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lady-djarin · 1 year

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need you now

agent whiskey x f!reader (one shot)

warnings: feels, sweet jack, teasing, yearning, age gap, drinking, reader is a 'cool girl' who drinks whiskey and beer, retired!jack, oral (f receiving), drunk sex, cliff hanger...maybe, sorry!

word count: 3,228

inspired by: need you now by lady a

“Come on! It will be fun, there's cute cowboys there!”

You sighed. You liked quiet bars, not ones like this loud and rowdy one that your friends wanted to explore. You lived in a small town in Georgia and were used to the quiet life of it all. “I just don't know if that's my scene, guys.”

“It's my birthday, please? For me?” Your friend gave you her fake puppy dog eyes that always seemed to get her what she wanted.

“Fine… but I'm not dancing!”

“Yay! At least you're going, that's all I can ask for!”

—---

You walked into the bar with your best friend and her friend from high school, your small group making your way to a high top table. The bar was one of the bigger ones of your town but it was still quite small of a building. The dance floor, tables and bar were all pushed fairly close together and every single part was crowded with people. It was a Friday night so that would explain the crowd as you secure your table and get settled.

“I'm gonna grab us a drink!” you yelled slightly over the music and the other girls were already spying on a group of men nearby. You weaved your way through the mass of bodies, mostly smelling of sweat or alcohol. You reached the bar and flagged down a bartender. “Hey, can I get a Corona and two margaritas please?”

The bartender nodded and turned to grab your beer out of the fridge and gave it to you before going to make the margaritas. You leaned on the bar and looked around while waiting on the drinks and turned to your left to find a pair of brown eyes already looking your way. The brown eyes were accompanied by soft looking lips and a black Stetson. The subtle lines on the corner of his eyes told you he was not your age but attractive nonetheless. He had that classic southern handsome face that just made butterflies erupt in your gut. Looking at him felt like looking at the sun. He cracked a charming crooked smile at you and couldn't stop the same from happening to you.

“Well, hello pretty lady,” the slight drawl in his voice made your heart stop. You could immediately tell he was a classic womanizer, he knew how to get into a woman's pants faster than you could blink. You wouldn't be so easy.

“In your dreams,” you turned back toward the bar, watching the bartender make the drinks.

“Oh believe me, you are sugar.”

This fucking guy.

“Be a little original, then we can talk,” the bartender set your drinks on the counter and you handed him cash. You walked away before the cowboy could say another word.

Of course your friends had seen the man hitting on you and begged for you to go back there. You refused, telling them how you knew his type.

—--

“He’s the type to fuck you and never talk to you again.”

“Maybe you need that! Maybe you need a good fuck.”

She kind of had a point, you hadn't had almost any intimate human contact in a while and he was hot. You weren't really the hookup type but maybe you wanted to be but at this point you were four– no, five beers in and not really caring. You looked around and found the man leaning against the bar talking to a small very annoying looking blonde girl. With a new found courage, you marched your way over to the tall man, was he this tall before?, his attention quickly turning to you.

“We’re dancing.”

You weren't asking, you were telling him. His attention was long gone from the other girl and she was clearly annoyed as he followed you out on the dance floor. As you wove your way through the crowd, he grabbed your wrist, not in a possessive way but enough to make you turn and he spun you into a gentle hold. The two of you spun and laughed as the song continued, hands roaming bodies and cheeks pressed together.

“What's the name of the woman who will haunt my dreams?” You almost wanted to keep up the charade, make him work a little harder. “What name should I moan while I touch myself tonight?”

You nearly collapsed right then and there. Your eyes snapped up to look at him, meeting his that were already darker than before. You practically lunged forward, your face crashing into his, lips melting into each other, tongues fighting for dominance. His hands never stopped in their exploration of your form, one holding the back of your head, never letting you come up for air.

His lips were next to your ear now, his breath warm on your skin. “Wanna get out of here?”

Normally you would never go home with a stranger but there was something about him, and the many beers in your system, that told you to go for it. You found your friends and asked them if they were ok with you going with him, which of course they encouraged. You walked outside the bar to find the mysterious man leaning against his passenger side door of his old Bronco. You haven't felt this way in a long time, you were almost giddy. He made you feel giddy.

“Ready sugar?”

“Hell yea,” he opened the door as you hopped into the convertible and he started the engine. It was a warm summer night in Georgia and the breeze made you feel like you were flying. The radio was playing some sweet country song as you drove through the empty streets late that night.

Every so often he would look over and see your face scrunched up in joy, throwing our head back on the seat singing along to the song playing. He had not intended to find someone so special tonight but here he was, feeling his heart stop when he saw you smile. You were beautiful of course, but there was something else there under the surface that he wanted to explore.

You looked up to find that he had parked on a small cliff overlooking the city, the stars on full display. You gasped as you saw the bright stars above you, expecting to end up at his place or yours.

“Jack. My name is Jack.”

You smiled and tested his name for yourself. “Jack…” your drunkenness made it hard to form words. You told him your name and watched his eyes dance on your face. You were both leaning into each other now, the bench seat preventing any barrier from separating you two. His hand caressed your cheek, his large thumb stroking your skin. You couldn't help your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation, your skin felt like it was on fire. Besides the buzz from the alcohol, you felt light and content and you knew it was because of him. His lips were on yours again, everything fitting just right between you as you slid closer and felt the whole length of his body against yours.

You were starting to feel dizzy, and not from the beer. His presence was overwhelming, like the feeling in the air right before lightning struck. You breathed in his scent, a heady mix of burnt wood and whiskey. As your mouths finally separated, you saw the reflection of the low moonlight in his deep auburn eyes and you knew that he was going to mean more than just a one night stand. You just didn't know how yet.

—--

You smiled down at your phone seeing the name flash on the screen.

“Jack Daniels”

You couldn't believe it when he said that was his real name. The two of you had been texting all day every day for days now, since spending the night with him. You didn't sleep together but you did spend all night talking about everything under the stars.

2:08pm - Jack: Oh you better believe it sugar, I’m the best pizza maker there is.

2:11pm - You: Well, you'll just have to show me in person then.

2:11pm - You: Maybe tonight?

That was earlier that afternoon and you hadn’t heard anything since. It was hard not to be disappointed, you were having good conversation non-stop and to suddenly be cut off was weird. You tried to continue with your days without thinking of him but your mind kept wandering back to that charming man.

—--

It was almost midnight and you were restless beyond belief, not able to get comfortable or let your mind calm itself. You tossed and turned for hours until this point, finally deciding to go into the kitchen and find anything to help you sleep. You rummage through the cabinets and fridge and finally decide to pour yourself a drink, a strong one. The golden liquid swirled in the glass as you poured it, the scent hitting your nose immediately.

Perched on your kitchen counter, you emptied and refilled your class countless times until you were past tired and officially moved on to drunk. Scrolling mindlessly through social media was making your head hurt when you finally made it to your text messages. The name at the top of the screen made your heart sink.

1:14am - Jack: Hi sweetheart.

Fuck.

Nothing for almost a week and then this. What is he thinking? This isn't fair but at the same time you are just excited he texted. Your pulse was through the roof as your fingers ghosted on the keys, trying to find something to say back. Pacing back and forth in the kitchen proved difficult in your state. In a very spontaneous decision you dialed Jack’s number before your mind could catch up. It only rang once before you heard his beautiful voice come through the speaker.

“Darlin’?”

“J-Jack, hi.”

“What are you doing up?” He sounded so groggy and sexy over the phone.

“I-I don't really know,” you couldn't help the giggle that slipped out. “Couldn't sleep I guess.”

You both sat in silence for a while, wanting to say what you truly felt but afraid to disturb the peace.

“Ja–”

“Hon-,” you both spoke at once.

“Jack, I’m a little drunk… and, I need you…now,” you couldn't help the words coming out of your mouth. “You don’t have to… I ju– uhg. I’m sorry...”

“Stay right there and text me your address.”

You didn't really trust your drunk brain at the moment, but did as you were told and sent him your address. Anticipation was eating away at you in the time it took him to drive over. It felt too long and not long enough, you rushed to try and become presentable. You tore into your bathroom and fixed your hair and face as best as you could but you knew he wouldn't believe you wore makeup in the middle of the night so you steered away from the mascara. Your nerves were on fire as you prepared for Jack’s visit. You tried to tidy up your apartment as best as possible, throwing dirty clothes in the closet and hiding embarrassing things. Just as it dawned on you that this man is a perfect stranger, you heard a soft knock at the door. You swallowed the lump in your throat and tiptoed across the floor to the door. Suddenly the small shorts and large T-shirt you wore felt like not enough and too much all at once, but there was no time now. You paused in front of the door and took a breath to try and clear the fog in your head but you knew it was futile. The door creaked open to reveal a slightly disheveled but still very handsome cowboy, minus the hat.

You both stared at each other in disbelief for a moment, then he was on you. Pulling your face into a heated kiss, locking his lips onto yours. He could taste the whiskey on your lips and added that to the list of things he already adored about you. His body pushed against yours until you both hit the wall opposite the door, kicking it closed with his boot. The initial introduction stunned you, putting you in the mercy of this man's will, but now that you had your senses back, you could do what you had always wanted.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and drawing moans from his chest. Your hands pulled at the cotton of his shirt and the jeans on his hips, trying to get his body closer. It was almost frustrating that you both still had clothes on and you pulled away to tell him that when he locked his arms around your thighs and wrapped them around his torso. You ended up on the couch, straddling his hips while never breaking contact with his lips. The alcohol in your veins was spurring you on, forcing your hips to grind into his. Every movement of your hips was drawing small groans from his chest and caused his hands to roam further on your skin.

