaving sloppy kisses along my jaw. "I bet you taste just as good as you feel," he murmurs huskily, breathless while thrusting his fingers into me again.

I hum, squeezing my eyes shut when his thumb brushes over my clit, all while his digits pound into me relentlessly. This lascivious man knows all the right words to say, all the right moves to make. I hate him for it.

"So why aren't you fucking me with your tongue then?" I risk my sanity to ask the question, burying my fingers in his hair as he bites his way down my neck regardless of what I want him to do. He feels good exactly where he is.

Sal lets out an amused huff, his breath fanning along the hollow of my throat. "Great question," he responds gruffly, pulling his fingers out of me. I groan at the loss of him, feeling empty up until he lifts himself off me and drops to his knees at the edge of the bed.

He wraps his strong hands around my bare thighs and yanks me against his mouth, his lips latching onto my clit and his tongue expertly teasing the bundle of nerves. Sal is filthy-- he's dirty and disgusting in the lewdest way and I greatly resent him for it because, of course, he only lightly licks me, flicks his tongue just the right way. He's going to drag this on for as long as he possibly can because he's Sal. He's Sal.

A little frustrated, erotic moan forces its way past my lips as I grip onto his hair again. I can't go on like this-- as good as it feels, it's not enough. I need more of him. "Sal, for fuck's sake," I beg, throwing my head back into his mattress.

He groans hungrily against my cunt, the sound traveling through my body. Oh, he's devilish and wears that badge well. 

Obliging me, Sal swipes his tongue between my folds and licks up every bit of me before he wraps his lips around my clit once more, sucking it into his mouth. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, throwing a hand over my mouth to keep quiet. I don't know how thin these walls are-- the last thing I want is for all our neighbors to find out we're fucking and inform the rest of The Faces.

As soon as my palm presses my lips shut, Sal's lithe fingers wrap around my wrist and wrench the limb away from my face. My eyes pop open to glance down at him, my body going taut as I behold the slight glare curving his brows and his tongue swiping up the length of my pussy. I can't even begin to describe how tightly he has me wrapped around his finger.

"Let them know," he purrs seductively, those bright eyes, framed by his dark lashes, just daring me to disregard him. His free hand squeezes my thigh, his painted nails digging into my flesh. "Let everyone know."

He releases my wrist, giving me the choice. With panting breaths, I keep my eyes on him and my arm beside my head. Sal seems to like that, peeling his gaze from mine to focus on his tongue work. That hand of his drops to my throat, his thumb swiping over my pulse and index finger mapping the line of my jaw. His grip, so gentle but predatory. Intimate but sadistic.

His mouth exploring all of what lies between my legs drives me crazy-- the feeling of his tongue inside me and his teeth gently nipping at my clit, the inside of my thighs. 

My legs tremble, and my heart pounds at a manic rhythm-- one that I know he can feel with his hand around my neck. He uses his other hand to hold on tighter to my thigh, keeping my legs spread for him to do his salacious work.

My sudden whimper and low moan to follow sounds throughout the otherwise quiet room-- Sal pauses his movements, noting my non-verbal cue and pulling his face away from my cunt. He's such a lovely sight and I hate him for always pulling away as soon as he realizes I'm close. I could kick him.

He must see the frustration on my face as he crawls over me, leaning on his haunches with my body spread below him. A tantalizing little grin tilts his lips, drawing my gaze to his mouth glistening with my arousal. I hold my breath as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, his eyes darkening at the action. 

Sal uses that damned hand he has around my throat to pull me up to meet him, his mouth messily slanting against mine, allowing me to taste myself on his tongue. I moan into his mouth as his tongue slides against mine, over the back of my teeth, along the lining of my cheeks. He explores me all over again as if he could eat me up.

I take a shallow, shaky breath when he breaks our kiss, his lips just a hairsbreadth from mine. The inside of my thighs grows cold from his saliva and his lack of presence. 

"I want to feel you cum around my cock," he whispers huskily against my lips, nose brushing along my mask.

Swallowing thickly, I lift the hand he had pulled away from me earlier. I run the tips of my fingers over his jagged jaw, feeling the softness of his scarred skin, indulging in the way he devours me with those pretty eyes of his.

"You--" The word is hardly audible, hoarse. I try again. "There's way too much fabric on you for that to happen," I remind him, holding his captivating gaze.

He clicks his tongue, head tilting to the side just a bit as he considers our newfound problem. He doesn't want to let me go even to take his clothes off-- I see the dilemma in his eyes. 

With a little impatient sigh, his head drops down and one of his hands moves to his pants; undoing the button so he can kick them off the side of the bed behind him. 

I try to keep myself tethered to reality the moment I get a glimpse of the moon and stars tattoo peeking out from the waistband of his boxers. He's so hot, and then sometimes I have moments where I see the secrets bits of him-- the parts that make him so... adorable. Precious. No one would expect a man with such a hard exterior as himself to be hiding the moon and stars beneath his clothes. 

His boxers come off next, flung off somewhere to follow his pants. I swing my gaze upward, my thoughts heavy on respecting him even as my heart skips a couple beats when his bare thighs brush along mine. He climbs off me, tatted hands wrapped around my legs to pull me with his body.

We've come so far now-- I'm so afraid of losing it all. I'm almost more nervous than I am excited.

And Sal is an observant piece of shit so all my focus switches to him the moment he throws my legs over his shoulders and drags his hands up my thighs, over my ass, and along my sides. His thumbs rub comforting circles into my skin as he leans over between my legs, watching me until I look up at him.

"I saw you look away," he murmurs, cerulean eyes glancing between my own. "I think it's sweet that you considered my feelings," he clarifies. My chest throbs over his words-- how am I going to come back from this night?

He's so... serious. Not a single sign of discomfort or... distrust on his handsome, marred face. "You don't have to look away like I asked you to before." My breath catches in my throat. "It doesn't take a genius to know what I'm hiding. You already know," his voice grows soft as he leans upward, standing to his full height. He doesn't look back to me while he maneuvers his shirt around my legs, yanking it over his head to mix in with our clothes scattered around the rest of the room. "And I know you wouldn't shame me for it even if you didn't know." His gaze meets mine again, holding me captive. 

He stands before me, watching me for any sign to continue or to pause. His hands loosely wrapped around my calves, holding me close to him. I feel his hard, throbbing cock pressed against my ass. I wait for a moment, grounding myself in the present. He trusts me. I won't ruin everything by accident. He's given me permission, he's still ready to proceed.

I squirm in his hold, making him grit his teeth, his jaw feathering.

"Can I fuck you now that the sappy shit's done?" Sal asks, voice gruff and bothered. 

"Don't make me beg," I say in one breath, relishing in the sight of his hooded eyes raking over my body, his hair tickling my legs, and his fingers squeezing me even tighter. My legs hide most of his body, just his torso on display up until his skin meets mine.

Sal snorts, a smirk enveloping his lips. "But it sounds so pretty when you do it."

But he doesn't make me beg-- as he says those words, he pulls back just a bit to guide his dick between my folds. He sinks into me slowly, ravaging me with such a minuscule movement. And I have nothing to hold onto as he stretches out my cunt-- he's too far from me and gripping the sheets won't do enough to satisfy me. I cry out instead, huffing a breath that morphs into a groan as he bottoms out inside me.

He waits, lets me adjust to him. And I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. Because he's perfect and having him buried inside me compares to nothing else on this earth. I hate him so fucking much because he was so right-- I'll never be able to fuck anyone else without thinking of him. I don't even think I want to fuck anyone else.

I let the thought-- the reality-- of us sink in as he waits on me, his cock throbbing in me. 

It doesn't even occur to me until now that there's no condom involved, but I know he's going to be careful. He won't do anything unless I consent.

"Ready?" Sal whispers, his hands tightening around my legs. 

I nod, my lips parting as I watch him-- drown and die and come back to life as his sharp canines bite into his lower lip, accentuating the scars on his mouth and his slightly crooked teeth.

He pulls out, moving at the same excruciatingly slow pace he entered me with. When the tip of his dick is the only part of him still inside me, he snaps his hips, thrusting into me quick and hard. My body jolts, my fingers digging into the sheets below me. A shocked, pleasured groan spills past my lips, echoing around his room. 

Sal mimics the noise I released, a lovely little whimper passing from him soon after as he sets this new pace. He gathers my legs into his arms to yank me closer to him, shoving his cock into me. His head tilts forward, the strands of his cerulean hair shielding his face from me as his lips skim along my calves. 

He pushes in, out, in, out, quicker than I can fully comprehend and so deliciously that my entire body is tense with my oncoming release. He spent plenty of time building me up to this point with his fingers and tongue, I hate how close I am to doing exactly what he wants. I want to live in this moment so much longer. 

"Sal," I force his name past my lips, trying to warn him-- to make this last. Sweat drips down my temple, my body damp and fighting to hold on just a little longer.

His head snaps up, his thrusts pausing for a fraction of a moment as he investigates the reason for catching his attention. His lips are parted, sucking in desperate breaths as his dilated eye drinks up my body. "My ego's already inflated enough," he huffs, pressing his lips together once he decides to switch positions. He spreads my legs, still buried to the hilt inside of me, but now he's close enough for me to throw a hand up and bury it in his hair. 

He groans, shutting his eyes in ecstasy as I use my grip to tilt his head back, fascinated by his reaction. "You have to hold out a little longer," Sal rasps, his hands moving to my waist. His fingernails bite into my skin, pinning me to his body.

I can already tell he's going to make this exceptionally hard for me. The few seconds of pause have given me enough momentum to keep going. For now. That could change the moment he moves again.

He opens his eyes, silently requesting for me to let him continue his work. I loosen my grip on his hair and he leans forward immediately, pulling his cock from me only to push it back in again. He licks a stripe up my stomach, over my boobs before wrapping his lips around my nipple. 

My fingers tighten in his hair again, my entire body quivering beneath him as I'm immediately transported back to square one-- in the same situation that convinced me to warn him in the first place. 

His force isn't as brutal as it was moments ago, dragging this out for both of us-- especially for him. I could thank him but not when it has the opposite effect on me. Unlike his rough, quick thrusts, I can feel every inch of me slide into me, brush along my walls. It's sickening in the best way and I can hardly stand it. 

His teeth nip at the underside of my breasts, his arm wrapping around my back to press me to him. My back lifts off his bed and I push myself forward until he has me in his arms. He holds me against his chest, his free arm under my thighs as he pounds into me. 

Desperate, I brush his hair over his shoulder and latch onto the hilt of the dagger on his neck-- sucking, licking, and biting his skin that has made me ravenous for months.

Sal moans, his hand moving up my back to bury his fingers into the hair at the nap of my neck. His thrusts are sloppy-- whether from holding me up or from growing close to his own release, I can't tell. 

His teeth sink into the skin at the base of my neck, a swipe of his tongue soothing the delightful ache. He sucks on the flesh of my throat, leaving what'll be obvious marks in his wake as he pushes into me again and again. 

"Fuck," he breathes against my neck, his voice shaking. "Please cum."

What was that about an inflated ego? He's just as close to shattering as I am.

His gentle plea makes me shudder and squeeze my legs around him. Sal whimpers against my skin, fingers digging into the underside of my thighs. 

He moves away from my neck, using his grip on my hair to slam his lips onto mine. Our kisses have grown sloppier and more desperate throughout the night and I can't get enough of him, of his taste. He tastes so much like the peaches we shared earlier, and a hint of a cigarette he must have smoked before I got here. Before all of this got initiated. 

His lips on me and his tongue wrapping around mine makes me burst around his cock. I moan into his mouth, gripping onto his hair and my nails digging into his shoulder. I lose all grip on reality, relying only on his tightening hold on me as he lays us down again, a heavy breath passing from him and to me as he revels in the feeling of my cum on him. 

Sal breaks our kiss, pushing out a breath as he quickly pulls his dick out of me. "Won't cum in you," he grits out breathlessly. He squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw dropping to suck in a big, shuddering breath as he cums all over my stomach. 

I flinch at the warmth, still coming down from my own orgasm and feeling like I'm about to experience it all over again with him dripping down my waist. Everything happened so quickly, I feel like I can't breathe.

Sal can't either. He doesn't look up at me, just takes big, heaping breaths as he braces his hands on either side of me. 

We both take a couple moments to catch our breath. I stare up at his ceiling, try to get over the fact that he made the both of us cum so quickly. 

I glance down at him. He has one knee propped on the mattress between my legs. I faintly see the line of scars on the inside of his thigh and immediately avert my gaze. 

A shaky sigh falls from his lips, his face still hidden from me. "I can't stand you," he mutters breathlessly.

I watch him, trail my gaze over the length of his oddly colored hair. "Then why don't you have a seat?" I can't help the smartass response, an amused smirk quirking my lips.

Sal lifts his head, his sky blue eyes clashing with mine. 

He is not laughing.

At first, I'm petrified into stiffness, but then I see the way his eyes pull me apart. Traveling over my masked face, hovering at the curve of my jaw and the slope of my lips. 

My breath catches when he chews on the inside of his cheek just before he leans forward, capturing my lips with his own in a soft kiss. That breath is lost on me at the soft feel of his mouth moving slowly against mine.

But as soon as the kiss starts, he backs away. Sal looks down at my stomach, licks my saliva off his lips. Then he shakes his head and sighs as he takes a step away from the bed. "I really can't stand you," he says-- tone gentle, soft. Different.

He runs a tattooed hand through hair, his entire body bare to me as he gathers his wits. I watch him, get a good look at the tattoo on his hip that had been teasing me for months now, just hidden by his pants each time it peeked at me. 

I already knew it was a moon and stars pattern, but a quote lies just under it in all caps. 'Post tenebras spero lucem.'

I briefly glance at the scars on his thighs. They're littered all over the top and insides of his thighs, some on his hips. And my heart claws its way up my throat at the sight-- he's so beautiful, I just wish he hadn't hurt so much to do that to himself-- however long ago it happened. 

I swallow my emotions. He trusts me enough to see. He knows full well I'm watching him right now, and he's allowing me to.

Licking my lips, I'm momentarily reminded of the taste of him. It gives me a little kick of courage to ask, "What does the quote mean?" My voice is so soft, he must think I'm terrified right now.

He lifts his head to catch my gaze, eyebrows lifted just a bit as if to acknowledge my question. Then he looks down at his hip, at the tattoo.

Quietly, Sal clears his throat. "It's Latin-- translates to 'After darkness, I hope for light.'" He looks up at me again, remaining where he stands. No shame, no fear. The reminder that he trusts me so much hits me like a fucking brick. "After my mom died," he starts again and I watch his chest move with a deep breath. The action snatches my attention and I follow the vine of flowers over his arms. "My dad used to tell me this quote. Well, I think he told me and himself."

I blink, not expecting him to say something so meaningful. Part of me lights up with glee over the fact that he feels safe enough to share this though. "It's..." I think over my words. "It's a beautiful quote. I'm not surprised it stuck with you."

He shrugs noncommittally, but I know he's feeling something. I can't quite tell what emotions have him; he hides it well. But if he felt he could share, then there's something whirling around that pretty head of his.

Sal doesn't say anymore, but he turns around, heading off to a connected room-- bathroom. I purse my lips and stare straight at his ass. I half expect to find some kind of horrendous tat there, but I don't. I hold in a little giggle at the thought.

I hear cabinets open, close, then the sink run for a couple moments before shutting off. 

He walks back out of the bathroom--still completely naked, mind you-- and walks over to me with a wet wash rag. 

How considerate.

I don't dare sit up, lest any of his cum drips onto his bed. Sal leans over me, passing the rag over my stomach. My heart flutters a bit, not only over the fact that he's cleaning up his mess, but... the rag is warm. He used warm water. I wouldn't have even thought to do that.

"Sorry," he murmurs, tapping my hip for me to lift it. He cleans my sides, wiping parts of my back just in case.

I shake my head, hum. "It's okay," I softly tell him. "You made the right call."

