#this is from The Endless Gallery though

[writing-for-life]

The Endless—Michael Allred

Honestly, I still believe they’re all trying to outslut each other in this one.

Dream tits out as always, Destruction goes, “Yeah, but I’ve got chest hair!” Death is about to pull a Sharon Stone, Desire’s already in the middle of it and just needs to will away their kit, Despair’s like, “Groan, you’re all so complicated, be naked, be free!”

Destiny: “Nope, you’re all doing it wrong, subtle, fully clothed stoicism is way hotter.” But then he proceeds to lean against the pillar as if he’s waiting for someone to buy him a drink and turns out his hip. Just a bit of course.

And Del’s just Del 🤣

[fillinforlater]

On her jeans (Part 3 of 3)

Male Reader x Kim Minji, Hanni Pham, Danielle Marsh

Length: 4606 words

Tags: Daddy kink, anal galore, blowjob, face fuck, blindfolded, 4some, pearly gates, spitting, spanking, cursing, humiliation, missionary anal, analpie, ass eating, rimming

TW: kinda rough, pure, stupid smut, ass eating, eating cum out of ass

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-

(A/N: the most likely final part of the On her series. This fic is very mindless lmao. Important announcement at the end.)

“Yes, Daddy, that feels so good!”

Hanni’s enthusiasm is almost limitless. No matter how often you’ve ordered her to your office or your apartment or some secluded bed and breakfast, she never let you down. No, the only thing ‘down’ is the momentum of her hips whenever she rides you on the couch, her beautiful ass turned towards you. She loves to make it wiggle when your cock fills her cunt.

You take delight in such a sight and give her the good-girl-spanks she deserves. Hanni craves them as much as she craves your eyes, seeing nothing but love in hers. There is nothing stopping her from leaving, you never demanded the same things from her then you did from Minji. But where Minji lacks endless love and desire for you, Hanni fills these gaps and then some. 

“Oh my God, Daddy, you-you’re gonna make me cum again!” Hanni’s throat is sore from her moans and screams (and the rough face fuck you gave her earlier). “I-I can’t hold it!”

“Why would you hold it?” you ask her and pull her back against your bare chest. “Ruin yourself all over me, you slut.”

You give her thrusts, quick, not too strong and that is all she needs. Her effort was remarkable but in the end she wants you to fuck her over the edge. Hanni’s pussy convulses around your cock, tries to milk it and you are about to give in when your cell phone rings. 

“Fuck,” you curse and pick it up while dropping a powerless Hanni to the carpet floor. “Who is this?”

“Yo, have you turned on the TV?” the person on the other end, some former manager of a group you were interested in, asks. “Today are the MAMA awards.”

“And? They’ve been the same for basically forever. And you know I don’t have any control over—”

“Oh no, another group has won.” You can hear the smirk on his lips. “I bet you’ve heard the song and the group—some of them are under your wings, I assume?”

For a moment you are confused, then it dawns on you brightly. “You could say that,” you respond calmly and look at one of those who are under your wings—though under your cock fits better. “Let me be honest, I did not think that they would make it this far.”

“Their success is unheard of, they must have paid you really well,” he continues knowingly. The kind of business you do is in a paradoxical state of infamously known and also a dark secret in the industry. It’s a tightly knit conspiracy where every wrong step, every wrong turn can cost you basically everything. 

“Maybe they have to offer me something new, a MAMA win does not come around very often.”

#

“Congratulations on your win. I bet this is part of every trainee's dream” Sent by you

“Thank you, Daddy~ It definitely is, but I’m certain we couldn’t have done it without you “ Sent by Hanni

You smirk and scroll through your gallery. There is a picture you’ve saved, a picture of something you want. Some people screenshot what they want from social media apps or shopping sites—you will do the same right now, though your picture does not include a product one can buy. 

“I found this picture of you and one of your friends. She is very attractive.” Sent by you

“I know, Danielle ist so damn pretty <3” Sent by Hanni

“Her prettiness equals probably two MAMA awards…” Sent by you

That should do it. Hanni is probably stunned right now. If Danielle is next to her, she probably looks at her—your terrible influence deeply rooted in Hanni’s mind—and she will see what you see: another object for your desire, another girl you can train to make your personal fuck doll, another idol sold by her bandmate. Unlike Minji, Hanni might actually like the idea. 

You wait patiently as she ponders, typing, then deleting message after message until she settles for a simple text that makes this unhinged, lustful being inside you lose any and all control.

“Daddy deserves his reward as soon as possible. We need just 20 to 30 minutes~” Sent by Hanni

With a victorious sigh, you throw away your smartphone. It audibly cracks on the floor, but you don’t give a fuck. Phones can be bought again, but what you will get, no one can buy. These next twenty minutes will feel like hours and every second beyond that will make you lose your mind. Atleast, that is what you would have to assume if it weren’t for someone suddenly sneaking into your apartment. 

Timid, quiet steps. The person is not wearing shoes. You hear the door fall shut, gently and suddenly, she stands in your doorframe. As if your life was a script, written by a higher being which, for some reason, likes your story to be filled with as much sexual fulfillment as possible, Minji has decided to come visit you. 

“Hello, Daddy,” she coos, catching your gaze with the way she presses her frame against the door frame. Her two piece outfit with all its white frays perfectly merges with said door frame, the warm light making it look like she could disappear in your walls. “I’m sorry for not announcing myself, but may I come in?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to act not-too-happy about her convenient timing. “It’s nice to see you barefooted and in this pretty outfit—but you need to approach the right way.”

“Of course, Daddy.”

Minji gets on her knees. She begins to crawl over your wooden floor and seeing her eager eyes has you riled up. Instead of waiting for her to unbuckle your belt, you open it on your own and let your pants drop when her face reaches your crotch. Minji moans gently and presses her face against the massive bulge in your boxers. She’s not really teasing you. It’s more of a ceremony, because Minji quickly proceeds to pull down your boxers with nothing but her teeth.

“Daddy, it’s so big and beautiful,” Minji says in all honesty, her idol persona washed away by her own horniness. “May I service you with my mouth?”

“Stick out your tongue,” you order and Minji follows. You slap your tip on the exposed wet muscle and watch her faintly smile at how excited you seem. “Looks really good, how could I say no?”

No warning and just a moment later, you are buried to the hilt in Minji’s throat. She gags violently, her head tilted backwards and her wide eyes quickly release a torrent of tears. You don’t comment on it, watch on with a cold, resting bitch face and begin to fuck her face roughly. It’s hard thrust after hard thrust; not too fast though, because you want to see the submission steadily grow in her eyes.

“Fucking good, so much better since you started taking my cock like a premium whore,” you hiss and reach for the sides of her head. She locks eyes with you and through a sea of tears, you can see that she is happy. Still happy. “But it won’t be enough. I need more, another hole, and I’m not talking about your pussy. I know that you are dripping from there, but I’m going to split you open somewhere else.”

You pull out and watch Minji try to catch her breath, shocked, weak; she gets no time to recover however. You grab her hair and slide back into her not-awaiting, but slave-like throat. She takes your pounding even as it forcefully removes her faint mascara and leaves her a drooling mess. It’s Minji’s masterclass in deepthroats—a fitting end, because you will fuck something else today.

After many harsh thrusts, too many to count, but enough to have Minji at your complete mercy, you pull out. She bends over, tries to keep her composure and breathe, but you won’t allow this. She has to look at you and understand what you desire. You slap her face and spit at it. “Don’t avoid me, look at me!” you shout and Minji is tiny. A kneeling tiny bitch who follows your commands. “I will fuck your ass, do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Minji cries and puts her forehead to the floor. “Tha-Thank you for the award, Ma-Master. Please, a-abuse my ass.”

Not that it tugs at your heartstrings or anything—but instead of just fucking her in this state of complete devastation, you help her up, to her feet and cup her cheek firmly… almost gently. Minji still sobs, barely able to look up at you.

“You are here to thank me with your ass? That is actually adorable and very thoughtful of you.”

“I-I thought, because Master hasn’t fucked me th-there yet, and because he probably did with Hanni already, I—”

“Oh, I understand, but Minji—” You lean down to her ear and whisper, while your hand travels down her bare midriff into the dress and finds her folds, soaked in arousal. “—we are already past the Master stage. And you underestimate my greed, my desire for more, infinitely more. Don’t worry about that though. Get on the couch and show me your cute little asshole.”

“O-okay. Thank you, Daddy.”

As Minji lays down and wiggles off the bottom part of her dress, you get a bottle of water-like lube from a drawer in the living room table. These bottles are always nearby because situations like this have occurred quite a few times in your life. More than you can count, enough to make you the biggest villain for every girl group fan.

When you pour the lube on your cock, you inspect Minji and her cute posture. She is on her back, legs spread and in the air, while her fingers keep her butt cheeks apart. Her ring twitches and it twitches more when you rub lube all over it. Minji mewls, and mewls some more when you push a finger past the first tightness to lube the inside as well.

“You are a bit stiff, you need to loosen up or else it will hurt.”

“Isn’t it supposed to hurt?” Minji asks in all honesty. “I’m okay with Daddy hurting me, as long as he feels good.”

You have to hold back or else you would’ve laughed at her innocent expression and the confused fear in her orbs. You align your cock with her ass, not to immediately force yourself inside that hot, tight hole, but to teach Minji how to take you well.

“If you relax, Minji, I promise it will feel good. Weird at first, probably too big, but the more you loosen up and let your asshole become a source for pleasure, it will feel great.”

“Hanni probably already knows this,” Minji mumbles in shame. You quickly reach for her jaw and put a chaste kiss on her lips.

“To be honest, I haven’t even fucked her ass before, so stop worrying. Take deep breaths and stay re-laxed.” With those final words, you wait for Minji to follow your instructions—breathe in; breathe out—before you push your cock into her brown hole.

“Oh Daddy, fuck,” Minji groans, right into your face and you love how her hands start to hold onto your back, your arms as you push more cock into her. “You are so, so big!”

“There is still more, but you are doing a great job, Minji,” you respond calmly, lifting up her ass a bit to penetrate her deeper. “Soon, you’ll love this more than anything.”

“Daddy!” Your cock is fully inside her and Minji seems to go crazy, her head thrown back into the couch, her mouth releasing loud moans rapidly. Her anal cavity squeezes you tightly, tries to wring you and it’s insanely impressive. She takes you fully on the first go and slowly catches herself. “I-it feels weird but soooo—”

“Good, right? I can feel you relax, so I will start to fuck you for real now. Congratulations, you’re not a butt virgin anymore!”

Minji weakly laughs and then gasps when you drag your cock mostly out of her ass just to push it back in, deep, to the fucking hilt. You watch as her eyes open wide, then narrow, then close, all in the rhythm of your pumps. Her cunt drips more juice too, she cannot deny the pleasure.

“Daddy, why, why do you feel so good?” Minji screams. “Why, your cock—you made me your butt slut!”

“You’re a natural at this, most of your kind quickly become addicted.”

“Make me addicted, Daddy! Please, use this hole and make me—”

You reach underneath her frayed top and pinch a hard nipple, while your teeth go for her lower lip. You can feel her insides combust, her ass clenching around your cock, her pussy convulsing around nothing, yet it is enough to make her cum. Minji is orgasming from just her ass, but she tries to hide it. 

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” you laugh and begin to fuck Minji harder, her ankles in your firm hands. “Cum with your ass and be mine forever. You cannot escape anyways, so why would you want to? Don’t run from the pleasure, because I won’t stop fucking you until—”

Suddenly, you hear a key in the lock of your front door and someone whispering. Then quiet steps. Minji grows tense but you just smile at her, reassure her that there is nothing to be scared off. “Oh, you know these two, don’t worry~” 

“Huh?”

You look up and spot the first girl, Hanni, who smirks when she sees you. She puts a finger to her luscious lips and winks. You get her idea and press your palm on Minji’s mouth to keep her quiet while you slowly thrust into her tight ass. The young girl is visibly shocked that you just continue, but her shock grows even more when she spots the second girl.

“Unnie, this is weird. How long do I have to wear this blindfold?”

“Just a little bit longer~ We are almost there, just a few more steps.”

Hanni guides the blind Danielle, a beautiful, skinny girl dressed in what you assume is a stage or award show outfit. Either way you love how exposed her midriff and collarbone are. Danielle’s skin is flawless and her face looks even better than in pictures or videos.

The two get closer. Hanni is now behind the taller girl and guides her by holding her hips. The two seem familiar with this kind of intimacy. You quietly pull out of Minji’s butt and luckily, she stays quiet in this tense situation. 

“Dani, we have arrived,” Hanni giggles and wraps her hands around her friends’ tiny waist. “I have a present for you, but you have to get on your knees and guess what it is~”

“Unnie, if it’s your pussy again—we already did that! And if you want to fuck, you can just ask!”

You raise an eyebrow at Hanni who is clearly nervous and sweating. She got caught fucking with a second member of her group without your permission. You can’t really blame her. You can’t wait to stick your cock into that tight body and fuck Danielle’s mouth with your fingers. But for now, you let Hanni finish her game.

“This time,” she continues and kisses Danielle’s shoulder. “It’s something different. I have found the biggest, most beautiful cock because I know you would want to suck one of those someday.”

Danielle’s pale skin starts to burn with a deep red. All of her blood seems to go to her face. She starts to lose focus and whimpers a bit, especially because Hanni becomes more touchy, hands on her chest, her tummy, her ass.

“H-how did you know, Unnie?”

“You are really, really bad at hiding your dildo’s, Dani. I found like four of them. One still had your saliva around it~”

Danielle puts both hands to her face and lowers it in shame. Everyone in the room can still feel the glow of her blush through her fingers. You stroke your cock once, amused at the situation, but also tired of waiting. Hanni notices and continues her plan quickly.

“Look, Dani, I’ll show you how to do it.” Hanni lowers herself in between your legs. For the first time, you check out her outfit. Odd, you remember it from some performances a few months ago—does it really matter when she immediately goes to suck you, throat you even? “Oh my, it tastes so good! I wonder why that is?”

You point to Minji’s still exposed asshole and Hanni smirks knowingly. Poor Minji did not dare to move a single inch this entire time but now with Hanni’s loud gagging filling the room, she can stop being quiet and move her hands to cover up.

“U-unnie, are you really sucking it?” Danielle asks the obvious, still in disbelief. “Is it a real one, like, are you sucking a boy?”

Hanni pops you free from her perfect lips and makes sure to taste all of the lube and Minji’s ass from your manhood with her tongue. She cleans you passionately, from sac to tip until you finally give her a bit of precum. 

“Dani, he is a man, a Daddy. Trust me, he is very good looking and his cock is even better~” Hanni’s voice is so lewd, it feels cursed with her adorable visuals. You relish in her compliments and brush her black strands back behind her ear. “Kneel next to me and I show you.”

Danielle kneels down, her small frame taking the spot in between your legs next to Hanni. She is still confused though. “But Unnie, how can you show me if I’m not allowed to remove the blindfold?”

Hanni rolls her eyes and without warning, grabs Danielle’s face and pulls her into a kiss. The younger girl flails in surprise, finds hold on your thigh, but somehow she can’t hold onto it for long. Maybe the thought of a stranger really seeing her like this makes her lose grip on the situation—a good thing in your book.

“Ha-Hanni-unnie!” Danielle shrieks when their lips disconnect. “Why, why did that taste so good?” 

“If you want more, you need to suck and clean his cock like I did. Here, open your pretty mouth and be a good girl for Daddy~”

“You say weird stuff—ugh, hng!”

You groan softly when Hanni not-so-softly pushes Danielle’s face down your cock. A new, sensational throat engulfs you. Of course you expected violent gags and tears coming from behind the blindfold, how could you not. Hanni is literally forcing Danielle to deepthroat you for the first time. Her dildo training seems to have paid off however: Danielle is a lot more composed, measured even and makes sure to keep her teeth off of you. 

Soon, she finds her own pace and bops up and down your shaft, using her tongue from time to time without yet knowing where it actually feels good for you. It’s hard for her to learn when she can’t read your facial expression, so she just guesses and sucks and bops her head. It makes it all the more impressive how she can keep up with you and do a better job than Minji did on her first try.

“Hanni-unnie,” Danielle immediately shouts after getting her mouth off of your dick. “That was very mean of you, like, what the—”

You interrupt the young, angry girl by giving her blindfold a tug and watching it fall off of her dazzling, still flushed features. You smirk down at her as she watches up in awe, her eyes inspecting you like you did to her earlier.

“Oh, he-hello, sir,” Danielle says and tries to be formal while your cock is still on her lips. “I’m sorry we just walked into here and… about this.” She points at your hard shaft which you take in your hand and poke against her soft cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, you beautiful thing. In fact, I should be sorry about this right here.” You point next to you, where Minji tries to cover up her pussy. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“You, you had sex with Minji-unnie? Like, i-in her vagina?”

“Oh Dani,” Hanni coos and puts a hand into Danielle’s red top. “You don’t know how good a real cock feels in your pussy. Way better than a dildo.”

“Stop being so lewd, Unnie!”

“But you two are wrong,” you interrupt them and look at Minji, who valiantly fights through her embarrassment. There is nothing to be embarrassed about though; she did great taking your cock in her ass. “We had anal sex just now, and I think I speak for us both when I say that it was awesome.”

Hanni pouts at the thought of not yet having you in her ass while Danielle is both struck by horror and thrill when she cross-eyes your cock and then switches to look at Minji’s butt, which you uncover for her.

“Minji-unnie, was it really that good?” Danielle asks with wide open eyes.

“Yeah, how was it?” Hanni adds and involuntarily adds pressure for the leader to answer.

“I-it was… the best.”

A moment of silence and awkwardness for Minji until Danielle jumps up and pulls down her black skirt. Another unexpected turn, she seems to be ready to go asap. “Sir, can you—would you have sex with my butt too?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you try to play it cool and reach for the bottle of lube. “Turn around, we need to get you ready.”