“Oh God sugar… I- I have been thinking about y-you for days,” his voice was just above a breath.

“Jack…”

Before you realized, Jack’s sturdy arms flipped your body and your back hit the couch with a soft thud. You giggled as he kissed your face and neck, stopping to suck a mark into the spot right near your collarbone. The feeling of his lips was making your head spin and your toes curl, the arousal licking up your spine like a fever. You could almost feel your very soul surrender to this man, begging to be claimed by him. The slight scratch of his stubble somehow made his lips feel even softer as they danced across your skin. His tongue poked out to lick from the bottom of your neck up to your ear, your breath hitched as you felt his on your skin.

“Tell me… tell me you want this doll, or I can leave… please.”

You wanted nothing more in the world. “Yes God, Jack please.”

The sound of you begging for him made his cock jump. All he could think about since that night at the bar was how you would feel under him, what you taste like and how you could scream for him. He made quick work of pulling your shirt over your head to reveal your soft chest. His lips attacked the peaks of your breasts, causing the warmth to pool low in your pelvis.

He felt like a man possessed, he couldn't get enough of you. He wanted more, he wanted everything. He kissed his way down your body until he came to your thin cotton shorts, that you most definitely were not wearing with underwear. Your breathing skipped as he peeled the fabric off your legs and kissed you the entire way down. His lips were like fire on your already heated skin, blazing the trail to where he wanted you most. His hands and tongue found their way to your dripping center.

You were trying to calm your breathing as he slowly spread your legs and settled between them. You had never had a man take so much care in how you were feeling and how your experience was. It made your heart swell. The sight of his large body that was fully clothed between your legs made you want to cover yourself on instinct but his strong arms were holding your legs apart. His tongue made its way to your delicate center ever so slowly like he was trying to drive you mad. He finally circled around your sensitive clit, making you cry out in ecstasy. He worked his lips and tongue over you like you were his last meal. There was no denying this man knew what he was doing and wasn't afraid to show it.

You bucked your hips into him, trying to gain more friction, needing more than he was giving you. He was only using his mouth and you knew if he used his fingers you would be done for. As you ground yourself into his face, he sucked your bundle of nerves into his mouth and used his tongue to make you see stars.

“Jack, oh god please…” you whined as you anchored your fingers in his hair. “M-more.”

Suddenly you felt his mouth move away from you and you whined at the loss. You looked down to see his face covered in your slick, shining in the dim light. You blushed at the obscene sight. Just when you thought he was about to stand up and move up your body, he brought his hand up to his face and stuck his two middle fingers between his lips. Your mouth gaped open at the sight and a breathy moan followed when he circled those fingers over your center. He slowly pushed his digits into your wet core and you both groaned at the feeling.

“Mhmm, you're gonna feel so good baby girl,” his eyes roamed over your body, watching as you reacted to his movements. “But I want you to come for me first.”

Jack brought his mouth back down to your clit as his fingers started to curl into the spot inside you that made you see stars. He worked his mouth and fingers together, creating a rhythm that made you dizzy with lust. Men never did this, never put your desire first, no matter what they wanted. Jack was another story, he was clearly there for you and you alone. His fingers and tongue were moving in tandem, drawing pure pleasure from you. The pressure in your lower stomach was growing by the second, almost to the point of pain but you never wanted him to stop. He kept up his movements and knew you were close when your breaths came quicker and you tightened around his fingers. Jack was nothing if not a gentleman and he proved that tonight, making sure your pleasure came first. You rocked your hips into his face, grinding against him with your hands pulling his slightly curly hair. You climbed closer to your peak sooner than ever before, it was like this man had a spell over you, something that forced the pleasure from you.

“Fu-fuck, baby– I..I’m so…” you were officially mad with lust.

“I know honey, let go for me.” Jack’s voice was like honey, somehow drawing you closer to the edge.

He settled into a steady but harsh rhythm, almost moving the couch below you. You knew you were right there, right on the edge of the cliff about to fall off. The blood in your veins burned with pure passion.

Without much warning, your body ignited. Your orgasm ripped through you like wildfire, fast and sudden. Your lungs screamed for air and your vision went white. You dug your nails into his hair, locking him in place and he rode you through your high. The muscles in your core constricted around his fingers and your back arched to compensate for the intense feelings.

You had never cum like that in your life, ever. This man was like no one you had ever met.

“Fuck… what– what was that?,” your voice didn't sound like your own.

“Oh sugar… we're just getting started.”

------

MASTERLIST

#agent whiskey smut #din dijarin x reader #fanfic #reader fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels smut #jack daniels #pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #star wars smut #star wars

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scryarchives · 8 months

Text

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 - 𝐣𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

khaji-da mentioned something about the new girl 'drea' being dangerous, but what did she mean by 'dangerous'? and how dangerous could she be if she's best friends with his very own sister?

masterlist | previous , next !

– pairings: jaime reyes x oc

– warning: fluff, canon divergent, blue beetle movie spoilers

– author's note: more of a filler chapter haha. disclaimer: i don't speak Spanish, so please do correct me if i am wrong! read more under the cut! :)

A couple of weeks had passed since the Tlatilpas had come over to the Reyes household. Unfortunately, Anika (or as she asked Jaime to call her “Aunt Anika”) was the only one over as her wife Zara had been too exhausted from the drive to Palmera City.

As nice as their family was from what he gathered, Jaime couldn’t help but let what Khaji-Da told him that day weigh his mind down. He sat on his bed, laptop open on the plush bed sheet as he gnawed the end of his pencil, brows furrowed in thought and confusion.

What did she mean by ‘she’s dangerous’? Did Khaji mean Drea specifically? Or her entire family?

“This ‘Drea’ you worry about, she’s the dangerous one.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. Of course, the blue bug alien bonded to him and responded to him when everything was peaceful and quiet in his home.

“Okay, you’ve said that already, but a little specifics would be nice,” He shrugged sarcastically at the little robotic voice in his head. “I mean, dangerous how? Does she have connections to harmful people? She’s got machinery that can endanger us? What–”

“I scanned her DNA while you were shaking hands,” Khaji-Da cut Jaime off, the male glaring incredulously at the voice.

“First off, we need to set some boundaries, Khaji. You can’t keep scanning all these people without my acknowledgement. It’s creepy and overall weird. Second, how would that make her dangerous? She’s human too.”

“Incorrect.”

“What? You’re saying I’m wrong about scanning people being inappropriate–”

“She’s not one hundred per cent human,” Khaji-Da answered once more, this time, her answer left Jaime on edge.

“She’s approximately fifty per cent alien.”

“Milagro! What’s up? How’s my favourite Reyes doin’?” Drea chuckled, her dark waves bouncing behind her in her high ponytail. The bracelets on her wrists ‘clinked’ together as she and the youngest Reyes high-fived, grins wide on their faces.

“¡Soy bien! You?”

The two shared a handshake, and despite their fast friendship, they got along well, like two peas in a pod.

“Meh, could be better,” She chuckled, rubbing her upper arm. “My Amma had a whole list of chores for me to do, so my arms are completely wiped out.”

“Ah man, I get you,” Milagro scoffed, nudging shoulders with her best friend. “Hey, you wanna come in? I’m sure we got something we could watch together.”

“Yeah, of course! Oh, by the way,” Milagro perked up, seeing Drea halt. “I almost forgot, Amma made some snacks a few days ago, so she asked me to bring some to you.”

It was then that Milagro realised that Drea was carrying a backpack and the Latina walked over to help hold the item up as Drea pulled out a little transparent container with a red twist-on lid.

“It’s more of a traditional snack from her home town? Country? One of those,” The older woman shrugged. “It’s called murukku, not sure if you’ve heard of it, but it’s one of my favourites. Vadai’s a close second.”

Milagro hummed at the spiral-looking snack, smiling kindly at her friend.

“Aw, look at you all soft for me! I’m gonna hide this in my room forever so that no one else in my family will ever take a bite,” She grinned before it fell. “Actually, better not. My mom is gonna kill me if she finds food in my room.”

“Oh, I know how that feels,” Drea chuckles, the two walking into the Reyes’ humble abode.

“Mom! Drea’s here!” Milagro called out, the woman smiling sweetly the moment Bianca entered her view.

“Hi, Mrs Reyes! Thanks for having me over,” She pulls her bag over one shoulder in slight nervousness, Bianca smiling widely at the girl.

“Oh, it’s no problem, Drea! It’s always wonderful to have a friend of Mili’s over!”

“Her mom made us snacks. No one touches it before I do, please,” Milagro huffed, placing the transparent container on the table as her mom eyed the snack curiously.

“Alright, mija, but there’s no controlling the rest of the family,” Bianca laughed, Milagro rolling her eyes with both love and annoyance as she led her friend towards her little room.

“Did you know I found a stray the other day? Surprisingly, both my moms let me keep him,” Drea whispered to Milagro, hoping to distract her.

“Oh seriously? What’d you name him?” Milagro looked over at Drea in slight surprise.

“Sparky von Cocoa the First, but Sparky’s just for short.”

“I need pictures of him. ASAP.”

