#she’ll be like why is he like this?? can all time lords do that?! turn into snake beings after death and spit acid after possessing someone

[sacha-da-1]

Alternate universe where Ace was in the TV movie and she saw the Doctor Professor regenerate.

Then she would’ve encountered two unorthodox versions of the Master. (Both Cheetah!Master and Goosnake!Master)

#why i don’t know bc i said so #grace and chang lee are still there #but ace gets separated from the doctor for awhile so he meets grace separately and she can’t explain anything for him or be able to help #him till later #maybe she’s trying to track him down while also tracking down the master and getting into trouble trying to stop him #maybe he gets her under his control eventually idk she’d obviously put up a good fight if he did #also i don’t know the full details of her eu departure yet so i don’t know how this would fit with that yet #just an idea #ace mcshane #doctor who tv movie #doctor who the movie #ace and her adventures with the professor’s freaky boyfriend #she’ll be like why is he like this?? can all time lords do that?! turn into snake beings after death and spit acid after possessing someone #can they just produce acid from their mouth in general what the hell 😂

[lemonlover1110]

𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your husband usually calls for you to join him during his bath.

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of Sukuna killing people, rough pregnancy, Sukuna being fluffy (so slightly ooc), reader is mean to Sukuna

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Ever since you shared the news of your pregnancy with your husband, Sukuna has become more loving. The man who’d talk to you however he wanted, now makes sure to soften his voice when talking to you. He wants to see you every hour of the day, even when you don’t want to see him. Sukuna is seeing how you’re struggling with your pregnancy, and he wants to check up on you constantly.

You’re not too far along that you both know of, yet you’re huge. He grows worried that his selfish want of a child will cause you harm. There’s one person that Sukuna would die for, and it’s you. If something were to happen to you because of himself then he’d– He doesn’t want to think of it.

Lately he’s been asking to take baths with you. At the end of the day, a servant walks into your chambers and informs you, “Lord Sukuna requests for you to join him in his bath, mistress.”

She bows her head to not look at you, scared that she’ll end up like the last servant that dared to look you in the eye. It was Sukuna’s doing because how dare someone look his wife in the eye? You sigh before telling her, “I’ll be there in a second.” 

She stands in the entrance of your room, given orders to not leave without you. Sure, Sukuna requests to see you but it’s an order from him. You don’t have much of an option. 

You follow behind her, and she excuses herself when you’re finally with him. Sukuna lays comfortably in the water, patiently waiting for you to get undressed and join him in the water. He watches as you take off all your garments and walk over to him when you’re completely bare. 

“You need to start leaving me alone, you’re starting to annoy me.” You tell him as you get in the water. Sukuna chuckles, finding it amusing how you’ve completely stopped fearing him. One of his hands caresses you from your breasts to your bump, resting there.

“Now, why are you getting mad at me? I thought you wanted a loving husband?” Sukuna comments, kissing the top of your head. Your hand rests on top of his, lightly squeezing it.

“I wanted one before he got me pregnant. I swear I must be carrying twins– Or the baby also has four arms. I don’t know, I’m just miserable.” You confess, and Sukuna kisses the top of your head again. He really shouldn’t have expected it to be any different. Sukuna’s huge, why would his baby be any different?

“It’s just one and done then?” He asks, and you hum in response. Maybe your answer will be different in a few years, but for now it’s that. He feels a tug on his heartstrings, seeing how much you’re struggling. He’s worried. “Are you holding up okay, though?”

“Not like we could do anything if I wasn’t.” You answer. He’s definitely much softer than your usual husband, and you would’ve loved it if you weren’t carrying a monster child. His hand remains on your stomach, and he feels as his baby kicks while you moan in pain. Sukuna shushes you, feeling as his baby moves.

“I’m trying to feel him! Shut up, woman!” He raises his voice, and you slightly turn to glare at him. A look that would surely kill you if you were anyone else.

“How does me making noise correlate with you feeling the baby! Think, Sukuna! Use your fucking brain.” You’re definitely bolder than usual, which makes him laugh. 

“You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.” He says, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips so he can kiss it. “I love seeing you demanding and mean. It shows the effect I have on you.”

“Really?” You answer, and he hums in response. There’s no better time to bring up what’s been bugging you than now. “I hate that new servant you took in. Kick her out.”

“And why is that?” He asks. 

“She was looking at you funny.” You respond.

“In the sense?”

“She has the hots for you, and I don’t like it.”