“Here, let me help you, Daddy.” Hanni gets a hold of Dani’s ass as soon as she spins around and spreads the cheeks apart. Dani gasps at first, but then giggles when she finds her Unnie to be already naked. She starts to kiss Hanni’s skin while you put the nozzle to her beautiful, clean ring and push lube inside. Danielle shudders while Hanni looks on with jealousy. It will be her turn soon enough though. 

“You have a gorgeous body, Dani,” you compliment her before grabbing her waist and pulling her onto you. “You are so light, I think I need to try a new position with you. Are you down for that?”

“Sir, I—if it’s not too crazy, I think I can do it. But remember, this is my first time.”

“You have to be relaxed, Dani,” Minji suddenly adds and stands next to her, not covering her private parts anymore. “If you are tense, it’s going to hurt—when you are loose however, Daddy can fuck you so good, it will feel like heaven.”

“O-okay then, I think I’m ready.”

You nod and lay down on the couch, Danielle on top of you. She rests her back on your strong chest and your hard cock searches for her tight asshole. Luckily, Hanni is there to help align your tip with it (not before sucking it of course). Dani takes deep breaths instinctively and with your primal instinct to fuck, your cockhead disappears in her ass.

“Oh fuck, that looks so hot!” Hanni coos.

“Stop staring, please,” Danielle whimpers and you feel her incredible texture convulse around your aroused phallus. No, she definitely gets turned on by this, so you’ll make it even better.

“Hanni, keep staring,” you order. “Oh, and make your mouth useful on my ass. See it as punishment for having sex with Dani without my permission.”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m sorry Daddy.”

“Sir, isn’t this too lewd?” Dani asks while you begin to rock her thin body up and down your cock like it’s a fleshlight. 

“Minji, how about you lick Danielle’s pussy. Make yourself familiar with it.”

“Yes, Daddy, she tastes really sweet and is quite… wet.” Minji smiles and you get what she means. Her mouth is promptly on Dani’s clit and now the two are moaning in unison. Your thrusts into Dani’s ass become harder.

“Oh dang, so much in my a-a—, I mean butt,” she whispers and you look at her face. “Sir, you are one lewd bast— person. Making young girls do this stuff. Aren’t you a bit too old for us?”

“Maybe that is why they call me Daddy,” you respond, the humor lost because your expression remains stern even through the pleasure. “Don’t hold back, curse as much as you want. This is no tv show or live stage. Get used to this cock, because I won’t stop after this one time.”

“I won’t either, you fucking bastard.”

Your lips meet in a haze, then you decide to give it your all. You fuck Dani hard, force more and more curse words out of her good-girl-mouth. Her cunt is forced against Minji’s eager lips, while you make sure Hanni is covered in your musk—though she kinda seems to enjoy serving your ass. Even after all this, she might still be the best baby girl out of this trio.

“Yes, fuck, yes, you fill my tiny ass so good! Fuck me with your big fat cock, give me that cock, open me so wide until I—”

“You horny bitch.” You yank down her top to reveal tiny tits, jiggling a little at your every thrust. Her skin is glowing, she is in complete heat. Danielle is a nymph with a tight ass and a pussy so wet, she can save someone from dehydration. You want to test your theory, if her orgasm is as explosive as you want it to be.

“My Lord, I’m so going to fucking cum, I will cum! Make me squirt, make me fucking, ahh!”

Like a fountain, Danielle’s juices paint Minji’s face, cover her hair and even Hanni below. She also doesn’t stop, not with your endless thrust into her ass. She is like an infinite source, eventually filling Minji’s mouth and marking Hanni as a dirty, rimming whore covered in girl cum.

“That was so good, Sir—”

“We are not yet done!” You squeeze Dani to your chest so she cannot escape and start to violate her ass some more, to the point your entire cock stretches her in all directions. For some reason, you feel like you could breed this hole for two eternities, but for now, one massive load has to be enough. 

With your final, deepest of thrusts, you force all of your seed into Danielle’s tight ass-pussy, fill it up and make sure she is tight enough to keep it inside for now. Pulling out is hard but rewarding, and hearing, feeling her pant on top of you is heavenly. 

“It’s so deep in me, fuck,” she moans and you bite her cheek. 

“Push it out of your slutty hole, you naughty bitch. 

“Hanni, Minji! Get ready for your daily load!”

The two girls are under our spell, not questioning anything you say and stick out their tongue underneath Danielle’s butthole. You pull back her heels to give them more space and with an blissful, erotic expression, Dani lets her ass be gaped. Your creamy white cum oozes out of her and Minji and Hanni greedily eat it all up, even getting their tongues into the completely overstimulated girl and cleaning her butthole.

“Shit, this is so lewd,” Dani whimpers and you put a hand around her throat.

“After I fuck Hanni’s ass in a rough Doggy, my heel on her face because I know she loves that, you will eat my cum out of her ass too. And don’t lie; I know you will like it.”

Danielle grins, licking her lips in excitement. “You are such a nasty bastard, Daddy.”

(A/N2: here is the very short version, I'll release a longer announcement later this week probably. I have decided to quit for a while, maybe forever but that is still in the stars. I can still write and I kinda like it, but this endless cycle of horniness and unhinged smut is killing me. I also need to focus on life/studies. More on that later this week. Love you all, peace out.)

[bosbas]

Chapter 4: all they keep asking me is if I'm gonna be your bride

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, Colin in his feels asf

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: EEEEEP the plot is finally plottingggggggg

May 19, 1816 – By now, it’s fairly obvious that the esteemed Mr. Colin Bridergton and Lady Y/N Montclair have, to put it lightly, an intense dislike for one another. How this contention began, this author does not know. However, Lady Montclair has yet to dance with Mr. Colin Bridgerton at any ball this season, despite dancing with Benedict and even older brother Anthony Bridgerton. This, coupled with the endless glares between the two and Lady Montclair’s perpetual frown around Mr. Bridgerton, indicates a less-than-friendly relationship. 

Luckily, this rivalry is not of any particular consequence to our heroine, since Lord Arthur Barlow seems on the cusp of a proposal. After a month-long courtship, it could be mere days before the Duke asks Lord Philippe Montclair for Lady Montclair’s hand in marriage. Although certainly a controversial choice from her parents to delay Y/N’s season, the wait would certainly pay off if she marries a Duke. This union, with the Duke of Monmouth’s title and the Montclair family’s extensive land ownership, would be one of the most advantageous Mayfair has seen since Charlotte Bexley, who just so happens to be Y/N’s sister, and her union to the Duke of Somerset. Shall we expect a public announcement soon? This author is certain that both families are itching for official confirmation.

Benedict thanked the bartender, sipping his brandy as he looked around at the gentlemen around him. Though Benedict and Colin had come to White’s together, the younger Bridgerton had gotten caught up in conversation with Lord Fife, leaving Benedict alone and slightly bored.

However, Louis Montclair’s appearance quickly piqued Benedict’s interest. It was the first time Benedict had seen Louis at the gentleman’s club, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to find out more about your unusual relationship with Colin. It was no secret that you and Colin couldn’t stand one another, but Benedict was far too absent at social functions to piece together what had happened by himself, and he thought Louis would be the perfect person to provide some clarity.

“Louis! I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking properly,” Benedict clapped him on the back as he approached him. 

Louis turned around, grinning once he saw the Bridgerton. 

“Ah, Benedict, of course. Every time my mother successfully forces me to attend a ball, you seem to be absent! One would think you’ve been avoiding me,” he said jovially.

Benedict laughed and shook his head. “Since my painting was placed in the national gallery, Mother hasn’t been too insistent on my appearance at social functions,” he explained. Then, with a cheeky smile, he added, “I believe the rivalry between our families starts and ends with Colin and Y/N.”

Louis rolled his eyes, annoyed at the reminder of your hatred toward Colin. “Lord knows what the two have against each other. Even just thinking about having to listen to my sister complain about Colin after tomorrow’s ball is giving me a headache.”

“Then a drink is in order, to be sure!” Benedict called over the bartender and asked for another glass of brandy for your brother. “Though I wouldn’t fret too much about your sister; I’m certain Colin must have done something unforgivable to elicit such a response,” he said, only half joking.

“Well, I’m sure he has. I do not doubt that,” responded Louis, grabbing his drink and thanking the bartender. 

“Oh?” prompted Benedict, surprised by Louis’ affirmative response. He led your brother to a table in the back corner, sitting down across from him. 

Taking a sip, Louis explained, “My sister might be the most irritating person I know, but she rarely holds anyone in her bad graces unless she has a good reason.”

Benedict just stared at your brother, eyebrows raised and waiting for further explanation. Had Colin acted out of line with you? He was supposed to be the sweetheart of London high society, but perhaps his brother had changed during his travels. 

Louis paused, frowned thoughtfully, and continued. “Oddly enough, I haven’t a clue why she dislikes Colin. Usually, one cannot possibly get her to stop talking about why someone vexes her, but she has evaded speaking about the subject directly thus far.” 

Spotting Colin walking toward the pair, Louis quickly stood up to greet the younger Bridgerton.

“Colin! Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

“The devil? Your sister hasn’t rubbed off on you, I hope,” answered Colin, not entirely amused as he shook your brother’s hand and sat down next to Benedict. 

“Not at all, Bridgerton,” Louis laughed, dissipating the tension easily. “And I hope your hatred toward her is not extended toward me, too.” 

“Is it that obvious?” asked Colin, slightly cringing that his ungentlemanly behavior was public knowledge. 

Benedict snorted. “It is now that Lady Whistledown has reported on it. I don’t know how you could have possibly been so rude as to end up as the subject of the ton’s gossip sheet, but I fear for you once Mother gets her hands on today’s column.”

Colin sank in his seat in shame, embarrassed that his perfect reputation was crumbling because of you, of all people. He was supposed to be charming and easygoing, and he feared what would become of him if people started to dislike his character. 

On the other hand, your little rivalry with him would barely have any effect on you. You were strikingly beautiful and exceptionally smart, not to mention exceedingly worldly. And even if you didn’t have all those things in your favor, your dowry was large enough that any man would be stupid not to at least consider you for marriage. 

“Not to worry,” assured Louis. “I am sure your rivalry will be coming to a close sooner rather than later. It’s only a matter of time before Barlow proposes and she’ll be out of your hair. And mine.” 

Colin tensed. “Pardon?”

“Y/N is about three seconds away from being married off, so she won’t have nearly as much time to dedicate to your rivalry,” explained Louis. 

“Oh,” Colin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Why do you say that? Has she said anything?”

Benedict set his drink down, shooting Colin a curious look. “She probably hasn’t had to. They’ve been courting for a month. If anything, it would be out of the ordinary if he didn’t propose.”

Louis nodded in agreement, blissfully oblivious to Colin’s mounting panic. 

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” conceded Colin. “I just thought–”

He paused. After a beat, he shook his head. “But, really? Marriage? It seems so sudden,” Colin said, stumbling over his words, a growing panic in his voice slowly turning to inexplicable anger.

 “I don’t know if I would use the word sudden… Why? Did you want to marry her?” teased Louis, laughing at what seemed to be an outlandish suggestion. Then, spotting his brother-in-law, Edward Bexley, by the door, he downed his drink and stood up. “A pleasure speaking with you gentlemen, but I must greet Bexley.”

The Bridgerton boys said goodbye, but before Colin had the chance to get away, Benedict turned to his brother accusingly.

“I know Louis was joking, but do you actually want to marry her?” he asked, concerned. “You’ve been acting all out of sorts.”

“What? No,” scoffed Colin. “Not in a million years.” Then, realizing he had to explain his outrage at the prospect of you getting married, he added, “I’m just surprised anyone would consider marrying her, is all.”

“Colin,” scolded Benedict. “Have some decorum. Even if that were true, you are still a Bridgerton. Please behave like one.”

Colin’s face turned hot in shame. “You’re right; I apologize. I think I need some air,” he finally strangled out, standing up and practically sprinting toward the courtyard, his practically full drink long forgotten.

Once Colin felt the fresh air on his face, he let out a deep sigh and unclenched his fists. You getting married was supposed to be a good thing. The only person in the ton who didn’t like him would finally be gone and he could return to being the best-liked among his siblings. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know you would end up marrying someone else. It was basically the only reason you had come to England. Besides, he saw you with Arthur at every event you attended. Why was he so upset now? Why was he surprised at all?

Rubbing his temples, Colin started pacing in the courtyard. It must have been lingering resentment toward you, he reasoned. There was no other explanation. Colin couldn’t shake the way you and the duke so easily fell into flirtatious banter while he received only cold stares and snippy comments. It was infuriating that you took Lord Barlow and his intent to marry you so seriously while you barely spared Colin a second glance when he asked you to dance for the first time.

He still remembered watching you in Hyde Park the first time you spoke with Arthur, all giggly and flirtatious while you promenaded. Exactly the opposite of how you had been with him. What would it have taken for you to look at Colin with even a fraction of the fondness with which you looked at Lord Barlow?

Then, Colin was struck by a sobering thought. Perhaps you knew that, deep down, he lacked any substance. Perhaps you were not fooled by his charismatic front and could see that he could offer you nothing. 

As a third son, Colin could scarcely boast the same riches or claim to land as the duke. But he could have loved you. And he would have taken care of you. If only he had made more of an effort with you, he chastised himself. Then he might find himself in the position of doing something of actual importance for the first time in his life.

But his need for approval had gotten in the way. And what good that had done him. You were about to get everything you wanted and marry a duke, and he was left with nothing but a bruised ego.

---

As soon as Charlotte saw Colin entering the ballroom she sighed and rolled her eyes. Now that she was the oldest Montclair sibling left in England, she was in charge of making sure you and Colin didn’t make a scene at every single event you attended. 

Usually, it was Louis who needed scolding, mischievous as he was. Charlotte had no idea why you decided to be the difficult one this season. All she knew was that Colin had the unique ability to work you up until you were engaged in a yelling match, and it was her job to mitigate this to the best of her abilities. 

Charlotte, already facing you, leaned in close to your ear. “Sois gentille, s’il te plaît. T’es une dame es tu dois te comporter comme telle,” she murmured (Be nice, please. You're a lady, and you should act like one).

Immediately realizing that Colin had arrived, you crossed your arms. “Mais Charlotte, il est trop désagréable. Il me soûle tellement !” you whined softly (But Charlotte, he’s so unpleasant. He gets on my nerves so much!).

Charlotte scoffed in disbelief at your childish demeanor. “Et toi ? Tu penses que t’es plus agréable ? Vraiment ?” (And you? You think you’re more pleasant? Really?)

You knew she had a point, but you couldn’t help the annoyed huff that escaped your lips before you turned around, choosing to face the dance floor instead. 

Violet Bridgerton was hosting a ball tonight, and it seemed like every member of the ton had made an appearance. Your mother had nearly killed you when you told her you had a throbbing headache, not accepting any excuses for missing the most important ball of the season. 

Eventually, you compromised and promised to stay for a dance with Lord Barlow and a quick greeting to the Bridgertons. You were already eyeing the exit longingly, itching to retreat to your blissfully dark and quiet room. Just a quick turn around the ballroom and you would be free, you lamented. 

Your stomach churned with a mixture of anticipation and dread as you thought of seeing Lord Barlow. While the prospect of a proposal from him should have filled you with excitement, a throbbing headache dampened your spirits and left you feeling less than enthusiastic about the impending moment. 

A proposal from a titled gentleman was what you had been working toward your whole life, and you would have liked to feel well for it. Though you liked Arthur, and the two of you got along well, you could only hope that he wasn’t planning on proposing tonight. 

You heard footsteps coming in your direction, and you turned to see Eloise, Benedict, and Colin walking over to you and your sister. 

“Y/N! And Charlotte!” Eloise exclaimed loudly upon seeing you. 

You grimaced; the pain caused by her voice overpowering the joy you felt upon seeing her. 

“Hello Eloise!" your sister greeted warmly. "Y/N has a headache, so she's only staying for a short while," she explained.

“Hello, El,” you grinned, rubbing your temples with one hand and squeezing Eloise’s arm with the other. 

“And Benedict, what a surprise!” you exclaimed, turning to greet the older Bridgerton. 

“Y/N! A good surprise, I hope. It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?” responded Benedict, smiling at you and squeezing your arm.

Your gaze shifted to Colin, who was standing next to his brother, and you tensed, already dreading the argument–or four–you would inevitably have with him tonight. You barely had the energy to stand straight tonight; you couldn’t fathom having to hold your own against Colin Bridgerton.

Eloise, sensing the mounting hostility, sighed deeply. “It’s best to leave them to it for a bit and let them get it out of their system,” she said, guiding Charlotte and Benedict away from you. 

Before Charlotte turned around, she looked back at you suspiciously. She decided you were already suffering enough from your headache and chose to leave you be, but not before raising her eyebrows at you in warning.

Clearing his throat, Colin nodded in your direction, “Lady Montclair.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you nodded back, much too tired to throw the first verbal punch of the night.

But as always, Colin seemed to have the unending desire to vex you. Seeing the Duke walking up to you from across the room and feeling the anger rise in his chest, he looked you up and down, searching for anything to lash out about. 

“Lovely necklace you’re wearing. It completely washes out the color of your eyes,” he commented quietly, careful that no one else would hear. 

Colin preferred to keep your quarrels private, especially after he knew Lady Whistledown had taken note of the tension between you. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want the rest of the ton knowing that you didn’t like him – it was too late for that, he reminded himself. These moments between you, although they often resulted in hurled insults and verbal attacks, felt oddly intimate to him. Despite the animosity, they were your private interludes, and he didn’t want to share them with anyone else.