“Hey Mils, you hungry?” Drea glanced over at Milagro, seeing her friend lying beside her, stomach flat on the bed as her eyes were still glued to the computer, invested in the series the Latina was introduced to named “Never Have I Ever”.

“Uh… I could get a drink, do you want one?” Milagro raised her eyebrows, glancing up at Drea, who shook her head.

“Nah it’s fine, I can get it. You’re too invested to miss anything,” Drea teased, pushing herself up from her cross-legged position. “And I’ve already watched all the episodes up to date, so I’m good.”

“Wow, you do not have a life.”

“I know I don’t,” Drea chuckled, opening her best friend’s room door, and walking out into the corridor.

As soon as she turned around, she noticed that she was face to face with the other Reyes descendent, Jaime’s eyes widened in surprise to see the neighbour’s daughter standing in his home.

“Jaime, hi,” She flashed him a quick smile, and Jaime cleared his throat.

“Hey, uhm, Drea!” He held an awkward smile of his own, eyes guarded. “What’re you doing here? Is Milagro alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Was gonna get us drinks.”

“Cool.”

Then silence hung over their heads, neither adult looking at the other before Drea crossed her arms, lifting her left arm to point her thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

“So uh, does Milagro have a specific drink she likes here? Or should I drop by the convenience store to get it?” She asked with genuine curiosity that Jaime almost believed that she was completely human.

Unlike what Khaji warned him about.

“We got uh… something in the fridge that she’ll like.”

Jaime once again smiled, albeit he smiled flatly, heading out of the corridor, and into the dining area. Trailing him to get the drinks, Drea filled herself a cup of water, eyeing Jaime curiously as the male rushed around the area, as though he was looking for someone.

“How’s life?”

Jaime snapped up, humming before zoning back to her presence. He looked a little lost before he finally registered her question all while fidgeting slightly.

“It’s… life. Nothing much really. Job hunting, trying to keep things afloat,” He answered before heading towards the front door.

“Oh seriously? You’re looking for work too? That’s great,” Drea chimed, brushing off Jaime’s behaviour as nervousness. “Do you think it’d be fine if Milagro and I join you for the search?”

“I mean,” Jaime’s eyes darted to the door as he turned around to answer. “Mili and I were already working that out together but uh, yeah, you’re welcome to join.”

“Great, that’s… yeah, thanks,” Drea smiled gratefully back while Jaime nodded hurriedly.

A silence fell between them once more, Jaime tapping his wrist in urgency, yet he stayed in case there was more conversation she tried to start. Just to confirm, he spoke up, Drea keeping her glass away in the sink as she picked up another full glass of water for her friend in the room.

“Is there anything else you need to ask or…?”

“Ah, nope, I’m done,” Drea shook her head, her eyes widening in realisation of his situation. “Oh, shit, sorry for the hold up.”

Before she could say anything else, Jaime told her his response while walking out, the door slamming shut as she heard his voice ring out for the last time.

“You’re good, no worries!”

As soon as the front door was shut and he had walked out of view of anyone, Jaime sighed as his suit, unfortunately, burning his current clothes off, annoyance filling him.

He had to speak to Khaji about that, there was no way he could keep buying new clothes for each week.

“I thought you would never leave.”

Speak of the Devil.

“Look, she was nice,” Jaime muttered, the helmet forming over his head. “And she’s Milagro’s friend, I can’t be not nice for no reason.”

“She is an alien. There is a reason to not be nice to her,” Khaji-Da responded with a know-it-all tone, Jaime rolling his eyes.

“That’s rich coming from you. Just tell Mama that I’ll be late for dinner.”

gif by @rob-pattinson

taglist: @mooncleaver

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#blue beetle #blue beetle 2023 #jaime reyes x oc #jaime reyes x reader #blue beetle jaime reyes #blue beetle movie #blue beetle slight spoilers #jaime reyes #milagro reyes #bianca reyes #khaji da #oc #ocs #blue beetle oc #sam writes !

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crowwritesaway · 4 days

Text

Jealous Patrick Bateman x Female Reader Pt. 2

“Are you having fun?” One of your coworkers asked Patrick. Patrick scoffed. Is this what they call fun?

“My drink is almost done?” She complained in hopes he would buy her a drink. Patrick hummed, not showing any interest. “Where did you meet Y/N?” Patrick sighed, his eyes didn’t move from where you were sitting. “We went to school together.”

“Aww. Childhood friends. That’s so sweet.” She faked a smile. Patrick rolled his eyes. “Tell me. Has she always been like this?” Patrick glanced at her for a second before turning back to you. “Like what?” And people call me insane? Is she insulting my Y/N? She giggled, slapping him playfully on his shoulder. Patrick grimaced. Only Y/N can touch me.

“She’s quiet. Too quiet. It’s like she’s not all there.” Patrick scoffed. She just like them. Them as in the people who hurt you. You glanced over at Patrick. His posture looked confrontational. You sensed he was irritated. “Is this how you treat everyone or is my Y/N special?” He mockingly smiled at her. You excused yourself from your coworker and made your way to his side.

“I’m serious. She’s weird. It was a pity invite.” Patrick glared at her. Why is she still talking? Can see not see my face? He glanced around the club. Oh, she’s lucky it’s a busy night. “Y/N, she’s perfect the way she is. Maybe you’re too loud. I mean, tell me. Do you ever shut up? Or you just say whatever because between you and me, being normal is overrated.” Patrick grinned at her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes. She thought she could sway him to push aside Y/N.

She laughed. “Is everything okay?” You asked, standing in front of them. Patrick looked over at you with a soft expression. “I missed you.” He scooted out the booth seat. He hugged you. You hugged him back. “Did she upset you?” You asked, narrowing your eyes. He wasn’t the only protective person in the friendship. It went both ways.

“My ears. She talked them off.” He pulled away. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters to me.” You pursued your lips. You looked at your coworker. She looked away. You frowned. She probably thought badmouthing me would get her into his arms. Pathetic.

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows. “Look at me. Don’t strain your eyes by looking at that lovely coworker of yours.” He grinned. She was anything but lovely. Lovely my ass. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“The company. The music. Everything sucks here.” Patrick complained, looking into your eyes. You nodded. It was boring. You thought interacting with them would be exciting and inviting but it wasn’t. It felt like they used you to bring Patrick. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Come.” You went to say something. “They don’t deserve to hear anything from you.” Patrick cling to you. “Alright. Let’s go.” Patrick led you through the crowd. Your coworkers watched you leave. Their eyes filled with hate and envy.

You exited the club. The limo was there. Driver outside has opened the door. “Patrick.” You scolded. He shrugged his shoulders. “You never know.” He was prepared to drag you away from anyone. They were deserving nor worthy of your attention. Only him.

Now siting in the limo. “You should just quit.” You sighed. “Think about it. You could sleep in. You wouldn’t worry about the next project. Reading until god knows what hour at night. You could do whatever you want.” Patrick place his hand on your cheek. You both stared at each other. “Tempting.” Patrick glanced at your lips. “Don’t I know it.” He moved his hand down to your love handle. “I’ll take care of everything. It’ll be freeing.” For both you and I.

“Mmm. You make it sound so good.” Patrick licked his bottom lip. “Imagine if I did more.”

You flushed. “Alright. I’ll try this out.” Patrick smiled in victory. “That’s great. I look forward to seeing your messy hair.” He said, mischievously. “Fuck off.” Patrick gripped tighten on your waist. “No. It’s fuck me.” Your eyes flickered at his lips. Nope. He’s my bestfriend. “In your dreams.”

Patrick moved his hand away. “Yeah, I loved every second of it.” Your eyes went wide. “How much did you drink?” He was such a flirt. “Not much. You know how much I hate drinking when we’re out.” He needed to stay sharp to keep you safe.

“Of course. Part of this job change is them, right?” You asked, staring at the streets. You both faring forward. Patrick nodded. “Part of the reason.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “What..” Patrick interrupted you. “It’s not worth knowing. I’ll take care of it.”

He laid his hand over yours. “All that matters is your happiness. My best interest is yours. Your happiness is my happiness.” It’s us versus everyone else. No one else. Just us.

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#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #jealous Patrick Bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #tw obsessive behavior #tw possessive behavior #tw manipulation #slasher x y/n #x plus size reader

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gnpwdrnwhiskey · 9 months

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Over When It's Over

Pairing- Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count- 650-ish

Warnings- it's just so much angst. and mentions of alcoholism.

Author's Note- so according to this poll, at least some of you wanted to read this....my usual headcanon for Frankie is that he has a woman who stands by his side no matter what, this isn't that. this is a Frankie who came home from Colombia and fell into a bottle and hasn't found his way out yet. there's no happy ending, but I'd kinda like to think if I ever visited these two again, there could be.....

"Babe? You home?"

Shit.

You weren't expecting him back so soon and you start packing a little faster.

But you don't bother answering him, the apartment's about the size of a shoebox, he'll find you sooner rather than later. Add that to the list of things that you're sick of- losing the house and having to live in this shitbox because it's all you can afford on one income.

"Babe?" He stops in the doorway, fresh beer in hand, of course. "What's going on?"

"What does it look like, Francisco?" You sigh. "I'm done. We're done. This is over. Drea and I will be at my mom's. We'll work something out with the lawyers."

"What the fuck? Are you serious with me right now? You weren't even gonna let me have a say in this? You're just gonna leave? You're just gonna take my baby from me?"

"There's nothing to say. I can't do it anymore, Frank. I can't live like this and I won't raise my daughter like this. You need help."