“Hmm… What if I was looking for–” He begins and you glare at him. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he guesses that’s something that’s off limits when he tries to joke. “Don’t you want me to do more?”

“Like what?” You question, even though you should know your husband better than anyone.

“Kill her.” He answers. 

“Hmm… Up to you.” You reply. You lay comfortably on his chest, feeling as his finger traces lazy circles on your belly. You change the topic, “Why do you think it’s a boy?”

“I can’t see myself with a daughter.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff

[sarah-yyy]

what: period cdrama // 40 eps, roughly 55 mins each  where: youku (you can also dl the app) // youtube // coming up soon on viki (usual disclaimer that i do not use eng subs so i don’t speak to the quality of subs) why: do you love watching a poor little meow-meow get tortured in a variety of ways before he decides to go fuck it, i’ll be a demon lord and kill everyone who wronged me?? do you like enemies to fated to kill you lovers??? do you enjoy PAIN AND SUFFERING??? this is the show for you

meet tantai jin, the cdrama fandom’s newest obsession 

cursed prince of the Jing kingdom who was sent as a hostage to a neighbouring kingdom. he’s been unloved and bullied all his life - think, discarded and left to die by his own father, kicked around by servants, begging for scraps of food, abandoned and slowly betrayed by everyone around him... it’s NOT GOOD buddies, you will watch his life unfold and you will become attached and want to let him do whatever the fuck he wants 

surprise surprise this sad pathetic man will one day become

THE demon lord who destroys all of humanity etc etc. look at this wardrobe upgrade??? amazing. beautiful. bad for humanity but great for him. good job, bud, you did well.

ANYWAY this show opens with demon lord tantai jin (affectionate) going on his lil’ murder spree (understandable). the fate of humanity as we know it to be rests on the shoulders of one li susu

to defeat tantai jin, she will transmigrate to the past into the body of ye xiwu (tantai jin’s evil wife who whips him every night (not in the fun way sorry buds) and tortures/bullies him for because it pleases her) to try to kill him while he’s weak, before he turns evil and amasses power. this is for the good of humanity!!! but also he’s truly so pathetic in the past that she can’t quite seem to put her heart into it (there’s also this whole finding his evil bone and getting rid of that before she can kill him problem but HMMM) and decides that?? maybe if she shows him some care and love??? she’ll subvert his murdermurdermurder tendencies????

this is the gist of the show!! there are a few arcs that we go through like all good xianxia cdramas, so we get to see them live through a few different lives (think: ten miles of peach blossom, pillow book etc etc), and every single dynamic between them is SO GOOD!!!!! we have spicy enemies to lovers!! cutesy arranged marriage between strangers to lovers (who don’t communicate enough for them to be happy)!!! star-crossed lovers fated to kill one another!!! 

the show is so goddamn pretty!! the aesthetics!!! the cgi!!!! the costumes ohmygod, i have never wanted to buy so many headdresses before

LOOK AT THIS!!! HOW PRETTY WAS THIS!!!!

he’s got this whole demon look LOCKED IN who else does it as well as my boy tantai jin

this show is very PRETTY but make no mistake there will be a lot of angst!!! that’s part of what makes it so good!! luo yunxi does Tortured, Feral and Deranged™ SO WELL i weep every time i see him on screen, i have truly not been Okay since this show started airing, buddies please join me in till the end of the moon hell, you will not regret it, promise 😇✨

⚠❗ few post-finale thoughts so y’all go into it with full disclosure (and can’t yell at me for inflicting pain on y’all, just know what i am also Suffering™) - stop reading from here if you want no spoilers for the show at all. 

trigger warning: there is some dubcon in ep 14 (stretches between approx. the 25:00-27:25 min mark) between ming ye and sang jiu 

we were all hoping for a happy ending, but this ends on a bad-open scale, depending on how you look at it. @minmoyu​ has helpfully directed me to a happy audio-epilogue which was apparently shot but didn’t make its way into the episode?? we still dk if the footage will be released as an extra?? we can all form a prayer circle and HOPE i guess

the plot is HMM the further to the end we get, probably because they had to cut the eps down, so it’s a little choppy, esp the last few scenes??? idk idk. it’s a bit exhausting to watch towards the end, because you root for ttj so so much and he tries so so hard and SIGH. i need another few working days to digest this, i’m still a bit :/ about the ending

would i still rec the show, post-watch? yes! this show starts off really solid, and luo yunxi carried the show throughout. like. y’all thought lyx was good in ashes of love?? watch him in this. every single micro-expression was flawless. bai lu’s acting is always so dependable, and it’s the same with this show!  

this show has an a+++ ost (i mean it’s got the king and queen of cdrama osts liu yuning and zhang bichen, literally how could this be bad)!! and CERTAIN side characters are so so good (pian ran my baby girl, ye qingyu who grows on you, decidedly NOT bingchang/tian huan/mo nv although i will concede that chen duling’s acting in this show was Incredible). 