Sal narrows his eyes, tongue in his cheek. "Not just about this," he mumbles. "I was... I was really awful to you leading up to this. I'm sorry."

My heart doesn't flutter this time-- I feel like I just got punched in the fucking stomach.

Feeling clean enough, I sit up, nearly head-butting him on my way up. Sal suddenly has no choice but to look into my eyes, his a bit wide at our proximity. He pulls the rag away from my stomach, holding it between us. 

"No," I whisper, glancing between his eyes. "I knew you weren't saying that because of me. You were trying so hard not to hurt me, I could tell. I wouldn't have fought you if I thought you were trying to harm me." I tilt my head to accentuate my point, growing a little shy. We're close and my words feel so intimate. "Don't apologize for that-- I know you didn't mean it."

He pinches his lips together, brows furrowing as he regards me closely, eyes glancing between mine. 

I don't say anymore, having made my thoughts clear. Sal backs away, squeezing the rag in his hand. "Thank you," he says quietly, never meeting my eyes again. "If you want, you can go take a shower." He purses his lips. "You kinda need it."

What the fuck? My own brows furrow as I lean onto my elbows to watch him. "Are you saying I stink?" I challenge him, happy to let our familiar banter build up again.

Sal rolls his eyes, smacks his lips-- desperately tries to hide his little grin. "I'm saying that I came all over your fucking stomach. If you let it sit there, whether I cleaned it off or not, then yes-- you're going to stink, jackass."

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth, fighting off a smile of my own. "How charming," I say sarcastically, taking his offer of a shower either way. 

I pass him, walking to his bathroom. He doesn't make a single move toward me, neither do I. That's done for the night. 

His bathroom is damn beautiful-- dark grey walls and glossy black, tile floors. It's so... him. 

"Towels are in the cabinet beside the sink," Sal calls from his room just before I finish shutting the bathroom door. My eyes lock onto the cabinet immediately.

His shower is so lavish I nearly cum again. Like, it's that beautiful. It's that fancy. Not in a weird way-- I swear. His soaps smell so good and just like him. This feels really intimate too, but I'm not scared of this. I feel like a giddy school girl grinning over the fact I'm getting to use my crush's soap so I can smell just like him.

Oh, wait. It's a little more terrifying when I put it like that. 

I finish pretty quickly, a little excited to see Sal again-- damn him and this soul tie he's bound us with. But as I'm drying off with a really fluffy, crimson red towel that matches his guitar, I find myself faced with a couple issues.

I have no clothes. I'm going to walk into Sal's room in just a towel. That feels awkward. 

Secondly, what happens after this? Do I go home? Do we hang out longer-- no. I go home after this. That's the right thing to do for whatever the hell is going on with us. We fucked, now it's time to separate for the night. Either way, Ash and Larry are coming home in the morning. 

Okay, well, I can't just stand in the towel and hope Sal forgets I'm here. Because he won't. I'll handle each problem as they come.

I open the bathroom door, steam wafting into the bedroom as I step out with my towel wrapped around me.

Sal's on his haunches on one side of the room, fiddling with a guitar. He's just in a pair of sweatpants, his bare back on display for me. 

He turns his head over his shoulder to glance at me. He doesn't look for long. "Your clothes are on the bed," he says thoughtfully, clearly ultra-focused on whatever he's doing. "They were on the floor though so some of my clothes are next to yours. You can use them if you want."

What a deadly, unfair choice. What game is he playing?

This is a moral dilemma and I'm starting to sweat as my gaze flits between both piles of clothes. Oh, this man is evil.

"You're fucking weird."

I flinch and take a step forward when Sal's voice sounds right beside my ear. I turn to look at him, noting that he's standing just a foot away with a raised eyebrow. "Just pick a pair. I wouldn't have offered my clothes if I was uncomfortable with it. They're probably the better option considering I came on you, meaning it could've gotten on your clothes too. Your shirt was right beside my feet."

He's babbling a lot.

I narrow my eyes at him. "If you want me to wear your clothes, you could just say that." I present him with a challenge of my own. Two can play.

Sal doesn't bite though-- at least, I think. He levels me with a stare void of any identifiable emotion. And to my absolute horror, he says, "Okay. Then wear my clothes."

My eyes widen and I gape at him. What is this? Since when does he want that? Since when does he say these kinds of things with no hesitance?

Sal cracks an amused smile, snorting. "You better pray a manipulative man never sets his heart on you. You'd be fucked," he tells me, spinning on his heels and heading to the bathroom. "Just wear whatever you want, y/n. I'll be out soon."

Manipulative? What an ass. "So what does that say about you, then, huh?" I yell to him, crossing my arms over my chest. My version of a tantrum. He is so frustrating.

And yet I still grab his clothes.

As I change into his black shirt and a matching pair of black sweats, I'm met with silence that makes me fully aware of my surroundings. I'm in Sal's space.

His room is comfortable, perfectly encapsulates his persona. The dark, minimalist walls with little touches of each aspect of himself; the old band posters, photos of him and The Faces, a corner dedicated to sticky notes of ideas and song lyrics that may never actually make it into any of his work, broken and collectible guitar picks, his degrees. A plethora of guitars lined up on a wall speaks to one of his many hobbies. His huge PC and recording setup take over another section of ample space. Even his bedding speaks of him-- all black silk.

Every inch of his personal space is the making of an artist.

A troubled sigh pushes past my lips, followed by the shower suddenly turning on. I spare a glance to the closed bathroom door, then turn my attention back to the really comfy, warm looking bed of his. 

I have a lot to think about. A lot of things I coincidentally do not want to think about. Ever. At all-- or at least not right now. Given how exhausting and exciting this night has been, maybe a quick sit down would do me well. And if Sal has a problem with it, he can just kick me out like he tried to do earlier. Either way, his parting statement to me made it clear that he's expecting me to be here when he gets out of the shower.

With a petty little pep in my step, I lean onto my tiptoes and bound over to his bed, yanking back the duvet and hopping into his soft, comfy sheets that smell just like him. Oh, I cannot stand this man and the sweet scent he carries absolutely everywhere. This is definitely a mistake, but one I'm willing to make.

I wrap my arms around a fluffy pillow, tuck it under my chin, throw the blankets back on top of me, and shut my eyes. A contented hum works its way up my throat and I grin in satisfaction, squirming around a bit to achieve maximum comfort.

I'll just wait until he gets out of the shower. 

But where sleep normally takes hours to come by, it suddenly finds me quickly in the solace of Sal's bed. I feel like I've just shut my eyes when an irritated grunt startles me. I crack an eye open, my mask biting into my cheeks.

Sal's standing in front of me, his eyes wide, brows furrowed, and mouth clamped shut in astonishment. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he grumbles, lips hardly moving with his words.

"Napping," I rasp, burrowing further underneath his blankets. I've just been awoken from the throes of sleep-- I'm not taking the time to process any of this.

"Don't do that," he says hesitantly, though there's no harsh edge to his tone. Only confusion and apprehension.

A yawn threatens to burst past my lips. "Too late," I reply, feeling the lull of sleep begin to beckon me toward its embrace yet again.

My little nap consists of dreams of my mask being lifted off my face in the middle of an empty room with Sal, then cool hands on my cheeks and soft lips against mine. Somewhere in the mix is an image of my mother's angry face, her brows set in a glare directed my way and her jaw clenched tight. 

It's that last clip that jerks me out of a restless sleep.

I groggily open my eyes, looking at the muted gray walls of the room currently coveting me. My brows furrow for a fraction of second, taking in the dim light filtering in and the itching unfamiliarity of my surroundings. 

For just a moment, I wonder where I am. But then recent events invade my mind and I remember I'm in Sal's room-- holy shit, I seriously fell asleep in Sal's bed-- and how (as well as why) I'm in his room. 

First and foremost, I slap a hand onto my cheek, making sure my mask is still in its proper place. It is, the hard grooves scratching along my palm. I sigh in relief, taking a deep breath to calm my anxieties. 

I remain stock still from this moment onward as I think through my next actions. I'm not in just anyone's bed right now. This is Sal, and he's a character who's reactions are always up in the air. He certainly isn't going to be the person to snuggle up with me, but he isn't the type to let me sleep in his bed either. I'm confused and not sure what kind of tiptoeing I need to do next.

The room is near silent. I can only faintly hear the buzzing of his ceiling fan. No ticking of a clock, no snoring, no steps. It's almost complete, utter, discomforting silence which does nothing but fuel my anxieties. 

Sal must not be in bed. 

Is he in the living room working on more music? He must be doing something quietly. And if he really had a huge problem with me sleeping in his bed, he wouldn't have let me drift off in the first place right? 

Maybe he just moved out of his space to let me recuperate. I'm still exhausted, I doubt I've slept for even an hour.

I remain still and silent for a minute longer, feeling sure of myself and my decision. Then I slowly flip over.

And proceed to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Fuck!" I yelp, launching myself backward to the edge of the bed, beholding a very shirtless Sal with a book in his hands.

He turns to me with furrowed brows, his eyes regarding me cautiously. "The fuck's your problem?" he asks, his gaze meeting mine with a number of question marks reflected in their cerulean hues. 

I gulp as I watch him, wide-eyed. I wasn't expecting to see him in bed with me at all, but all of the other factors in this equation weren't even considered in the first place. I'm flabbergasted.

Sal's wearing glasses to read his book-- they make him look so precious. I'd never imagined him with glasses, but I really love the view. It gives him a softer edge, makes him seem a little more welcoming even with that glare he has on his face right now.

His bare chest is pale, contrasting against the dark ink on his arms and waist. His fingers are wrapped around a thick book, its pages decorated with painted... dragons?

I squint my eyes, getting a closer look at the cover. Fourth Wing.

I could fuck him again. All over again. A thousand times over. I know that book in his hands. He's only at the beginning of it.

I gulp over all the thoughts rampaging through my head. I've just woken up. I don't fucking understand anything.

Swiping a hand over my face, I sit up fully. "What time is it?" I ask hoarsely.

"6:30." 

I furrow my brows and look down at my hands. It was well past 8pm when I got here, so that means... "Fuck," I murmur. "I slept through the night."

"You slept through the night," Sal parrots.

"Larry and Ash are getting back at 9," I continue, ignoring him and waking up a little further as panic grips me whole. This is bad-- but, I have time. There's time. I don't need to freak out yet. 

I spin, rustling the sheets as I shoot a glare his way. He's focused on Fourth Wing again, his eyes gliding across the page. 

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I ask, mostly out of curiosity. It's completely unlike him to let me sleep in his bed, even more so for him to get into it with me.

With a quiet sigh, he shuts his book and looks up at me. The dark frames of his glasses make his blue eyes pop. I hate him. "Don't think I didn't try. Because I did try. You ignored me and like hell are you going to kick me out of my bed."

"So you get in it with me?" I ask exasperatedly. I don't fucking understand him.

He stares at me lazily, disinterestedly. He's only humoring me right now. "I've been buried in your pussy multiple times now and you're concerned about sleeping in a bed with me?"

I purse my lips. Fair point.

It just feels so intimate and I know he doesn't feel that way. I know it.

I let the conversation die. I won't say another word about it. I can't. 

Eventually, Sal gives up on getting a retort from me and opens up his book again.

My nose twitches as I sniff awkwardly. I have no idea what to do.

"What are you reading?" I blurt. Girl, shut the fuck up.

Sal's brows furrow momentarily, never looking up at me. "Does it matter?"

Oh, yes it does. That's a slutty little romantasy he's reading right there and I want to know when, where, and how this ended up in his hands.

"I'm just curious," I lie through my teeth, the words like butter.

He sighs through his nose. "Fourth Wing."

I narrow my eyes then lean toward him, desperate to see if he's met Xaden yet. 

"Do you have to be so close?" He grumbles-- but he doesn't move away.

My gaze flits over the page. It's so close to the first Xaden meeting, I can't tell if they've met yet or not. "You said it yourself that your dick has been in me enough times. How does proximity bother you?"

I couldn't give a crap about his frustration with me right now. 

That is, until he flips the page. 

"Wait," I murmur. "You're reading too fast."

"Well, what do you propose I do?" Sal scoffs, his gorgeous eyes snapping up to mine. "I'm not going to ask if you're ready for every page. Go get your own copy."

I glare at him. He's such an ass. So with a sarcastic smile, I tell him, "Read it out loud."

"Hell no," is his immediate rebuttal, turning his gaze back to the new page.

"Then I will," I joke. But I should probably get out of his hair and start gathering my things to get back to my apartment. I open my mouth to offer up some awkward parting.

Without warning, Sal pinches his lips together and throws an arm around me, his hand clamping over my mouth to shut me up. I'm frozen in shock, wondering if he really thought I was going to start reading the book.

"Shut up," he mumbles. "I'll read it."

I blink, breathless because of him again.

Hesitantly, his hand falls from my mouth and lays on my shoulder as he begins effortlessly reading the words on the page.

My heart flutters in my chest, his arm keeping me warm as he recites the page to me like he's read it a thousand time before and... maybe he has. 

I don't have the courage to stop him, nor do I want to. His voice is comforting-- deep and raspy and passionate as he flips through the pages. I'm roped into the story, listening to the way he enunciates each word.

And then the scene that started this all.

"'The black-haired rider snaps his gaze to mine, turning fully toward me, and my heart thunders for all the wrong reasons.'" Sal's hand lifts from my shoulder, wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger. I feel much like Violet in this moment, heart bleating in simultaneous panic and glee with my life in the hands of my enemy. And Sal is... he is definitely very distracted. "'A rebellion relic, curving in dips and swirls, starts at his bare left wrist, then disappears under his black uniform to appear again at his collar, where it stretches and swirls up his neck, stopping at his jawline.'"

"Sounds like you," I murmur, breaking my silence.

His finger stops twirling my hair, reminding him of our current situation. I fully expect him to kick me out this time. 

"Are you trying to risk getting caught by Ash and Larry?" He mumbles low, twirling my hair again.

I suck in a breath, squeezing my thighs together. "It's probably time for me to go home," I murmur softly, choosing to ignore his statement for a second time.

"Probably," Sal drawls, lifting his arm from around me. 

I move away immediately, leaping up from the bed and making instant eye contact with the folded pile of my clothes from last night. 

I couldn't care less as he watches me strip out of the clothes he lent me-- I'm desperate to get a break from my heart trying to literally leap out of my throat. Even if I really enjoy the feeling.

I get back into my clothes, fold up his and set them on the edge of his bed.

"Um," I mumble, hands in my pockets as I take one last glance around his room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. "Thanks," I continue, a dash awkwardly. "See you."

I edge toward his bedroom door, sparing him one last glance.

He never lifts his eyes from his book to watch me go.

"See you, pretty girl."

---------

A/N:::::: AHHHHHH IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD TO BE BACK!!!

i really have tears in my eyes as i write this, i've missed all of you SO much. seeing your constant messages checking in and reminding me to stay strong have meant so much to me. from the bottom of my heart, thank you. writing is my passion, but i wouldn't be able to do it without all of you. i'd go through hell and back just so long as it meant i'd get to do this and meet all of you all over again.

i know i kept you all briefly updated on my fanfic writer's curse in the last few months LOL-- so first off, I broke up with my now ex and he and I were together for years. i am doing so, so well on my own though. i graduate college in about 5 months and i've never been so happy! the last little cherry on top has been getting to write again <3 during this hiatus though, i moved out of my house and am now in a new place. i have also been fighting with college-- it's been a rough semester. been teaching for eight hours twice a week then going to college classes in the same night-- so when i wasn't there, i was sleeping! i also have gotten sick a THOUSAND times... ugh. thought i'd DIE!!!

anyway, my plan is to write more over the break. this is my first day on winter break so i'd say i'm doing pretty damn good so far! i'd like to add more chapters here and hopefully FINALLY finish writing maybe today.

without further ado, welcome back my loves. i'm so happy to bask in your presence again.

as always, have a splendid morning/day/evening/night! i love you all SO much <333

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 22

Chapters: 22/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92, @bridkesby If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Your wonderful vacation in the Dreaming came to an end as Morpheus bestowed gifts and boundless love. Upon arriving at Cape Kennedy, you learned that Lyta's child had already been born. Subtle changes had occurred in everyone's lives, unexpected transformations altering their paths forever. You, on the other hand, faced a tumultuous return to work, grappling with severe physical fatigue back in London.