"I'm fine," he scoffs. "I just need to get my license back and everything will be fine, you'll see."

"Do you even hear yourself right now?" You laugh bitterly. "You're not fine. And no one is reinstating your license. If it had just been the suspension, we probably could've made it through this but then you went off with Pope and you lost Tom and you won't talk to me...."

"There's nothing to talk about," he insists with a shake of his head. Has been insisting for the last year and a half. "Bad mission, that's all. It's over, it's done."

"Oh, is it? Is it over? When's the last time you slept through the night? When's the last time you were really truly sober, hmm?? Or, or....contributed anything to this family? I can't even leave Drea alone with you because I don't know what the fuck I'll come home to! So not only am I the only one working, I'm also having to pay for fucking childcare!!"

"What do you want me to do? Flip fucking burgers? Or go hang out at the Home Depot or some shit and hope I get picked up for a crew?"

"Why not? Do you think you're too good for that? I go out and wait fucking tables five days a week because some one has to keep a roof over our heads! Do you think you're better than me? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm not saying-- damnit, I'm not a fucking day laborer, I'm a goddamn pilot! A fucking good one!"

"No, what you are now is a fucking drunk!" You yell, slamming the suitcase closed.

The silence is deafening, Frankie standing with his arms crossed staring daggers at you from the other side of the bed and you wonder for the millionth time what happened to the man you met years ago- the one with the quiet confidence and warm smile, the quick laugh and laid-back manner.

"This is horseshit," Frankie mumbles. "Ten years and you're just gonna throw it all away? Over what? A couple beers?"

You drag your suitcase off the bed and put it by the door with the others before crossing to him, pulling him into a hug that he only halfheartedly returns.

"It's more than that and you know it. You need help, with the drinking and with whatever demons you're fighting with in your head. Doesn't have to be me, but talk to someone. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Drea. She deserves the best version of you."

You give him a kiss on the check and step out of his loose embrace before grabbing your bags and walking out. And you don't look back.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfic #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales

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bigsnzstanacct · 20 days

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lol, somebody dug up my old Drea/m D/addy fic from the blue forum. I had a whole plan for a series of fics based on that game. I feel like I’ve lost the rhythm and the writing style for them, but it’s still a really fun setting. Did I ever share my very loose outline for that here? I only did the Damien 1 and Mat 1. I REALLY want to do the Brian and Hugo ones, but does anybody still care about D/ream Dad/dy? Is it still something worth writing about? At first I thought I would need to totally replay the games but I think honestly I could just re-read my own fics and brush up a little on the dialogue of the other dads. I think. Add it to the long long list of things I have to write…

Damien 1: Cary is allergic to Damien’s garden

Damien 2: Damien gives Cary snuff (Damien is a fetishist)

Mat 1: Cary sneezes Jonathan Jones and the Speakeasy Choir off the stage.

Mat 2: Mat has a cold, sneezes loud (he sneezes quiet otherwise)

Brian 1: Dad Sneeze competition. Obviously.

Brian 2: Brian and Cary are both sick with the VERY INTENSE MAN FLU, trying very poorly to take care of each other.

Joseph 1: Joseph’s Church Sneezes (dutiful, restrained)

Joseph 2: Joseph’s Boat Sneezes (Full On Dad Sneeze of Thunder)

Hugo 1: Him and Cary reading together silently, Cary tries to hold back a sneeze, but Hugo sneezes massively.

Hugo 2: ????

Craig 1: Craig used to sneeze loud as a rocket back in their college days but he’s become more restrained. Still forceful, powerful, but nevertheless restrained, almost dutiful. Can’t jostle the baby.

Robert 1: ????

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tvrmoils · 16 days

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✦ DYLAN PARKER » committed yet judgmental thirty - eight year old weapons division head agent who goes by she + they pronouns and is always toying with an ancient gold coin between her fingers , a gift from her grandmother that helps her in moments of disquiet . born in chicago , illinois , often can be seen immersed in a poetry book ( that’s sometimes a history one , or a romance novel ) ; taking her lovely dog valkyrie on a stroll ; or buried in a new project , a new trial , anything that would make her division thrive . determined as a racing horse , but mistrusting to the core , dylan deeply enjoys the bitter taste of their black morning coffee , working in the quiet of the night & taking their grandmother out for dinner every friday . lawful neutral , taurus sun & history enthusiast , she identifies as a bisexual demi woman , has the terrible habit of mixing energy drinks with coffee to stay awake , and has been part of the mercy organization for one week . ©

THREADS . WANTED CONNECTIONS . AESTHETIC .

⸺ I , BASICS .

full name : dylan theodora parker . nicknames : dyl , theo ( grandma rights only ) . preferred name : dylan parker . age + dob : thirty8 + may 7th . birthplace : chicago . illinois . gender + pronouns : demi - woman + she / they . s / r orientation : chaotic bisexual . faction : weapons . codename : agent wire . spoken languages : english , spanish ( native ) , brazilian portuguese ( conversational ) . significant bonds : simone parker ( mother , deceased ) . theodora parker ( grandmother , alive ) .

⸺ II , PERSONALITY TRAITS .

positive : committed , determined , creative : neutral : guarded , collected , sensitive : negative : judgmental , aloof , mistrusting : zodiac’s main three : taurus sun , gemini moon , libra rising : moral alignment : lawful neutral : temperament : choleric - sanguine .

⸺ III , BACKGROUND .

you’ve always considered yourself a monster , what else could someone who kills her mother so they could enter this world be ? you grew up guilty of a sin you didn’t commit , yet you never believed your grandmother’s words , who with anguish in her eyes tried to rid you of it .

you’ve always considered yourself a monster , so as a monster you grew up . prone to violence you learned how to keep on a leash , to intrusive thoughts that kept you awake at night , yet as morning came , you also learned how to hide it , in the shadows of your heart and the darkest corners of your mind .

she saw you as you were , though , your grandmother , but her love never ceased . and maybe , just maybe , her love was your salvation , her trust in you , her endless belief in the goodness of your heart that was never truly there . still , her hope was unbreakable , and you tried and will always try for her .

sentinel came as a beacon of light ten years ago , raised rough around the edges , hardened by the painful reality of your neighbor , a neglected thing on the outskirts of chicago where people couldn’t even dream of having a different life from their unescapable fate shaped them to have . not you , though , never you . your anger gave you purpose , and when the time came , sentinel gave you an intent , too , a way to unleash your rage in a manner you never knew you could have , without hurting people or yourself .

building weapons was a respite . you didn’t know you had an intrinsic talent for it , however , you did , and the violence of the objects tamed yours at the prospect of a necessary brutality , one you couldn’t escape , one you didn’t need to .

by the time you were promoted , mercy showed up around the corner , and your purpose turned stronger — now you could really do something aside from destructing everything you touched , in the end , they were good assets to society , weren’t they ? and the idea of finally helping to protect , to save , to do some good with your tainted soul made you believe , for the first time , you might not be a monster after all . how could you be when doing good makes so much sense ?

⸺ IV , HEADCANONS .

i. dylan has a brown pitbull terrier named valkyrie , she’s a soft , very trusting baby , friendly with people , and a protector of cats . ii. despite their tough core and intrusive thoughts , they have very gentle hobbies and a passion for romance novels and poetry . iii. her grandmother is the most important person in her life , probably the only one . she’s a quite older woman who has kept herself healthy thanks to sentinel’s ( and now mercy’s ) biomedical advances . iv. she highly prefers to work at night , there is something about the quiet of those hours that make her thrive , although this led her to develop quite an addiction to mixing energetic drinks and coffee . v. they’re a greek mythology and history enthusiast , if they trust you enough , they can talk your ear off about it for hours .

#⠀⠀ ⠀ 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙳 ‎ 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁⠀ ⠀:⠀ ⠀agent ‎ file ⠀⠀»⠀⠀ introduction ‎ .#⠀⠀ ⠀ ❛ ⠀ ⠀⠀i keep my monsters on a leash ⠀⠀» ⠀⠀𝒑. ‎ dylan .#⠀⠀⠀ ✦ ⠀⠀⠀𝒑. ‎ dylan . ⠀ ⠀ » ⠀ ⠀ interactions ‎ .#⠀⠀⠀ ✦ ⠀⠀⠀𝒑. ‎ dylan . ⠀ ⠀ » ⠀ ⠀ visage ‎ .#⠀⠀⠀ ✦ ⠀⠀⠀𝒑. ‎ dylan . ⠀ ⠀ » ⠀ ⠀ insight ‎ .#⠀⠀⠀ ✦ ⠀⠀⠀𝒑. ‎ dylan . ⠀ ⠀ » ⠀ ⠀ aesthetic ‎ .#ok bio is somehow short but good imho *eyes*#mercyorg:intro

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averagebookfiend · 1 year

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Summary: Janine and Elliot have been dating for months. And at every party they sneak away for some alone time.

Warnings: Smut, 18+

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ENJOY😉

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

In the world they lived in a throwing a giant party in a giant house and inviting damn near the entire student body was a normal occurrence.

The extravagant parties happened every other weekend, every birthday, and on certain holidays.

Another normal occurrence was the disappearance of Elliot and Janine. Even before the two started dating, there would be a moment in time where Drea and the gang could not find them.

Turns out when the two go missing, they don't even be at the house the party is being thrown at. They leave. Go somewhere quiet, somewhere they could just enjoy the other's company.