You, oblivious to Lord Barlow, or anyone else for that matter, clutched your necklace, slightly embarrassed that he had noticed. It was true: the jewels did not match your eyes, and the neckpiece was so flashy that you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was making your headache worse. But your mother had insisted you wear it tonight anyway.

“I’m surprised you can look up from my neck long enough to notice the necklace’s effect on my eyes,” you countered.

Colin turned slightly red, clasping his hands in front of him. He was surprised too, to be honest. But you didn’t need to know that.

Before Colin could respond, the Duke walked up to you to greet you by placing a hand on your arm. 

“Good evening, Y/N." 

“Good evening, Arthur,” you smiled at him, headache momentarily forgotten.

Colin balked. You were on a first-name basis with the Duke already? He felt utterly foolish for not realizing that you were, as Lady Whistledown had said, only days away from receiving a proposal.

“I see you’re wearing the necklace I got you,” Lord Barlow commented, pleased. “It does wonders for your complexion.”

“Oh, yes,” you said weakly. “My sincerest gratitude for the gift.” 

You could practically feel Colin smirking next to you, and you bit your lip to keep from snapping at him. You felt an unpleasant mixture of anger at Colin’s triumph and embarrassment that he knew that the unflattering necklace had been a gift from your suitor.

Lord Barlow brushed off your thanks. “A dance, my Lady?” he offered his hand.

“I’d be delighted,” you said gratefully, placing your hand in his. Anything to get away from Colin right now. 

You had danced with Arthur enough times that you were comfortable with him, and you found yourself enjoying moving to the music as Lord Barlow held you close.

As he spun you around, he leaned down close to your ear, causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps.

“You look particularly fetching tonight, Y/N. Perhaps we might retreat to the gardens later tonight to speak some more,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened. Was he asking you to go outside for… unladylike reasons? Or was he implying he was going to propose? Perhaps both? Whatever the reason, tonight was not the night.

“I’m afraid not, Arthur,” you lamented. “I’ve got a splitting headache and will be heading home soon after our dance.” 

 “Very well,” he said with a clipped tone, leading you away from the dance floor now that the music had stopped. “Another time, then.”

“Certainly,” you replied, nervous that you had upset him.

Kissing the back of your hand dutifully, he smiled. “I hope tomorrow you will be in better spirits. I will be at the races, and it would be a shame not to see you there.”

Before you could respond, he had turned around and disappeared into the crowd.  

Exactly twenty minutes later, Colin watched as you said goodbye to his mother, hugging her tightly. He felt his heart clench. You really were the picture of grace when you weren’t around him. But it was far too late to dwell on that. 

He turned around to leave the ballroom in search of a strong drink as soon as he saw you leave through the main entrance. Now that you were gone, he saw no reason to stay. He didn’t particularly enjoy balls, even if this one was being hosted in his home, and he knew he would only grow bored now that you weren’t present to trade insults with.

Ever the dutiful son, Colin walked up to Violet Bridgerton to excuse himself before he left.

“Leaving so soon? I thought you might be more likely to stay now that Y/N is gone,” she teased. 

Colin laughed and shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

“It’s a shame you don’t care for her,” she tsked. 

Eyes widening, Colin cleared his throat and tried to seem casual. “Why do you say that?” 

Had you said something just now? Were you having second thoughts about the Duke?

“Because I’d love to have the Montclairs as part of the family, of course. Unfortunately, Y/N is as good as married. Perhaps we can try again with Louis,” she mused. “Eloise is bound to come around to marriage at some point.”

Colin laughed weakly, not trusting himself to say anything, and gave his mother one last squeeze as he headed out to the hallway.

Finally out of the ballroom, Colin headed to the Bridgertons’ private courtyard so he could gaze at the stars, a habit he developed during his travels to guide him through rough waters that he couldn’t seem to shake even now that he was home. 

He could have taken a more direct route, but he wanted to avoid any mingling party-goers, already exhausted from the night. Colin was quite enjoying the feeling of navigating through his familiar home, realizing that he hadn't spent more than a few months in England in years.

Finally, after a few minutes of solitude, he reached the door farthest from the ballroom that led to the courtyard,

However, when he was halfway to the exit, he spotted two figures there already, partially obscured by the curtain in front of the door. He could barely make out two voices and a very flirtatious giggle. Rolling his eyes, Colin started backing away, not wanting to interrupt what he assumed to be Benedict and some very unlucky lady having an intimate moment. 

It was certainly a bold choice on Benedict’s part. The courtyard was not so private that it was hidden away from view completely, and anyone in the ballroom could have seen them. But Colin was not in the business of getting involved in his brother’s affairs. 

As he turned away, Colin heard a muffled, “Ah, I see you like to play coy…”

Well, that was certainly not Benedict. In fact, it sounded quite a bit like…Arthur Barlow?

It couldn’t be, Colin shook his head aggressively. It couldn’t.

Colin felt anger rising in his chest, his lips turned down into a deep frown. He started back toward the courtyard.

Arthur was courting you. And he had just seen you go home. He couldn’t possibly be outside with someone else, could he?

Could he?

Upon hearing a squeal, Colin reached out and pulled back the curtains slightly, only to be met with the sight of the duke’s lips on Miss Barrington’s.

Colin dropped his hand in shock, letting the curtain obscure his view once again. He could barely believe what he was seeing. Your suitor was kissing another woman. Her hands were in his hair and he was tugging at the front of her dress, rushing to untie the bows on her gown.

Colin was frozen in shock. Is this something the duke did regularly? Did this mean that you and Lord Barlow kissed? An unpleasant image appeared in Colin’s mind, but he shook it away. He needed to focus on the problem at hand.

He had caught your almost-future-husband with someone else on the balcony, and you most likely had no clue. The duke’s actions had the potential to ruin multiple futures, and Colin felt his breathing quicken as he thought of how this could affect you.

Peeking through the window once more to ensure that he really was seeing the Duke and Miss Barrington, Colin frowned deeply. He shifted his gaze to the window looking into the ballroom across the courtyard, and was satisfied when he didn’t see anyone spying on the couple. At least there was that.

Rushing back through the twisting hallways, Colin ran to speak with his mother before anyone else could catch a glimpse of what was going on outside the Bridgerton home. 

Winded as he reached his mother, Colin grabbed her by the elbow and led her outside into the hallway. 

“Need… to… speak,” he panted out.

“Colin? What on earth–? I thought you had left the ball,” came Violet’s shocked response as she placed a concerned hand on her son’s shoulder. 

Colin nodded aggressively. “Lord Barlow… with Miss Barrington… on the balcony kissing,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Oh!” Violet gasped, horrified. “Are you certain?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Obviously, Mother. What do I do? Should I go stop them? I thought he was going to propose to Lady Montclair. But Miss Barrington will be ruined if anyone finds out.”

His mother thought for a moment. “Has anyone seen them yet?”

Colin shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“That is the best we can hope for in this situation. I will go and stop them at once; hopefully, no one will have noticed their absence,” indicated Violet, annoyed that people felt the need to act like this at her ball in her home.

“And what of Lady Montclair?” pressed Colin. Surely you were the most important person in this situation, no?

"We ought to inform her in private, let her decide her course," she suggested, her voice low with a hint of disdain. 

Colin frowned, frustrated that the duke’s careless actions could result in you losing a suitor. 

Violet continued, "There's no need to create a spectacle, after all. A scandal of a duke’s infidelity won't bode well for anyone involved. With any luck, it went unnoticed, and Y/N can deliberate in peace. I highly doubt Lord Barlow will be forthcoming with the truth." 

Just then, the Bridgertons heard the ballroom door slam open as a chorus of giggles and whispers filled the hallway.

Colin cast a wary glance towards the departing crowd. "I fear discretion is no longer an option."

The whispers seemed to echo, disturbingly audible.

"Lord Barlow? The Duke?"

"I had heard he was set on Lady Montclair..."

"Such a shame. They appeared quite suited. What will become of her now that she's lost a Duke? I couldn't bear the humiliation."

"And Miss Barrington?"

"It seems the Duke's actions have ruined more than one woman this evening…”

—

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[cnt-21]

Endless Nighttime Sky

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x f!reader

summary: feyd-rautha was never supposed to be a harkonnen.

wc: 2240

warnings: angst, canon typical violence, referenced sex, references to the baron being a creep, major character death

a/n: i merged pt 2 movie feyd and book feyd bc my antidepressants won’t let me sleep or cry or feel so now we all suffer

⟢

⟢

Feyd-Rautha’s life has never been colorful, even before his Uncle brought him and his brother to Giedi Prime after the incident. But Lankiveil was a different type of colorless than Giedi Prime. Endless snow and endless sea and endless sky were only ever interrupted by the occasional building or boat or cloud, it was a natural absence of color. On Giedi Prime, color wasn’t absent, rather, it was stolen. Extinguished by the light of the black sun.

As a child, he could step outside and see the pink of his skin, the blue of the sea, and her cerise colored lips stretched into a smile. Feyd tried not to think of such things underneath the black sun of Giedi Prime, focusing instead on the blades in his hands, the rush of blood in his veins, and the roar of the crowd as he cut down his opponent. It’s easy in the arena, watching the blood seep out of wounds of the fighting men, like watching ink bleed across paper.

As the second son of a second son, Feyd shouldn’t have been the heir to anything, let alone his Uncle’s Barony, but his Uncle’s preferences and his brother’s violent tendencies all but shoved the title of na-Baron into his lap. He wishes he could’ve kept his mother’s name, wishes the name Rabban hadn’t been tainted by his degenerate brother, wishes he hadn’t been corrupted by the Harkonnen name.

Glossu was supposed to be Uncle’s heir. Glossu “Beast” Rabban should’ve been na-Baron Glossu Harkonnen. Glossu was supposed to go to Giedi Prime by himself, and Feyd wouldn’t have had to learn to fight as a gladiator, to hide poison needles in his clothes, to seek comfort in pleasure slaves and pain. Feyd-Rautha Rabban would’ve learned how to navigate using the stars and how to sail the icy seas and how to love his wife, a girl promised to him since conception.

He thinks he already did love her, when he was a child and still the future Count of Lankiveil and she was the future Countess. He remembers her fondly with a burning behind his eyes and a tightness in his chest that he suppresses because that is a weakness he cannot afford. But sometimes when he’s alone, after a fight or a fuck or another filler, he allows himself to think of cold nights. Whale fur kept the two of them dry and warm in the snow as they made their way to the lighthouse. They’d race up the stairs and he would win every time because his legs were slightly longer and he could take two at a time and only trip once.

The door to the gallery was heavy, but he’d manage to open it before she could catch up with him. He would hold it open for her until she joined him outside, and they’d laugh at their mingling breath visible in the frigid air before leaning against the railing, uncaring of whether or not the old metal could hold their combined weight. She would point at which constellations were visible in the sky and list off the most memorable stars. Feyd would listen even though he already knew which constellations were out and every star in each one, not just the brightest or prettiest sounding, because he was the future Count of Lankiveil and he would need to know those things. But letting her talk meant he could watch her, admire her red nose, rosy cheeks, cerise smile, and messy hair.

Feyd can’t remember which stars she had chosen to name their children after, can’t even remember which constellations were visible on Lankiveil from the Rabban manse. Giedi Prime is far, surrounded by different constellations, different stars, and polluted with millennia of industry. Even if he looked to the sky, there wouldn’t be any stars to name.

He doesn’t think of stars in the arena. Or even the black sun and the colors it stole. He focuses on the blades in his hand, the drugged Atreides soldiers he is meant to kill, and Lady Margot Fenring. Except one of the soldiers isn’t drugged. It’s not really a problem, Feyd is an excellent fighter. Gladiator fights are mere public training matches for him. It’s been years since he struggled against anyone in a fight. But it’s unexpected, which means someone planned to catch him off guard. He would accuse Glossu if he thought his brother had the intelligence to come up with such a plan. It could only be his Uncle and that twisted Mentat of his.

The sober soldier’s movements are too exact, missing the sluggish, inaccurate movements of intoxication. If he were a lesser man he’d let his surprise affect his fighting, slip up, make a mistake, but he was trained for this. The fireworks go off, signaling his victory with inky explosions in the sky, all color and brightness consumed by the black hole sun, and Feyd represses the memories of his first fight—not in the arena, but at home. On Lankiveil, in the snow, him against Glossu.

Lady Margot Fenring proves to be an excellent comfort. She provides the necessary pain and pleasure while he’s free to relinquish control. But he’s grown too accustomed to the almost inhuman appearance of those on Giedi Prime. Their hairless, paper white skin, dilated pupils, androgynous figures. It’s easy to lose track of who is who, to pretend the pain and pleasure is entirely him, that he is whole. But Lady Margot Fenring doesn’t subscribe to the beauty standards of Giedi Prime. In the unnatural lighting of his chambers, he can see the pink of her skin, her pupil surrounded by her iris, and the peach fuzz on her arms.

When Lady Margot Fenring leaves, Feyd allows himself to remember the girl that would have been his wife. They would have been married by now. It would’ve been a winter wedding regardless of season because there was always a pileup of snow near the Rabban manse. Her dress would have been as white as the snow, made of silk and lined with whale fur to keep warm, and dripping in diamonds and pearls. She’d be a woman grown, bust and waist filled out, but her nose red, cheeks rosy, and her cerise colored lips curved in a smile. They’d consummate their marriage in the warmth of the Rabban manse and he’d have his own future Count of Lankiveil on the way.

Feyd can understand the economic allure of Arrakis, but actually being on the desert planet feels wrong. He was born on the snowy seaside, the complete opposite of Arrakis. Dry heat feels uncomfortable on his skin, reminding him of the warnings his parents told him about frostbite, becoming so cold you believe you're overheating. But his presence was necessary, otherwise his Uncle’s scheming for him to end up on the throne would all be for naught.

He’s not particularly worried when Arrakeen is attacked. When he’s rounded up with the Emperor and his people to meet the leader of the fremen, the one they call Muad’Dib, he allows the guards to take his weapons and ignores the one that openly glares at him with pure loathing. He stands at the back of the crowd, vaguely listening to the apparently not dead Paul Atreides bicker with the old crone before addressing the Emperor. It’s much the same drivel as before, until—

“Majesty, is there a Harkonnen among you?”

“I believe my entourage has been placed under the protection of your ducal word.”

And again Atreides begins his bickering with the Emperor, setting a trap until he gets what he wants.

“Kanly!”

Feyd has grown tired of this.

“Your father named his vendetta, Atreides. You call me a coward while you hide among your women and offer to send a lackey against me!”

There is no black hole sun on Arrakis to steal away the color, no blades in his hand to wield against inebriated flesh, no pleasure for comfort. Only pain.

The Emperor and his truthsayer discuss the rules of kanly. Atreides’ own people try to talk him out of the challenge.

“Is the Atreides ready?” Feyd called once the Emperor’s blade sat alone on the floor, everyone else cleared away for the ritual duel.

“May thy knife chip and shatter!” Atreides forwent the ritual words, gesturing for Feyd to pick up the Emperor’s blade.

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd mocked, getting a feel for the knife in his hand.

“Shall we fight, cousin?” Atreides asked, cat-footing forward with his own blade in hand, crouched low to the floor.

“How beautifully you dance,” Feyd said as they began to circle each other, meeting his eyes and forcing himself to remain composed as he’s reminded of a frigid sea. “Have you been shriven?”

No response. Only blue within blue.

They circle each other.

He continues his taunts, earning only a smile from Atreides as they turn. Feyd leaps at him, feinting with his right hand only to switch the knife to his left. He tries not to remember her hand in his, switching so that she’d be farther away from the cliff face and the choppy waves crashing against the frozen rocks.

“Perhaps you think this dance prolongs your life a few moments,” Feyd said, standing still and straightening.

Atreides doesn’t attack, still hesitant.

“Why prolong the inevitable? You but keep me from exercising my rights over this ball of dirt.”

In truth, there was nothing he wanted more than to leave Arrakis. He wanted to return to Lankiveil where he could rule as Count, wear whale fur-lined clothes without poison needles hidden in the fabric, and look for his children among the stars.

“Why don’t you speak?”

Somehow, even with the threat of death, Atreides managed to make a fight boring.

“You smile, eh?” Feyd asked, leaping mid sentence and catching Atreides’ left arm with the downflash of his blade.

The two return to circling each other, crouching low to the floor.

“That woman you were talking to over there. The little one. Is she something special to you? A pet perhaps? Will she deserve my special attentions?”

Feyd’s chest tightens as he sees the imagined white silk dress embellished with diamonds and pearls, a cerise smile, and her hair messily done up to make room for the fur capelet tied around her shoulders.

Atreides remains silent, smiling, and Feyd leaps forward, stabbing. Feinting slowness, Atreides managed to land a cut before Feyd jumped away, switching the knife in his hands.

Again, they begin to circle each other, watching. Atreides moving his knife to his left hand to match Feyd. Blue within blue, Feyd can see her smile frozen on her face, lips turning blue and the waves rising higher.

Feyd approaches Atreides, feinting right and under, until they’re pressed against each other, knife hands straining. Atreides forces them to turn right, barely missing the poison dart flipping out from Feyd’s belt, trapping himself beneath the Harkonnen.

Even though he’s the one speaking, Feyd isn’t quite sure what he’s saying. Something about the poison dart, most likely. But staring into the Atreides’ eyes of Ibad, Feyd only thinks of the girl that would’ve been his wife. Of his first fight in the snow, the rage he felt after his brother threw his betrothed aside carelessly, over the cliffside into the frozen, rocky waves. How his father tried to stop the beast, only to be killed himself, and the two brothers were left on the cliffside alone. Breathing ragged, bleeding, and their eyes burning with unshed, frozen tears.

His hair had been long then, he’s sure Glossu ripped out part of his scalp along with a lock of his dark hair when he first tackled him. He can still see her soaked to the bone lying broken on the rocks, so drenched and frozen was she that her whale fur coat had no chance of helping, her messy hair plastered to her graying skin, lips turned blue.