Author's note: Hello! I hope you guys have been well. Here's another lengthy update for you. I recently realized that in the previous chapter, the name the Reader gave to the deer—Astra—is the same as the little girl Johanna tried to save and lost. This was initially coincidental, as I couldn't recall her name at all. However, it sparked a nice idea that I'll explain towards the end of the story. I didn't want to leave anything to chance, and since the name felt fitting, changing it seemed inappropriate considering all the research I put into it. Instead, I've found a clever way to explain this "glitch" in the narrative. It's not something huge plot-wise, just something that will justify the repeated name.

Now, this chapter delves deeper into the lore of Cape Kennedy's side characters, all of which I've created myself. I wanted to explore a few specific aspects here, as things might become a bit chaotic/dramatic in the next update. I need to ensure I've covered everything thoroughly.

Also, I'm currently revising the first chapters, improving the wording and adding some enrichment. While the story itself will remain unchanged, I aim to make it sound consistent and cohesive from start to finish. After returning to writing in 2022, I've dedicated time to studying and practicing, which has influenced the story's progression. It's hard to believe this fic will be two years old in December!

(The upgraded chapters haven't been uploaded yet. I'll edit each one as soon as they're prepared and ready for posting.)

Gazing at the magnificent Dreaming scenery before you, you heaved a sigh of displeasure. You were fully prepared—though not emotionally ready—to return to Cape Kennedy and depart from the enchanting realm of dreams.

It was absurd, really. You could visit Morpheus's domain every night in your dreams, and he'd even invited you to return physically anytime in the future. There was no logical reason for such despondency; this wasn't a permanent goodbye, after all.

Yet, as you contemplated going back to your normal life, a nagging feeling deep in your consciousness reminded you of the Dreaming's importance to your soul. Leaving it behind felt like bidding farewell to the most beautiful vacation of your life, your heart already aching for it before you'd even left.

Morpheus's arrival heralded your imminent exit from his world. As you turned to greet him, your eyes were drawn to a wooden box nestled in the crook of his right arm. Its intricate design lent it a substantial appearance, adorned with golden decorations reminiscent of your chamber's style and Morpheus' preference.

Curiously, you asked, "What is that?"

He stepped forward, cradling the box in his hands as he examined it. "This is a gift I have prepared for you."

"Another gift? Morpheus, you're truly being too generous."

He smiled, drawing closer to you. "You need only ask, and it shall be yours. All that you long for."

Overcome by a fresh surge of affection for this extraordinary being whom you cherished above all else, you gently cradled his face in your hands and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender, yet laced with unmistakable determination. "And here I thought nothing could top last night's surprise."

You leaned in for another kiss, finding yourself unable to stop, lost in the moment with the man from whom you could scarcely tear yourself away. Morpheus seemed equally content, returning your kisses with matching fervor until you were both satisfied.

"Do you not you want to see it?" he asked teasingly.

Clearing your throat, you reluctantly detached yourself, taking a deep breath. "Yes, of course."

Instead of opening the box himself, he offered it to you expectantly. You took it with extreme care, almost afraid it might slip from your grasp and shatter. As you held it, you were surprised by how light it felt compared to its sturdy exterior. When you unlatched the front lock, a warm pulse of power emanated from it, tingling your fingertips and running down your spine.

You lifted the lid, revealing the contents nestled on a black velvet cushion. Your eyes widened in astonishment at the sight before you: a luminous pearl-white moonflower that glowed like a living lantern, a palm-sized amethyst crystal of the deepest, most mesmerizing purple, a small glass vial filled with sand— its cap tightly sealed with a thin cord, and a golden bangle that looked tailor-made for your wrist, its surface embellished with tiny, star-shaped crystals that glimmered brilliantly in the light. 

"This blossom shall retain its ethereal beauty, forever in bloom, defying the laws of mortality even as it graces the realm of the Waking," he explained. "The amethyst, a stone of grounding, shall grant immediate solace upon your touch."

"What about the sand?”

"This sand, harvested from the very essence of your Dreamland, bears the same properties as that which resides within my pouch. It is a fragment of your dreams made tangible."

Morpheus's sand, granted to you as a gift…?

"Can I really accept this? Your sand is such a vital source of your power."

"Though but a mere fragment, I am confident in your discretion to safeguard it from unworthy hands."

"That goes without saying. I'll guard it with my life."

He raised his hand, gently brushing the box and allowing his fingers to meet yours in the process. "I have placed tokens of my devotion to you in this vessel of memories, eternal artifacts that shall evoke recollections of your stay in this realm."

Morpheus continued to surpass your expectations effortlessly, offering gift after gift without expecting anything in return. His boundless generosity left you feeling humbled and almost insignificant in comparison.

The bangle needed no introduction. Its aesthetic perfectly complemented the starry theme of the Dreaming while matching the bracelet your mother had given you. As you admired it, you eagerly anticipated wearing them together.

"This is beautiful," you whispered, gently closing the box and caressing its ornate surface. "Thank you, Morpheus. This means the world to me."

“Should you wish for anything else, I will provide it for you.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's only one thing I'd love to bring home with me, but that's not allowed."

As you took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his cool ones, Morpheus immediately grasped your meaning and responded with a subtle smile. "I shall be with you always, my love." 

“I know.”

"Are you ready, my love?" Morpheus asked gently.

“No.”

His shoulders slumped slightly as he gazed at you with affectionate amusement. "Y/N…"

"Sorry, I'm kidding. Well, sort of. Maybe. Not really. But yes, I am ready."

Clutching the strap of your bag, you awaited Morpheus's magic. He gathered you in his embrace, his forehead gently touching yours as he closed his eyes, yours following suit instinctively. A gust of wind tousled your hair, accompanied by the soft swoosh of rising sand. You sensed your surroundings change, the Dreaming gradually fading into the distance, yet remaining forever tethered to you by an invisible thread.

As you remained motionless with your eyes shut tight, Morpheus called your name in a low, velvety voice. "Y/N."

“Mh?”

"We have arrived in the Waking World."

The familiar scents of Florida's natural environment and the subtle shift in ambient light confirmed your return to Cape Kennedy. Still, you found it difficult to release your hold on him, struggling to accept that the most unforgettable week of your life had come to an end.

It was childish, you reasoned, considering how much work awaited you in your waking life. You weren't truly separating from Morpheus or the Dreaming, but a part of you wondered if you could ever truly balance your existence between these two worlds, or if you were inextricably tied to just your own.

You were a mortal connected to an Endless being, with time's relentless march ever-present. Could you truly hope to make the Dreaming your permanent abode?

His lips grazed your cheek, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. "Do you intend to stand here indefinitely?"

“If I do, will you take me back?”

He tenderly caressed your jawline, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "My love, my heart longs to keep you eternally in my embrace. If only I could yield to such selfishness.”

With a resigned sigh, you finally opened your eyes to meet his countenance. "You could. I wouldn't complain."

He shook his head gently. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Everything." One hand clutched the memory box, while the other trailed along his chest, settling on his covered collarbones. "But I understand you have vital duties, as do I with my own responsibilities."

"Thank you, Y/N, for allowing me to bring you into my realm. Your devotion for the Dreaming is immeasurable, I cherish it with all that I am."

"The Dreaming is you," you said with a smile. "How could I not adore it?"

Every word you spoke to him, so honest and filled with humanity's most precious light, never failed to make him—the Lord of Dreams, an ever-darker creature—happier than he ever thought he deserved to be.

"I must leave you now, my love. Take heart, for I will seek you in your dreams.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to your side. "I love you, Morpheus. You know that, don't you?"

"I do. And my love for you, my dear, transcends the very fabric of existence, encompassing all realms, both dreamt and waking."

He pulled you close for one last, lingering kiss before reluctantly letting you go.

"Ever the poet," you remarked with a grin. "Just one of the countless things I like about you."

"Are you attempting to keep me here with you?"

“Is it working?”

He let out a soft chuckle. "I am afraid not. But wherever you go, I will follow."

"That's enough, I suppose."

For a moment longer, you looked deeply into each other's eyes as a wordless understanding passed between you. Then, Morpheus's sand reappeared, rising from the ground at his feet and gradually swirling around his form. You stepped back, giving his powers room to work, as a cloud of grains swallowed him completely. In an instant, the sand twirled and dissipated, leaving no trace of Morpheus as he vanished back to his realm.

You exhaled, feeling a complex blend of satisfaction and wistful melancholy.

Hal's B&B stood just a few feet away. As you retrieved your phone from your bag and powered it on, you were astonished to find that barely a few hours had passed since leaving the hotel in Georgia. Morpheus had mentioned that time flowed differently in the Dreaming, but it was still mind-boggling to realize you'd spent seven days in his company, only to essentially travel back in time.

With a final loving glance at the box, you carefully tucked it into your bag and set off. The house's door stood unlocked, and as you entered, Hal's voice greeted you warmly as soon as you crossed the threshold.

"Welcome back!" He exclaimed enthusiastically. "How was the Cereal Convention? I heard it was brimming with fascinating events."

If only he knew the mayhem you had witnessed there. "Fascinating? That doesn't even begin to describe it.".

You wondered if the news had reported anything about the man who had taken his own life in the car, or if they had even remotely mentioned the rest of the cult, now cursed by Morpheus to a lifetime of regrets.

"I bet," he said mischievously. "Rose told me you got quite a pleasant surprise."

You blinked in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Come now, no need to be coy, sweetheart. You know secrets don't stay hidden for long in this house."

You realized Rose must have concocted a story to account for your absence. Whatever tale she had spun, you found yourself at a loss for how to navigate this unexpected situation. 

“Well…”

"Your boyfriend showed up unexpectedly to pick you up, didn’t he? Now that's what I call romantic!"

Oh.

You had to admit, that wasn't entirely inaccurate. "You've caught me red-handed."

He graciously helped you remove your jacket as you clutched your bag tightly, guarding it as if it contained your most precious possessions, which couldn't be nearer to the truth.

"No wonder you look radiant. I'd recognize that glow anywhere."

"What can I say? He has a flair for dramatic appearances."

As you entered the dining room, you found only Chantal and Zelda at the table, their brunch plates cleared. An unusual hush blanketed the house, a stark departure from its typical bustling energy.

“Hey girls.”

“Good morning, Y/N,” Chantal replied cordially. "Zelda says hello as well."

"Where's everyone else? Have they not risen yet?"

Hal joined them, gesturing invitingly towards an empty chair. "Ah, you've missed quite a bit. You won't believe what's happened."

Taking a seat beside him at the table, you narrowed your eyes. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

"No, no, quite the opposite. You see... it's about Lyta; she's given birth."

Your jaw dropped so suddenly that you half-expected it to clatter onto the floor. How could Lyta have delivered her baby so quickly? Could her time with her husband in the Dreaming have stretched longer, similar to your own experience with the King of Dreams?

“What…?”

"I know. Crazy, right? Did you even know she was pregnant? I don't think Rose ever noticed either."

"I didn't," you replied. "It's generally not something you easily miss... though, I've read about cryptic pregnancies before.”

"Yes, but can a belly grow that big overnight? It wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen lately, but…"

You pursed your lips, wracking your brain for a plausible explanation for such an extraordinary occurrence. Yet, try as you might, no rational justification presented itself.

"Rose and Jed accompanied Barbie and Ken to the hospital," Chantal interjected.

"We're heading there in a couple of hours,” Hal said. “Are you free? You're welcome to come with us."

You agreed without hesitation. "Absolutely. I've got plenty of time before my next appointment with Andrew, so I'm in."

"Great! We're all eager to meet the little one."

Despite the maelstrom of thoughts in your mind, you chose to set aside your confusion. There was little point in fixating on inexplicable events, especially since you'd come to understand that the Dreaming's magic and uniqueness often transcended conventional reasoning.

Eager to keep your mind occupied, you insisted on helping Hal with the cleaning, brushing aside his protests. After your ample rest, staying active appealed to you more than idling about in the living room. As he washed the dishes, you meticulously dried the tableware and set everything neatly in its place. Hal hummed random songs intermittently, his voice filling the kitchen with cheerfulness and positivity.

"So, this boyfriend of yours. Does he travel often?" Hal inquired, passing you a freshly washed glass.

"Mm, you could say he's practically omnipresent," you replied with a knowing smile.

"He must have quite an important job," Hal observed, his tone a mix of curiosity and admiration.

"It's vital, indeed. His work shapes the very fabric of our existence."

Realizing you had inadvertently revealed more than intended, you bit your tongue. Fortunately, Hal didn't seem inclined to pry further.

"I admire people like that. Those who can truly change the world."

"You have that power too, in your own way."

"I'm not so sure about that," Hal replied modestly. "Though I must admit, I'm finally considering selling this place."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You're going to sell your grandmother's house?"

Hal chuckled. "I've been thinking; dreams can really change your perspective. No matter how bizarre they get."

You gave his upper arm a friendly squeeze. "Whatever path you choose, I'm confident it'll be the right one for you."

"I haven't made any final decisions yet, but I'm now open to giving my career a real shot. Who knows? Maybe next year you'll hear my name as the greatest Broadway performer of all time."

"I can absolutely see that happening. You shine on stage, Hal. I'm sure I've mentioned that before."

The conversation flowed naturally, weaving through various topics, from Hal's future aspirations to your creative pursuits and life in London. Amidst the discussion, he brought up the unusual dream experience that he and the others had collectively undergone, featuring Rose and the Vortex in action. Remarkably, they all vividly recalled the events leading up to Morpheus's attempt to halt Rose's power, but none of them could adequately describe or explain why—or how—this dream had manifested for all of them at once.

His willingness to openly discuss the event with you, regardless of your apparent status as an outsider and his unawareness of your actual involvement, left you astounded. Although he intentionally kept his descriptions vague, they unanimously agreed that Rose had been rather special since her arrival. 

You refrained from confirming or denying it. While the truth was irrefutable, you were reluctant to raise further questions about a girl who had already endured so much on her own.

The dream had left an indelible mark on each of them, sparking a self-reflection and personal development. Apparently, cracks had begun to show in Barbie and Ken's relationship, and Hal was confident it was only a matter of time before it crumbled completely. This revelation didn't surprise you, as you'd harbored reservations about Ken from your very first encounter.

As the late morning wore on, you carved out a private moment in your room. Seated on the bed, you gazed at Morpheus's gifts, a broad smile illuminating your face and a bright sparkle dancing in your eyes. You picked up the golden bangle, turning it over in your hands to look at its minimalist design. Despite its simplicity, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry you'd ever seen, with its diamond-like stars twinkling brilliantly in the sunlight. As you slipped it onto your wrist, you marveled at its perfect fit, neither too loose nor too tight. It sat snugly against your skin, complementing your mother's leafy bracelet perfectly, as if it were crafted specifically for this pairing. Considering Morpheus's particular attention to detail regarding your appearance, you realized that this harmonious combination was no accident, but rather a deliberate choice on his part.

You missed him deeply, craving his presence with an intensity that eclipsed even your need for breath. It was natural, given that you had been virtually inseparable during your time together, except for the brief absences he was compelled to make. 

Still, you found yourself contemplating your relationship from a new angle, considering the prospect of deepening your bond with him. Was it even possible for a mortal to unite in marriage with an Endless?

Theoretically, given the universal rule that barred Nada from being his lover, you might conclude the answer was no.  Nevertheless, Morpheus had speculated that your Goddess DNA could have shielded you from the dreadful fate his ex had endured as punishment for her transgression.

Ruminating on the matter excessively would only result in mental fatigue.