Tonight, like every other night when there's a party, the two snuck off to Elliot's car. Hopping in he quickly pulled out the driveway and headed to their spot.

Their spot was Janine's bedroom. Her parents were out of town a lot, so they just used her room as a safe haven.

The drive went by quickly with Elliot's speeding and Janine on aux. Soon they pulled into her driveway and made their way to her room.

"I couldn't have drove her fast enough." Elliot spoke before he kissed her passionately. His hands were roaming all over her body as they slowly made their way up the steps.

"Slow down," Janine giggled out. "You're gonna make me fall."

"I wouldn't let you." He whispered into her ear. Then slightly bit it. His tongue quickly soothed the ache he caused. Janine let out a slight moan as he traced his tongue down the side of her neck and sucked on certain parts. Leaving love marks in his wake.

"Elliot. Elliot, we have to be quick. They'll be looking for us." She panted out, pushing her boyfriend's chest slightly.

He groaned as he let up.

"Fine." He grabbed her hand and led her to her bedroom. He knew the way like the back of his hand. So much so he could have led then there with his eyes closed.

Elliot held the door as Janine walked in, then closed it. When he turned around Janine had slipped out of her dress and was fully naked.

He looked on the ground for her bra and panties but found none. The boy could feel himself getting harder at his realization.

"You weren't wearing any panties?"

Janine shook her head with a smirk.

"Fuck, I love you." Elliot confessed, quickly taking his clothes off as he made his way to her.

When he made it their lips collided in a fierce kiss. She swiped her tongue over his bottom lip and he gratefully allowed her entrance. Their tongues glide over each other while their hands explore the others body.

Janine's hands were roaming up and down Elliot's chiseled chest and stomach. While Elliot was running his hands all the way from her breast to her thighs.

He picked her up and then tossed her unto the bed, causing her to bounce back. She giggled at the motion, which made him chuckle. He climbed on top of her and began kissing her again. His hand tracing her curves slowly, all the way to the dip in between her legs.

Elliot took one finger and gently rubbed the length of her folds. Biting his lip when he fwlt how wet he ha Causing Janine's hips to buck. He did it again. This time his finger lingered on her clit and pressed gentle circles onto it.

Janine moaned and tried to move her hips to get better friction. But Elliot held her hips down with his other hand.

"Baby, please don't tease." Janine whimpered.

"Just making sure you're nice and wet for me, love." Elliot smirked and she whined. Because they both knew she was already soaking.

"Elliot, please. I need you so bad right now." She begged.

"How bad?"

"So bad. Really bad. So so so really bad." She rushed out. Pleading for him to take the ache away.

"How could I say no to you?"

Janine's breath caught in her throat when Elliot thrusted all of him in the first time. Her nails dug into his back as he didn't let her adjust to his size. He went right to work. Thrusting over and over into her.

The sounds of her moans, his groans, and skin clapping filled the room.

"Fuck you feel so good, baby." Elliot groaned into her mouth. His tongue licking into her mouth. Causing both of them to groan.

Janine could feel that familiar tension in her stomach start to rise.

"Oh my God, baby, baby I'm so close." She moaned out.

"Shit, me too, baby." He reached down in between them and rubbed her clit in time with his thrust.

Janine felt her stomach get tighter and tighter and then it snapped. Her toes curled and her eyes screwed shut as she screamed his name.

And as she screamed his name, Elliot came inside if her in hot spurts. Both of them moaning at the sensation.

Elliot pulled out and laid next to her. Janine scooted closer to him so they could cuddle.

"I love you." She said looking up at him. Watching as a smile broke across his face.

"I love you." He said back. All the love he felt being conveyed through the look in his eye. The two snuggle closer together, both feeling a bit tired, when Elliot's phone started to ring.

The name 'Tara' flashing across the screen. He rolled his eyes but answered it anyway.

"Hello."

"You two need to get back here right the fuck now. Meghan is about to do her toast. And tell J, when I see her I'm beating her ass 'cause she didn't answer when I called."

That was all she said before she hung up. The two looked at each other before they burst out laughing.

#do revenge #elliot #jonathan daviss #do revenge elliot #do revenge elliot imagine #do revenge elliot smut #pope heyward #pope heyward smut #but not pope #its elliot

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curiosityjams · 1 year

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credit to stinkykatie @ twitter

#applies to tumblr and all kinds of social media tbh #like when you rewlize that 90% of the shit discussed online doesnt matter outside of this site or on twitter #Realize #notes to self #be quiet drea #risky risky queue-y queue-y

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rosegrlwrites · 10 months

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There is a young girl, hiding behind a tree. No older than perhaps six or seven, clutching a small, ragged, and well-loved teddy bear. And she is not afraid like all the others.

When the woman walked into town, thin and gangly with dark eyes and stringy hair, all the other kids ran away—almost like they had done to her—all of the adults whispered amongst themselves as they went along their daily chores—so odd, isn't she? Hm? Oh, yes. Quite. I believe she's staying in the Conlon's old barn. That one on the southern edge? They don't expect her to stay for long.

The woman is sitting at the edge of the fountain in the middle of the square. It's just before dusk, when the sun is mostly down and the stars and moon are slowly starting to find their place in the sky, and, for both of them, it's quiet.

She is swirling the tips of her fingers gently in the water as the young girl climbs up next to her.

"Hello! I'm Mr. Bear. I've been travelling all day and am looking for someone to talk to!" The girl pauses. She's had evenings where this has gone very badly and the stranger just shoos her away back home. But it doesn't.

The woman pulls out this wonderful-looking contraption—a creature with the body of some sort of animal and the skull of another, supported by thin red strings that she wraps about her fingers.

"Why, hello Mr. Bear! I'm Pate, it's so wonderful to meet you!"

The young girl squeals with the brightest joy with dissolves into giggles as the woman pilots Pate around her, having him pick at her hair briefly.

"Huh. Mr. Bear, it seems like someone has been following you. Do you know who this is?"

"Really?" The bear turns its head. "Oh! There is? Why! That's just Cordelia. But I think there's someone following you, too."

"Me?" The bird waves its arm as it spins around. "Nah, that's just Laudna. She's the one who created me!"

The young girl dissolves into giggles again as she hugs her knees to her chest, resting her head on them.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Laud-na." She drags the syllable in her name out as if testing it in her mouth. "I like that name. It flows better than mine. Cor-de-li-a. Too many syllables. It's not like anyone calls me that anyway."

"I think it's a lovely name, Cordelia. And it doesn't matter what they call you if you like it."

"Yeah. Are you going to be here a while? Or are you going to go away like all the other people?"

"Well, I think I'm going to stay for a little while longer. But then, yes, I may leave like all the others."

"Oh. Well. You're nicer than all the other people who've been here. You're the first person to play with Mr. Bear and me. And I think Pate is really cool and cool that you made him. I didn't make Mr. Bear."

"Thank you."

"Miss Laudna? Do you wanna walk home with Mr Bear and me? Mama said you were living in Mr. Xander's old barn and I see it every morning. He and Miss Drea are really nice. She's helped me fix Mr. Bear before."

"I think that's a great idea, Cordelia." The woman tucks Pate back onto her hip and offers a hand to the stuffy.

"Mr. Bear, would you mind walking me and Miss Cordelia home?"

"Of course not!"

The pair start walking down the hill to the outskirts of town, connected by a teddy bear. The woman will leave under the cover of night in less than thirty-six hours in continuous search of somewhere that won't shun her before she walks into town, but the young girl doesn't need to know that now. All either of them need to know is that they are not afraid.

#rosegrlwrites #critical role #bells hells #cr campaign three #cr campaign 3 #laudna #cr laudna #pate de rolo

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ginoeh · 2 months

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Welcome back to the third part of my entry for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang 2024! All the beautiful art was done by @lalaithquetzallicaresi !

Due to a technical mishap a couple hours ago, gdoc decided to swallow my penultimate chapter. I haven't managed to convince it yet to spit it back out, so you'll have to be content with only chapter five of seven for tonight! I'm so sorry for the delay, I swear I will post the rest of it tomorrow even if I have to rewrite the whole next chapter!

The story is also available on AO3 where I'll post it chapter by chapter!

To the Edge of Night

Explicit HobGadling/Dream of the Endless Part 2 of 4 6k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

*** *** ***

Chapter Five

They leave the throne room in haste.

There’s no less debris and decay on the balcony Lucienne brings him to than inside but at least it's under open sky and the overwhelming press of power seems easier to bear than in the throne room, less magnified. The feeling of freedom held in fresh air, no matter how saturated by rain, clears his head breath by breath.

“You may want to make the storm stop, Sir,” Lucienne shouts over the din of the whipping winds. They’re under the awning of the large opening that leads out onto the balcony.

“That’s a thing I can do now?”

Lucienne smiles a little.

“Is this truly the first time you have influenced the weather here?”

Hob thinks back over the months he spent travelling the distant shores. Maybe he could. Maybe he'd simply not noticed the connection because there's been no reason to suspect anything. The sky hadn't ever inconvenienced him after all, it had always been -

Ah. It had always been the perfect weather for the kind of travel he'd done.

“I suppose not.”

Lucienne watches as Hob tries to concentrate. It’s hard to gather himself in the face of the day he’d had.

Slowly, the rain slows to a drizzle.

“Don’t think I can do anything about the thunder, though,” he says apologetically over the ominous rumbling in the distance. “I’m… pretty upset to be honest. I’m glad we’re at least not getting drenched anymore.”