“I will not say it!” Atreides gasped, stunning Feyd out of his reverie.

Atreides used the fraction of an opening to find a weakness of balance in Feyd’s leg muscles. Suddenly their positions were switched, and Feyd was partially underneath Atreides, unable to turn due to his poison needle catching on the floor, and Atreides twisted his left hand free to plunge his knife up through Feyd’s jaw and into his brain.

His body sagged to the ground, lifeless. There was no black hole sun to hide the paling of his corpse, to liken his blood to spilled ink, to steal the color of the scene.

“Feyd!” A girlish voice snapped at him.

“You’re not even paying attention,” she sighed, leaning away from him on the balcony of the lighthouse.

“Then tell me again,” Feyd said, sliding along railing to be next to her again.

Her cerise colored lips curve back into a smile as her hand dashed out to grab his jaw to force his eyes to the stars. The underside of his jaw is warmed by the soft skin of her palm, her small fingers freezing fast in the weather now that they’re not sheltered by the pocket of her coat. Still, she doesn’t move her hand, waving the other one wildly at the sky, focusing his attention on the stars as she tries to convince him that Mirzam is the perfect name for their son.

[danikamariewrites]

Just Us

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: part 2 is here! Although I don’t really like calling it a part two because I don’t see it as a series, I don’t have a better name for it so we’re just going to call it a series. I just see this as a universe with ongoing stories/one-shit fics and headcanons lol. Thank you for all the love this is getting though! I’m so happy so many of you want to be tagged for these posts ❤️

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Digging out another option from Mor’s closet I start to panic. Azriel will be here in two hours to pick me up and it feels like every part of me is sweating from nerves. I wipe my hands on my leggings so I can grip the velvet hanger better. I turn to face the chaos Mor and Feyre have created. 

Shoes from each of their closests and mine, eyeshadow pallets, and even more clothing options cover every inch of Mor’s bedroom. It’s all so…intimidating. I’ve been on dates before, but none of those guys were ever worth half the effort I’m putting in for Azriel. Which is probably why I’m freaking out more than normal. 

As I lay out the dress on Mor’s bed my ears finally pick up what Feyre is joyously rambling about. “And then Gavin just backed off. I have never him seen him humbled so fast Mor, oh my gods. It was hilarious.” A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. It was refreshing to see Gavin put in his place. Especially by someone like Azriel. 

I circle the bed eyeing my endless options for dresses. My attention lands on one of Feyre’s black velvet cocktail dresses. It has a corset type bodice with tank top straps and a pleated skirt. It’s perfect. 

Picking it up I break out into a wide grin. Feyre and Mor notice looking at me like proud parents. “What?” I ask with a slight giggle. “It’s just…you’re going on a real date. With a real man. I just feel so proud.” Mor squeaked out, wiping away fake tears. 

I shake my head letting out a shaky sigh. “I like this one, can I wear it, Fey?” “Of course babe. This is going to look amazing on you.” She starts gathering the other dresses as Mor begins to look for shoes to match. Sitting me on the bed Feyre grabs my face and purses her lips in thought. “How do you feel about a very light Smokey eye?” 

A knock on the front door - approximately two hours later - breaks my focus from applying mascara. “I’ll get it!” Mor yells from the living room. Just a few more strokes and I’ll be done. My hand shakes from anticipation. Maybe if I take longer he’ll get impatient and I won’t have to go. 

No, don’t think like that. I deserve a nice date. I shake my body and check myself over in the mirror one last time. I look hot thanks to my best friends' combined effort. “Ok,” I whisper. 

Heading out to the living room I can hear Mor and Feyre talking with him. Gods, I hope they’re avoiding embarrassing topics. When I round the corner my steps stutter. It’s not Azriel in the living room. It’s one of the males he brought into the gallery. The larger one of the two who winked at me. “There she is!” Mor said in a sing-song voice. 

I walk forward and the male reaches his hand out for me to shake. “Hi y/n, I’m Cassian.” I take his hand, his calluses are rough against my palm as I shake his hand. “Hi, I remember you from the gallery. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Azriel?” I hate how small my voice sounds as I ask but I don’t want Cassian to feel like I’m not trusting him or his boss. Cassian smiles at me. “He’s already at the restaurant, he just sent me to pick you up.” I nod and say goodbye to Mor and Feyre before they push me out the door. 

Cassian opens the car door for me, taking my hand to help me up into the high SUV. I thank him before he shuts the door. The ride over to the restaurant was fast and quiet. I think Cassian could tell I’m nervous. When we pull up I notice the small parking lot was oddly empty. 

I audibly swallow, staring out the window at the front door. Cassian opens the door smiling at me with a boyish grin. “Cassian, can I ask you something?” “Sure thing.” Concern flashes across his face. The scar above his brow crinkling in. “I just…is he…” I can’t find the right words to ask my question correctly. Cassian seemed to pull himself up straighter. “I know you know his job but he’s not cruel. Azriel can be guarded at first but I think you’ll get through to him easily. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” He smiles at me again, squeezing my hand in encouragement. I sigh, tilting my head to the side. “You’ve only seen me twice.” “That’s all I need. I know my brother.” 

I nod and take Cassian’s hand again to step out of the car and he ushers me into the restaurant. As I look around I notice the dining room is empty. Most of the tables look like they have been cleared out so a special table could be set up in the middle of the room. Azriel is speaking to the chef and a male I assume is the owner. 

Cassian clears his throat behind me to get Azriel’s attention. When he turns it feels like all the air has been sucked from my lungs. My heart flutters at the bright smile he gives me. His hazel eyes light up as they look me up and down. I finally start breathing again when he stops in front of me. The scent of his cologne is intoxicating. The warm vanilla tones mixed with a light spice fills my nostrils. It’s comforting and makes me want to curl up next to him to breathe it in more. 

Azriel takes my hands in his large scarred ones, bringing them up to his lips to press light kisses across my knuckles. I didn't notice the scars marring them before. They were beautiful. Like a torrent, restless ocean. “You look absolutely stunning this evening.” A blush heats my cheeks, a small smile appearing on my lips from his compliment. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.” 

He drops my hands holding his arm out for me to take like he did in the gallery two days ago. Azriel continues being the gentleman that he is and pulls my seat out for me, pushing me back in, and listens to my answers when he asks me about myself. When it was my turn I asked about his childhood, which seemed to be quite normal given the amount of money his family has. I also couldn’t help but ask why the restaurant was empty.

Azriel sheepishly smiled, looking at his entree for a moment before admitting he bought the place out for the night. “I prefer first dates to be more…intimate, if you will.” I let out a hum, “So you do this for all the girls.” I joke. Azriel looked panicked for a moment. “No,” he got out quickly, “This is, you’re the first one I’ve ever done this for actually.” His voice getting quieter at the end.

My heart leaps at the confession. No one has ever put that much thought into a date with me before and I told him how much I appreciate this.  

“So, how did you get into art?” He asks over dessert. A delicoius crème brûlée with a perfect golden brown sugar coating. I break it with my spoon as I think about how to phrase my answer. "I've always loved art no matter what form it comes in. Paintings, sculpture, digital, all that stuff. I like that people appreciate something pretty or one of a kind, so if I can help them get their hands on it, it makes me happy."

I look at him, shoveling the sweet creamy treat in my mouth. Azriel smiles at me adoringly. Those hazel eyes twinkling with what I'd like to think is love. "That's amazing. Besides the two I got, how many paintings have you sold?" I let out a short, cold laugh thinking about how pissed Gavin was that I made a sale. "You were my first customer. and probably my last. As I know you heard my boss say I'm just an intern. I really should've called him but it was the end of the day so what was the harm."

Azriel shook his head. A dissaproving look takes over his beautiful face as he remembers the scene he walked in on yesterday. "I was ready to punch him." Azriel admits. "He had no right to talk to you like that. But I must say, you were a natural my dear. I probably wouldn't have bought the paintings wihtout your knowledge on them."

"Thank you." I say surprised that soemone didn't find my knowledge about art annoying.

When we finished the chef came out to say goodbye along with the owner. Azriel offered me his arm again but I took a chance twinning my fingers through his. We glance down at our joined hands. I smile lightly at the comfort I feel when I hold it. Azriel looks shocked that I would even go near his hands. "Is this ok?" I ask softly. He seems at a loss for words just nodding and staring at me like a boy realizing he has a crush for the first time.

The whole car ride back to my apartment Azriel doesn't let go of my hand. I rest them on my lap and gently rub my thumb back and forth in a comforting motion. When Cassian comes to stop in front of my apartment my heart sinks. I don't want Azriel to go. I'm not ready for tonight to be over.

"I got it Cass." Azriel says before Cassian can unbuckle. He leads me up the short steps, stopping on the landing. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Feyre and Mor crouched down on the couch. Their eyes just peeking over the window sill. Ignoring them I turn my attention back to Azriel who hasn’t taken his eyes off me since we left the restaurant.

He slips his other hand in mine pulling me slightly closer to him. “I had a wonderful time with you. And I really want to see you again.” Without hesitation I say yes, “I’d love to.” Azriel’s smile seemed to get wider. I must say, he’s not at all what I thought he’d be like. Not knowing how to say goodbye we stumble over our words for a moment until Azriel’s expression became serious. His face mere inches from mine now. “Can I kiss you, y/n.” Something about my name on his lips just seemed so right. “Yes,” I whisper.

Azriel’s lips are like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The kiss is soft yet passionate and full of a desire I don’t think either of us would be able to sate. Pulling away for air I feel Azriel’s hands slip down my neck and pull away from my body. I hadn’t realized he was holding me. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I nod, speechless. The air once again sucked from my lungs.

I slowly open the front door giving him a small wave before shutting it. Leaning against the wood I listen for his graceful retreating footsteps, the car door, and the engine as Cassian takes off down the street.

My heart won’t stop pounding. I rest a hand over my chest, a stupid smile on my lips as I’m off in my own fantasy world.

tags (accounts I couldn’t tag in bold): @amara-moonlight @harrystylesfan2686 @kalulakunundrum @thinkingofmatthewfairchild @just-a-social-casualty-1 @insecuritieeseatmealive @teenageeggscissorslawyer @theladystardust @thehighladywrites @callmeblaire @luell1q @meshellexplosionmurder @verena9003 @starsinyoureyes @mich0731 @yourfutur3lov3r @samanthalynn13 @enchantedatheart

[thecoleopterawithana]

Even though John is under-powered in this period we still see what made him so magnetic to Paul and to others around him. There is a scene early in Part Two that I find riveting. It takes place a couple of days after George has left. The status of everything - the project, the band - remains uncertain, but they are ploughing on for now. John, Yoko, Ringo, Paul and some of the crew are sitting in a semi-circle. Paul looks pensive. Ringo looks tired. John is speaking only in deadpan comic riffs, to which Paul responds now and again. Peter Sellers comes in and sits down, looks ill-at-ease, and leaves having barely said a word, unable to penetrate the Beatle bubble. At some point they’re joined by Lindsay-Hogg, and the conversation dribbles on. John mentions that he had to leave an interview that morning in order to throw up (he and Yoko had taken heroin the night before). Paul, looking into space rather than addressing anyone in particular, attempts to turn the conversation towards what they’re meant to be doing:

Paul: See, what we need is a serious program of work. Not an endless rambling among the canyons of your mind.

John: Take me on that trip upon that golden ship of shores… We’re all together, boy.

Paul: To wander aimlessly is very unswinging. Unhip.

John: And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. I can’t hide, I can’t hide. [pause] Ask me why, I’ll say I love you.

Paul: What we need is a schedule.

John: A garden schedule.

I mean first of all, who is writing this incredible dialogue? Samuel Beckett?

Let’s break it down a little. The first thing to note is that John and Paul are talking to each other without talking to each other. This is partly because they’re aware of the cameras and also because they’re just not sure how to communicate with each other at the moment. John’s contributions are oblique, gnomic, riddling, comprised only of songs and jokes, like the Fool in King Lear. Take me on that trip upon that golden ship of shores sounds like a Lennonised version of a line from Dylan’s Tambourine Man (“take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship”). “We’re altogether, boy”? I have no idea. Does Paul? I think John expects Paul to understand him because he has such faith in what they used to call their “heightened awareness”, a dreamlike, automatic connection to each other’s minds. But right now, Paul is not much in the mood for it. His speech is more direct, though he too adopts a quasi-poetic mode (“canyons of your mind” is borrowed from a song by the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band) and he can’t bring himself to make eye contact. “To wander aimlessly is very unswinging,” he says (another great line, I will pin it above my writing desk). Then John does something amazing: he starts talking in Beatle, dropping in lyrics from the early years of the band, I Want To Hold Your Hand and Ask Me Why. (To appreciate John’s response to Paul’s mention of a schedule, American readers may need reminding that English people pronounce it “shed - dule”.)

What’s going on throughout this exchange? Maybe Lennon is just filling dead air, or playing to the gallery, but I think he is (also) attempting to communicate to Paul in their shared code - something like he loves him, he loves The Beatles, they’re still in this together. Of course, we can’t know. I can’t hide, John says, hiding behind his wordplay.

— Ian Leslie, "The Banality of Genius: Notes on Peter Jackson's Get Back" (January 26, 2022).

[I was curious to read more of Ian Leslie's approach to the Beatles in general and Lennon-McCartney in particular, since he's currently writing a book about John and Paul's relationship: “John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs". He's also the author of that New York Times opinion piece that came out today.]

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 8: Bear Cubs

Words: 4.1 k

Summary: New opportunities present while ghosts from your past reappear.

a/n: The closer I get, the harder it becomes to write i don't know what it is but I hope you still enjoy. Commenting is always appreciated!

PS. Reader is latina in this cause Carmy seems like the type of man to appreciate a little melanin, okay!

WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (male receiving),semi public, minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

Summer came into Chicago with rain. Endless droplets poured in all directions with help from the constant wind, soaking everything and anyone that found themselves unlucky to not find shelter in time. You would regularly find the rain charming, relaxing on a day when all you had to do was enjoy the rhythmic patter and drown yourself in cups of tea. However, you dreaded the days when you had to go out and your sneakers were not a barrier thick enough to keep your socks from absorbing all the moisture that splashed onto them.

The rain from that day had fallen extra heavy, enough that you had to pad around in your socks once you reached the gallery and wait for your sneakers to dry.

“How about these?” Marjorie asked, standing over the set of frames laying on the floor.

“Aren’t they a bit too grim for a charity event?” You asked with your head tilted as you inspected the set of six paintings that depicted the progress of a horse’s rotting corpse.

“Yeah…” She hummed then advanced to the next set of frames with you padding behind her. “Y’know I was thinking..call me nosy, but I’ve been taking a peek at your canvas in the back..” She confessed and your eyes shot from the golden shades of a sunset to her face.

“I’ve uhm, been staying a little longer after closing… I hope it’s not a problem..?”

“No, of course not!” She answered and a wave of relief washed over you. “I actually wanted to offer you the last spot.” She said simply, turning to you with a stop.

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to process her words. “I’m sorry, what?” You asked through a nervous laugh, ‘there’s no way I heard right’, you thought.

“Well, Joy sent me a couple pictures of your works before hiring you and the one in the back sealed it. Your style is absolutely lovely and I believe you could make a great closing set for the showing.”

The moisture in your mouth had evaporated and traveled up to your teaducts where it threatened to spill. You felt like a fish out of water with the way your mouth kept opening and closing because, even though your head was racing with thoughts, none seemed to want to come out.

“You don’t need to decide now, of course, but I do need an answer by next week or we’ll have to go with the decapitated horse-”

“No! No, no I’ll do it!” You said with too much excitement to keep still, throwing your arms over her delicate shoulders. “Thank you Marge, thank you!”

She laughed along with your excitement and softly rubbed your back. You mentally reminded yourself to call Joyce and thank her for the push of bravery she had given you.

“D’you think I’ve given you enough time?” She asked after letting her go and beginning to pick up the paintings that you wouldn’t be using anymore.

“Yeah- no, I think three months is more than enough.” You assured, with the ideas already swirling in your head.

“And if you know of anyone who can cater, let me know. God knows what some people have in their heads these days that they wanna charge you your firstborn for a few canapes! Ridiculous!” 

She began ranting on how some places wanted to charge more for their reputation than the actual quality of the food and you immediately thought of offering The Beef. Sure, the menu wasn’t nearly as luxurious as needed to cater a charity event held yearly for Chicago’s socialites to feel better about ‘giving back’, but you were more than confident in their ability to handle the challenge - especially considering that Carmy came with a built in reputation from his time in various awarded restaurants. So with a little push in the right direction, you pulled out your phone and after browsing through his feed, you showed her pictures of a few dishes he had crafted.

“Oh, wow.” She marveled, adjusting her glasses over her head. “That is beautiful…”

“I can ask him when he’s free for a test try if you want. They could really benefit from the promotion.” You confessed.

“Yes, please. Tell me when your ‘friend’ is free.” She teased and you’re glad your hair covered your beet red ears. You nodded in response, face beaming with a smile.

“Hmm, I see you two all lovey dovey when he picks you up, you make a beautiful couple, by the way.” Marjorie whispered, then sweetly patted your blushing cheek.

You finished picking up the paintings and wrapping them up for storage in the back, then said goodbye for the weekend and made the short walk in the rain to the restaurant, where you had agreed to help out for the rest of the day. 

You reached The Beef huddled under your blue umbrella and by the back door, you shook out your hair from the few droplets that managed to wage their way through. The team was just about to take family by the time you crossed into the kitchen and greeted everyone leaving their stations. You found Syd and Carmy by the front, discussing some new dishes she wanted to add to the menu but he wasn’t quite sure about. You didn’t want to interrupt so you stood a couple feet behind, waiting for their conversation to end.