#tv rec #till the end of the moon #cdrama

[sam24]

Metal Arm Cupid

Summary: Bucky didn't know what to expect in the 21st century. But he definitely didn't expect cute girls to barge into meeting rooms and beat people up.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

*****

Bucky made no attempt to stifle his yawn as he pretended to listen to the debrief (that was looking more like an argument to him) that was going on way too long for his liking, earning a sharp glare from Steve, but Bucky could tell that deep down, Steve wanted to hightail outta there too.

“Stop taking all the credit, Josh. I was the one who stabbed him. You just sat there and watched like an obese cow.”

Josh (Bucky thought his name was Jack until now) scoffed. “That’s Agent 16 to you, Avery.”

“It’s actually Avril, you little-”

“Agents, you better stop this instantly.” Fury narrowed his eyes at the bickering partners.

“Stop embarrassing me in front of the Avengers, Evelyn, and let me do the talking. Clearly you can’t because of those oversized donkey teeth of yours.” Josh paid no heed to Fury.

The girl (Avril?) gasped and her hand instinctively flew to cover her mouth. “Why you-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” A dangerously calm voice rang through the room.

All eyes flew towards Natasha, you looked like she was going to murder the next person who opened their mouth.

“This is why I don’t go on missions with sensitive baby agents.” She muttered in Russian.

Bucky cracked a smile.

“How come no one listens to me?” Fury grumbled.

“Probably because you aren’t a trained assassin with 20 different weapons hidden on your body, and I bet you also don’t know 5 different ways to kill someone with an oven mitt.” Clint whispered in Fury’s ear.

“It doesn’t matter who stabbed who, it matters what happened in the end. And in the end, I was the one you saved your ungrateful asses, so you can stop arguing like toddlers now.” Natasha growled.

Her eyes narrowed specifically at Josh.

Nobody spoke. Probably because no sane person wanted a bullet from Natasha’s gun in their head.

“You seriously couldn’t have done that 20 minutes ago?”

Of course, though, Tony Stark was far from sane.

“Shut up, Tony.” At least 5 different people said at the same time.

Josh cleared his throat, recovering from his mini paralysis stroke.

“No offense, but-”

Before Josh could get himself killed, loud voices outside of the door made everyone turn.

Honestly, they all probably would’ve turned even to watch a fly so they could ignore Josh’s excuses.

“Miss, I can’t let you-”

“I really don’t care, so move. Now.”

Bruce immediately sat up. “Is that Ace?”

“Oh, thank god.” Tony let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “I’m so bored right now, maybe she’ll make this actually interesting.”

Even though Bucky’s stay at the compound started recently, he had heard plenty of stories about you, the infamous ‘Ace’. To what he’d heard, you worked at the lab with Bruce and Tony, like a daughter to them both. You were an ‘intellectual sage’ (described by Barton), hence the nickname, Ace.

“I said, MOVE!”

“Banner, what is the meaning of this?” Fury ordered.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows and completely ignored him. “What in the world is she doing?”

“Banner!”

“I SAID MOVE, DAMNIT.” A loud thud followed closely and the door was flung open so hard it practically ripped off of its hinges.

“Lord have mercy.” Bruce buried his face into his hands as you barged into the room, pulling along a terrified looking girl behind you.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised with interest as he took in your purple highlights, Converse High-Tops, and Gravity Falls shirt peeking out from under your lab coat.

“Look, missy, in case you haven’t noticed, this is a private meeting. I’m going to give you 5 seconds to leave before I have you escorted out instantly.” Fury demanded.

“Yeah, that’s cool, Patchy the Pirate, just give me a minute.” You weren’t even looking at Fury as you scanned the room.

“Ha! Patchy the Pirate! Laura’s gonna love this!” Clint smacked his hand on the table and leaned his chair back (and almost fell backwards if Steve didn’t catch it, but that’s not the point).

Fury looked like he was seriously contemplating life as you still didn’t spare him a glance, and your narrowed hawk eyes landed on someone behind Bucky.

He followed your gaze to meet Josh, who had raised two fingers in the air cockily to greet you and the girl behind you.