“Understandable, Sir,” she says as they cautiously leave the awning’s shelter.

Hob leans against the balcony railing, trails his hands over it and watches, fascinated, as the broken pieces of masonry slowly start to come together again. It’ll take time to become used to the excess of power, he thinks, in contrast to the insistent and slow care he’d expended before, when reassembling the broken things of the Dreaming.

“What next? My Stra- Drea- Lord Morpheus is still gone.”

And there’s the thing that has been hanging unsaid between them since Lucienne had confirmed what Hob had feared.

“You said he’d never freely part with the stone - I definitely got the same impression there. So that means he-”

“It must mean that our Lord hasn’t left by his own free will.”

There’s an excited hope in Lucienne’s voice that Hob doesn’t understand at all until finally, she starts talking.

*** *** ***

Hob wakes in his armchair in the exact same position he'd taken before willing himself to cross over into the Dreaming. Morning has already risen, foggy and dreary, and the hub of London’s morning rush hour is a quiet drone in the background.

Hob feels unreal.

His body is a too tight jacket, not at all big enough to house what he now carries. The mirror isn’t his friend when he mechanically starts to make himself presentable for the tasks he knows he has to do here in the Waking. There are shadows hollowing out his cheeks that don’t have anything to do with bathroom lighting; his eyes are too dark by far, nearly black and on every second blink he thinks his pupils bleed into the whites. He furiously wills them back into the gentle brown he knows. They comply only grudgingly.

Hob can’t do a single thing about the too sharp, black nails.

The Dreaming tugs at him insistently now, a pervading longing to return to it that makes him uncomfortable with his own, human world. Unfortunately, there is no way to find his Stra- Dream from within the Dreaming.

Lucienne had tried at first, back when it was clear that her Master wasn’t coming back and the Dreaming was still nearly at its full power. Nothing had come up in any of her searches.

The Dreamstone is the first trace of him that has appeared in all the years since he vanished. They need to find out how it had come into Hob’s hands, they need to trace it back to the moment when it left Dream’s possession.

There used to be books, Lucienne had said, the possibility to trace every dreamer but it’s long since gone and vanished back into raw dreamstuff. Hob hadn’t been able to find it despite Lucienne’s hopeful insistence that he try. He hated having to disappoint her.

So old-school legwork in the Waking is what it has to be. Hob'll have to go back to Mayham Storage's paperwork. If worse comes to worse, he’ll have to show up in person. But contrary to Hob’s expectation it’s a simple, unexciting phone call that yields the first success.

It’s nearly too easy to be true.

“A Mister John Dee,” says the voice of Riodan Laughlin, once scrawny emergency manager of Mayham Storage. His voice is tinny over the long distance call and tired besides.

“There’s no current address, of course. I don’t know which prison he was sent to. Will you come and terminate your lease? You’re one of our biggest customers.”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“Is there a reason you asked about that one storage unit after so many years?”

Hob frowns at the phone. Such a weird question.

“Not really. I’m simply writing some things down these days, for the grandchildren, you know? Getting maudlin as I get up there in years, I suppose.”

Riordan grunts affirmatively and then audibly hesitates. “He’s been convicted in Springfield, Clark County, it says here.”

“Thank you, Riordan. I’m glad to see that you managed to work out your troubles back then.”

“Thanks Sir. Same back, really.”

Hob ends the connection and stares at his phone for a long while. All the power at his fingertips, all the fantastical possibilities of the Dreaming and yet it’s his existence as a mere human that makes, for the first time in over a century, headway into solving the mystery of the Dreamlord’s disappearance.

It’s nearly ironic.

He could have done that at any time in the preceding years. He could have simply investigated on his own once he’d realised that the ruby was more than a simple gem. His body aches with the storm his anger makes of the ruby’s power. He doesn’t want to look into the mirror now; he’s not sure he’d recognize the reflection.

It’s a mundane task to organise tickets for the next flight to the US. There’s nothing Hob needs to pack, nothing he needs to take with him but a wallet and his passport. He forces himself to slow down once his flight schedule is clear. He makes himself a coffee and throws together a cheese sandwich with the pitiable contents of his fridge.

Both taste like nothing.

The churning emptiness in his stomach isn’t hunger. He forces the food down anyway and just hopes that it won’t make him nauseous in the long run.

When he’s already nearly out the door he remembers, with uncomfortable apathy, that he should probably inform at least his friends about his disappearance.

‘My uncle died’, he writes, ‘might be gone for a week or longer.’

Hob sends the message two times, for Emily and Oswin, then forces himself to be more mindful when writing another one out on paper for Martin. If he leaves it in the New Inn’s staff room, the man will find it easily. Then, he sets the phone onto the kitchen counter. He doesn’t think he’ll need it for the rest of his mission; and in any case he isn’t sure if he’s in any state to field condolences over the death of an old part of himself.

When he leaves he closes the door behind him noiselessly. Bertholt Grant has reached the end of his mostly fictional life.

***

Travelling turns out to be… interesting.

The waking world seems to bend around him. He draws eyes, more than he usually does, and he doesn’t know if that’s due to visible changes the ruby and the Dreaming have wrought or if there’s something else, as well. He feels as if he’s trailing fears and nightmares and all those things he can’t rightly contain underneath his too tight skin.

But attention is the last thing he wants and as soon as he tries to stay undetected and be forgotten, nobody notices him at all. As if he’s a centre of gravity and his mere presence and wishes influence the reality of those around him.

It doesn’t help at all with making the Waking seem more real to Hob.

No one questions it when he slips unhindered past the security officers at Heathrow Airport. No one notices or cares that he has a gem worth more than their yearly salary around his throat. They don't see it, don't see him because Hob doesn't care to be seen. He wonders if that is how his Stranger always felt. Alone and untouched in the middle of humanity. Among them, but separate. He's not sure he cares for it all that much. For now though, it serves him well.

So this is how Hob finds the protocol of John Dee’s arrest officer, standing in broad daylight in the middle of Springfield’s police station, a mere 36 hours after leaving London, and going through their arrest protocols from late 1993 backwards.

The constant use and control of the Dreaming’s power to bend the world around is taxing, though, exhausting on a level more than bone deep. It takes something that he can replenish by neither sleep nor any of the food he forces himself to eat on the way. For now, he’s strong enough. He’ll see this through to the end, at which hopefully Dream of the Endless, his old friend, regains his Kingdom.

Hob finds the protocol without any problems and no one the wiser and while it doesn’t help him in finding John Dee immediately, it gives him the name of the involved officer. Finding him is absurdly easy.

It’s what comes after, that turns his world on its head once more.

***

It’s early evening when he finds himself in Springfield’s suburbia. It’s a middle-class dream of picket fences, well-kept lawns and clean streets. Hob hadn’t thought something like this still existed in the 2000s. It feels stifling, somehow. A leftover of a time that reminds Hob of the anguish of many of his lovers and friends, of sad tales of a childhood home in denial, of being cast out of families for the sin of loving wrong. He’s aware that he’s likely inferring too much and too indiscriminately - he doesn’t know the people who live here. Not without letting himself fall into the crashing waves of power he contains and searching out their sleeping minds. But that isn’t what he’s here for.

The house he observes is no different from the others. There's a well-kept pick-up truck in the driveway, abandoned garden tools lean against the veranda balcony and through the living room windows he can see the blue flickering light of a TV.

A cartoon is on; a kid’s bike leans against the garage wall. There is a kid where Hob had expected only an old, pensioned officer and at most a wife. This complicates things.

“Eric Watson?”, he asks when the man he’s looking for opens the door.

“Can I help ya? We don’t buy anything.”

Hob smiles but judging by the way Eric Watson narrows his eyes, it looks threatening more than charming. He’s really off his game.

“I wanted to ask you a few things about an arrest you made in the late eighties.”

The man’s eyes rove over Hob, evaluating and then disregarding him as a physical threat - not something Hob is used to. He knows the figure he cuts; usually at least. He doesn’t know exactly what the ruby makes him appear like at the moment that he seems physically nonthreatening to a mid-sixties pensioner.

“I’m not talking about old police cases. Please leave.”

“It’s about a man named John Dee-”

Eric’s face shutters instantly.

“Get off my lawn.”

“Mr. Watson-”

“I said,” the man repeats quietly and leans in, clearly thinking he has the upper hand, “get off my lawn or I’ll make use of my right to defend my house and property.”

Hob retreats. It might be easier once his wife and the grandchild are asleep. He’s not here for violence after all and the thing Eric Watson fears are the ghosts of his police work coming to haunt him and claim the lives of those he loves. He has many, many nightmares about it.

Time moves at a crawl afterwards.

Hob waits and waits and then, finally, he slips into the sleeping house, unseen only due to the power he employs and not the care with which he moves. He’s much too impatient for any kind of caution at this point.

His Stranger, his friend has had to wait much too long already.

The night embraces Hob like a blanket, a caring extension of the Dreaming. He feels like wisps of the Dreaming's power escape from under his skin and diffuse into the dark of the quaint house. He feels blurred, only half-real. The ruby throws its ominous glow across the interior and makes his own skin shimmer eerily red.

He’s gentle when he wakes Eric Watson where he has slumped on the couch. There is a can of beer and a gun on the couch table. The man rears up, wide awake within a second. He’s not amused at all and Hob really can’t fault him for it. If this were him, he’d take no prisoners.