“Can we please just discuss this later, chef? I plan on adding it -I really do- but new dishes means new products and that means spending money we don’t have right now.” He said while rubbing his temples in frustration.

“I thought you said we finally had a parachute?”

“Yeah and it’s barely keeping us afloat as is. If we spend any more now, we’ll need a fuckin’ miracle to keep this place open.” He whispered harshly, looking around until he spotted your head behind Syd. 

“Go take family, okay? We’ll talk about it later.” He ended the conversation then stalked up to you and leaned down to whisper “Can I see you in the office in a sec?” 

His stare was so intense that all you could do was nod slowly up at him and when he walked away and you turned to Syd, her expression was just as confused as yours. 

“Try to keep it in your pants, maybe.” She said amused, crossing her arms and leaning against the expo.

“Who knows, maybe I can get your risotto on the menu.” You answered back with a wink and turned to walk in direction of the office. 

“That would be a miracle” You heard her whisper before turning the corner.

Carmy had his back to you when you entered the office. One hand rested tensely on his hip while the other seemed to rub away an incoming headache. You closed the door softly, then moved to rest your forehead on his strong back and caressed with open hands from his sides to his abdomen.

“Everything okay?” You asked, but the ragged breaths you felt him take were enough of an answer.

He took your hands and pulled them  tighter around himself as he let out a sigh. “It never is, is it?” He answered with a slight snigger while turning in your arms and taking your head in his hands to kiss you.

You smiled into the kiss and as a sudden idea popped into your head, you began pushing him back until he dropped onto the squeaky old office chair. He smiled confused when you disconnected your lips to turn the lock on the door, then moved back to his side.

“Well I may have two good news that might cheer you up…” You spoke in a sultry voice as you stroked from his chest up to his shoulders and back down. “...but maybe they can wait ‘till after.”

“After what…?” He asked, however, his question was answered the second you stepped in front of him and dropped to your knees without a word.

Carmy straightened up and sucked in a sharp breath at the stunning sight of your torso resting between his parted thighs. You kissed him again more fervently and scratched  a trail up, over the hard denim of his black jeans and to the buckle of his belt.

He sighed your name between kisses. “-Everyone’s outside..” 

A cheeky grin spread over your face as you finished undoing the button on his jeans. “Don’t make too much noise, then.” You purred with a scrunch of your nose, holding his gaze for a few seconds to make sure he was okay with it.

“No one’s ever…”

“I can stop if you don’t-”

“No-no, I just…” He licked his bottom lip and let out a breathy laugh looking into your eyes. “I kinda had a dream about this… once.” He spoke slowly and a red tint covered his face.

Your smile grew even wider at the thought of poor sweet Carmy, dreaming about you blowing him in his office and how now you were kneeling -very real- in front of him. You palmed him through his jeans with connecting sight and it surprised you how hard he already felt under the denim.

“Well then, I’m flattered to be your first.” You whispered.

Carmy’s Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he swallowed dryly as you released him from the pressure of his jeans. His eyes were fixated on each of your movements, the way your lip caught on your teeth and how warm your hand felt over his throbbing cock. You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled one last time before bluntly licking a stripe along the length of his velvet skin.

“Sshit-” He hissed, throwing his head back, then remembered the team was only a few yards away and bit the inside of his cheek to muffle the remaining sounds.

The soft skin of your hand stroked him at a slow pace, while the other massaged his thigh tenderly. You gave the pink tip a couple kisses, the taste of his precome coating your tongue, then wrapped your lips over it and sucked him into the warmth of your mouth. His hands had fisted at the side of your face, knuckles gone white from contained strength as you bobbed your head rhythmically. 

“I’m not gonna break, y’know?” You breathed out while your hand continued the steady movements. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second before reaching out to feather his thumb over your bottom lip, then extending his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck and pushing you down, back to his lap. You swallowed him gladly, the force of his strong hand applied a new pressure that made you take him even deeper than before and the knot in your abdomen tightened. His soft groans were muffled by the skin of his palm as he clamped it hard to ensure no one outside the room could hear him and how he was falling apart under you.

The thought was ravishing, to have this strong, fucked up and touch starved man trembling in pleasure from just your mouth made your chest swell with pride and your cunt squeeze in anticipation. Too bad you didn’t have enough time or you’d gladly throw everything on the desk to the ground and let him take you on it. You let your thoughts run wild with the idea, speeding up the pace to replace the growing ache between your legs.

His hips stuttered with the constant movements of your tongue and the grip he had on your hair tightened, teeth biting down on the back of his hand from the overstimulation. He knew he was close, but could do nothing more than keep pushing your head down and his hips up to continue the friction. His stomach spasmed with the force of his breaths, you took your hand from his thigh and slipped it under his shirt to run your nails over the sensitive skin.

“Jesus Fuck-” He groaned into the skin of his hand and that was the only warning you got before the thick hot liquid trickled down your throat in short bursts.

Carmy’s grip loosened over your head and you pulled away but kept flicking your hand slowly to ride out his orgasm. His head was thrown back and covered in a thin layer of sweat, the tense expression on his eyebrows long gone. He hissed softly when you put him back into his jeans, the cotton of his boxers too rough on the sensitive skin.

“Better than your dream?” You teased while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and standing back up.

He let out a relaxed laugh and pulled you by your hips, kissing over your clothed stomach. “Like, by a thousand.” He responded, then pulled you down and groaned into your mouth when he tasted himself. “D’you think they’ll notice if we bail?” He asked against your lips.

“Yo, horndogs! Put your clothes back on and come out! We open in ten!” You heard Richie’s booming voice through the thin wooden door, followed by heavy knocks.

“I think that’s your answer.” You kissed him one last time and turned to the door, readjusting your hair.

“You never told me the good news…”

‘Right, that’s what I came in here for…’

“Remember the charity event I told you about?” You asked and continued once he nodded in agreement. “Well Marge offered me the last spot.” He stared blankly at you. “My paintings are gonna be auctioned at the event!”

He took a split second to react, but soon his brows raised in surprise and he circled his arms around your waist, lifting you from the ground in a tight hug.

“Baby, that’s great! I’m so fuckin’ proud of you!” He cheered, kissing the top of your head. You felt as if the skin on your cheeks would rip from the force of your smile.

“Wait that’s not all-” You laughed as you freed your head from his grip and looked up at his beaming face. “I may have gotten you guys the catering gig for the event.”

“Wait, seriously?” His grip loosened around you and you took advantage of that to turn to the door and step outside to wash your hands, Carmy following close behind.

“Mhm! She wants to see some options first, but I just know you guys are gonna kill it, so it’s practically in the bag.” 

“What’re we gonna kill?” Marcus asked, popping his head around the corner of his station and causing a laugh to leave your chest.

You turned to a silent Carmy. He leaned on the wall with his hand resting over his chin and smiling mouth. You mouthed a slow ‘what?’ that he just answered with a shake of his head and wrapped a single arm around your shoulders, kissing your head again and whispering a soft ‘Thank you’ into your hair.

He let you go after a few seconds and you walked to the front with a glowing smile, setting up for the presumed ‘hectic day’, though with the way the sky seemed to be pouring down, you doubted anyone would be stepping foot inside.

**********

You were wrong, so very very wrong. But you would not let anyone know that as you took what seemed like the thousandth order, especially not Richie - who was already having a day picking jokes at you. ‘Haven’t seen you in a month hun, got a lot of ‘em saved up’ he said two minutes after walking through the door.

“What can I getcha?” You asked the next person in line. 

Greetings had been lost, maybe fifty or sixty customers back, when you switched with Richie so he could wait on tables because the ipad had gone ‘crazy’ and it was ‘messing with his vibe’, or whatever the fuck that meant. So after clearing the screen from the usual grease, you took his place by the til and began taking the overwhelmingly large amount of orders. 

It was only until the rain turned into a light drizzle, when the line grew shorter and the room less crowded, that you finally felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call from an unknown number. 

“Richie! Cover for me, I gotta take this!” You called over the noise without waiting for an answer and walked into the kitchen with your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

A sudden rush of sharp chills prickled through your skin as the voice on the other end called your name. 

“I-Isaac?” You asked, taken back because there was no way in hell that it could be him, not when you had blocked every one of his attempts to contact you.

“It’s been a while…” He said and you could hear the sly smile behind his words.

You felt the remains of your lunch slowly burn a path up from your stomach.

“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.” You answered as frigid as possible before hanging up and lunging to the bathroom to spill the undigested meal.

“Yo hurry up, I need to- shit you okay?!” You heard Richie’s voice over by the door you had forgotten to close.

You spit the last taste of bile from your mouth and flushed before putting down the seat and slouching defeated over it. The sudden squeak of kitchen shoes vibrated and soon Syd’s head appeared behind Richie.

“Shit- hey you okay?!” She asked at the same time Richie said “So… what- you pregnant?”

“She’s not pregnant you fuckin’ moron!” She yelled at him and pushed him out, closing the door in his face. “You’re not pregnant, right?” She asked, immediately squatting beside you.

“No Syd! I’m not fucking pregnant!” You answered through soft sniffles. 

“Okay… what's wrong then?”

“Isaac called me.” You said after a few moments of silence.

“Psycho ex, Isaac?”

“Psycho ex Isaac.” You confirmed with eyes fixated beyond the floor and legs bouncing in anxiety.

“Okay… chill it’s not like he’s gonna come looking for you.” Syd said, trying to calm the evident panic attack bubbling under your skin. “Besides, Carmy wouldn’t let him stand in a ten mile radius of the restaurant, anyway.”

Your head shot up from the floor to look at her with worried brows. 

“Because he does know…right?” She asked and the look of guilt slapped on your face was enough of an answer. 

She threw her head back and stood with her hands on her hips. 

“Dude, why haven’t you told him?!” She sneered with a whisper. 

“I-I just couldn’t find the right moment-“

“There is no right moment! Just gotta throw in the bomb and hope for the best!”

“Yes I know, Syd! But I just- I couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking the worst of me, okay?!” You stood up from the seat in defeat and wiggled in the small space to reach the sink and rinse your mouth from the bitter taste. 

“And now it’s gonna be worse cause you’ve waited this long.” Syd whispered behind you. 

Three knocks at the door interrupted your answer and you looked up at Syd with a terrified look in your eyes. She mouthed a frantic ‘what do I do?’ before calling out a wobbly ‘uh… busy!’.

“I know you’re both in there, open up.”Carmy called with a heavy sigh. 

She shrugged her shoulders apologetically and opened the door to a worried Carmy. 

“Cousin said you were throwin’ up, everything okay?” He asked as Syd slid past him through the narrow opening, turning to you and pointing with  wide eyes towards Carmy. 

“Fucking Richie… yeah, something I ate, probably.” You tried saying while patting  cold water on your skin to reduce the heat rising rapidly. 

“Sure? You don’t look too good…”

He turned you to him by your shoulders and cupped your warm cheeks in his hands, looking over your face in concern. 

“Yea- yeah, ’m fine. Probably just a one time thing.” His eyes roamed over your face with a creased brow, not fully convinced of your statements.

“You can head home if you’re not feelin’ up to it…” he suggested. 

“And miss your stupid cousin telling everyone I’m pregnant, yeah no chance.” You said with a smile and the slight crinkles by the side of his eyes returned. “Besides, they’re gonna start thinking you got favorites.” You joked and laid your head softly over his chest so he couldn’t see your own worried expression. 

He rubbed your back slowly, the measured rise and fall of his breathing calmed you down, but only slightly. You could still faintly hear Isaac’s voice bounce off the walls in your head, overpowered by Richie chanting through the kitchen about the little bear cub you were gonna have, and -for the first time since you met him- you appreciated the loudness of it.

The rest of your non-shift passed by in a blur of grease covered sandwiches and slight forming headaches, courtesy of the lack of  food in your stomach and Richie’s constant teasing. There was a point in the afternoon, where your patience had grown too thin and you ended up punching him hard on the arm. It did nothing to him, of course, but it did help in reducing your stress on the train ride back to Carmy’s place.

“Maybe I should get some rain boots…” You commented after making your way inside the empty apartment and immediately kicking off the damp shoes.

“What, like Coraline?” He asked from the kitchen, surprising you. “What?” He asked again when he saw your amused expression. “You think I just watch food movies?”

“I dunno, I assumed you’ve seen Ratatouille but that’s like about it.” You joked.

*********

Carmen had probably used his stove a total of three times since moving back and before you started spending the night regularly, not counting that time he almost set his kitchen on fire while sleepwalking, but you didn’t need to know that. He even made an effort to keep his fridge stocked with other things that weren’t half full cans of Coke or stale bread and that he could actually make into a real meal.

When you arrived home -cause that’s what he liked to call it now- you tried to convince him that it wasn’t necessary to make dinner. But you hadn’t eaten anything all afternoon and it would have been completely fine if he didn’t know, but he did, and letting you go to bed on an empty stomach was not even an option that crossed his mind. 

He liked cooking for you. It was the only way he could express how he felt. When words seemed too complicated to string together in coherent sentences, that stuck like thick honey to the roof of his mouth, he cooked them. Whisked them together with a bit of salt and pepper then fried them until crisp, and fed them to you on his best tableware; hoping this way you could understand all the messages his mouth failed to explain. 

‘Only if you eat with me’ You had whispered as you took the skillet off the flame for the second time, a determined glow heavy in doe eyes and he knew that in a relationship with two people pleasers, arguing over who cared more for the other would be a lost cause. So he settled on making something quick and joined you on his small living room floor, where you sat with your feet wrapped in a blanket, computer and a couple of his cook books, drawing out ideas on what he could offer for the gala.

“Don’t we still have, like, three months?” He asked with a heavy sigh that came from stretching out his tired legs.

“Yeah.. but this way you’ll have more than enough time to see what works and what doesn’t.” You shrugged your shoulders and took a bite from your plate.

He chewed in silence, mesmerized as you lost yourself in the rabbit hole of all the different options they could serve for the event, flipping through his books and putting little colored post-its on the ones you liked the most. He had never seen you this excited and it brought a feeling to his chest that, if he didn’t know it was because of you, he’d probably confuse with heartburn. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the looming sensation off his shoulders, the idea that something lurked around the corner, waiting to pounce. Like how he felt before Sugar called him about Mikey, and when he first learned that The Beef was now his. 

For his peace of mind he decided to blame it on anxiety, he had grown so used to always being alert that his body felt wrong when it wasn’t. 'Its probably just a gut feeling' he thought, and he was never that good at reading his gut, anyway.

Chapter 9.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha and that’s it lmao

[wasongo]

I think I got a lot of new followers recently because twitter keeps going to shit. However, as you probably know I can't and don't post nsfw art here.

You can find my NSFW socials on my pinned post. I think a lot of people are hesitant to join platforms which aren't fully available to the public yet but if you'd like to keep up with my nsfw art I'd like to:

Urge you to visit my website and subscribe to my RSS feed for gallery updates!

Suggest you follow me on either Pillowfort or Cohost (18+).

In the last year I have started using PF and Cohost more than Mastodon, as they've implemented new features and their posting system is more in line with what I enjoy: robust tagging and filtering, ability to post MANY images, and readmores for long posts.

If you've been hesitant to join either of those platforms since you don't know what to expect here's a small-ish review of both purely from my experience as someone who: a) enjoys profile customization b) likes to have an organized art gallery that is filterable by tags.

This review is aimed at artists looking for NSFW spaces to post! UI screenshots might have suggestive terms and images. Proceed with caution.

Edit: Good grief tunglr, if you open this on the web dash the images aren't shown in the neat galleries I put them in to make the post shorter. Head on over to the permalink if you'd like a better looking post!

Let me just say that if you're looking for a review on more technical aspects of these platforms, like security and moderation policies. I'm not your guy. You'll have to look elsewhere for that. I'm focusing on QoL UI and community aspects.

Though both these platforms allow nsfw, please make sure to read their ToS/Community Guidelines for rules on what is and isn't allowed. Though as far as I'm aware they have pretty similar rules.

Pillowfort

Overview::

Pillowfort has more years under its belt being available to users than Cohost does, as such I THINK the artist/fandom userbase atm is larger, which means you might see more activity there. UI as of right now is very comfortable and the site runs pretty smoothly. Loading times are very decent. Posting is easy, though the image uploader is a little wonky (they are working on fixing this). You are able to create and manage communities based on interests or themes, which people can follow or join and all post in the same space. You can personalize your profile by adding images, links, and formatted text to your sidebar, as well as customize your own profile colors. Tag searches in my experience yield results of both art and aesthetic irl porn and gifs. If that's something you miss from ye olden tumblr days it might be worth a look.

Pros:

Posts have privacy options (everyone, logged in, followers, mutuals, only me)

Has a DM system

Posts have Commentable, Rebloggable, NSFW toggle

Can post MANY images on a single post

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging system

Robust filtering system: hide or click-through warning (by installing Tassel userscript only)

Customizable profile colors, Light/Dark mode for whole website

Communities you can follow/join for shared interests

You can filter posts on profile by tag

You can filter posts on profile by "original poster" or "reblog"

Cons:

wonky image uploader, cannot upload multiple images at once

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Search for terms with periods in them is currently broken (ex. "D.Gray-man" will not yield any search results)

Communities have few moderation features atm

Without Tassel installed the filtering system is pretty garbage atm (you can either show or hide nsfw or filtered tags completely, with no click-through warnings)

No multiple account/side blog feature yet

Some inline image formatting options are broken atm

Default endless scrolling

No progressive web app for mobile atm

For a more in depth explanation of PF's UI and features you can check out this official post.

Here are some images of the UI.