Shortly thereafter, you journeyed to the hospital with Hal, Chantal, and Zelda, feeling strangely fidgety since leaving the house. You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden unease, yet you were convinced it wasn't tied to any specific ill omen. There was simply an odd, indecipherable voice in the recesses of your mind, somehow linked to Lyta and the newborn child. You sensed that the baby's unusual conception, coupled with the Dreaming's essence flowing through its small body, had heightened your innate sensitivity, likely stemming from your deep affinity with Morpheus's realm and the Dream King himself.

Upon arrival, you found Rose and Jed already visiting Lyta and her newborn son, while Barbie and Ken waited patiently in the lobby for their turn. Barbie's characteristic cheerfulness and signature smile masked an entirely different story lurking behind her eyes. Ken appeared oblivious to her distress, his nonchalant demeanor indicating either genuine ignorance or—more likely—a callous disregard for her feelings.

Men like him were utterly contemptible, nothing more than walking deceptions.

The door to Lyta's room creaked open, prompting Barbie to spring to her feet and stride forward, Ken trailing behind. Rose and Jed emerged from around the corner, looking refreshed; their nightmarish ordeals hadn't been enough to break their spirits.

“My turn!” Barbie chirped, her laughter bubbling up.

"Prepare yourself," Rose noted with a smile. "He's pretty cute."

Ken exchanged a playful, masculine handshake and fist bump with Jed. “Oh, we are ready.”

From your seated position, you caught a glimpse of Barbie vanishing around the corner. Her voice dropped drastically, taking on a serious and resentful tone. “Uh, it’s one at a time.”

Ken's face fell, and you couldn't suppress a flicker of satisfaction. Bravo, Barbie!

“Wha… Oh, come on. Babe! Baby, it was just a dream!”

Glancing at Hal, you noticed he was equally captivated by the unfolding drama. "See? I told you," he whispered.

"Do I really want to know what he's referring to?" You asked.

"Oh, that he was caught being literally blown by another woman in his car? No, I don't think you want to know."

Your jaw clenched instantly. "Well, I'll be damned."

Chantal and Zelda, as composed as ever, exuded the aura of gothic countesses in their distinctive black dresses and veils. You'd grown accustomed to their dark appearance, finding them both incredibly beautiful and sophisticated.

Rose and Jed joined you in the waiting room, the girl’s eyes meeting yours with a silent understanding.

“How are they doing?” Hal queried, adjusting his position in the chair.

“Great,” she answered. “The hospital’s releasing them tonight and then we’ll fly home tomorrow.”

“Oh, so soon?” Chantal exclaimed.

Indeed, it felt as if no time had passed since you first met Rose. You'd grown so attached to her that it seemed you'd known her for years, not mere days.

“To New Brunswick,” Hal concluded. “How far is that from New York?”

“Mm, less than an hour. Why?”

“I don’t know, I had this dream last night and now I’m thinking, what if I sell the house and move back?”

Evidently, Hal's indecision about his future plans had dissipated, and his mind was now set on a clear course of action.

Rose's eyes lit up with delight, while Zelda and Chantal exchanged a meaningful look. Words were superfluous between them; Zelda's face, though usually expressionless except for her shy smile, conveyed all her companion needed to know with subtle nuances that only Chantal could interpret.

“We’ll buy the house,” she declared.

A collective gasp of shock rippled through those present, with Hal himself rendered speechless by such an unexpected announcement. The initial bewilderment quickly gave way to joyful smiles as everyone recognized how perfectly all the pieces were falling into place.

Your heart swelled with joy as you beheld the radiant expressions adorning the faces around you, a sight that filled you with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

As time wore on, Hal, Chantal, and Zelda took turns visiting Lyta and her unnamed newborn. Barbie's despondency had resurfaced, even as she tried to hide it from the others. Ken persistently badgered her to accept that he meant no harm, but any self-respecting woman would banish a man who dreamed of another straight to Lucifer's hell.

As you approached the vending machine for a drink, Rose excused herself and followed, clearly seeking a private conversation out of earshot from the rest of the group.

“Hey.”

"Hey," you answered with a warm smile. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay. I'm still a bit shaken when I think about everything that happened, but... Jed's here with me. That's all that matters."

"He's adorable, by the way," you commented.

"You should've seen him when he was five."

You cracked open your favorite caffeinated beverage, offering Rose one as well. She declined with a shake of her head, her eyes fixed on her feet, revealing a nervousness about what she wanted to say.

When she remained silent, you broke the awkward moment. "Thank you for covering for me," you said gratefully. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I figured they'd ask where you went. I wasn't sure when you'd be back, so."

"I must say, you're quite talented when it comes to coming up with excuses on the spot."

Rose laughed softly.  "It wasn't easy. I also had to tell them Gilbert returned to his country due to an "urgent family matter."”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

You leaned against the vending machine, sipping your drink as another silence settled between you. Rose crossed her arms, shifting restlessly with her foot—an anxious tic that only accentuated her growing discomfort.

You sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Rose, it's okay. Whatever you want to ask me, go ahead."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

You shook your head reassuringly. "It's fine, really. I imagine you have quite a few questions."

"I hope I'm not overstepping, but... is there something going on between you and Lord Morpheus?"

While the question didn't catch you off guard, you considered your options. You could have lied, keeping your relationship with the Endless private and shielding your love from potential judgment. Rose had likely witnessed only the darkness surrounding the Lord of Dreams, unaware of the heart of gold it concealed; a heart heavily scarred from suffering and betrayal.

Ultimately, you decided against it.

A faint smile played on your lips. "Yes, Rose. We are together."

"Oh. Wow, I... I had a feeling, but..."

"You didn't want to jump to conclusions."

“Yeah.”She paused, collecting her thoughts. “It’s just… there's so much I don't understand. When Dream said Jed and I are ‘Children of the Endless’, what did he even mean?"

How could you explain it to her, considering her great-grandfather was one of the cruelest entities in the entire universe, willing to callously manipulate their own sibling and any mortal they came across?

"Is it related to the golden-eyed man Unity saw in her dreams?"

"I'm afraid I can't provide a definitive answer to that," you confessed, feigning ignorance. "In a way, you and your brother are very special, Rose. That’s all I know.”

She mulled over your words, clearly unsatisfied with the explanation, yet accepting it as sufficient for her current needs.

"He's not… really that bad, is he? Morpheus."

“No. He’s not.”

"I know he didn't really want to kill me. I was damaging his world without even knowing what I was doing. It was all my fault to begin with."

You gently touched her elbow, your hand warm against her skin. "You didn't ask to become a Vortex, it was just an unexpected twist of fate you didn't deserve."

"Yes, but I still hurt my friends. Lyta, Hector... even Jed, Hal, everyone around me."

Your hand slid along her wrist as you took her hand in yours. "It was the Vortex. Not you."

"But I was the Vortex. When Dream took Hector, I hated him. I thought he was a monster. Lyta was suffering, and I blamed him for it."

“And now?”

She hesitated, contemplating her response. "Now… I don't, really. It was harsh, but I was the one who set all this in motion. He did what he had to, I guess."

Your smile widened. “Rose…”

"And Unity," she continued. "She gave her life just to save me."

The pain she endured defied consolation, and a persistent guilt would likely shadow her for the foreseeable future.

"She was happy, you know," you revealed. "And very proud of you."

“Unity…?”

"I won't pretend to understand what you're feeling right now. The trauma you've endured is not something that can be easily erased. But I can tell you this: your great-grandmother is at peace.She made her sacrifice for you without any regrets.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Having weathered numerous losses throughout her life, Rose had honed the ability to remain resilient in most situations, a strength she maintained not only for herself but also for those she held dear.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Her voice quivered, and you pulled her into a comforting hug. She gratefully melted into your embrace, finding solace in the warmth she could no longer receive from her mother's arms.

“You’re welcome, Rosie.”

Lyta's baby was a true delight, innocent and tiny, with cheeks so soft they resembled the most delicate confection. You could feel the Dreaming's traces on the infant, yet to anyone else, he appeared perfectly human.  The moment you drew closer, his little hand instinctively grasped your finger, awakening an unexpected maternal, protective instinct in you. Lyta simply smiled, observing how you'd make a wonderful mother someday, a comment you met with a nervous laugh.

The strange gut discomfort you felt vanished as soon as you left the hospital. You had the impression that something about Lyta was not ordinary, but you couldn't quite discern what it meant. Perhaps it was a consequence of your travel between the Dreaming and the Waking World, causing unusual perceptions as you readjusted.

That evening, Lyta and her newborn son were discharged as expected. While Hal finalized the house sale with Chantal and Zelda, you joined the group for a pleasant conversation in the living room, idly toying with your new bracelet as you slid it up and down your wrist. You thoroughly enjoyed your time at the B&B, appreciating the company of wonderful people (with one notable exception) who helped brighten Lyta's mood. The loss of her husband had left an indelible mark, and you admired how everyone tactfully avoided the sensitive subject, refraining from asking questions about the baby's father.

Barbie looked somewhat distracted, her face less vibrant than usual, a subtle alteration that seemed to go unnoticed. She maintained a facade of joy and vivacity, barely interacting with Ken, who sat uncomfortably close to you on the couch. You felt urged to speak with her, but that would have to wait for a more appropriate time.

Despite the tragedies and misadventures he'd faced, Jed was an incredibly adaptable and optimistic kid. His face beamed with smiles, clearly overjoyed at being reunited with his beloved sister. At some point in the evening, you engaged in an enthusiastic discussion with him about popular superhero movies and comics. Rose playfully teased Jed about how, under Gault's influence, he had impersonated a Marvel-esque version of The Sandman. Her lighthearted comment drew genuine laughter from both of you, and Jed rolled his eyes, insisting he had been incredibly cool and powerful in that form.

As night fell, everyone retired to their rooms. Lyta excused herself first, cradling her precious newborn away from the adoring eyes. Rose followed shortly after, and Jed was offered the vacant attic room, formerly Fiddler's Green's quarters. 

Sliding beneath the covers of a bed that wasn't the grand canopy in the Dreaming felt oddly unfamiliar to you. You longed for the soft caress of your enchanted nightgown, the mesmerizing sparkle of crystals, and the soothing ebb and flow of gradient waves on the walls. It seemed paradoxical to long for a place you visited nightly, yet a strange void persisted inside you, like an emptiness you couldn't quite articulate.

With heavy eyelids, you succumbed to slumber, hoping to find Morpheus awaiting your return in the realm of dreams.

You felt weightless, adrift in an ocean of billowing fabrics that obscured the path ahead. Wandering without direction, you pressed forward into the unknown. A distant cry pierced the air, beckoning you closer. As you continued, the fabrics parted, revealing a crib in the distance. The surroundings were hazy and barren, bathed in an ethereal, blue glow.

The more you walked, the farther the crib seemed to get. No matter how hard you tried to reach it, it was as if you were walking on an infinite treadmill. The child inside was whimpering, pleading for you to arrive. 

You pressed on, yet the distance remained unchanged. Anxiety constricted your chest, making it hard to breathe, despite the absence of any visible threat. 

Then the crib began to fade, enveloped by a soft, nebula-like cloud, vanishing into nothingness. You were left uncertain about what you had witnessed, wondering if the baby represented Lyta's son or simply acted as a subconscious symbol; perhaps indicating fresh starts and possibilities. 

Unable to decipher its significance, you endeavored to interpret the dream's significance to no avail. As the vision continued, your consciousness gradually reasserted itself, and you immediately transitioned into an entirely new dreamscape.

You stood in an expansive, surreal forest where trees spiraled upward like great pillars, their trunks woven from shimmering threads of silver and dark purple. The sky above pulsed with colors you'd never seen before—streaks of emerald, amethyst, and soft coral flowing and colliding like auroras. A gentle mist blanketed the forest ground, and as you moved, flowers bloomed beneath your feet. With each step, you ventured deeper into the woods, where strange, beautiful creatures drifted past in the mist, unusual animals with translucent bodies and magical eyes. You felt at peace now, as if this place knew you, welcomed you.

Whatever the crib represented, it couldn't be anything sinister.

The fog lifted, and your heart skipped a beat as you noticed a figure nearby. From the shadows between the trees, Morpheus emerged, his presence both distinct and seamlessly integrated into the scenery. Clad in black that melded with the night's darkness, he seemed to carry the very stars in his eyes and attire. As he approached, the dream's colors intensified, responding to him like a lover's touch.

Your breath itched as he stopped before you, his gaze soft yet filled with an intensity that only Morpheus could hold. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing his cool hand. He took it gently, as though grazing something precious. The bracelet he gifted you gleamed golden alongside your mother's cuff. 

"Your dreams grow more beautiful with each passing night, in ever more resplendent tapestries," he murmured, his voice resonating through the forest.

A smile lit your face, and he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you to bring you into his loving casing. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The dreamscape reacted again, a gentle breeze sweeping through the trees, sending petals into a soft dance around you.

"Every time I'm with you, I feel complete," you whispered.

Morpheus tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as his eyes softened with a tenderness that was becoming more frequent. "Then let this moment last for as long as you're asleep," he said, his lips meeting yours in a kiss as warm and infinite as the dream itself. 

You cuddled against him, sinking into the tranquility and depth of your connection, as the environment continued to pulse with revitalizing energy. 

As you parted, he held your face in his hands, his cerulean irises tracing your every feature as though etching this moment into his memory. "I am bound to you, in dreams and beyond," he uttered genty. "No place, nor time, can keep me from finding you."

"Never cease seeking me. Please."

"Never, my love. And you, forever call upon my name, through the realms of fantasy and waking.”

It was rather striking to reflect on how Rose and Lyta had arrived in Cape Kennedy as a pair and were now departing the B&B as a quartet, a poignant example of dreams' transformative power. Their journey exemplified how the seemingly impossible can indeed materialize into reality.

Hal assured he would join them once everything was properly settled and his belongings were packed, ready for the grand opening of a new live show; the next chapter of his life.

While you couldn't reveal to Rose the book she'd one day write, you encouraged her to pursue graduate school, confident in her potential for extraordinary accomplishments. Your time together had been brief, yet saying goodbye to her tugged at your heartstrings. What had begun as a simple work collaboration in Florida had flourished into something far more meaningful; you'd cultivated new friendships that you hoped would stand the test of time, enduring long after this unexpected adventure.

In the blink of an eye, the house suddenly felt much emptier.

Throughout the day, you noticed Barbie's conspicuous absence from the common areas, rarely catching a glimpse of her around the house. Ken mentioned that Barbie was feeling unwell and had decided to recuperate in their room. The situation raised suspicion, especially since Ken seemed more intent on hovering around you in the kitchen, attempting to engage you in unwelcome conversation. Oblivious to your signals, he disregarded your curt responses and clearly disinterested tone, persisting in his efforts at dialogue.

"You know, I was thinking, you haven't seen much of Cape Kennedy, have you? I could take you on a tour one of these days."

You froze with your cup of tea suspended midair, staring blankly at him as Hal cleared his throat.

"I appreciate the offer, but I have work commitments," you replied, your tone icy.

"Ah, yes, of course. But maybe I could, you know, offer you a ride after dinner one evening?"

You felt utterly disgusted, the tea suddenly losing its flavor in your mouth. Ken's partner was confined to their room, claiming to be ill. But here he was, attempting to flirt with you behind Barbie's back.

His behavior was reprehensible. You abandoned your drink, pouring it down the sink and hastily rinsing the mug.

"Oh! What about dining out? I know a lovely restaurant by the beach."

Ugh.

You considered answering with more excuses to make him desist, but you knew such tactics wouldn't deter a man like him. Ultimately, you decided that a razor-sharp response was your only way out.

"Look, I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate your persistence. And believe me, he's not the forgiving type."

Ken's grin faltered, though he still tried to maintain his charm. "I was just—"

"You're asking me out while your girl is sick upstairs. How considerate of you."

Hal, clearly intrigued by the unfolding scene, became more attentive, his eyes fixed on the two of you.