“How did you get in?”

He’s tense, frozen on the couch but he clearly reconsiders the danger Hob poses to him and his loved ones. His fear is bright and loud and Hob feels discomfited.

“Who- what are you?!”

Hob doesn’t like this. Not at all. It feels like violence, after all.

The light of the ruby pulsates slowly, threateningly. Eric Watson’s fear hightens, blares across Hob’s senses and for a moment he loses all sense of where he is.

Next, the man has the gun pointed at his head and Hob just reacts.

Or maybe it’s the Dreaming that reacts and the ruby. He throws himself forward, throws his power with him and then Eric slumps, suddenly lax, gun falling to the side and Hob falls as well. He tumbles onto the end of the couch, barely aware of himself at all, teeters at the edge of something and then he gets pulled into a cold current.

He knows the feeling intimately. It’s the same cold and wild current that had drawn him into the Dreaming. This time, it's not the Dreaming at the end of the ride. Or, it is but it's a part of it Hob has never seen or interacted with before. With the mental equivalent of his ears popping he steps into a nightmare he knows.

“Hello Sir,” says the Nightmare of Lost Loved Ones. “I thought I’d offer my help. The twins are keeping the child and wife under. They are gentler than I am.”

“What- what is this,” Hob breathes but even as the question leaves his lips, he already knows. The emotions, the distorted sounds, the amalgamation of unlikely scenes of unimaginable sorrow - and Eric Watson in the middle of it, moaning voicelessly.

This is the man’s dream, his nightmare and fear. And Hob is a spectator to it all.

More than a spectator.

“I can influence his experience, can’t I?” He asks the nightmare at his side but the answer is clear in the threads of the power he feels around him. This is what the ruby can do.

No, this is what Hob can do with the ruby.

***

It is…nearly easy to get the information he seeks. It is a nightmare after all, perfectly willing to help and bend to Hob’s needs. In his nightmare, Eric Watson complies to Hob’s demands and answers his questions.

But manipulating dreaming minds is taxing, he finds - more than just physically exhausting.

Hob comes to in the darkness, a headache blooming behind his eyes. He’s still kneeling on the end of the couch. Eric Watson’s skin gleams with the sweaty sheen of fear. Hob feels detached, lost, more shadow than human. The strain of bending his power in such a way has taken something from him and like an athlete who doesn’t replenish the lost calories, Hob feels weak, empty.

He’s hungry.

***

Hob enters the facility that holds John Dee unseen.

It’s a high-security institution, more of it underground than above, both in the literal and in the metaphorical sense. It’s where the truly dangerous go - and those that could be truly dangerous to someone in a multitude of ways, but where that someone has enough money to make sure it doesn’t get that far.

Hob’s not entirely sure where John Dee falls on that scale but given what he’d seen in Eric Watson’s nightmares, he’s sure that with a woman like Ethel Cripps as the orchestrator of his committal into this institution, John Dee will have little chance of acquittal.

“Who’re you?”

John Dee sounds hostile. He lays on a plain bed, bolted to the floor like everything else in his brightly lit room. There is sterile white and surgical steel and not much else inside it.

He is old. Older than Hob expected.

There’s something uncanny about him. Something less and more than human. To Hob’s senses he’s… hollow. And too full at the same time - too many nightmares, not enough dreams, too much power, not enough strength. The ruby burns where it hangs on its chain. An eerie familiarity seizes Hob, a resonance that feels sinister and hypnotising. It’s entirely repulsive.

Hob is glad that there is glass and steel between him and John. The ruby’s power swirls wildly, disturbingly undirected. It’s a far cry from the focussed intent he’d felt just hours prior in Eric Watson’s dreams.

Yes, this man has had the ruby in his possession. Maybe he’d even tried to use its power. Hob doesn’t like the thought and neither does the ruby - or so it feels like. There’s anger there, hurt and a sort of longing that strikes Hob as artificial and fake.

“You have it, don’t you? I can feel it from here. It’s mine. I made it into my tool. For my perfect world.”

Yes, Hob is unbelievably glad for the security door that separates him from John Dee. He doesn’t want to know what would happen if the ruby fell into John Dee’s hands.

“You made it? It isn’t yours, John.” He knows the man can hear him even though he whispers.

“I made it mine. It’s my birthright.”

John Dee rages against the cuffs he’s restrained with.

“It’s mine,” he hisses again and pulls so hard on the cuffs that Hob can see his shoulders distorting under his flimsy pyjamas where he’s on his way to pulling them out of the sockets in his rage.

Somewhere an intercom crackles and then alarms start blaring with flashing red lights.

There’s not much time left until the wards will arrive and sedate the frothing man. He needs the information and he doesn’t know if induced unconsciousness is a state he can even feel with the ruby much less access like he did with officer Watson.

There’s not much choice. John needs to sleep.

Hob feels along the ruby and into the place where the Dreaming Sea laps at his empty insides. He’s had no trouble falling into Watson’s dreams. An accident, yes, a reaction born of anger and discomfort but still something the ruby had leapt at eagerly to do.

Now, it is nearly reluctant.

But John Dee needs to sleep and so he will. Hob pulls hard at the ruby, throws its power at John and pushes him under. John slumps, hanging off his bed with his shoulders painfully stretched.

It works but it doesn’t feel natural. Pulling people from one realm to the other isn’t something that the ruby and the Dreaming can easily do, Hob realises. Maybe… maybe the ruby isn’t the right tool for that.

Still, it is done now and time is of the essence. There are the sounds of footsteps coming closer through the labyrinthine corridors that lead to John’s holding cell. He needs to finish this before either a sedative might take John out of his reach or he is woken up and taken out of the Dreaming.

This time, he doesn’t need to be pulled to find John’s sleeping mind.

When he enters John’s dream, Hob immediately wishes it hadn't worked. He wishes he could unsee what John dreams about what he hopes for. He wishes the man hadn’t ever been subjected to the power of the Dreamstone. There is no sanity left in John Dee -there hasn’t been for the longest time.

It’s nearly too easy to find the information he’s after, a name and a location. John raves about it, after all, about his power and his dream and his birthright. He’s spewing the name and the location at Hob with the barest of prompting and that’s all he wants and everything he needs.

The rest, though, Hob would rather forget.

John Dee has made a nightmare into his perfect world and if given a chance, Hob knows that he would make that dream come true. When he exits the dreamscape, horrified and numb at once he’s deep within the currents of the Dreaming Sea and the bubble of John Dee’s dreamworld glimmers darkly before him.

“Sleep well, John,” he murmurs as he reaches for the waters around him.“Your dreams will be your ultimate truth. A world like you envisioned, for the rest of your life.”

Then he presses the bubble down and down and down until it is swallowed up by the endless darkness of the Dreaming Sea. He can feel it still faintly, buffeted by the gentle but unrelenting pressure of the deep sea. It won’t leave any time soon.

John Dee will likely never wake up again.

***

Hob manages to keep it together until he’s finally far enough away that he dares to stop the rental car and tumbles out. He heaves but there’s only bile in his stomach and so he waits on his knees at the roadside until the worst of the shaking has stopped.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

Hob doesn’t regret it, not at all. He’s still incandescently angry and horrified in equal measure whenever he thinks of the nightmarish vision John Dee had created. His perfect world - no lies, no hopes, no dreams. He’d been so close to achieving it as well with the ruby. It would have been a perversion of unspeakable level.Hob is infinitely glad that instead he was the one who had found it.

When he finally feels steady enough to at least make it to the next motel without crashing the car, he heaves himself back behind the wheel. He only makes it another few miles before he gives up - he’s nauseous, trembling, the ruby beats a furious tattoo of screaming power against his insides and he has nothing but the roaring of the sea in his stomach.

He’s so hungry.

He doesn’t remember checkin in at the sorry excuse of a motel that he finds himself in. As he stumbles along the badly lit corridors he tries to think whether he talked to anyone at all or if he just snatched a random keycard from the counter. He doesn’t care either way.

His head hurts. He’s angry. There’s a black haze across his vision and when he rubs his eyes, his hands come away with smears of black tears.

Something is terribly, horribly wrong.

The room the key card opens is stiflingly small. The floral print of the musty bedsheet swims before his eyes. There’s gnawing hunger eating at his insides, he needs to eat - something, no matter what.

Hob nearly bashes his head open on the edge of the wardrobe when he staggers to the tiny fridge and haphazardly throws its contents onto the bed. The crisps taste like nothing; neither do the peanuts. The chocolate bar makes him nearly throw up from its consistency alone and still - there’s no taste to anything, nothing makes him feel less hungry.

He’s still ravenous. He’s still angry. He’s still so very afraid for Dream, for his friend.

In the end he gives up and falls bonelessly between the torn wrapping papers, stomach churning and twisting with the push and pull of the Dreaming Sea. He’s given so much, he thinks. He’s given so much and is willing to give much more to help his friend but he suspects that he might not have a lot left to give after all. He’s hollowed out and scraped clean and he knows on some level that he needs to replace that which he has given with something else.

“Sleep,” he rasps around too sharp teeth and wills himself to Lucienne’s side with a gentle flex of power.

She’s waiting for him in the cavernous room that leads onto the balcony. There’s apprehension in her eyes and hope when she hurries to Hob’s side on his uncoordinated arrival.