“Josh, you mother fucker.”

And before Steve could say ‘language!’ (yes, Bucky had caught on pretty quickly after Tony would say it every other sentence), you had crossed the room in what felt like just two strides and socked Josh right in the jaw.

The room erupted in chaos.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Steve was up on his feet in a millisecond, his Captain America side taking over.

“That’s it, honey! Do it again!” Tony cheered.

“Is this some kind of Midgardian greeting that I have not yet been informed of?”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on in my own meeting!”

“That was the best thing I’ve seen in my whole life.” Avril grinned.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but her face clearly said ‘girl, me too’.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” Sam chuckled from next to Bucky.

“Same.” Bucky muttered under his breath.

“Whoa hold up, did you just agree with me??”

“Shut up, pigeon brain.”

“Excu-”

The only thing that stopped Sam and Bucky’s cat fight was another punch to Josh’s precious face, this time right in the nose.

Bruce tried to reason with you from across the whole ass room, practically shouting over all the commotion as Steve tried to pull you away from Josh.

“Ace, sweetheart, why don’t you talk it out instead of going straight to violence? Doesn’t that sound like a better idea?”

“Sounds great, Bruce, but that’s not an option anymore!” You shouted back over your shoulder.

“Look, champ, it’s not right to randomly punch people like that!” Steve was still trying to pry you away from Josh.

“Look, Pops,” You mocked. “It’s also not right to cheat on your girlfriend with some random chick you ran into at a bar!”

Everything stopped.

Except Josh’s struggling from your grasp.

“He cheated on you?” Tony broke the silence, looking like he was going to blast Josh into outer space. “Wait, when were you guys even together? And why in the goddamn world would you date that guy?”

“Not me, dimwit, her.” You point your free hand that was not gripped on Josh’s collar at the girl behind you, looking ready to sprint out of there when all eyes landed on her.

“Just leave it, ma moitié, it’s not worth it.” She said quietly, her words coated in a thick french accent.

Bucky recognized her as the nice agent who gave him a coffee last week after Sam ‘accidentally’ knocked over Bucky’s.

“Just leave it? Absolutely not, hun!”

“Listen to her, Ace.” Bruce pleaded.

“No! This sleazy bastard cheated on my best friend! No fucking way! Literally, who the hell would cheat on a cute french girl?”

“Ace, violence isn’t the right way to-”

“Excuse me?” Josh’s voice rang out, sounding like someone was holding his nose closed shut. “Can someone get me an ice pack?”

You whipped around towards him.

“You. Want. An. Ice pack.” You restated, shooting daggers- no, 7 inch sharp kitchen knives at him.

“My nose hurts.” Josh rolled his eyes. “Y’know, after you turned all Crazy Psycho Lady on me and broke it.”

“You know what?” Your smile dripped with bitterness and sarcasm. “How about I punch it again so it’ll go numb and it won’t hurt anymore?”

You reached your arm backwards to land another punch, but Steve rushed to grab you again, and the chaos resumed.

Tony was instructing you to “kick Steve in the balls and resume beating the shit out of Josh”, while Bruce was very strongly vetoing the idea.

Sam and Clint, meanwhile, were placing bets on how much the medical bill was gonna be.

Suddenly, Bruce rushed over to Bucky.

“Look, man, you gotta help me.”

Bucky looked at Bruce with wide eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah! If you tell her to stop, she would in a heartbeat!”

“Why?” Bucky knew where this was going.

“Because of your metal arm!”

Bucky’s heart sank. Of course you were scared of it. Everyone was. They thought it made him a monster.

So did he.

Even though he was so, so grateful to Shuri for trying to help him feel like a new person with a new arm that wasn’t associated with HYDRA, that bloody ruthless murderer that they made him into never seemed to leave.

He would always be him.

No matter how hard he tried, the memories followed him like a lost puppy, attacking at night when he was trying to sleep.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never shake off the imprint HYDRA had left on him.

No matter how hard he tried or how much Steve told him otherwise, Bucky was still a monster.

A cruel, cold-hearted, evil monster who killed the innocent.

Who killed innocent men, women, and children who didn’t deserve to be killed.

He was the one who deserved to be killed.

“She’s absolutely obsessed with it!”

Bucky choked on his spit.

“Wha-w-what?”

“She adores it.” Bruce rushed. “She says it’s, and I quote, the most beautiful and extraordinary thing to ever be made in history.”

Okay, so apparently Bucky did not know where that was going.