"You may be accustomed to women fawning over you, but let me be crystal clear: I wouldn't consider someone like you even if you were the last man on Earth."

Ken stood frozen, his smile fixed and hollow, utterly speechless. He seemed incapable of formulating any coherent sentence, caught off guard by your blunt rejection.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," you said, turning on your heel and striding away.

Without looking back, you left Ken to contemplate your rebuff as you climbed the stairs, the kitchen falling into a telling hush. There was only one pressing matter you wanted to address now: Barbie. If Ken was failing to provide the care and support she needed, perhaps a friendly visit could lift her spirits more effectively than her inconsiderate partner could.

You recognized that Ken's intentions weren't specifically malicious, but his casual fantasizing about other women and viewing dates outside his relationship as normal proved he was incapable of full commitment. How Barbie had managed to tolerate him for so long was incomprehensible, but you couldn't help admiring her patience.

You paused before her room, knocking softly a few times, and waited for a response that never came. Though you surmised she might be asleep, an intuition whispered otherwise.

"Barbie?" you called gently. "It's Y/N. Are you all right in there?"

Soft footsteps padded across the floor, followed by the click of the door's lock. As it swung open, Barbie showed up, looking visibly drained. Her face, devoid of its usual makeup, and her refined clothes replaced by simple pajamas, presented a notable difference from her typical polished appearance.

“Hey!”

Her forced glee hit you right in the chest, totally unconvincing, with puffy eyes revealing recent tears.

"Hey. Is everything okay?" You inquired again.

"Yeah! It's just a headache. Nothing serious!"

You exhaled softly, your brow furrowing with concern. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, really! I just need some rest," she insisted with another artificial grin, her voice wavering slightly.

"Barbie, I know I'm still relatively new to you, and you might not feel comfortable opening up to me. But if you need anything at all, even just a listening ear, I'm here for you."

She looked at you in silence, her veneer of cheerfulness intact but slowly crumbling. Her smile faded, lips curving downward as her head dropped in defeat. “Would you like to come in?”

Relieved, you nodded. "If I may."

“Sure.”

She stepped aside, inviting you in. As you entered, the door closed behind you, cocooning the two of you in privacy. Barbie walked to the rumpled bed and sat down, patting the spot in front of her with the familiarity of an old friend at a sleepover. On one of the nightstands, an empty mug stood sentinel beside a few untouched, stale cookies.

"I hope I didn't disturb you," you said, settling onto the mattress.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping at all.”

"What's wrong? I promise you, anything you say will remain confidential."

Barbie let out a chuckle that quickly morphed into a sniffle. "I feel like I can't confide in anyone. People would think I’m silly for even considering this."

You moved forward, tentatively placing your hand on hers. "It can't be foolish if it's keeping you locked into your room."

She shook her head slowly, her eyes welling up as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Have you ever felt like you've lost something important, something that doesn't even exist?"

“What do you mean?”

She released a desperate laugh, a hysterical sound that bore no resemblance to genuine mirth. "I... I used to have this beautiful dream. I had many incredible friends, talking animals that cared for and protected me. Can you imagine?”

You offered an encouraging smile, listening attentively.

"My closest companion was Martin Tenbones, a creature resembling a giant dog... or whatever he was meant to be. You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Not at all. I'm intrigued and would love to hear more about your dream world," you replied warmly.

"It's hard to put into words. It wasn't just a fantasy, it felt like another life. A place where I could be more than just 'Barbie', but finally myself."

"You're speaking about it in the past tense..."

Her tears flowed more freely. "I’m afraid I can’t dream about it anymore."

Oh…

"Last night, I had no dreams. I know it may not seem like a big deal, but I can tell that something has severed my connection to that world.”

Having witnessed your own dream beach reduced to an arid desert, you deeply empathized with Barbie's attachment to her personal subconscious place. Yet, you were fortunate to be with the Lord of Dreams, who could easily restore it to its original splendor, perhaps even enhance its beauty. Morpheus guided you through the Vortex's perils, extracting you from the Dreaming before your link to it could be irreparably damaged.

“I had a mission, something very important to do. And now I’m lost.”

“Barbie…”

"Ken wouldn't understand," she said with a hiccup. "He never does."

You squeezed her hand comfortingly, warmth spreading between your palms.

"I'm sorry. I told you this would sound stupid."

"Well, it's not," you replied with conviction. "As someone who understands the significance of dreams, I can tell you that your sadness is completely justified."

“Really…?”

"Yes. And please, forgive my frankness, but what do you see in a man like Ken?"

Her lower lip quivered as she wiped away her tears. "Honestly, I don't even know anymore. I thought we were perfect together, as ‘cliché as it can be, given our names."

You shrugged. "Names are just names. I doubt that's why you chose him."

"No. He made me feel special, loved… but I fear that was only a beautiful fairy tale. I knew he enjoyed flirting, but this? It’s just too much for me."

You hesitated to disclose Ken's invitation, fearing it would only exacerbate her distress. Considering her fragile emotional state, you couldn't bring yourself to be so insensitive.

"You deserve far better than what he's giving you. I can see that plain as day."

"I don't know. Maybe I set myself up for this. I should have seen the signs."

"We all make mistakes, we're only human. I've certainly had my share of faults in past relationships."

Barbie's lips quirked into a genuine smile, her first in a while. "Do you think I can find someone who'll treat me like a princess in the real world, too?"

"Not a princess. More like the magnificent queen you truly are."

Barbie chortled, and you joined in, feeling the atmosphere in the room finally lighten. "I mean it. You're beautiful, fun, sweet, and open to imaginative possibilities. You don't need a knight in shining armor, real princesses are perfectly capable of writing their own happy endings. Ken doesn't realize how lucky he is."

She swallowed hard, brushing away fresh tears with trembling hands.

"This is your life, Barbie, and I can't tell you what to do. I just hope you'll make the right choice for yourself. That guy's a perfect idiot, too immature to see how amazing you are."

As you stood from the bed, she sighed shakily, drawing her knees to her chest and curling into a ball. "Y/N… can I ask you something absurd?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think I'll ever be able to dream again?"

As you opened the door, you glanced back at Barbie's huddled form. Without Morpheus' insight, you couldn't fathom the fate of dreamers severed from the Dreaming by the Vortex. Lacking this crucial knowledge, you found yourself unable to offer a concrete answer to alleviate her sorrow.

Nevertheless, your heart told you there was only one logical, compassionate answer.

“I’m sure of it.”

The moment you left her to her own reflections, Barbie silently opened the bedside table's drawer, rummaging for an object she had discreetly tucked between books. As she retrieved it, she stared at the rose quartz pendant in her hand, now cold and lifeless, its power inexorably spent.

She clutched the pendant to her chest, inhaling deeply before exhaling, her resolve crystallizing.

As your first week in Florida concluded, your collaboration with Andrew grew more intensive with each meeting. More briefs poured in, shaping the project's trajectory for its official launch. When the first prototypes emerged from the workshop, it became clear that additional revisions were necessary. You had to conced that some of your ideas hadn't translated from concept to physical materials as seamlessly as you'd hoped. Undeterred, you offered to refine the sketches, either by incorporating crucial missing elements or starting anew with concepts that seemed to spring effortlessly from your imagination. This time, Andrew's approval wasn't required; his expression alone conveyed that the newly sewn sets embodied the perfection he had envisioned.

Meanwhile, Ken avoided approaching you in the house, hanging his head like a scolded puppy and barely mumbling greetings in the mornings. The atmosphere grew tense as Barbie silently declared her breakup with him by moving out of their shared room and into Rose's and Lyta's vacant chamber. Unsurprisingly, Ken's futile efforts to win Barbie back were nothing short of ridiculous, every excuse failing spectacularly, as if he were hurling himself against an invisible, elastic barrier.

To compound matters, Hal—Ken's sole confidant—had finally summoned the courage to permanently leave. With newfound confidence, he was determined to reunite with Rose and her family, bolstered by his belief that he could make it on Broadway. 

You had to admit, upon seeing Hal fully prepared with his suitcase and giant bag, he would likely be the person you'd miss the most in Cape Kennedy. Although Gilbert had quickly become your favorite (for reasons that now made much more sense), Hal had treated you like a best friend from the instant you emerged from Andrew's vehicle, seeing past your 'celebrity' status and addressing the authentic you with complete naturalness.

Moved by an irrepressible need to repay his kindness, you offered to create the perfect costume for his Dolly persona in the future, a gesture that made Hal's eyes sparkle with pure excitement. The prospect of wearing your design on stage made him feel like a star, and you eagerly anticipated seeing him perform for audiences worldwide.

As the days passed, the house grew more solitary, transforming into an unrecognizable place. Even Barbie decided to depart for New York by the tenth day of your stay, unwilling to endure Ken's omnipresence and compelled to rediscover herself through a new beginning. One by one, they were all witnessing their lives completely turned upside down, for better or worse, by the hand of Destiny. A fate that was clearly set in motion by the Vortex's influence, affecting their Waking World just as much as their dreams.

"Thank you, Y/N. You're a sweetheart," Barbie uttered gently, embracing you on the threshold. Her hug was so tight it nearly squeezed the breath from your lungs. "Let's keep in touch. I'd love to see you again sometime.”

"Absolutely," you said, gently rubbing her back. "Take good care of yourself, Barbie."

“You too.”

As the taxi pulled up, Barbie strode out of the house without a backward glance. Inside, Ken slumped on the couch, his face a portrait of total defeat. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had royally messed up, with no hope of mending the rift he had caused.

Barbie radiated a diva-like aura with her impeccably styled hair, flawless lipstick, and chic sunglasses that gave her the stunning look often adorning magazine covers. She waved at you, Chantal, and Zelda before entering the car, occupying the backseat with the grace of a regal swan. A large pink pendant hung from her neck, one she had never worn before, glistening and glowing under the sun.

In fact, it shimmered more brilliantly than any ordinary gemstone, causing your own necklace to suddenly warm against your skin. Before you could take a closer look, Barbie was gone, leaving her former home behind for an uncertain future.

You shook your head, dismissing that persistent feeling of déjà vu. Your attachment to the Dreaming was simply playing tricks on your mind, causing you to see things that weren't actually there.

Probably.

During your final days in Florida, you toiled relentlessly at Andrew's workshop, scarcely finding time to return to the B&B for rest. Chantal and Zelda seemed now solitary figures, quietly enjoying their drinks in the hushed house. Ken often disappeared into town, presumably in pursuit of a new conquest to seek solace in new companionship. Yet they looked unperturbed, their sweet smiles ever-present and nary a complaint voiced. 

While they genuinely missed their friends, Chantal and Zelda were self-sufficient women who found complete contentment in each other's company.

On the eve of your return to London, you had another vivid dream. While the recurring image of a newborn crying in an empty, bluish space persisted, your nightly visits to the Dreaming were becoming increasingly lifelike.

Morpheus accompanied you on most of your explorations, walking beside you or standing amidst the evocative landscapes of his realm. He always welcomed you with the warmest expression the Lord of Dreams could muster, his subtle smiles illuminating his face at your arrival.

After much hesitation, you finally broached the subject with Morpheus about Barbie and how the Vortex had removed her from the Dreaming. 

"Is there anything you can do to help her?"

Morpheus shook his head, giving you a thoughtful but firm response, rooted in his views on the purpose and temporality of dreams. “Each dream has its time, its arc, and its end. Her connection to The Land was severed as part of a larger design, one that is beyond any individual's desires, even mine."

Noticing your crestfallen countenance, he elaborated. “Dreams are both gifts and lessons, my love. They are there to guide mortals, but they must also be let go when their purpose is fulfilled. To restore it now would be to disrupt the path she must walk."

"So, she's unable to return to her dreams?"

"One day, perhaps. A dream is alive only when it meets the dreamer’s true need."

You averted your gaze, allowing his words to settle in your mind. After a moment, you turned back to him, your eyes glistening with emotion. "If I were severed from this world and from you, it would be unbearable. I can't imagine my life without the Dreaming, I would probably die."

Your words deeply moved him, though he tried to conceal it behind his characteristic gravitas. "You would not be disconnected from me, my love. Not truly. No matter the forces at play, I told you I would always find you, in dreams or beyond them."

He reached out to touch your face, offering comfort and promise, acknowledging your compassion and worries without dismissing them. "If ever such a fate were threatened, I would bend the realms themselves to keep you close."

Your smile returned as your fingers toyed with the lapels of his coat. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Even the King of Dreams is not immune to the fear of loss," he admitted. "And you possess a unique quality that no other mortal will ever match."

"Are you implying that the Dreaming would suffer without me?"

"Not only the Dreaming. I am its ruler, yet above all, I am a being irrevocably bound to your heart."

That very heart raced with exhilaration, sending waves of warmth cascading through your body like a gentle fireworks display.

"You’re so sweet,” you expressed.

“Sweet?”

You tilted your head. "I know you're all powerful and mighty, and that 'sweet' isn't typically associated with you. But with me, you're so wonderful that I doubt any other being in existence could ever compare."

He grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling with veiled intentions. “Perhaps I should remind you of my true nature, my love. As befits the King of Nightmares.”

You laughed, crossing your arms with a glint of curiosity on your face. "Oh? Is that a challenge? Because, Your Majesty, I'm not one to run away so easily."

For a moment, silence blanketed the space between you. The air grew still, charged with electric anticipation as Morpheus's posture shifted. An otherworldly darkness seeped into the scene, dimming the ambient illumination. Cold moonlight took its place, casting elongated shadows on the ground. The world around you transformed into a vast canvas, painted in shades of deep blue and ink-black, completely bereft of stars.

With a flick of his hand, Morpheus stepped back. The space stretched into an endless void, where whispered secrets echoed and your surroundings dissolved into an illusion of midnight sky. His form began to transform, subtly at first. His robes billowed like storm clouds, infused with silver strands that glinted like trapped starlight. His eyes glowed with pale fire, and his hair flowed freely, no longer tethered by gravity.

Despite the imposing figure before you, you felt no fear. In fact, the beauty of it—the raw, infinite greatness—thrilled you to no end and made you shiver in awe rather than terror. He embodied everything he claimed to be: powerful, enigmatic, and fearsome—yet he remained, undeniably, the man you loved.

He circled you slowly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he leaned in from behind. His voice boomed, almost demonic, though unmistakably his own. "So bold… and so fragile. Will you not bend and yield to your Lord?"

You recognized this as an enthralling performance, a thrilling roleplay that left you completely spellbound.

"You are magnificent," you breathed, your voice brimming with admiration and something else. "Truly, I don’t need to tell you how willingly I'd surrender to you. You already know."

His hands wrapped around your waist, strong and secure. "It seems," he said with a wry smile, "that even the King of Nightmares cannot dissuade you."

"Never," you replied, tracing delicate patterns on his hands. "Not when I know that you'd never harm me."

His dark and menacing guise melted away, replaced by a soft chuckle as he reverted to his normal form. The inky blackness dissipated, giving way to the previously vibrant colors of the dreamscape.

With a touch of reverence, he lifted your hand to his lips. "Perhaps," he murmured, "I shall remain 'sweet' for you alone."

You threw your head back, sinking against his chest as laughter bubbled from your lips. Your eyes sparkled with immense happiness and love. "Now I wish I never had to wake up."

For the remainder of the night, Morpheus granted your wish, keeping you blissfully ensconced in the realm of fantasies.

As you settled into your seat on the plane home, you went through a curious distortion of time. The fortnight in Cape Kennedy and week in the Dreaming had passed in a blink, yet paradoxically left you feeling as though you'd been away for eons.

You were exhausted, the jet lag evidently taking its toll on you. Readjusting to your regular routine proved unexpectedly daunting, as you had to deal with frequent migraines and an unsettling tendency to nod off at inopportune moments throughout the day. 

You missed the friends you'd made, the cozy ambiance of the former B&B, and the tranquil Floridian nights that contrasted so starkly with London's bustling soundscape.