“I have a name,” he gasps and pushes himself upright where he’d nearly fallen.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

Hob shakes off her hand. There’s no time to lose; impatience and anger itch underneath his skin. On the balcony, the dreary weather unloads in a deluge of rain and lightning.

“I have a name and a location,” he repeats,” The ruby was originally in the possession of Roderick Burgess of Wych Cross, Fawney Rig, London. A magician who summoned and captured the devil in his basement.”

Lucienne rears back and Hob is vindicated in the rage and burning hope he sees mirrored in her.

“You found him,” she whispers, something unnameable in her voice. “You really found him.”

He’d been so close. All these years Hob had been so close. He wants to scream or cry or maybe both. The Dreaming screams for him instead with booming thunder. If only he’d looked, if only he’d thought to search for his friend after he’d found the ruby. His vision wavers in a black edged haze and he knows that his fury that runs through him is black as tar.

“I need to go back to England. I need to get him out, Lucienne.”

And fast, he thinks. If Dream had been held and captured at Roderick Burgess’s manor for more than a hundred years… He shudders with rage and nausea. Lightning strikes and static runs in bright arcs across Lucienne’s skin. She doesn't seem to notice at all.

“Travelling will take so long.” Hob can’t fathom the horror Dream might have gone through in the magician’s house. He shouldn’t have to wait even one more second. “And I’m not sure I can - corral this power for long enough to go back, right now.”

It’s hard to admit but Hob feels weak with the exertion he’s expended.

“You could try to travel across dreams. Or even nightmares if that's easier for you. But there is still your human body to consider.”

Hope is fever-bright in Lucienne’s eyes. This is loyalty, Hob thinks, loyalty and love. This is all for his dear Stranger and Hob wants so much for him to see it, to feel it, how brightly it burns in Lucienne. They haven’t left him in the magician’s hands willingly, no matter how wretched and guilty Hob feels for not acting sooner.

The pull of the ruby suddenly gets harder and the Dreaming Sea roars deafeningly in his ears. His hollow insides gape emptily in ravenous hunger. All three conjure up the image of the Dreaming Sea.

“I think there is another solution,” he whispers. “Using the Dreaming's power is … exhausting. To do even more, I’d need to… to regain some of the energy I’ve spent. I'm… hungry,’ he finally admits, defeated,”but the food of the Waking world hasn’t helped at all.”

The Ruby glows brightly where it hangs on its golden chain.

Lucienne’s eyes narrow and she looks him up and down, considering.

“You are right, Sir,” she finally says slowly, “Your story isn’t only one of a journey but it’s also one of metamorphosis. And those like to go full circle. To be of help, you need to finish changing.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“I think you might know that better than I do, Hob Gadling.”

He does. He has accepted the ruby and it has taken the place of his heart. He’s yet to fully accept the Dreaming Sea, the nightmares that have brought him here and guided him.

“How fast can we reach the Dreaming Sea from here?”

Lucienne smiles and it's a ferocious, joyous thing. “With the power you brought back into the Realm? Very fast. Follow me.”

***

They step out of a nondescript door at the end of a winding corridor. It vanishes the moment Lucienne closes it behind her. Before Hob lies a welcome, nostalgic sight: endless water, endless sky and between them both a well-worn walkway. The sea is completely still underneath the planks, as smooth as the surface of a mirror.

Lucienne next to him inhales softly. “It’s awaiting you,” she whispers. “The Dreaming… it has waited for you to come back to its very source, can you feel it?”

Hob nods mutely.

There is a strange resonance; the power beneath his breastbone lies quietly waiting. Within moments they are at the end of the walkway, where Hob had once woken so many years ago.

Hob kneels and bends over the edge to peer into the beckoning darkness of the sea.

“Sir?”

“It’s alright,” he hears himself say distractedly, “you were right, Lucienne.”

There is a figure rising from water’s depth, a reflection that slowly gains shape as it emerges. Hob knows it already. He’s seen it before, once, when he’s offered a crown to the Monarch of Dreams. Only this time he’s not so sure if it’s a distorted image at all or if it’s him, Hob Gadling, in the form the Dreaming and the ruby have made him take.

It is wearing the flower crown and a sharp, wild smile.

Then it flickers and wears the face of his Stranger instead, high cheekbones under black-dripping eyes and a sharp-toothed slash of a smile. It stretches both hands towards Hob, and on a paper-white palm it cups a small heap of obsidian black pearls.

Hob mirrors the motion until they nearly touch at the water’s surface.

“You are hungry,” the sea, the Dreaming, its Lord croons softly.

“I am,” Hob whispers, “ravenous.” And the sea shudders where his fingertips gently breach the water.

“We do not share,” the sea whispers back. “This is forever. There is no compromise.”

Hob smiles. He hasn’t expected one. After all, nothing about his Stranger has ever spoken of compromise. Neither has his ruby in how it has nestled itself into the place that belonged to Hob's heart and taken it over.

“I know.”

“Then eat your fill.”

He's Persephone, this is Hades. This is the last choice.

He’s Kore and in love with the sea and there is no choice worth considering.

He takes the pearls one by one, rolls them between his not-quite human fingers, contemplates the stains they leave, the black smears that sink into the groves of his skin where they run and flare like darkest ink. When he brings them to his lips, the reflection smiles, the sea hums and sings and churns.

Waves flood over the dock. Behind him, he hears Lucienne shout something but it is drowned out by the sudden storm.

The pearls taste like the sea itself - of the salt of tears, the sharp cut of high winds, of dreams and cruelty and heedless adoration - condensed into them lies all the purpose and weight of the Dreaming Sea. They are cool on Hob’s tongue. He chews slowly, deliberately even as they lose consistency, expand and fill his whole mouth. It forces him to swallow fast and then faster to keep from choking.

“Sir!”

This time he hears Lucienne’s anxious shout but he’s unable to answer. It’s impossible to draw enough air in between the gulps he takes to even think of talking, the water runs down his chin, his hands - it’s black and cold and heavy as the deep sea.

Hob swallows and swallows but he doesn’t try to stop.

His body burns. The dilapidated motel room flickers before his eyes, and is instantly replaced by dripping shadows. He feels his hands meet the wood of the dock and the sheets of the musty motel bed at the same time. There is water in his mouth and nose, it travels down his throat, lines his stomach and lungs and veins.

He can’t breathe.

he can’t breathe-

he can’t breathe!

‘Yes,’ the sea croons with the voices of a thousand and Hob feels it lap at his insides and hollow him out until there is nothing but black endlessness between a vast sea of blinking stars. He exists, for a mere second, lying in a bed that reeks of mould, in a hotel on the east coast of the US and then -

He is gone.

There is darkness and water, a current that cocoons him, runs through him, as it propels him forwards, down and down and down until worlds float by in shining bubbles full of impossibilities.

He is spat out at the dock, on his knees, while around him black waves crash back into the sea of nightmares and dreams. Before him stands Lucienne, something adjacent to shock fading from her eyes.

“Welcome to the Dreaming, Hob Gadling. Sire.”

He stands slowly, unused to limbs that should be familiar but aren’t. Where Hob is expecting strong, tanned hands with chipped nails, there are pale fingers - his own but not quite, tipped with black claws that look like the ones his little nightmare has. It’s fitting, he thinks, for he has drowned himself willingly to finalise this metamorphosis.

His legs are shaky, tangled in something that looks like clothes but feels like an extension of the Dreaming woven through with shadows. The fabric is warm and comforting, his favourite jumper and the manifestation of nightmarish fear at the same time.

He's not hungry anymore. There is nothing in him that feels hollow. Finally, he has replaced that which he has given with what the Dreaming has offered in recompense.

“Sire.” Lucienne repeats, voice is deferring, and Hob becomes aware of more than himself in increments.

He is in the Dreaming; wholly and completely, for the first time. He has accepted the Dreaming’s offer, and has become complete again after giving and giving and giving to the ruby and the Realm.

“Lucienne. What am I now?”

He lifts his strange hands, pats over his strange clothes and wonders if there is enough of his human parts left to leave the Dreaming; if there’s anything that’s able to go back into the Waking and live there, thrive in it as he had done for centuries.

He doesn’t wonder whether it was worth it, though.

There is conflict in Lucienne’s eyes as she regards him over her glasses, hope and awe warring with apprehension.

“I don’t know, Sire. A transformation, of course - you are here now, after all. There is no part of you left in the Waking. But beyond that?”

She scrutinises him, eyes lingering first on the ruby and then on something on his head. When Hob reaches up, he nearly dislodges the object that has caught Lucinenes attention before he manages to grab it. He hadn’t even noticed it.

It’s a crown of flowers. The crown of flowers. It lies heavy in his hands, a promise and responsibility at once.

“What…”

Lucienne's eyes don’t quite meet his, in deference more than avoidance Hob thinks.

“No one but Lord Morpheus has ever dared to wear a crown in the Dreaming. For the Dreaming to give one to you…,” she trails off and suddenly bows, deep enough that it makes Hob uncomfortable just on principle.

“I don’t know what it means either,” he says and doesn’t mention how he’d offered that same circlet of thorny flowers to a too dark pond in the nightmares’ country or the words he’d spoken with it.

Instead, he brings them back to the most important matter.

“Tell me how to travel between the realms, now that I’m not bound to… to a human body any more.”

Lucienne obliges eagerly and with a vicious smile on her lips.

#hob gadling #dream of the endless #centennialhusbandsbigbang #centennial husbands big bang #the sandman fanfiction #ginoeh writes

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