---

Cohost

Overview::

Cohost feels like it has a small artist/fandom userbase at the moment. However, to make up for that it has a pretty slick UI, it works great as a progressive web app on mobile, and it recently implemented an ASK system similar to tumblr's! Everything loads pretty quickly, and you can switch between your "latest posts" feed and your "bookmarked tags" feed. You can access your likes as a bookmark system, but as a whole "notes" and engagement numbers except for comments are not visible anywhere (this is wonderful for my personal mental health). It has a simple post editor and though the image uploader only allows 4 images that will load with lightbox, there's a workaround to upload MANY inline images if you want. The catch is you'll need to use a bit of markdown or html to do that. (more on that below) Though you can't personalize your profile colors, you can add personality to your page by making very cool pinned posts and adding images to your sidebar.

Pros:

Animated avatars! (listen i like having my animated komui icon)

You can make multiple "pages" (blogs) which function independently for comments/asks. switching between pages is effortless

Ask system, with anon toggle (you cannot reply privately atm tho)

2 Factor Authentication

Progressive web app for mobile works like a charm

You can preview your post before you post it

Posts have a NSFW toggle and you can save drafts

Can post MANY images in a single post (bit of a workaround as you'll need to upload your images to a draft first and then add them to a new post with some markdown or html code)

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging AND filtering system (show, click-through, hide completely), plus CW system to give your posts additional click through warnings you deem necessary

You can do incredibly cool things with HTML and inline CSS on your posts

You can filter posts on profile by tag, and you can have pinned tags

Toggles for hiding reblogs, replies, and asks on profiles

Paginated browsing instead of endless scrolling (things load faster)

No engagement numbers visible ANYWHERE

Cons:

Image uploader does not let you upload multiple images at once. Limit to 4 images (can upload more as inline images with code)

Advanced post formatting (ex. bold, italics, bullet list, inline images etc.) has to be done through markdown or html + css which is not the friendliest for those who don't know any code (there's a button for a markdown cheatsheet when you post tho!)

No dark mode, or customizing profile colors atm (however there are workarounds to changing site colors with Stylus extension)

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Cool things you can do with CSS on your posts might look very bad on mobile

Since you can do some crazy things with CSS on posts, you might come across eye straining visuals and movement on some posts. There are settings to tone this down, and people are pretty good about tagging things, so with some good filtering you should be able to avoid this however.

A little quieter on the artist/fandom front (but we can change that)

Here are some images of the UI.

If you made it to the end of this review thanks for giving it a look! If there's something vital you might want to know that I missed in regards to UI and posting features let me know and I will try to answer. But again, this is not a technical/security issues/bugs review so don't ask me about that.

Lastly, I've been seeing a handful of NSFW artists I follow on twitter hopping on bluesky. I REALLY suggest you do a little research on the owners and platform to see if you think joining is worthwhile, since I have a feeling many artists might not want their alternative to be a site owned by crypto advocates (and also a billionaire). Some basic research will get you there. Just take heed and use your best judgement. On that note Cohost is strictly against crypto (I'm guessing PF might be too but I don't have a link that I can point you to confirming this atm).

I believe community driven and supported platforms are the way to go. If you end up thinking either of these two places are worth your time, do consider getting your friends and favorite artists on board or supporting them! You'll get added perks on both platforms if you become a supporter. PF recently added the ability to have MULTIPLE AVATARS (PFPs I think they're called nowadays) which I think is super cool (i really miss that from LJ days).

Again, thanks for reading and I hope to see some of you there!

[stevesbestgirl]

Dreamweaver

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, a few curses, briefly mean!Morpheus, soulmate tattoo bs, I took liberties with the lore

A/N: I started this forever ago when I was dealing with some stuff with my brother, so if it feels like a self-insert 🤷‍♀️ (no descriptions of reader's appearance)

5775 words

"Dream."

Lord Morpheus, also known as Dream of the Endless, raised his head from his desk, where he was pouring over a book.

"Dream!"

He heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing.

"Dream of the Endless, I hold your sigil and I call to you."

"Yes Death, I am on my way to my gallery as we speak."

"Forget your gallery, come here."

Morpheus suppressed a sigh. But with a sound suspiciously like the flutter of a raven's feathers, Dream disappeared from his library, appearing instead beside his sister. Death's gaze did not waver; she appeared to be watching a young pair seated on a mattress on the floor of a simple bedroom. One, a young woman, seemed to be comforting the other, a young man with enough resemblance to be a sibling.

Dream spared only a quick glance, "Why am I here, sister?"

Death finally tore her gaze from the two mortals, "Can't you see it?"

Morpheus watched the pair again, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Maybe I'm just bad. That's why she left." Dream could see the wisps of despair puffing up around the boy, evaporating like drops of water on a hot pan.

"You took the fall when I broke Mallory's lamp when we were ten. Don't tell me you're bad," the woman insisted despite her soft tone. "And nothing you did made Bella leave."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Dream's gaze swiveled back to his sister, "I am unsure what it is I should be seeing."

Death huffed impatiently, "Open your mind for just one moment and consider that a mortal may surprise you." When he still stared at her, his jaw growing tight with impatience, she rolled her eyes, "She's dream weaving, Dream. You of all people should be able to tell."

"The dream weavers died out hundreds of years ago."

Death grabbed her stubborn brother by the shoulder, twisting him to face the girl again, "Watch."

Dream watched, albeit a bit disdainful, as the young woman continued to speak. She offered musings about their past. Their childhood seemed to have been a difficult one. But she made jokes, reminiscing and reflecting on what they could learn- how they could create better for themselves. And then he saw it.

Human consciousness, all consciousness really, clung to the Dreaming with tethers. Needless to say, humans clung particularly closely compared to most other sentient life. Each dream, though they varied in strength, was a connection to the dreaming. When a being began to lose the will to live, those tethers weakened.

Her brother's tethers were weak; not quite on the brink of severing, but looking rather exhausted. And while it wasn't possible for her to strengthen the tethers- only their owner could do that, she was reinforcing their connection to the Dreaming. The dreams she was sharing were indeed woven into an intricate web, right on the cusp of his realm.

Her own web was vast, ethereal silver glimmering in elaborate knots and designs, each one a waking dream. This girl's very existence was tied up in his realm.

His only show of emotion was a small parting of his lips, but that was enough for Death. "I told you so."

Dream said nothing, watching the girl speak.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Death prompted, clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"It appears that a new age of Dreamweavers may be upon us, sister."

"Are you going to speak to her?"

"I suppose I am duty-bound to make contact. Soon, more like her will appear, if they haven't already. If they go on unsupervised, they could damage the realm."

Death cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you sound so reluctant? You've never had issue with dream weavers in the past, have you?"

"Not yet. But I have an odd feeling about this one."

*

After departing with Death, Morpheus tasked Matthew with keeping an eye on the girl. She stayed with her brother through the night, the pair of them departing early in the morning and returning a short while later with what appeared to be a third sibling.

Only once the two young men were in each other's company did the girl leave, returning to her own home a short distance away.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts as she puttered around the house, cleaning up odds and ends before changing into a tee-shirt and climbing into bed. Underneath her eyes, dark circles were beginning to swell. She was exhausted.

Morpheus almost felt bad for her; this sleep would not be as restful as she might be expecting.

*

Y/N always had vivid dreams, both waking and while asleep. But she immediately knew tonight was different. Dressed in nothing but her tee-shirt and underwear, her bare feet were chilled against the dark stone floor underfoot.

A shadowed figure sat in a throne at the head of the large room, as though waiting for her.

"Hello?" She took a hesitant step forward, hands clinging to the too-short hem of her tee-shirt, which was barely covering the tops of her thighs.

"Approach, Y/L, L/N."

She did as the voice instructed, stepping forward on unsteady legs. It was male, authoritative and nearly stern. But it wasn't aggressive, or even raised in volume. He simply spoke and expected compliance.

It was also beautiful, deeply toned and unrushed in its delivery. He had an accent she couldn't identify, her mind reeling with thoughts as she approached the throne, still cloaked in shadow.

She felt exposed, painfully aware of his gaze on her. She gave her shirt another nervous tug down, trying to make sure she was covered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "What is this place?"

The silence stretched, her fingers abandoning the hem of her shirt in favor of fidgeting with the cuticles of her fingernails. But her hands parted hastily and she sucked in a gasp as she suddenly found herself fully clothed in a pair of dark jeans, socks, boots, and a black jacket over her tee-shirt.

She was relieved for both the privacy and warmth granted by the clothes, but her heart was pounding at the magic, "Am I dreaming?"

The figure remained in shadow, "Yes," he confirmed. "But more importantly, you are in the Dreaming."

She blinked, willing her eyes to make out the figure in the dark as questions bubbled up inside her, "And that would make you-?"

He rose slowly from his chair, towering over her at his full height, somehow still shrouded in shadow, "I am Dream of the Endless, creator of the Dreaming, King of Nightmares."

It suddenly became quite clear to her as she gazed up at him that he wanted her to be intimidated. The question of why still loomed.

"King of Dreams then too, right?" She couldn't find it within herself to give him the reaction he wanted, king or no king.

His voice remained level, "Yes."

"Am I forbidden from laying eyes on the King of Dreams?" She cocked her eyebrow, only slightly, in a challenge. She took a step backwards, inviting him to step into the light.

There was another long pause before he answered, "No, you are not." But instead of moving, the shadows seemed to loosen, pale skin blooming behind the darkness until his face was wholly visible.

It seemed the perfect match for his voice, slim with sharp cheekbones and a shock of deep ebony hair. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, which were dark, almost entirely black in a way that should have been eerie. But they glimmered like stars, little specks of light dancing deep within their depths and seeming to invite her inside. She felt as though she was falling forward until the darkness swallowed her up.

But inside was far from dark. It was a massive stretch of blackness, yes, but far from nothing. The black was a canvas, swirling with color and light and looking like entire galaxies.

A mess of incoherent thought washed over her, driving her own thoughts from her mind. The galaxy showed her a beautiful woman. She felt insecurity, fear, but also something warm and safe she could only describe as love. Then she saw the sun, but the sun as she'd never seen it before. The sun through the eyes of someone who couldn't go blind. And then came pain, rejection, grief-

"You should not be here."

Then she was back in the throne room, balled up on the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She sat up, hastily wiping her cheeks, but Dream was already hauling her up by the shoulder of her tee-shirt, her extra layer of clothing stripped away in an instant, "You dare to invade my mind?" His dulcet tones were reduced to a mere hiss. "As the King of Dreams, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you or others like you meddle in the affairs of my realm, it will cost you dearly. It seems that every time I show compassion to a human, you are determined to make me regret it. Cross my path again and you will not receive such mercy a second time."

She wanted to plead with him, to make him understand that it had been an accident. She didn't even understand what she'd done- were those his thoughts?

His change in demeanor stung more than it should have. But his sudden rage combined with what little she'd seen made it clear he would not leave himself vulnerable to her, and perhaps for good reason.

"I apologize for any offense, it was not my intent. I will do my best not to get in your way again." She offered him a sad smile, "And I'm sorry for your suffering."

His eyes glimmered in a brooding smolder and then she found herself jolting awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat glittering on her skin. She made a half-hearted attempt to tell herself it had only been a dream, but there was no denying what she'd seen- what she'd felt.

She felt out of place going back to her everyday life, but her work wouldn't wait for her. And there was plenty left to do for her brother, so she put it behind her, hoping that whatever she had done to draw the King of Dreams' ire was a one-time thing. Their interaction had left a lingering bad taste in her mouth.

She had hoped that her responsibilities would drive the memory from the front of her consciousness, but it continued to creep up on her each time she had a moment to breathe, haunting her rare moments of rest with nightmares. She suspected the King of Nightmares was wholly capable of sentencing her to a lifetime of nighttime terrors, but she wasn't convinced this was his intention. But if she was connected to Dream, as he'd called himself, the only way to fix it would be to visit the Dreaming again.

And now she was thinking about it again. She gave herself a shake; she had another long night ahead of her. So she turned up the music in her car and left for her brother's apartment.

*

"I thought I might see you back here, brother." Death looked smug as Dream appeared beside her in the same place they'd watched from last time.

"And why are you here again, Death?"

"To catch you in the act, obviously."

Dream made a disapproving noise at her joke, but didn't press further. He watched as she and her brother played a video game together. He'd done some reading in her book after her uninvited foray into his mind, though mostly out of spite. It had done nothing to reassure him that he'd acted appropriately.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Teenage parents, poverty, and drug use had rendered her functional guardian to her two younger siblings at a young age. Once he arrived at the abuse resulting from her first romantic relationship, he'd stopped reading.

The two Endless watched for quite some time before speaking again, but surprisingly to Death, it was Dream who broke the silence. "Why are you truly here, sister?"

"It is part of my responsibilities to check on the humans whose ties grow weak."

"Do you spend this long on every one?"

She huffed a sigh, "No." Stealing a glance at Y/N, she admitted, "When she weaves the dreams, that strengthens the connection, giving a weak tie more time to recover."

Dream tipped his head, "Yes, as you explained last time."

"I'm starting to suspect that the dream she's woven around the center tether may be permanent."

"Is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know. Like you said, this could be a new kind of dream weaver." They both watched her laugh, drawing a laugh from her brother as well. "I wish I could just ask her what she's capable of."

Dream looked back on the way the girl had collapsed in his throne room, realization making his stomach sink, "She is unaware of her abilities."

"As far as I can tell." At Dream's silence, Death glanced at him sharply, "Why do I get the sense that you may have done something foolish?"

Dream was silent, reassessing his interaction with this new information. He'd brought her into his realm, exposed and confused, then put on a show of being intimidating and immediately lost his temper, resorting to threats and expulsion.

He refused to feel shame over actions taken to protect his realm, but he couldn't identify the strange pit that seemed to have opened in his gut. She likely thought him a monster, a nightmare himself instead of their king.

"Dream, what did you do?"

Death's voice broke him from his stupor, though he kept his gaze on the girl, "I brought her to my realm and lost my temper."

Death couldn't suppress an eye roll, but Dream didn't seem to notice, "What was it this time?"

"I suspect one of those new abilities allows her access to memory."

There was a long pause. "She got inside that thick skull of yours?"

Dream broke his gaze to send his sister a scathing look, "Yes."

Death sent her an appraising glance, "She seems to be holding up rather well, all things considered." It was meant to be a joke, but Dream thought the circles under her eyes were damning.

"You are typically far slower to admit you are wrong, so I ask you again, brother, what are you doing here?"

"After my meeting with the girl, I spent an entire evening working on new dreams and nightmares. It was the best work I've done in ages."

Now Death did smirk, "She inspired you then? Is she your latest muse?"

"My days of muses are behind me, sister. Aside from the fact that she is a mortal, my realm needs my full attention."

"Of course, brother."

*

That night, when Y/N fell asleep in her bed, she found herself back in the throne room. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stood, grateful that she'd slept in a pair of shorts this time.

"Approach, Y/N."

She did not obey the voice this time, stubbornly remaining in place and gazing resolutely into the dim light, which was only slightly improved from her first visit.

A moment, then two, passed before there came a sigh. "Very well." Several long strides later the King of Dreams had left his throne to stand before her. She avoided his eyes, afraid to repeat her mistakes.

"Dream King."

"Yes, I suppose I deserve that as well."

Tipping up her chin, she nodded, "You do." She seemed to catch herself, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I did to end up back here."

"I brought you here- in both instances. You've done nothing wrong, I have realized too late."

She was stunned. She hesitantly met his gaze, relieved when her feet remained planted on the floor.

Dream held his expression steady and nodded, "I apologize for my prior behavior."

She surprised herself by tipping her head, "Thank you." She chewed her lip for a moment, "I'm sorry too. For before. I'm really not sure how I did it."

She knew she didn't have the leverage to flaunt a grudge against the Kind of Dreams. She was pleased with her own politeness, but she would not trust easily.

Dream was silent for a long pause, "What exactly did you see?"

She looked away, "Not much. A woman- a beautiful woman. The sun. And I felt-" His eyes seemed to pull her gaze back in, "I felt some of your pain, I think."

"I apologize."

Her brow furrowed, "For your suffering?"

He shook his head, "For yours, at my hands. We have much to discuss, but you will not struggle with nightmares from tonight on."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, "So, I can rest assured?"

Dream either didn't catch the pun or was ignoring it, nodding, "You may. Now come, have a seat." He led her back toward his throne, where a small tea table and a wooden chair sat on the dais beside his own.

She waited, watching him take his seat on the throne before she sat on the wooden chair, ruefully thinking of her own chair at home. And then it was her chair she was sitting in. No sound or movement accompanied the change, it simply was.

Dream raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the action, "Did you just alter the Dreaming?"

Face flushing with warmth, she stumbled over her words, "Not with intention."

His gaze seemed inquisitive, "Have you always manipulated the Dreaming so skillfully?"

She raised a brow, a reluctant smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"Simply an observation."

"Sounds a bit sinister though, doesn't it? 'Manipulating the Dreaming.'"

"What would you call it if someone were to create their own clay sculpture on a block already used by someone else?" Dream wasn't offended by the action so much as he was curious.

"If it serves a new function, I would call it repurposing," she replied thoughtfully.

There was a long pause, "Indeed." She couldn't decipher his tone. "What if I told you that the person who made the original sculpture also created the clay? And that the only clay that would ever exist was his creations."

She sobered up a little, "I'm sorry if I've ruined your work. Once again, not my intention. I have a lot to learn about your realm."

His gaze trailed over the chair she'd conjured, noting the details. The golden colored thread in the stitching that glinted in the dim light of the throne room. The slight wear to the fabric around the arms. Dreams were often vague, even half-formed, because mortals struggled to shape the Dreaming. But Dream suspected he'd find a perfect match to this chair if he were to visit her home.

"Clay is never ruined for having been used for creation. However, some do not take kindly to their working being- repurposed. But that is what I brought you here to discuss."

She gave him a nod, "I'm listening."