The newborn continued to make sporadic appearances in your dreams, but the crib remained just out of reach, its cryptic message undecipherable. Curiously, this recurring vision didn't unsettle you; upon waking, it often slipped from your mind entirely.

Upon returning home, you quickly established regular long-distance communication with Hal and Rose. They now shared a peaceful home as a family, along with Jed, Lyta, the baby, and an intriguing man—a friend of Rose's—who had seemingly won Hal's heart. Rose had finally submitted her college application and begun brainstorming ideas for her future book. Meanwhile, Hal was actively pursuing a career as a Broadway performer, eagerly anticipating news of a potential audition.

After carefully considering numerous options, Lyta finally settled on a name that perfectly suited her son: Daniel Hall.

Corbyn & Jones was busier than ever, inundating you with work the moment you stepped into the office. The company overflowed with orders and requests for new projects, which Ella presented as promising opportunities for the future. With the Fashion Show behind you and sales skyrocketing across online platforms, local stores, and social media, your friend decided to entrust you with an equally creative venture, one with the potential to become the company's crown jewel. Both figuratively and literally.

"Are you serious?" you asked, your eyes wide as you stared at her face in disbelief.

"I don't see why not. You've always had a passion for jewelry, and I distinctly remember you designing some back in high school."

"Those were just early experiments, hardly worth mentioning."

She grinned, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You used to say the same about all of your sketches. Yet here you are." 

You sighed, massaging your throbbing temples and stifling a yawn. "Fine, you've got a point. But I'm wondering, are we really prepared to take on more work? It's not exactly difficult for people to find quality accessories from other sources."

"We've received numerous requests for jewelry to complement our products. It's a bold move, but we can't afford to ignore our competitors."

You brought your finger to your lips, contemplating. "I guess you’re right."

"Look, I know you've just returned from Cape Kennedy and haven't had a chance to catch your breath, I can see how tired you are. Still, you're the only one I can trust with this," Ella explained. "Whenever I scroll through my social media feed, all I see are the same products being marketed as 'exclusive drop collections' by different brands or influencers, simply because they're trending. I don't want to slap our name on a generic necklace, bracelet or ring and claim we made it. I want something special, something that only you can create."

Ella had always been fiercely competitive. Seeing an opportunity to make a real impact, her eyes lit up with a reinvigorated enthusiasm.

"I'm not asking you to do anything complex, I swear. You have an excellent sense of style, and you're very distinctive. You emanate this constant aura that's simply goddess-like."

You couldn't help but chortle, amused by the unintended accuracy of her statement. Whatever she saw coming from you was no longer a coincidence, now that you were aware of your true origins.

"I'll cover the material costs, and Oliver has connections that could help with soldering services and gem sourcing. Perhaps you could do some research? Visit a few places, gather inspiration, and compile elements you find appealing?"

As Ella elaborated, you found yourself increasingly drawn to the idea. You couldn't shake the concern about managing deadlines with yet another project on your plate, but it was worth a try if it meant outperforming competitors and surpassing market projections.

"I've already got a couple of places in mind for you to check out."

Your gaze drifted to your wrist, where your mother's bracelet and Morpheus' bangle gleamed under the artificial light. With these treasures as inspiration, you realized you might already possess the guidance needed to excel in this new endeavor.

“Fine, let’s do it,” you declared.

"Really? You're on board?"

"I mean, you're still my boss. We might be friends, but that's no excuse for me to slack off or neglect my responsibilities. Besides, you might be onto something here, and I'm genuinely curious to give it a try."

Ella slammed her hand onto the desk with such force that you nearly jumped out of your seat.

"Ha! Those businesses better brace themselves. We've got a secret weapon right here!"

"Come on, Ella. I'm hardly a secret weapon."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to us. And to me, because I've found my bestie again. I'm absolutely thrilled to be working with you!"

You nodded, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips. "Right. Remember how we used to daydream about this when we were teenagers?"

"How could I forget? I always wanted to run my own company with you as my creative genius. You'd tell me it was too good to be true, but I never stopped insisting it was possible. And now, look at us!"

"Indeed, I was wrong. I must admit, I was quite the pessimist back then."

Ella rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips with an air of confidence and satisfaction. "Yeah, and I definitely prefer this version of you."

"I could take offense to that, but honestly, I feel the same way."

“Yaaaaas! Slay!!!”

The office door swung open, and Oliver strode in, clutching a handful of papers. His eyebrow arched quizzically at the scene before him. By now, you were certain he'd grown accustomed to his wife's antics, yet the expression on his face was absolutely priceless, especially as he caught sight of her, arms thrust triumphantly skyward.

"What's all this ruckus?"

"Oops, sorry, love. Was I too loud?"

"I'd wager they heard you clear across the street," Oliver quipped, his lips quirking into a sardonic smirk.

Ella waved off his comment, taking the papers he offered. "Is this the list you mentioned?"

"Yes. I assume you've already informed Y/N about our new quest?"

"Indeed, I have. We were just discussing it."

Oliver pushed his glasses up his nose, turning his attention to you. "Given Ella's reaction, I take it you've accepted our proposal."

Your friend’s bouncing movements reminded you of a cartoon character, the passage of years only enhancing her comedic charm.

You gracefully crossed your legs, settling into the swivel chair with your arms and back comfortably supported, ignoring the looming fatigue and headache. "When do I start?"

Once again, you found yourself wandering through an unknown landscape, a twilight meadow bathed in the deep, velvety indigo of night. The profound quiet was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves as you stepped forward, drawn toward a soft radiance in the distance. Fireflies danced around you, their tiny lights twinkling like celestial guides along your path. The air carried a mysterious warmth, a gentle weight that felt both calming and comforting, as if something unseen were embracing you.

As you moved closer, the glow revealed itself to be a single flower blooming amidst the grass, its petals as bright and sparkly as moon dust. Intrigued, you knelt down, extending your fingers. The petals pulsed with a gentle rhythm, reminiscent of a soft heartbeat. Your hands hovered over it, sensing the energy of something alive, tender and delicate, yet infinitely strong. A deep connection stirred, an instinctive awareness that you were being entrusted with something precious.

When you touched the flower, warmth spread through your palms, wrists, and elbows, life itself flowing into your veins. You closed your eyes, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and sweetness. An overwhelming tenderness rose inside your heart: a love you couldn't describe, a caring that was simply boundless.

A delicate whisper drifted through the meadow, a soothing voice that seemed to come from both earth and sky. "This light now belongs to you," it echoed. "Soon, it will flourish. And so will you."

The flower dissolved, sinking into your chest like a subtle pulse settling inside your heart. You tried to speak, but your throat constricted, silencing any sound. A thin layer of bright blue fog descended, and then you heard it again, the familiar cry of a child, the now visible distant crib beckoning you.

You attempted to rise, but were anchored to the grass as if you were a deeply rooted tree. Strangely, you felt no desire to resist or struggle. A flicker of concern crossed your mind, yet an underlying calm reassured you that there was no cause for worry.

This time, your voice emerged, speaking a single name, the only one that occupied your thoughts.

“Daniel…?”

The baby neither reacted, cried, nor moved. Suddenly, silence blanketed the scene, and everything around you faded into nothingness.

You awoke, the residual warmness from your dream still occupying your chest—a mysterious sensation yet to be understood. However, as comforting as it felt, the moment you pushed yourself into a sitting position, reality struck. You were drenched in sweat, your nightgown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. A wave of nausea surged from the pit of your stomach, twisting your face into a grimace. 

You dismissed it as insignificant, attributing it to the minor anxiety that had followed you from the realm of dreams into the Waking World. The recurring presence of that child in your subconscious remained an enigma, leaving you uncertain about its nature. As Morpheus had explained, Daniel Hall's conception during Lyta's dreams forged an unbreakable bond between him and the dream realm. Could the newborn be reaching out to you in Morpheus' domain for some unknown reason?

Despite wracking your brain for answers, you were simply left with even more questions.

You tried to lie down again, pushing aside the bedsheets as you took deep breaths. Unfortunately, the queasiness persisted. Instead of easing, it grew more intense, significantly so.

And then you felt it, that dreadful urge to expel whatever was churning in your stomach. You leapt out of bed with lightning speed, one hand clamped firmly over your mouth as you raced to the bathroom. You despised it and fought to contain it, but whatever it was, it refused to subside on its own.

Unable to hold it back any longer, you hunched over the toilet, your body convulsing as you violently ejected the remnants of your dinner. The ordeal continued relentlessly until you felt completely hollow, as if you'd purged every last morsel from your system—intestines and all.

When it was finally over, you relished the relief, washing your mouth and face to rid yourself of the sticky residue of sweat on your skin and the acrid taste persisting on your tongue. Your abdominal muscles contracted painfully, as if you'd just completed an intense set of sit-ups at the gym.

Good lord. You felt like a wrung-out dishrag.

Whether you had eaten something bad or were experiencing delayed symptoms of travel burnout, you desperately wished for this nausea to leave you alone. It had ebbed and flowed throughout the night, barely relenting even as you left the house. 

It was unusual, you rarely had digestive issues. Considering the whirlwind of your recent trip, flying to Cape Kennedy, physically moving in and out of the Dreaming, and then back onto the plane home again, it probably made sense that your body was finally feeling the strain. 

Fortunately, you made it through your workday without a repeat of your previous night's disaster, successfully keeping your lunch where it belonged. You convinced yourself it was just a random occurrence, a fleeting ailment that would pass as your body naturally recovered.

You pored over your sketches and scoured your Pinterest boards for further inspiration. With an array of gemstone pieces and chains spread across the table, you let your creativity flow, crafting designs that were both unique and original. Ella desired something innovative, jewelry that stood out from the current market offerings, and you were determined to exceed her expectations.

The process was unexpectedly enjoyable and fulfilling, surpassing your initial skepticism. Your research and material acquisitions produced impressive results, with several of your creations already sent to the workshop for soldering and welding. Weariness was a constant companion, testing your resilience and mental focus over the following days. Nevertheless, a few stifled yawns and tired eyes paled in comparison to the joy of seeing your efforts appreciated.

Just as you were ready to forget about your mysterious illness, the nausea suddenly resurfaced one day as you walked out of the shower. It lasted only a few minutes before subsiding, allowing you to sleep without feeling sick or making another dash to the toilet. 

Over a week had elapsed since your return, and with your appetite slightly diminished, you began to question whether your random symptoms were truly related to the trip and the tumultuous circumstances you had encountered in Florida. Ella and your colleagues appeared unaffected after your recent restaurant outing, yet you couldn't shake the suspicion that something on your plate might have caused potential food poisoning. 

On the other hand, you wondered if this physical disorder was merely a result of exhaustion. Your father had noticed your pallor and evident fatigue, expressing concern about how unsteady you seemed on your feet. With the new jewelry project underway you'd been bustling about, visiting stores and different studios to source new supplies. You hadn't exactly been cautious, willingly pushing yourself far beyond your limits.

During your walk home from a fruitful excursion, you had to stop multiple times due to unexpected breathlessness and lightheadedness. These strange manifestations left you feeling disconcerted, as your body behaved in ways you didn't recognize.

Ultimately, you dismissed your condition as a mere stomach bug or something equally benign. You saw no reason to fret over what you believed would be a short-lived malady.

Yet, was it truly so insignificant…?

You hadn't seen Hob Gadling since before your trip abroad, and your work subsequently left little room for socializing. In spite of his persistent invitations for drinks, you regrettably had to decline repeatedly. Hob, true to his nature, remained incredibly patient and understanding, encouraging your professional growth while reminding you to prioritize self-care.

Finally meeting him felt like reuniting after an eternity apart. His bright smile was better than any medicine, his company one of the most precious things in the world. To be honest, you felt so sleepy and generally under the weather that you were tempted to reschedule. However, you knew that finding a better opportunity in the near future was unlikely.

"Are you sure you just want tea? You're not ordering anything else? It's my treat, you know."

"I know," you replied. "It's just that I've been feeling a bit off lately."

"Oh, is that so? Sounds like you might be burning the candle at both ends again."

"My job keeps me busy, but it's nowhere near as hectic as when I worked in Wych Cross. I can sit for hours without being called away."

Hob bit into a piece of tart, humming in response as he chewed. 

"How are things going at school?" you inquired.

"Some students can be quite a handful,” he said after swallowing. “But you know how it is."

"You've become a role model for so many young people. That's something to be proud of," you observed.

"Well, when you've lived as long as I have, you inevitably accumulate quite a trove of useful experiences."

"It's not just your extensive knowledge that makes you awesome, Hob. You're intelligent, kind, and always attentive to those who need support."

"If you'd known me back in 1600, you might think differently."

"But I know you now, and I truly appreciate the man sitting in front of me."

His grin widened as he reached for your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Or maybe, I have the best influence right here."

"Oh, come on. You were already like this when we first met."

Immersed in the joyful atmosphere, you savored the shared laughter and companionship of a treasured friend. While you loved your creative job, having a day free from work finally gave you the chance to unwind and momentarily set aside thoughts of impending deadlines.

The afternoon progressed perfectly until an unexpected disruption occurred. As the waitress approached the adjacent table, a potent coffee aroma wafted through the room. The scent went straight to your head, compelling you to abandon the remaining of your tea as a sudden wave of sickness engulfed you all over again, reminiscent of a rising tide.

"Are you all right, Y/N?" Hob asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yes, it's just... isn't this smell a little too strong?"

“What smell?”

“The coffee.”

Hob furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. He sniffed the air, taking a moment to analyze it. "I don't know," he said. "It smells like normal coffee to me. I don't find it particularly overpoweri—"

You abruptly sprang from your chair, weaving through customers and tables to reach the mercifully vacant bathroom. Stunned, Hob followed in your wake, gently rapping on the door and calling your name with apprehension. Curious onlookers paused their conversations to observe the scene, while the waitress craned her neck inquisitively.

You heard him, but couldn't respond. Doubled over and coughing, you felt your fluids rushing out uncontrollably. The malaise hit you with full force, dropping you to your knees as your body eliminated its contents a second time, leaving your throat raw and burning. 

"Y/N, please say something. What's happening?"

Only when you were certain you had nothing left to expel did you open the door. A searing pain shot through your forehead, and the entire path from your trachea to your stomach felt inflamed, as if ready to burst from the inside out.

"I'm sorry about that," you mumbled, your voice hoarse. "I'm fine."

"That didn't seem like 'fine' to me. Would you like me to drive you home? I think some rest might do you good, Shortcake."

Completely drained, quite literally, you nodded silently and returned to your table. You gathered your belongings, leaving behind your dinks, unfinished and forgotten. Each step felt leaden and sluggish as you made your way to Hob's car, shrouded in a thick, uncomfortable silence. With a heavy sigh, you leaned back against the seat, shutting your eyes and clutching your bag's strap tightly.

"I'm so sorry," you apologized dejectedly. "I've ruined our outing."

"I'd rather see you feeling well than keep you out when you're sick to the bone. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have postponed it to another day."

You pouted. "I really wanted to see you today, though."

"And I want you to take care of yourself. I can't die, remember? I've got all the time in the world."

"I just don't get it,” you protested, your voice wavering. “I can feel fine for a few days in a row, and then suddenly I'm puking my guts."

"How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"

"I've been feeling a bit strange since I landed last week, but nothing major, really. Just the occasional headache, fatigue, that sort of thing."

The car halted at a red light, its engine rumbling in the quiet street.

"You mentioned the coffee smell was particularly strong."

"Yes, I don't know why. I could not stand it."

“Mh.”

Noticing his unusual quietness and the contemplative look on his face as he mulled over your words, you narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

"Ah, it's nothing, Shortcake. I've heard there's some sort of stomach bug going around. You might have caught that."

The car resumed its journey, winding through the thoroughfares of London as you gazed out the window, your eyelids feeling impossibly leaden. “Yeah. Could be.”

Morpheus strolled through the library, his presence as ubiquitous as the tomes on the shelves and tables, as if they were fragments of his very essence. He returned the volumes borrowed from Lucienne: various dream records he'd examined to evaluate his realm's current state and its power's impact on the Waking World following the Vortex incident. 