“Still not convinced?” Bruce groaned. “She thinks it’s the most amazing thing in the galaxy. She says it’s the ‘peak of engineering’. You can ask Tony if you still don’t believe me.”

Tony wasn’t extremely fond of Bucky, and neither was Bucky of him, so he decided to take Bruce’s word for it, no matter how much it shocked him.

She likes my arm?

Just because she likes your arm doesn’t mean she likes you, idiot.

“Uh, okay? So, um, what do I do?”

“Tell her to stop!” Bruce lightly shoved Bucky forward when he slowly got up out of his seat.

Bucky hesitantly took a step forward, his mind still trying to process everything.

Bucky maneuvered around Steve, tapping you - who was still out to get it for Josh- on the shoulder after a moment of hesitation.

“Bruce, I already told you, it’s too late-” You spun out of Steve’s grip, but your mouth dropped open when you realized it was not Bruce.

You stared at Bucky with wide eyes. But not out of fear.

Out of adoration.

He was struck with a sudden flash of nostalgia of how his mom looked at him when he gave her a card for Mother’s Day when he was 6.

"Oh, Jamie, I love it.” She had said as she read it with a soft smile.

And that same smile was on your face. “Um, hi there.”

He smiled back.

But not one of those fake smiles he put on to make Steve happy. An actual genuine smile.

And it felt good.

You smoothed out your coat, taking in a breath. “Can I help you?”

Steve stared at the two of you, a grin spreading onto his face.

“I’m not surprised. Those psychos are perfect for each other.” Josh rolled his eyes.

Neither of you heard him.

“Hi, I’m Bucky.”

“She knows.” Tony groaned.

“Shut up, Tony.” Your eyes never left Bucky’s. “Hi Bucky.”

He saw your eyes light up as they made their way to look at his metal arm.

Bruce cleared his throat loudly.

“So, um, Ace. The arm has been giving me a bit of trouble recently. I was wondering if you could maybe take a look at it?” Bucky glanced at Bruce before looking back at you.

“He means now.” Bruce added.

You looked like you were going to faint out of excitement.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Bruce let out a loud sigh of relief.

“Um, actually.” Bucky started.

Bruce’s head shot up and started mouthing something to Bucky - probably something along the lines of ‘No! Get her out of here before she kills him!’- but he was busy looking at you.

“Maybe you wanna grab a coffee first?”

#marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #crack fic

[cringefuckass]

Any GuitarSpear hcs you’d like to share ? :)

oh my god YES

under a cut bc some are a lil nsfw

Their dynamic is kind of a “we share one braincell” kind of deal I think, most often the braincell is in Lutes possession hence why she acts as Adams impulse control but when she gets bloodthirsty Adam has to be the one who holds the braincell.

He kind of loves when it’s his turn to hold the braincell, he enjoys getting to be the level headed one bc it makes him feel like a Big Leader Man™

He also wouldn’t say it out loud for fear of egging her on too much but he finds her bloodlust kind of funny. He’ll tell her to chill but he definitely laughed inside at “rip Vaggies cunt mouth out her ass”.

Everyone in heaven knows they’re close because pretty much no one else hangs out with either of them casually. Lute is uninterested in friendships, she only hangs out with the other exorcists as acquaintances. Adam only ever really has admirers, no actual friends. There are rumours amongst other heaven residents abt the nature of their relationship but mostly people are thrilled that they have each other to distract them from being a bother to other residents.

It is true that they hook up, but the rumours are more abt whether or not they’re involved romantically bc Heaven residents don’t often even consider sex without a romantic connection being a part of the deal.

On that note, Adams frequent hook ups with his admirers kind of put a lot of the rumours to rest, bc no one looks at Lute and think she’s the type to be chill with that.

She’s definitely wouldn’t be if they were actually together but lord knows she’ll never talk abt her feelings with herself or Adam. They’re locked in a vault in the deepest part of her mind and they’re not being dug up any time soon.

Adam is only slightly more aware of his ever growing affection for his best friend and fuck buddy, but he copes with it by fuelling his ego with his denial as opposed to Lute straight up ignoring it. He’s definitely not got a crush, why would he have a crush? He can have anyone he wants, if he had actual feelings he’d just go for it, obviously. The fact that he hasn’t gone for it is all the proof he needs that he definitely DOESN’T love her. They’re just bros, she’s one of the guys!

As far as their bedroom life, both of them are naturally inclined to be more dominant, so during their time together they’ve both begrudgingly turned into switches.