His dark gaze seemed to pierce her, "You are something known as a dream weaver. Historically, dream weavers used their abilities to tether many humans to the same dream."

She blinked at him, expression blank for a long time, "I don't mean any disrespect, but could you be mistaken?"

"I could be, but my sister is almost certainly not."

"Your sister?"

"Death."

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had grown thick and slow.

"Why would you want humans to have the same dreams?"

"Back in the early days of human development, human dreams were chaotic and disorganized. Dream weavers helped drive human development by uniting many humans under the same dream."

"Dreams affect human development?"

That drew a surprising chuckle from the Dream King, "Dreams are human development. The world exists as it is because of dreams- because of the Dreaming." There was a marked note of pride in his voice at that.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So like, the depths of the ocean and all the scary stuff down there was all dreamed up by humans?" He nodded. "What about space- the entire greater solar system? Is any of that real?"

"Created by dreams, but very real." She took a moment to process that, stifling a sigh. "You are displeased?" Dream raised a curious brow.

"That's a very human-centric reality. I kind of liked it when we were just little specks of dust among the vastness of the uncharted cosmos."

The corner of his mouth lifted in almost a smile, "You still are. But only because humans have dreamed it so."

"How have we survived this long? It seems to me that human beings have a tendency to destroy more than we create."

"Humans can be very destructive. But they are also very clever. No other species has demomstrated such an capability to dream up solutions to its problems like humans."

"So like, climate change. The solution to all of the pollution, to the whole climate crisis, exists?"

"Not exactly. It may or may not exist now. But it could exist if enough humans were to dream of it."

She rested her head in her palm, forcing a breath; she was starting to get light headed. This was overwhelming. Her next breath did not come as easily as the first, a fact not unnoticed by the Dream King.

"Are you alright?"

"I-" she swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Dream calmly reached out and brushed his hand over her forehead, his intent to soothe her distress. Instead, a sharp spike of heat burst through his palm, quickly going icy. He heard her gasp, but couldn't tear his gaze away as the trails of ice left behind dark lines of deep purple criss-crossing over his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Her voice was barely over a whisper, the only evidence of distress the high-pitched strain that overtook her tone. Tearing his eyes from his hand, he saw the same design decorating her hand in a blue so dark it was almost black.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked up to his, "Did you-" She left the question unfinished, not wanting to make an accusation and unsure of what to ask even if she did.

"No."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No." His voice had gone cold and hard, just like it had been their first time meeting. Her eyes flicked back to the lines marking her skin and Dream saw the panic begin to rekindle in them.

After only a split second of hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead again, "Sleep, now. We will speak again soon."

Her eyes grew cloudy, but she fought against his magic with surprising vigor, "No- the- n-nightmares-"

Dream's hand seemed to slide down over her cheek to cup her face of its own accord as her eyes started to glisten with fear, "You will suffer no bad dreams tonight, Dreamweaver."

And as she faded from his realm, her consciousness joining her body in sleep, Death's words about the girl's resilience to seeing inside his head echoed again. But the lines swirling over his wrist stretched from his fingertips all the way up his forearm, nearly to the elbow, demanding his attention. They were delicate, weaving together and knotting at the crossroads between, like a tangle of flower stems and intricate lace. And at the apex of it all, the palm of his hand had an empty circle at the center.

As he stared at the mark on his hand, Dream of the Endless felt something he was neither accustomed to or fond of- he felt lost.

*

"You look like a kicked puppy today, brother," Death remarked, not breaking pace on her way to the next destination. The city street seemed to blur behind her, though her pace appeared normal. Dream's long strides quickly made up the distance, though he said nothing.

Death's raised eyebrow slowly lowered as she noticed the markings on his hand. "It appears that congratulations are in order."

The frown lines on his face only seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Unless-"

"Unless." Dream was unamused.

"Unless you are not pleased to have found your soulmate."

If he were mortal, those words might have rung in his ears, the vibrations enough to make everything he'd known crumble. But they were not enough because he was not mortal and he did not have a soulmate.

"You believe such foolishness, sister?"

"You are so confident it is foolish with the evidence staring you right in the face?"

"This?" He raised his right hand, "This is not evidence. I have never encountered such delusion in any text or reading-"

"And you will not. But if you sought out the people who can remember the farthest back in human history, they would remember."

"If it is so certain, why is it not documented?" Dream sounded annoyed that it was becoming more difficult to be skeptical.

"It is. But it has been changed in writings, splintered and embellished, transformed into something not quite the same. They never quite get it right. But they dream of it. Surely you have seen that."

"I have. Yet I have never met a mortal with markings like this."

Death suppressed a chuckle at his determination to disprove her theory, "I myself have not seen a soul mate marking in a long time. But they exist. I suspected as soon as you'd told me the girl got in your head."

"I suppose that was a sign as well," he mused bitterly.

"Yes, it was. Why are you so determined not to believe, Morpheus? You aren't usually the type to ignore evidence. I thought you would be happy."

"Happy at a cruel joke? Even if I accepted this as truth, it is clearly the result of Desire's interference once again."

Death shook her head, "Soul mates go even beyond Desire."

"Then why is my soul mate a human?" he demanded. "Am I meant to destroy human-kind in my pursuit of happiness, sister?" He knew he was being unfair, demanding such answers from his sister, but he would not allow her to light the hope inside him. He would not have what he wanted, that much he knew.

"Of course you aren't. I don't have all the answers, Dream. But be patient. They will make themselves clear over time."

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, sister. I must go." And he did, leaving Death alone just as a sigh fell from her lips.

*

All day long, Y/N got remarks about the lines twisting up her wrist. After a night of blissfully peaceful sleep, she woke up feeling refreshed, taking a moment to examine the designs that had followed her from her dreams.

The lines had filled in more since while she slept. What had been dainty lines had thickened to nearly an eighth of an inch- she'd measured. What was more, the deep, rich blue that had made up the original color was deeper now, with glimmers of royal purple, black, and the occasional glint of something golden- like a raven's wings.

The lines seemed to connect at every possible juncture. The empty circle at the heart of her palm seemed like the center, although she didn't quite understand why.

There was a lot she didn't understand; why did she have a tattoo at all? It wasn't exactly normal to wake up with new ink. And based on the Dream King's reaction, it was also not normal for ancient royalty to find themselves with a flash tattoo. But she would hopefully get more answers tonight.

She was embarrassed- mortified actually, at the way she'd freaked out last night. But she had to go back. He'd called her a Dreamweaver, whatever that meant.

But when she climbed into bed that night, she tossed and turned, anxious thoughts keeping her mind active. She felt a strange sense of trepidation whenever she visited the Dreaming; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to piss off the Dream King any more than she already had at their first meeting. But more concerning than the shadow of fear was the sliver of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Despite her efforts to convince herself it was the remnants of the dream, muddling her emotions, even now she could feel his pull. She could practically feel him waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness. And when she finally did drift off to sleep, she never reached a state of rest.

Instead, she found herself seated in the chair she had left behind the night before in the throne room of what she presumed was the Dream Castle. Dream was waiting for her, his throne no longer shrouded in shadow. In fact, the whole throne room was warm and well-lit, her breath catching as she gazed around at the stunning architecture.

"Did you sleep well?" Dream's voice broke her stupor, somehow managing to catch her off guard.

"What?" Her head snapped to the throne, where he was waiting.

She watched the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smirk, "You were concerned about nightmares, if I recall."

"Oh. No- yes, I um, slept fine." She wasn't sure why she was so flustered.

Dream let out a low hum, "Excellent."

She wasn't sure what to say, especially since Dream hadn't seemed to be in the best temper when she'd been here last. She had questions, starting with what had happened to her arm and ending with what the hell it actually meant to be a Dreamweaver.

"I'm sure you have questions."

She nodded, "A couple, yes."

"I will answer to the best of my ability."

Though her gaze lingered on the marks on her arm, the words that came out were, "What do I need to know about being a Dreamweaver?"

Dream was pensive before answering, "You must remember that the Dreaming, no matter how it responds to you, is my realm. What I say goes." You had to consciously suppress the shiver that wanted to rattle you at the intense way he held your gaze while he spoke.

She nodded, "You mentioned others- who may not take kindly to my abilities."

That elicited another pause, "That question leads to many more questions. Rest assured, I will provide an overview on my siblings, but not tonight."

She bit back the torrent of follow-ups and asked instead, "Are there more like me?"

He gave his head a solemn shake, "There were a great many Dreamweavers at one point in time. But eventually they stopped emerging and died out."

"No immortality then, I take it?" She was only joking, but he shook his head seriously. She suddenly felt shy meeting his eyes, "Are you immortal?"

He cocked his head like he was determining her intentions, "Not as you might think. I am not mortal- I do not age, grow old, or die by natural causes. Though it is exceedingly difficult, I can be killed."

The silence seemed to stretch as she processed what she had just learned. Everything should have seemed overwhelming- she shouldn't believe it. But she could feel the truth of it.

Finally, she held up a clenched fist, her eyes on the dark lines glistening in the light, "What is this?"

Dream was silent for so long that she almost asked again, but he finally said softly, "It is a soul bond."

Her gaze flicked to his eyes; the dancing lights there seemed to be waiting for her reaction. Then it fell to his own left hand, where the matching lines seemed so much more elegant on his pale skin.

"What does that mean?" She asked even though she already suspected.

"I do not know." That caught her off guard; she expected him to know everything. He certainly seemed to know more than she did.

She surprised him by asking, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

He'd expected her to push for more information. "Have you always had these abilities?"

She offered a chagrined smile, "I didn't even know I had abilities, to be honest."

"You are quite skilled."

He made a vague hand gesture and she wasn't sure what he'd done. Then she caught a glimpse of light above her head, her mouth falling open at the intricate web of silvery white that seemed to hover over her head. She didn't quite understand how she had created this masterpiece of dreams, but she believed him.

It took her a moment to realize that he had paid her a compliment, "Oh- thank you." Her face felt a bit hot. "I have another question." At his nod, she continued, "Will I see you again?"

She couldn't explain it, since his eyes were so difficult to read, but he seemed pleased as he mulled that over, "You are not bound to me; you are free to go back to your life. But should you have need of the Dreaming, it is always here. I trust you can make your way back."

She couldn't place why she felt as though he were flirting with her; he clearly avoided expressing any kind of desire to see her again of his own volition.

She felt the urge to admit she wanted to see him again, grateful to her own good sense for stopping her before the words formed. Dream hadn't spelled out what kind of being he was to her, but she knew he was likely high above whatever a 'soul bond' meant. He was the definition of being out of someone's league.

So she nodded her head, "Thank you, Dream King."

A beat of silence. "Morpheus. You may call me Morpheus."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, "Thank you, Morpheus."

He wasn't prepared for how his name sounded when spoken from her lips. She wasn't prepared for the soft smile that graced his handsome face. Even solemn, he was beautiful. But a smile, faced directly at her- because of her- it was like knowing the sun was shining because of her.

She was so unprepared that she blinked, waking up in her own bed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her; loss, frustration, hope, longing. She felt desperate to fall back asleep, to see that smile grace Morpheus' face again. But if that was going to happen, she would have to go to him.

[manicpixiefelix]

Fae!Reader is that "and imma touch your hand when I say this, you're not special" with these foolish mortals who think just because they have managed to hold Fae!Felix's interest for a few moments, that they're special.

"After all..." they say, looking down their nose at the scared human after coming to a stop outside of a large red door "what are a few moments in the endless lifespan of the Folk?"

They open the door, revealing a huge room filled with mortals from various ages, covered in cobwebs and slumbering.

"They, too, thought they were special. Some were royalty or nobility, others were destined for greatness foretold by soothsayers. Yet they all end up here, after he has grown bored with them, when they're no longer so shiny after he's siphoned all their adoration."

Fae!Reader who used to be incredibly jealous and bad at hiding it, after hundreds of years getting over their jealousy but instead becoming incredibly petty. They indulge Felix and will dote on his pets, but keep this gallery of mortals as both a self-serving, gloating reminder that he always gets bored of people but never them. Also as a big old "I told you so, my love" every time he starts to think he might feel differently about whatever human's caught his eye, even though it's never different.

[ugh-yoongi]

Congrats on the 1k!!!

Can I request an idol boyfriend Namjoon and y/n drabble? Something like they’re on a museum date and Joon is being his intelligent/passionate about art self, talking all the artwork and whatnot, and y/n just gets so turned on so they end up hooking up in a hidden part of the museum? 👀

namjoon being an enthusiastic art heaux? this is right up @effortandmore's alley. thank you for this request, though. this one was fun.

most of the history on the piece described here is from the met's website, here. it's a really interesting and heartbreaking piece; i encourage everyone to check it out.

(also, this is more "waxes poetic about art" than anything else. smut takes me forever to write and i figured you've waited long enough, so you'll have to headcanon it, i am so sorry. also, something about this piece just screamed namjoon to me and i wanted to write it. hope you enjoy anyway!)

nydia

pairing: namjoon x reader (no pronouns used) genre: established relationship au; fluff warnings: can be read as idolverse or not, one mention of suicide (the story behind the sculpture is pretty depressing), light swearing, namjoon being hot and smart, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k

The next gallery you walk into is vast.

Full of windows that cast a mid-afternoon glow on the floor. Stained glass casting colors. In here, everything feels grand. Feels a little overwhelming, reminds you of your place in the world: small, irrelevant, hopeful. You’re standing in a room of giants, both literally and metaphorically.

Namjoon is large on his own, but here it feels endless.

Diana is centered in the room, light dancing across the bronze. As you stare up at her, you wonder if she’s happy with this iteration. If she mourns her original purpose, poised atop one of the city’s most recognizable buildings, now long-gone. Demolished. You wonder if she’s content to be stationary when she used to go the way of the wind.

She’s stunning, even as a replica of her original self, but she’s not what Namjoon came here for.

What Namjoon came here for is also in the center of the room. The marble she’s carved from is more modest than Diana’s glittery bronze, but no less impactful. Her name is Nydia, and Namjoon has been obsessed with her since he’d gotten his hands on a first edition of an old novel, out of place amongst his poetry, but inspired by art and weathered by time and someone else’s devotion to it.

“There she is,” he says, and the room is vast and empty but you could make out the hushed awe in his voice from miles away.

You tuck yourself into his side, feeling just as small next to him as you do next to all of these sculptures. Laugh softly, endlessly endeared, at all the pamphlets he has clutched in his hands. History upon history, always something else to learn, and you could write just as many on the man beside you.

“Tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks down at you. Smiles. Says, “Her name is Nydia,” even though you know that already. “Randolph Rogers sculpted her in 1856. She’s based off of the character from The Last Days of Pompeii.”

You study her. Admire all of her intricacies, all the love that had gone into creating her and telling her story: her closed eyes, the broken Corinthian column lying at her feet, the movement of her dress. You’re vaguely aware of her story, recited to you by Namjoon over the span of three afternoons, one for each volume, so you know enough to know the tragedy, but you’d be able to feel it if you hadn’t.

“In the novel, she was kidnapped and enslaved and rescued by a man named Glaucus. She falls in love with him, but he’s betrothed to Ione.” He sighs, subdued; probably knowing too much about unrequited love. Probably relating too much to the sculpture standing tall before him. “There’s a lot that happens in between, but Vesuvius erupts and Nydia leads Glaucus and Ione to the Bay of Naples, where they’re able to board a ship to safety.”

Namjoon reaches out, careful not to touch, and traces the air along Nydia’s fingertips, her hand that’s raised to her ear. “She’s blind, so she’s used to navigating by sound. Everyone else in Pompeii is unable to see through the ash and rock, but Nydia has never been able to see, so she’s able to get them to the ship by listening to the ocean.”

The two of you share a quiet moment. You wonder what it must’ve been like, living through the chaos of that day. Watching, hearing the world burn down around you, helpless to stop it. Knowing you’re doomed to your fate. You wonder if you would’ve made the same decision as Nydia, if the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you in return would hurt too much to be selfless. You wonder if it would’ve haunted you.

“What happened to her?”

Namjoon remains quiet. You almost think he doesn’t hear you, but then he answers, just above a whisper: “She decides that death is preferable to the pain of her unrequited love for Glaucus and kills herself. Slips into the sea.”

“Oh.”

The huff of laughter that tumbles out of Namjoon surprises you. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to be depressing.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll just have to write a strongly-worded letter to Edward Bulwer-Lytton.”

A full-on cackle. “Yeah. Let me know what he says.”

“Probably, ‘Sorry my novel upset you, but I’ve been dead for a hundred and fifty years.’” You sigh, trying to shake off the dregs of sadness. “Tell me about Rogers. Is that less depressing, at least?”

Namjoon lights up the way he always does when you ask him about art: entirely, with his whole being. Looks like the first time you told him you loved him, and you think they’re probably the same, that they say the same thing. “Mostly. C’mere.”

You follow him to another sculpture. Ruth Gleaning, it says. “He carved this one, too. It was his first large-scale work, since he’d mostly sculpted busts of tourists after he moved to Italy. Nydia was much more popular, though; a year or two later he was commissioned by the U.S. to do the bronze doors for the Capitol building. He was also commissioned to do a statue of John Adams but it got lost at sea.” Namjoon looks anguished at this. “Fuck, can you imagine? He had to redo the whole thing.”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“Wow, rude.”

The two of you share another laugh, but you’re struck by all of what Namjoon is. Intelligent, empathetic, eager. Always wants to bring you into what he loves, always wants to share it. Doesn’t deem anything unworthy of knowing, because you wouldn’t have thought Namjoon would know all of this, the history of an American sculptor forgotten behind the likes of Calder, Nevelson, French. But he has assigned spaces for everything, so of course he knows.

It’s a little overwhelming, how much you love him.

How much you want to know him the way he knows everything else.

The gallery you’re in is vast, but it’s filled with love. An artist’s love for its subject, your love for Namjoon. They say the same thing.