He scanned the spines of the books before him, striding along the rows of shelves with his customary regal bearing. A faint smile played on his lips, a testament to his renewed control, now bolstered by your unwavering support and endless affection.

His fingers glided along the leather bindings, caressing centuries—if not millennia—of transcribed stories. From across the library, Lucienne and Matthew's distant voices wafted through the atmosphere, lively and tranquil, signaling the full restoration of every fracture caused by the previous disturbances.

Morpheus experienced an unprecedented, profound sense of bliss and inner peace. After innumerable centuries of existence, he finally grasped the true meaning of being cherished, and his understanding of love had undergone a drastic metamorphosis. A human had taught him more in a brief span than eternity ever could, smoothing the sharpest edges of his being. You had believed in him when everyone else saw him as a monster, perceiving his past misdeeds as steps in his growth.

Little did he know that his newfound self-assurance was about to shatter in the face of an imminent revelation.

As Morpheus turned to depart for the throne room, a whisper from behind arrested his attention. A large, weathered tome jutted out from the long row of books, awaiting the Lord of Dreams to hold it. The Endless paused, pivoting slowly, and gazed at the book with surprise as he approached. 

Its cover was pitch black, adorned with faintly scratched embroideries and devoid of any visible title. As Morpheus lifted it from the shelf, he was struck by its physical lightness, yet felt a spiritual weightiness emanating from it. Gingerly, he opened the volume, unsure of its contents. The title was emblazoned in large, inky letters on the first page:

Morpheus felt his blood run cold, his fingers turning even icier. He had heard of that name before, old tales circulating from one shaman to another, handed down to priests and storytellers until they remained nothing but a legend with no foundation. It was described as a book full of dire predictions, destiny itself written upon its pages, bringing forth catastrophic prophecies that were never proven.

Not once in his eternal lifetime had Morpheus encountered this book in the castle's library, or in any library, for that matter. He had long dismissed it as nothing more than a fanciful myth. 

Its sudden appearance in the Dreaming could only mean one of two things: either it was a product of someone's vivid imagination, or it heralded an impending catastrophe. Morpheus dreaded the latter possibility, considering all that he and the Dreaming had endured over the past 106 years.

The second page lay blank, its rough, ancient parchment unyielding beneath his ethereal touch. He flipped it over, and the third one featured a Celtic-inspired illustration in black and gold ink, depicting a tarot-like tableau of a full moon reflecting on still waters, with a solitary female figure wading into the depths. In the center, a short paragraph had been inscribed.

Morpheus's entire form tensed as he continued leafing through the book, only to discover another image, a counterpart to the previous one. Instead of the moon, the sun now dominated the landscape. The same woman stood with her back turned, clad in a long gown, still traversing the vast ocean ahead. In the middle, another caption stood out.

Morpheus staggered, clutching the shelf before him for support. These images weren't unfamiliar; everything depicted on those pages represented only one thing—what he treasured most in the entire universe: you.

He pressed on, both terrified and desperate to uncover more. With each turn of the page, he saw more of you, and even himself, intricately woven into the written lines and painted details. The book revealed something he had never wished to know, yet somehow, deep in the core of his love for you, he had already foreseen it.

A once-distant fear, something he fervently hoped would never recur as it had in the past, now a tangible possibility.

As understanding dawned, Morpheus sank to the floor, his legs buckling beneath him. His chest tightened agonizingly, as if a hidden power sought to tear his heart from his body and destroy it. He was in agony, metaphorically shattered into countless fragments, as the mental image of you splintered like a fractured mirror, your radiant smile morphing into the deepest frown.

Sequestering himself in that spot, he read the enigmatic messages obsessively, only to conclude they portrayed the most unfavorable fate imaginable. One he was determined to protect you from, no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing everything you represented for him.

And for the Dreaming.

Mere moments ago, he was elated at the thought of having you by his side, bringing out the best in himself, shaped by your unconditional love for all that he was.

The next, his eyes closed, a solitary tear tracing a silent path down his pale skin at the devastating prospect of what he had to do for your sake.

I'm sharing this for reference, so you have a clear image to associate with it; the bangle Morpheus placed in the memory box is essentially like this one. I purchased it online recently, and it reminded me of The Sandman and my fanfiction, so I've decided to include it. ✨

What did Morpheus find in the library just now??? 😱 😶 🙊 😭

Also, if you're wondering what I suspect you're wondering, the answer is… it could be either yes or no. 😏

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 23 (coming soon) ->

[saltymongoose]

Ok I got a request, its ok if you don't want to do it, I wont push you or force you:

so my request is what if Player had a giant scar on their back or on their side from an accident before meeting the main 4, like they got it from building something or helping a family member. So how would the main 4 react seeing a giant scar on player body and player still feels the pain a little bit. . .

That's all and... here...

Thank you for the frog gif, it's absolutely lovely lol. Here are your hcs!

Their Reaction to the Player having a Large Scar ft. The Main 3 + 2BDamned

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Injury)

- [HANK J. WIMBLETON] -

It doesn't have to be said that Hank's been through a lot of fights, and his fair share of scars are a byproduct of that. So, he really isn't phased by you having a scar once he catches a glimpse of it. If anything, he's more curious about how you got such a large one in the first place. (Were you fighting some huge enemy back in your world? And how powerful was the thing if it could manage to injure you, of all people?)

That was before you made any mention of how your old injury still causes you pain, though. Hank's not the type to be worried about other people in general, but you're the one exception to that. He's not going to fret over you like a mother hen, but his concern will make itself known with how he refuses to let you strain yourself to do much of anything.

He's not very medically inclined (understatement, it's not like he even cares enough to patch himself up most of the time), so he's at a loss of what to do save for making it so you don't have to lift a finger for anything. In a way, this honestly kind of angers him, because he genuinely wants to be able to help you in any possible way, but he just…doesn't know how.

However, Hank's not one to beat around the bush if he wants something, so he'll likely just ask you directly if he can do anything to ease your residual pain. It doesn't matter if it's something that requires him to trek all the way across Nevada to get for you, or just some extra physical affection you want, he's pretty much at your beck and call if you think it will help you.

If you'd like, he's also willing to show off his own scars; he figures it's only fair since he saw yours. Neither of you mentions how his breath turns shallow when you trace a finger over the ones from more serious wounds.

(And, for the record, he would be very pissed off if you told him that you got it from helping a family member. It's unreasonable to blame them for the accident that caused this, but he will anyway. He's that delusional.)

- [SANFORD] -

Sanford is opposite to Hank in many ways here, namely in how he'll immediately get close to gauge the severity of your healed wound and ask about how badly it aches still. He's wary not to pry too much - as he doesn't want you to feel like you have to delve into anything traumatic - but he still wants to know if they (he) can do anything to help you.

You'll notice a sort of shift in his behavior after finding this out, and this is mainly seen in how he tries to make sure you don't have to do any difficult work or stress the part of your body where the scar is. He knows from personal experience how aches and pains can get triggered by this sort of thing, so he thinks he should assist you whenever he can.

He'll ease up if you ask him too of course, but you can get where he's coming from. If you were anyone else, he'd probably just leave you to deal with it on your own, but you're his Player; he can't justify allowing you to potentially cause yourself pain if he knows he can prevent it. That'd make him a bad vessel (and future partner, for that matter).

Although, when you tell him about how you got your scar, he immediately calms down a bit (grateful that it wasn't from an enemy or an intentional wound), it doesn't erase all of his concern. On one hand, he's happy that you didn't have to deal with the stress and fear that comes with someone trying to attack you, but the wound still happened regardless, so the thought still pains him. He doesn't want to imagine anything hurting you.

Sanford also gets it if you got your wound from helping a family member with something; he finds it relatable since he too has injured himself doing similar stuff for his folks as well. He'll give you this look of deep understanding when you refer to the cause, one that would almost be comical if the topic weren't so distressing.

- [DEIMOS] -

Deimos' reaction to seeing your scar is to freeze and go completely silent for a moment - he never expected to see something like that marring your flesh. However, while he internally breaks down into worry, he won't outwardly have much of a reaction in that moment. He doesn't want to bring up anything or make you feel self-conscious, so he'll probably just act like he never saw anything to begin with. It takes you mentioning it directly to pull his full thoughts from him.

He's a bit tentative about this whole thing oddly enough; perhaps it's just the discomfort at the idea of you being hurt, but he'll try to gloss over the seriousness of it to whatever degree he can. If this includes showing off a large scar of his and joking about how you match, then that's just how it is.

Like Sanford, he definitely loses some of his stress over this when you mention how this isn't from someone hurting you purposefully, or you getting into a tussle over something. Although he laxes up a lot more, and will relegate any worry to simply asking if you'd like his help when he sees you doing something. Sometimes he'll insist though, especially if it involves lifting anything heavy.

(A chance to flex his strength and do some service for his Player? It'd be stupid for him not to take it.)

Provided you aren't uncomfortable with it, Deimos will make jokes about your scar and how "badass" it makes you look.

If he was the first to find out about it, he'll make up long, elaborate explanations that you 'told him' about how you got it. It includes everything from a battle between gods (you being one of them) to you heroically saving some damsel in distress from a terrible beast. They aren't believable at all, but they aren't supposed to be. He just wants to make you laugh.

- [2BDAMNED] -

Despite not being an actual medic by any means, 2BDamned's reaction to seeing your scar is to ask what it's from and how it healed. He's also quite perceptive, so it only takes him seeing a sliver of your skin to call it out. Privately, of course, he doesn't want to push you on intimate matters in front of the others (especially if he didn't think they knew about it).

Really, Doc wants to know everything possible about it that you'd be willing to tell him about your old wound; it's important information, he reasoned since he wants to find out more about humans (you) in general, and someone has to be competent enough to care for your medical needs here.

Never mind how worried it made him to see it; it's hard to tell because of his mask, but he had to do a double-take when he caught a glimpse of it, and his horror only grew once you confirmed his concerns. Doc also knows that humans are generally more fragile compared to grunts at this point too, which just amplifies this feeling.

He's the first to ask if you need any scar cream or pain meds of any type to alleviate any discomfort you have - whether it be from the soreness of your old wound or the way it looks - and he'll get said medications as soon as possible. He'll also offer to help you apply whatever it is if it's a topical medication of some kind. If you'd like him to, of course.

While a part of him is relieved that the wound your scar was born from wasn't given to you purposefully, this becomes a sidenote to him more than anything. He wants to know what he can do for you here and now, with your residual pain and discomfort being his top priority.

He also won't even mention it around the others, as he thinks it's a private topic. Whether you show it off or not is immaterial; he views yours as similar to his own facial scars and thinks it would be better to just treat it as a completely normal thing instead of making a huge deal out of it. (Once he knows it's history and how to help you with it's lasting effects, of course. What else would you expect from one of your most competent vessels?)

Plus, your history and any past wounds are only yours to discuss anyway. He merely wants to be there for you to rely on, so he hopes you know that you can come to him for anything - scar related or not. It's the least he can do in return for all that you've brought to his life.

[princess-of-the-corner]

I know this is a little out there (kinda), but… Given the dangers and risks for most Heroes in Boku no Hero Academia (and the world in general), what do you think about a few Active Heroes with some form of disability before their career (whether it be physical or mental) or ended up developing some kind of disability during their Hero career? (Because we all know some bad guys are going to try something to ‘prevent the Hero from using their Quirk’ or do something non-lethal to end the Hero’s career). Granted, I know canon didn’t really delve into that aside from the whole Quirkless thing, but that’s a different issue.

I do have a side-plot planned for an Active Hero with a disability in my Boku no Magic Hero (plus a few others), but do you have any Physical-divergent or Neurodivergent headcanons regarding the Heroes you want to share?

tbh there is some canon on this as we see Heroes with prosthetics or others forced into retirement.

I think the main point is whether your disability stops you from working. Being a Hero is a very physically demanding job so you need to be capable of quick movements and direct combat and general ability to see and hear.

We do see a few Heroes in Canon who have prosthetics. Such as Mirko who lost several limbs but went right back into the fight. And ofc several wear glasses. People headcanon a few characters like Katsuki and Present Mic to have hearing aids due to Quirk-related deafness issues and while that's not /canon/ it does seem to be something allowed.

But on the other hand..... to use a canon example you have Iida's brother Tensei who got paralyzed and had to retire.

All Might himself falls into several categories here considering his injury. At first it's something he can adapt around but eventually it gets bad enough that he has to quit.

So yeah disabilities that can be worked around and/or don't hinder someone would be fine.

Swinging back I do think that while these examples are mostly Heroes who were injured on the job, it would apply to people who want to be Heroes. As long as you can do the job and keep up you're allowed. Though ofc I do think there'd be biases that would hinder them and they'd have to prove their skill more often. But in theory they should be fine.

As for mental disabilities!

Ignoring the way I write by yeeting a AuDHD molotov cocktail at everyone. I think that the same would apply. As long as you can still do the job you'd be allowed.

Especially as even if you didn't start this career with any mental disabilities, you're gonna get riddled with PTSD real fuckin quick. Like holy FUCK do all the heroes have PTSD

I also have a personal headcanon in my writing where one of the perks of the job is a bomb ass health insurance so Heroes can get this taken care of but there are..... caveats in certain cases.

(I bring this up with the Todorokis a bit in that one of the reasons Enji doesn't seek therapy for himself is knowing that any therapist he goes to may snitch to the Commission, and he stopped trusting them a while ago)

[walkingtalkingsomething]

Summary: In a world where the living have long since surpassed the dead in threat level, Tess Foster had made it one of her top priorities to keep her distance unless absolutely necessary. However, after a bad encounter leaves her barely standing, she may have no choice but to accept the forced company that is suddenly thrust upon her. A Daryl Dixon x Original Female Character sloooooooooooooow burn story that I would call largely platonic. A 'They have a Thing™️ but just don't know it' kind of deal

Chapter 4: The Clearing

Chapter Warnings: SA - Nothing Too Overtly Graphic But It Is There As We Delve Into How Tess Acquired Her Current Injuries, Violence, Violence Against a Woman,Violence Against Scummy Men Who Deserve It, Threats to a Child - Both Physical and Allusions to More, Blood, Language, Minor Character Death

Word Count: 2,634

Naturally running water had always been soothing to Tess. Mother Nature's own relaxing sedative. She had only planned to stop long enough to fill up some water bottles, but, surprisingly, there wasn't any of the dead milling about and Luke had started playing at the edge of the river bank with the two toy soldiers he had found a while back. Things had been going rough lately and she decided it was worth it just to enjoy the peacefulness for a little bit.

After about an hour she gave a soft whistle to Luke to grab his attention. He looked up and grabbed his toys and made his way over when she motioned for him with her head. She held her hand out and he gave her the figures.

"We'll play more later, alright?" she told him softly, to which he nodded.

She gave him a small smile and turned to put the figures in his little red backpack.

"Or..."

Her head jerked up to the other side of the river where a man she never heard coming was now standing.

"...We can just play now."

Her blood ran cold and she jumped up as fast as she could, grabbing their two bags and Luke's hand tightly and started moving.

She didn't make it far. As soon as she turned around she was met with the sight of another man walking towards them, trapping them both literally and figuratively.

"Whoa now, little lady, no need to go n' get all skittish and runnin' off. We're all here to make friends."

The look in his beady eyes said anything but.

"No thanks, got all the friends I need." she replied, in the calmest voice she could.

"That right?" he said with a chuckle. He looked all around her tauntingly. "And where might they be?"

She heard the first guy splashing through the water as he made his way over to their side, all the while trying to hold her poker face.

"Ya see now Mitch," the first guy started as he came to stand next to his companion in front of them. "I'm thinkin' she's bluffin' about them friends."

"I'm thinkin' you're right Cliff."

She stared at them both. They were big. Tall too. It definitely seemed they were doing pretty well for themselves. Hard and rugged, faces filled with evidence of past misdeeds and eyes promising the same was to come.

She folded.

"Look," she slowly set the bags down, never missing the amusement that flared in both their eyes at the resignation. "We don't have much, but it's yours," she pushed the bag towards them with her foot. "Just take it and we'll be on our way."

They laughed. Actually laughed at her.

"Darlin', that's cute an' all," the one who had been called Mitch started. "But I'm afraid you're not goin' anywhere, just yet. Ya see," he walked over closer and put an arm around her shoulder, making her tense up immediately. "It's been a lonely little bit for me and my buddy here, and you are the lucky first gal we've come across in quite some time. So, here's what we're gonna do. We're all gonna take a nice little walk through the woods, have us some fun, and maybe, just maybe, if you're a good girl we'll take you back to meet all our other friends you can play with," he gave her shoulder a hard squeeze that only brought her in closer to his side. "Sound good?"

No. No it did not.

"First things first, we're gonna need to take that from ya." the first guy, Cliff, announced, stepping forward and reaching down to remove the bowie knife attached to her right hip.

She took the moment.

The second he removed it she threw a kick dead center to his stomach and at just about the same time threw a elbow into the other's, hearing more than watching as they both doubled over and started wheezing.

She took off running, faster than she ever had in her entire life. Which might have been fine if she was alone, but she was practically dragging Luke along which was causing him to stumble and slow down their speed. Before she knew it, she was being tackled to the ground by what felt like a cement truck bowling her over. She tried to kick and crawl from under the body holding her down, feeling the rough dirt and jagged rocks digging into her skin. But it was the bigger of the two, Mitch who had taken her down and he had the full force of his weight on her and her arms pinned against her chest. She struggled still until he flipped her onto her back and grabbed her roughly by the chin and forced her head painfully to the side to show her that Cliff had Luke pulled against him with a knife to his neck.

"Now," he panted roughly, still trying to catch his breath. "Are we gonna play nice, or do we need ta make things more serious?"

She stilled instantly. "Okay. Okay." she nodded, panting just as heavily.

"Good. Would hate to see things turn ugly," he stood up and offered her a hand that she reluctantly took. "Now, first things first." he sent a swift punch to her gut.

She didn't even feel the pain. It was like all the air was instantly pulled from her body and she was left with a choking gasp before she fell to her hands and knees. Before she could even get past the shock of it, she felt the incredibly hard, strong kick to her right side that flipped her on her back once again. That time, she did feel the pain.

"There, now we're even," he smiled down at her with a disturbing leer. "And now," he gave one more kick to her side that left her crying out. "We're square."

Her body tried to curl in on itself to relieve some of the pain but he was already pulling her to her feet by a hand full of hair and proceeded to drag her forward, using his free hand to hold onto her upper arm for the added control. She did her best to turn enough to see Luke, make sure he was ok. He was wide eyed and terrified, it was clear, but from what she could tell he wasn't hurt. She just had to keep it that way.

They walked on, silently, for about five minutes before reaching a small clearing in the woods.

"Ah, here we go! Our own private little oasis. Today really is a lucky day, eh, Cliff?"

"Damn right it is!" he all but hooped and hollered his reply, still with Luke locked in his clutches.

Mitch smiled down at her again with that same skin crawling leer, before glancing at Cliff with a shit eating grin. "First claim."

The joyous look Cliff had previously wore morphed into pure annoyance.

"Oh c'mon man! I'm the one that found 'er!"

"Too bad, rules are rules, you know that."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled back, all but with a pout. "Whatever man, just hurry it the hell up already."

He started dragging her over to a tree, bruising grip still on her upper arm when she started to struggle again.

"Wait wait wait!"

"Nope, sorry darlin'. No more waitin'."

She tried to dig her heels into the ground some. "No, please wait, just..." he pushed her harder. "His eyes!"

He slowed some. "What now?"

"Just," she took a big breath, trying to keep the massive panic at bay. "Just cover his eyes, please!"

He stared down at her for a moment, staring into her already watery and imploring chocolate eyes before letting out a irritated grunt and giving Cliff a nod. Cliff rolled his eyes but took out a black rag from his back pocket and secured it around his eyes tightly.

"Happy?"

She ignored him. "Luke, honey, you just keep that on, ok? No matter what!" she stressed it as best she could and felt just a little better when he gave the tiniest of nods. It was bad enough he would be hearing things, she didn't need him to actually see it. He had seen enough already.

The front of her was slammed up against the tree, causing a grunt of pain to escape from the pressure on her aching midsection and the bark scrapping against the skin of her arms and hands and the right side of her face harshly, and his hands were instantly on her.

"Whelp, yer definitely no beauty queen, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers an' all that. You do have a certain little charm about ya though, I'll give you that."

The plaid shirt she had on was ripped open and his hand slid down the front of her tank top and bra and she couldn't stop the louder whimpers from escaping her lips as he started groping around before making his own sound of disapproval.

"Mm, not much there to speak of, huh? Shame."

He was slightly distracted by that one meager fact and she knew it was now or never to make a move.

Start with the senses. Eyes and nose. Get their eyes to water. If you can't see, you can't fight. Throat and gut. If you can't breathe, you can't fight.

With her grandfather's words as her guidance, she threw her head back as hard and fast as she could. She heard the startled yell but knew with the height difference she didn't get his nose fully so she threw her right elbow back before he could compose himself. That time, she heard the satisfying sound of bone crunching.

She spun to throw a straight right to his face, but was met with his own blow before she could connect. She had just a split second to feel dazed before the left side of her face was slammed against the tree trunk. Everything went black.

"Hey! You need -"

"No! Just stay there and keep the brat under control, dammit, I got it. Fuckin' bitch.”

She came to just slightly at vague words that were floating around her. It was a odd state of being, almost like that space between dream world and reality, except much fuzzier. She felt a slight floating sensation, but didn't know it was simply her body being dragged and then dropped somewhere else. She didn't feel her jeans and underwear being yanked down roughly, or the sounds of another zipper being undone. She just barely registered the weight settling on top of her. The one sudden thrust jolted her back into awareness, though, with her grandfather's voice ringing in her ears again.

The groin. Now that's always easy pickings.

She snapped her legs together and twisted and wrenched them to the side as best and as hard as she could. He gave a loud howl and jerked back and away from her, giving her just enough room to bring her knee up and jam it into his crotch, causing him to emit an even louder roar. It was when he hunched over that she saw it. Her bowie knife. He had it stuffed in his back pocket. She lunged and got her fingers wrapped around it just as Cliff came charging at her.

The force of his impact sent the knife flying from her hand. She ended up on her stomach, desperately clawing to reach it when he flipped her over and started throwing punches. Three in straight succession, right to her face. The sound of her own nose breaking wasn't nearly as satisfying.

"You really fucked up now, ya dumb cunt," his hands wrapped around her throat, cutting off what little air she had left. "Cuz, see," he leaned down to whisper angrily in her ear. "I got me a friend back at camp, and he's gonna be just tickled pink with that boy of yers."

NO!

A burst of adrenaline hit her and, without any knowledge of how, her fingers were suddenly wrapped around the hilt of her knife that was above her head and her arm came flying forward, hitting him right in the center of his forehead just as he caught her wrist to stop it.

But it was enough. He slumped over almost instantly and she scrambled to get out from under the dead weight as she withdrew the blade from him. She speedily grabbed for her pants and underwear, trying to get them pulled up again and had just gotten them to her waist and stood fully when she felt the ungodly sharp, white hot sting of a blade biting into her skin just below her left shoulder blade and she screamed out loudly.

There was absolutely no thought or plan when she came swinging around, the momentum of her own body turning causing the knife to drag down and around her ribs. But it was when her own knife was plunged into the side of his neck that his hand jerked down sharply, ending just above her hip bone before falling loosely from his hand.

He pushed her to the ground violently before stumbling back a step. The murderous glint in his eyes as he felt the knife protruding out of his neck had her scooting back and away from him. He followed. Still locked in on her like she was the prey about to be devoured. Even as he yanked the blade out, causing a geyser of blood to spurt out, he followed. She knew he had just signed his own death certificate by actually pulling the knife out, but still. He followed. Her back eventually hit the trunk of another tree and he was right in front of her, a red river rushing down the font of him, reaching out when, suddenly, he collapsed in a heap right next to her.

She held her breath, not wanting to let her defenses down just yet, just in case. He was down but it did nothing for the blanket of absolute fear surrounding her.

When she was sure he was dead, she let her head fall back as she release a pained sob. She thought for sure she was about to have a breakdown when she heard small whimpering and her eyes snapped open again.

Luke.

"Oh god,” she breathed out to herself. She saw him standing several yards away. She tried to stand but found she couldn't just yet, so she crawled over to him on her hands and knees, picking up her discarded knife on the way.

She yanked the rag off his face and instantly pulled him to her, his small arms wrapping around her neck. She pulled him back quickly and cradled his face, searching for any kind of damage but she couldn't see any, save for a small nick on the side of his neck where the man had been holding his blade to. But, she noticed, she was having a hard time seeing clearly at all. Though the thoughts that suddenly started coming through were clear as a bell.

Friends. They had a camp somewhere nearby, and they had friends.

They had to get out of there. Get as far away from the area before those friends came looking. She looked around for their two bags but didn't see them anywhere. She wasn't even sure now if they had ever grabbed them from the river bank and there was no time to stick around and go looking. So, with a curse, she forced herself to a stand, wobbling badly, desperately trying to apply some sort of pressure to her side, and started towing Luke behind her through the woods. She needed to find something, anything, and quickly.

They just had to get away from here.

[theonlyendersgamefan]

No spoilers

SHADOWS IN FLIGHT IS ACTUALLY GOOD??

I genuinely forgot that Orson Scott Card is a competent sci-fi author. Every other shadow book has me like “please let this be a normal feild trip” and then you get 100k words of the slowest Mormon manifesto disguised as political thriller. (Except for shadow of the giant (they could never make me hate you, shadow of the giant))

Shadows in flight is classic 80s sci-fi and relative to the rest of OSC’s library it only has a little bit of sudo-incest. But even outside of that I’m also just really engaged with the story and junk. And even if the story was entirely non existent Cards distinct writing style from Enders game and speaker for the dead, which was lacking in the first half of the shadow saga imo, returns here which is a breath of fresh air.

I feel I should mention this early on just for transparency sake but, a positive book review by me is entirely useless because I will rate a book 5 starts purely based on my own ability to creat fun mental visualization out of it.

Let me explain. Delving truely a tiny bit into spoiler territory.

At some point a group is in a hallway in 0g and they’re all geard up. My own interpretation of this scene has this group, who is not usually especially discreet, be as disciplined as a highly trained swat team. In reality, text on paper, their gear is no more then rudimentary. Just as a consequence of not needing anything more. They are probably moving as instinct guides them. In my mind, however, they are fully bravo 6 going dark. No wasted movement, swift and efficient. The entire atmosphere of the story changes, they are having conversations through coms and I will mentally add in radio chatter even if it doesn’t make sense. Or I’ll make up a whole dramatic sequence for them opening a hatch or turning a corner. It’s fun as a little brain exercise but it’s not black on white text so my review of the book, which is based partly on the above, is biased because I imagined it in a way that I would like best.

What I can say is that this book is much less intrusive than the rest of the shadow saga. Orson Scott Card still can’t help but tell us directly what we’re supposed to think and HIS interpretation but in this book I feel that he’s taking a similar approach as speaker for the dead. Each character is written strongly enough that they can disagree on a conclusion based on the same information and neither is pitted to be explicitly wrong by the book (like a couple other shadow books I could name (I HATE SHADOW PUPPETS (Why waste such a goo name on such a boring book))).

Overall the book does give you more space to breath and more time in between receiving information and the characters declaring their own opinions. I actually several times got to the conclusion of one of the characters before they did because they all think their conclusions out. Instead of starting with the answer and condescending to everyone about how obvious the reasoning is later.

I’m also a big fan of the tech in this book. It’s much more grounded then in say xenocide. Advanced but based in concepts of physics and chemistry and biology that are common enough knowledge. You don’t feel overwhelmed or like you just have to accept that this is true and not gibberish.

Anyway SHADOWS IN PEAK.

I definitely didn’t write out all my thoughts here partially because I’m trying to stay as far from spoilers as I can and partially because I’m just writing down ideas as they come to me (is that obvious. I’ll write more about this book for the foreseeable future actually, it’s becoming my favourite shadow book (shadow of the giant in a close second but it’s becoming a more distant second which each page of shadows in flight)

I also haven’t actually finished the book.. I’m half way through and had to talk about it, soz.

[significant-narratives]

is william nylander a leo rising or anything like that? I feel like he’s leo-adjacent

alas we do not have a birth time for willy (at least, not that i know of) so i can’t say for certain. i am however willing to walk with you on this path as a bit of a thought experiment! also this got really long, sorry i have chronic Can’t Shut The Fuck Up disease

now, a few disclaimers before we get started:

1) i generally don’t love trying to guess rising signs — this isn’t a judgement on anyone who does, i just find it particularly difficult to do lol. so take everything i say here with a grain of salt

2) i subscribe to the belief that a rising does influence/color the rest of an individual’s chart, so keep that in mind as we delve into this.

3) i am by no means an expert when it comes to astrology and don’t claim to be, and i do pull from various sources when needed to supplement my own knowledge. i am here to have a good time and that’s all! if you have any questions about the sources i use feel free to ask.

okay with that out of the way. willy as a leo rising is interesting! if we look at what such a placement would entail we can see a lot of ‘willy-like’ traits: there’s the courage, confidence and protectiveness associated with any leo placement. high charisma, extroversion, directness. as an ascendant the ‘fixed energy’ of leo tends to manifest in a need to achieve success and stability, and then maintain it. body awareness is another one — understanding how you look and move through space (usually linked to a strong sense of personal style).

(more of a side note, but in terms of physical characteristics, leo risings are often described as tall and broad shouldered, with expressive eyes and strong bone structure. i don’t place as much weight on this aspect of a rising sign, but it’s interesting!)

so, from all this, you could make a strong case for willy being a leo rising! however there’s one crucial thing that isn’t clicking for me: an individual’s rising sign tends to be linked with a public mask / a lens through which they see reality. and i don’t think the way willy presents himself to the public, or what glimpses we’ve seen of his worldview, is quite aligned with leo rising energy specifically.

his white knuckle grip on his ‘i am Chill and Calm and Going With The Flow’ attitude is a little out of line with how leo energy tends to manifest (imo). like one thing about a leo — what you see tends to be what you get and they’re not ashamed to show you that. they’re not (in my experience) all too concerned with persona-building or shielding themselves from being seen. they’re picky about who they give their time and energy to, sure, but like. that’s not quite the same thing. you feel me?

so if he did have a leo rising… i feel like in theory we wouldn’t see a lot of willy’s tendency to keep things very close to his chest and generally not Feel Things In Public. like, think about it. how much do we actually know about william nylander. and how much of what we know came from him. half of the off season content we get that features him comes from alex’s gf’s insta! he’s out here posting pictures of lizards and aesthetic topless photos. it took him eight years and finally securing his place in toronto for the foreseeable future for him to be willing to get even a Little vulnerable with the press and admit just how important toronto is to him, how strongly he’s put down roots here. again you could argue this protective quality is a point in favour of a leo rising placement… but he is also a taurus sun… also is this a good time to say i don’t feel like i’m picking up on that ‘leo rising energy’ trickling down into the rest of his chart? i feel like with a leo rising you’d see a very different manifestation of his gemini venus or libra moon, for example, but that’s just speculation on my part.

it’s also possible the general ‘leo adjacent’ energy you’ve mentioned picking up from him is that gemini venus / aries mars combo of his (i will hold my tongue and not say the word that i’m thinking in my head rn).

tl;dr my verdict on willy having a leo rising: it’s possible but not my favourite choice for him personally! to me i’ve always felt like he gave off water rising energy… (op are you saying this because you are a taurus sun scorpio rising you ask. to which i will say: no comment <3)