[hutahuta]

IS THAT A PAVIA CONTENT I SEE SO Though on Pavia and his s/o who's very affectionate towards him especially learning his past so they decided to comforting him by holding him and always showering him with lots and lots of effection whenever they could kissing them random times Hugging ot nowhere and calling them pretty all time and calling them by sweet petnames that could melt them by just calling them that petname to the point that the other characters are just Soo done by display they have witnessed all the time

P.AGE OO.9 — 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐌 & NOBILITY : 交 ✦ ⏱

pavia x gn!reader — clingy fluff and affections // headcanons and semi-analysis.

merry christmas! here's your gift,, 💞💕💓

i don't know if I properly executed this ask this time but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. slight gore warning when describing his occupation,, but overall it's just wholesomeness !

In the silent corridors of his soul, there resides an ache, an insatiable longing woven into the fabric of his being.

Growing up in the shadow of neglect, Pavia found solace in the silent whispers of his own echoes, seeking affection in the empty spaces between gestures. The yearning for warmth, for a touch that speaks of understanding, lingers like an unfinished melody haunting the chambers of his heart.

Every glance cast his way echoes the yearning for connection, an unspoken plea for a kindred spirit to unravel the knots of his longing.

For Pavia, he navigates the world with a hunger for tenderness. His soul aching for the love he never received, yet resiliently holding onto the flickering hope that somewhere, somehow, affection will finally find its way into his world, stitching together the fragmented pieces of their fractured past.

In the tapestry of his existence, the absence of nurturing affection is a stark thread that runs through every experience. He learned to cloak his yearning in veils of self-reliance, crafting a facade of independence to shield the vulnerability within. The memories of hollow celebrations of his unaccompanied birthdays and silent nights echo within, shaping a hunger for connection that transcends the superficiality of mere companionship.. He yearns for more.

You changed him.

The moment you entered his life, colours blossomed. Art formed. You were a gallery full of surprises and you never ceased to amaze him every single time. Celebrations were held together. Whether it was formed between your mutual friends or by the two of you alone. Beneath it all, hid his tender affection for you.

In the dance of admiration, you yearned to express love to another who endured the neglect might tread delicately yet deliberately. You infuse your actions with tender mindfulness, understanding the delicate nuances that embody care and attention.

Whether it may be big as offering objects in your attempts to allow him to see you truly do care. Or whether you grab him gently by the shoulders and take away the newspaper clutched in his hands to pepper his soft face with endless kisses that will forever leave a lingering mark on his face, far more cherishing and better than the scars left on his mind from the abandonment due on his mind. .

Each touch, big or small, gives him a sweet impression of you in his head that he'll remember for a life time.

He melts. Literally, physically melts. He cannot contain himself from being so giddy inside when he had your body completely atop him, arms dangled across his shoulders just to put a bite on his bottom lip, pressured with the soft pecks you'd give on him as you see could almost hallucinate him to have his literal pupils dilated with the shape of a heart.

Catch him off guard when you walk by, biting his neck softly and applying soft nuzzles after.

The never ending joy you'd get when you aggressively pull him into a kiss, so deep and so red, it made it impossible for him to think coherent thoughts when he's with you. Or the weak moments where you're being gentle with him one minute, and the next second you feel the urge to literally bombard his face with soft bites and rough kisses.

He doesn't mind, it's hot, really.

Maybe it's assumed that his own pups give him rough kisses on the cheek and soft puppy licks like that too so maybe he's accustomed to that sort of thing, but it's so much more different and meaningful when you do it..

For someone who lacked much of the attention when they were young, it changes how they see the world as a whole.

God,, How could I describe how he feels when you shower him in the praise he always needed? Always wanted?

Always desired.

God,, he could marry you on the spot.

Pavia's heart swelled inexplicably, as if a symphony of emotions orchestrated an intricate dance within his chest. As if to say, if you were to stop now, he'd be dreadfully fucked over. Emotionally,, and physically.

He mentally marked down your name in everything. The hungry peck you gave him this morning? He's still thinking of it when he slits a knife down a man's neck.

The hickey you left on his neck from the afternoon he took a break off his job so the both of you can get away and have some moments peace together? he's thinking about snatching the rich necklace of a man he carved who planned to sell it to his wife.

Surely they didn't need such things right? It would look far better on your neck than hers any how.

Moments where Pavia would kiss you under dim light when he returns home are the best moments. It's either raining, his favourite weather pouring it down while he gets to be with his S/O to crave, cuddle and watch the static of the radio buzzing his favourite news report around.

You were sure he's been with a few people before, but none of them were you. None of them cared about him the way you do. — By the Gods themselves, this beautiful chaos, an overwhelming sensation surged, a tempest of emotions he struggled to contain.

Flusteredness enveloped Pavia like an unexpected gust of wind, leaving his speech tangled in a labyrinth of words. His cheeks, once the canvas of a tranquil dawn, now painted with the fervent hues of a scarlet sunset, betrayed the whirlwind of emotions brewing within.

“ I didn't know you cared about me so much. What do you want from me? " He'd murmur in a laugh, fingers entangled as you refused to stop kissing his lips. His whimpers, soft spoken and eager, he couldn't muster the courage to ask you to continue. But it came out in the form of his stuttering and genuine voice that grappled onto every lingering touch you glaze him with.

He trusts you won't leave his side permanently.

You may whisk away for a bit to have your own space but when you come back, just know a puppy-lover of a boyfriend awaits you to give him those tender kisses you spoil him rotten with. So don't forget how much of a big role you play in his life. Okay? <3

[ikeromantic]

Ikevamp Boys React to Tattooed MC pt 2

Theo, Vincent, and Mozart!

Theo

Theo grabs your arm as you set down a frame in the small gallery where the next art show will be hosted. His grip is firm and insistent.

"What?" You raise an eyebrow, more curious than annoyed.

His other hand tips your chin to the left so that he can examine the side of your head and that's when you realize. He's noticed your tattoo. "Hondje, what did you do?" His voice is lethally soft, ungentle and demanding.

"I've had that since before I met you." You pull from his grip. "Anyway, it's none of your business."

"Everything about you is my business." He catches your hand in his and pulls you close. "Tell me."

You sigh. "Fine. I wanted a tattoo when I decided to go straight to work instead of college. Something to show I trusted myself. So . . . I got that star. Because I am my own guide and I choose things for myself."

Theo's severe expression doesn't shift as he tucks your hair back to get a better look at it. His breath tickles your skin. "Mmm. Fits you. Stubborn girl. Never listen to anybody."

"Hey!" You smack his shoulder. "I do when the advice is worth my time."

He laughs. "Is that so?"

"It is! Hey! Why are you still laughing?"

"Give me a kiss, then, Hondje." He points to his lips, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Vincent

You disrobe, preparing to model for Vincent. It's the first time you've sat for him without being fully clothed, and you're a bit nervous. The vining flowers on your leg are not discreet and this will be the first time he's seen your whole leg without the cover of skirt and hose.

Vincent's eyes are immediately drawn to the colorful tattoo. His eyes go wide and before you can take a breath to say anything, he's kneeling beside you, fingers tracing the delicate lines and curls of ink.

"Ummm. Vincent?" You look down at him, feeling a bit flustered. His smile is angelic but the way he touches you is . . . not. And you aren't sure what to think.

"This is gorgeous. The colors. How did they get this shade? Here?" He is so close to your calf now that you can almost feel the motion of his lips, the flutter of his lashes.

"I - I don't know. You'd have to ask the shop." You give a self-conscious laugh. "Is it going to be a problem? I understand if you don't want -"

He looks up at you, his big, blue eyes as wide and endless as the open sky. "It's beautiful. You are beautiful. But I am going to have to figure out how to mix that color before we start." His smile is full of anticipation and excitement. "Do you have any more of these?"

Vincent reaches to push aside the modest robe you are wearing.

"N-no!" Your face is completely flushed now and your heart is racing.

He drops his hands, his expression going still and flat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You feel immediately terrible for disappointing an angel. "It's ok. I just didn't expect you to be so interested."

His smile returns, tentative and shy. "I am interested in everything about you." He presses his cheek to your tattooed skin. The gesture feels intimate, precious. When he lets go to mix his paints, you can still feel the ghost of his touch.

Mozart

You notice Mozart giving you an odd look. Something between bafflement and horror. "Do I have something on my face?" You self-consciously wipe across your nose and cheeks.

He shakes his head and stands, lips pressed together in a pale line. His hand goes to your arm, drawing a line up from your wrist to your bared shoulder. "This, fraulein. What is it?"

That's when you realize, you've never shown him your bare shoulder, where your colorful little tattoo is etched. The rose and thorns are easy to cover, though you don't mind showing them off. "It's a tattoo. Surely you've seen one before?"

Mozart opens his mouth and then closes it again. It takes him several breaths to get there. "You let someone put needles beneath your skin? Someone who touched you? Who marked you?"

"Erm, yes? I mean, that's how you make a tattoo."

He crosses his arms and walks to the window, chin jutting out.

"What's wrong?" You go to stand beside him, but he won't make eye contact with you. He's grinding his teeth and just staring out at the garden as if he wanted to see it burn. "Do you . . . hate it so much?"

You didn't want him to hate the tattoo. It was part of you, and seeing him like this was making your heart ache.

"No," he grumbled finally. "It's . . . it's very beautiful. I just . . ." He let out a long, slow breath.

"You what?" You prompt him to speak after several silent minutes pass.

"I don't like the idea of someone else touching you like that. On your bare skin. Holding you." He frowns.

You wrap an arm around him and lean your head on his shoulder. "Wolf, you are adorable when you're jealous. You know that?"

"I'm not - I mean, I -" He huffs, trying to excuse himself without admitting the truth. Then he sighs. "It's fine. I'll just mark you in my own way." He turns his head and you can see a dangerous, hungry smile on those delicate lips.

[luveline]

Hello hello!!! First of all i love all you shy reader fics 😭😭😭 that's literally my favourite part about tumblr!! Also if you can, may i request sirius x shy!reader. something like reader does something cute and sirius goes all mushy and fuzzy because they are so cute!!!! and showers them with kisses and cuddles . Also you can choose if you want to make the reader female or gn!! Thank you

tysm! and thank u for ur lovely request, i hope this is somewhat what you meant ♡ gn!reader

Sirius spots you waiting for him outside of the museum and beams. He checks himself before you can catch him smiling, forcing his expression into one of a cool neutrality. 

"Hey," he calls. 

You do as he'd done; you beam, catch yourself and tone it down into a sheepish little grin that makes him want to kiss you badly. 

He tries to abstain from public displays of affection. He knows they're your worst nightmare, though how he can be expected to contain his affection when you're looking as lovely and as ridiculously happy to see him as you do is beyond him. 

Your shyness has slowly, slowly abated over time. You remain moderately hushed, but you can meet his gaze without flinching and you've accepted a great handful of goodnight and goodbye kisses.

Sirius is used to begging for your affection otherwise. He's happy to do it. He always wants to go at your pace, of course, but he wants to be close to you so deeply it aches. He's far from too proud to ask when he wants things. 

Sirius nudges the back of your hand gently with his and waits for you to nudge back before he intertwines your fingers and pulls you into the museum. 

"Where do you want to go for dinner after?" he asks, all business.

"Where do you want to go?" you ask, almost tripping over the step up into the main auditorium. Great stone carvings line the walls, the room deathly silent. he catches your arm and steadies you without complaint.

You gaze up at the seemingly endless ceiling and your lips part. Sirius watches a dawning sense of awe slacken your previous features. 

"How about Mazzio's?" he asks.

You blink back to attention. "Pizza?" 

"Is that not what you want?" 

You avert your eyes to a large doorway made of porcelain skulls. "I'll go wherever." 

"You sounded surprised." 

You drift around the room together and pause at a smaller statuette. It seems to be a woman posed against a wall, her hip, face and little stone feet meeting at the same invisible point. 

"Maybe we could go somewhere fancy," you suggest.

He pushes down his surprise quickly. "Yeah, sweet thing. Wherever you want." 

You take the lift upto the second floor and walk through the gallery. Old oil paintings stretch up the walls, meticulously placed. 

"I just… want us to," you squeeze his hand unthinkingly, "do what everyone else does." 

"Who's everyone else?" he asks. 

"Normal couples." 

His eyes flit to your face, surprised and delighted. You're looking up at a painting, your face once again slackened in awe. He watches your eyes take in each corner of the painting and his heart skips.

"We're a couple?" he asks.

You flinch. "We're not?" 

He throws his gaze around the room before stepping close as he can and taking your face into his hands. You gawp, plainly, eyes widened and lips pulled into a shocked smile. You're the cutest person Sirius has ever met. 

"Is that what you think?" he asks softly, so you know whatever answer you give is okay. 

"I did think that, until… you know, a few seconds ago." 

Sirius can't believe it. This whole time he thinks he's courting you and you're already seeing him as – well, as your boyfriend. 

He kisses your cheek. When your breath hitches happily he kisses you again, again and again and again until he must've kissed every inch of skin on your lovely face. You giggle at his touch and he can feel the heat of a warm flush bloom under his hands. 

It gets harder to kiss you as your laughing grows, his own laugh summoned in turn. 

"Sirius," you beg, giggling, "stop, stop." 

"We aren't a couple," he says, which horrifies you, until he continues, "because I haven't had the chops to ask you yet." 

He steps back, takes your hands, and gazes at you steadily. "Can I be your boyfriend?" he asks seriously, though fondness for you lightens each word. His exuberance is catching, your eyes lit with mirth. 

"Yeah," you say. You nod voraciously. "Yeah, you can be my boyfriend." 

He takes you by the waist and spins you. 

That really makes you laugh, louder than he's ever made you laugh before. It's the best sound he's ever heard. 

"Sirius," you plead, a mixture of weak and giddy. 

He stops his attack of affection and settles for just holding your hand. 

He doesn't know about you, but he barely takes in the paintings. Monet, Dante Gabriel Rosetti, Raphael, John Constable, Birmi. All masters, and yet none of them could make anything as pretty as you, flushed and giggly and clinging to his hand for dear life. 

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Letters From the Sky

[A/N: Bruv I so rarely write angst because I am a weakling and it makes me Big Sad, but this has been floating around in my drafts and I just binge watched a bunch of NCIS episodes that made me cry so 🤲🏽 a ficlet for u, here u go. It's not really the saddest ending so there's that, at least? I hope? I sorry] Pairing: Jethro Gibbs x wife!reader TW: references to funerals/loss, implied character death

__________

Settling down on the couch in your living room, you tuck your knees underneath one of your husband’s old USMC hoodies and create a makeshift table out of your lap. Writing a letter can help you deal with your emotions, help you move on with life, your mother had advised, and so here you were, pen in hand, staring at the blank piece of paper before you. Hi, I love you and I miss you didn’t quite cut it. And were you supposed to keep adding to the letter daily, filling him in on your life? Was time passing differently for him? How long would it be until you heard his voice again? Could you ask your friend for her thoughts, or would your questions bring up too many bad memories? Head growing fuzzy and eyes growing watery from your endless stream of questions with no answers in sight, you opted to just start writing. Foregoing a greeting, figuring your husband would know exactly who this was from, you let out a deep breath and put pen to paper. 

Funerals are such a funny thing, aren’t they, Jethro? The many faces from your past and present gathered around to celebrate life, lament loss, and say things aloud that they should’ve said to the person who needed to hear it most.

I miss you more than I could ever put into words. It was so strange being there today without you. How many of those solemn events did we attend together throughout the years? Family, friends, colleagues… Too many to count, and most of them senseless losses.

I don’t know how to keep going without you by my side, but it’s been such a blessing to be surrounded by your loved ones. We’ve been trading so many wonderful memories, stories about your fearless feats, your never-ending pursuit of justice, your stubborn nature, your devotion to those lucky enough to know you. I even met one of your former lovers after the funeral, and honey, let me tell you, we got to gossiping. Turns out you’re a regular Casanova, huh? It’s those steel blue eyes that keep you coming back for more, I swear.

I like to think that, even though we’re physically apart now, you can still hear me. After all, you always did say that about my optimism- “from your mouth to God’s ears, sweetheart”. Do you think, if I yelled loud enough, I could get a message delivered to you?

This big house feels even bigger without you. I guess I can think about it like those cases that would last for days, where I wouldn’t even get a glimpse of you until your perp was behind bars, but we both know it’s not quite the same. At least I can raid your closet without hearing you grumble about your favorite hoodies going missing- silver linings, my darling Jethro. I’m not sure how long they’ll keep smelling like you, but I’m determined not to wash them, just in case… My secret’s safe with you, right?

Speaking of secrets (more like hidden gems), I found a stash of Kelly’s artwork upstairs and I’ve started adding her drawings to the gallery of photos on the walls. I know I made some changes after we got married, but the sheer lack of decor when I moved in still astounds me. You’re such a man, she said lovingly.

Anyway, I think you’ll be pleased to know that

The sound of the front door opening alerts you to your friend’s return, and you hurry to jot down your last few thoughts.

Anyway, I think you’ll be pleased to know that your girls are all together in this big house of yours :) Hopefully, we’ll see you soon.

P.S. Not too soon. I know I call you my old man, but you’re not that old- yet.

Gibbs puts his truck in park on the driveway, returning home after another day added to the list of longest days of his life. He sits in the cab for a few prolonged minutes, trying to muster up the courage to enter your big house that feels even bigger now.

When he finally trudges up the walkway, he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and releases a heavy sigh before pushing the door open. And then, for just a split second, he swears he hears you calling his daughter’s name and her answering giggle overlapping with her mother’s voice.

The moment is fleeting, and no matter how hard he strains, he can’t conjure up the sound again. But the house feels warmer, lighter somehow.

And he smiles.

—————

LJG tags 🖤 @ilovemark1951 @doctorwhofan24