Sex for them is usually a spur of the moment thing, they don’t plan their hook ups. They hang out all the time when they’re not prepping for extermination days, so sometimes it just kind of happens. They never do any aftercare, that’s way too… relationship-y. They just catch their breath and go back to hanging out. Best bros, amirite guys?

#asks📨 #lute hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #guitarspear

[tadpolesonalgae]

Feysand x closeted!reader: Drunken Mistakes[*]

A/N: I am committed to writing a Part 2 to this where dark!Feysand come onto reader once she’s sober (Part 3)

Warnings: smut, pussy eating, spitting, kind of exhibitionism, kind of threesome fmf, edging?, not proofread

“Isn’t it pretty?”

You laugh drunkenly as Feyre crawls across the bed to peer down your shirt as you show her your bra. “I saw it while shopping and thought it looked great—” You hiccup, flushing as she gets a full view of your breasts, “—and it was a matching set, so I thought I’d get something nice for myself, for one in my life!”

The door to her bedroom opens, and Rhys enters with a tray. When he sets it on the bedside table, you see it holds a glass of water, some buttered toast, and a pill. “Let me get a better look, I can’t see it with your top on,” Feyre argues, hands already greedily dropping to its hem, pushing it up over your chest. She takes in the blue-grey fabric, violet lace decorating it’s edges.

“And it offers super good support, too,” you slur, eyes squinting at Rhys as you try to figure out why he’s here. “Feyre, darling,” he calls, and her attentions drags away from you, making your shoulders slump. It’s not as if you need her attention, but…you just feel prettier when she’s looking at you. Like you’re worth her time.

“She needs to eat.” His eyes slide to you, while you stare at Feyre with unconcealed adoration. He nods to you, “she’s giving you an opportunity.” Feyre’s eyes return to yours and you flush, having been caught staring—off in your own world. Her eyes flick back to Rhys’s and she looks unsure.

Your body feels cold without her attention.

“She’s drunk, Rhys,” Feyre returns, worrying her lower lip. He shrugs, as if it’s of no matter, but the stiffness betrays him. “Drunk words and sober thoughts and all that.” He turns to you, “isn’t that right, little lynx?”

Your attention drags to him, “sorry, what?”

He laughs, and the sound drags down your spine, making you shiver. His sparkling eyes flick back to his mate, “see?” She bites her lip, looking at you, and you wish she were putting her teeth in your own instead. “She won’t remember a thing in the morning.” The High Lord settles on the bed, beside you, the mattress dipping. “Alcohol be damned, we’re daemati. This whole night will be a blur if you wish it.” He cups her cheeks, looking at her with nothing but love, and you feel the need to look away. Like you’re seeing something private. “We can have our fun, and she’ll be fine, none the wiser.”

Rhysand turns to you, hands leaving Feyre’s cheeks as his hungry violet gaze meets yours, “isn’t that right, little lynx?” You tilt your head as you look at him, “what are you talking about?” A smirk tips his hellish mouth, before he’s leaning forward, enveloping your lips with his own. You squeak, startled as you freeze, not knowing what to do. “Rhys!” Feyre scolds, but he keeps his soft mouth over yours.

He pulls away before you have a chance to figure anything out, hand cupping your jaw as you subconsciously lean into his warmth. “Did you like that, hm?” He asks, and you blink. Then dip your head. Because you did like it, and you don’t want to lie to him. You can’t lie to him. To either of them.

You blink, and your top has been removed, leaving you in your bra and skirt. “What about that?” Rhys asks, a playful lilt to his voice, and his lips are more flushed than before. You feel hotter, and more out of breath than seconds ago. “What about what?” He exchanges glances with his mate, and her hungry eyes settle on you.

She’s taken back to her years in the forest, when she was the huntress in those snowy woods, and remembers the beautiful doe she’d seen on that fateful day.

“You…said you’d bought a matching set…” She swallows, watching you nervously, “…are you wearing it now?” Rhys smirks at his mate, an appreciative gleam in his eyes as he takes in his cunning High Lady. You nod giddily, smiling drunkenly, and she’s not sure she can work up the courage to ask. What if you say no? Or she scares you off? Or what if—

“Would you like me to show you?”

Her head goes quiet, but you’re already lying down, lifting your hips to shimmy out of your skirt. You move to your hands and knees, crawling toward her so she can clearly see the pretty underwear. Rhysand swears under his breath, watching with lustful fascination as you bare your pretty hips, clad in thin blue-grey fabric with the light, deep blue lace neatly edging the hem—so blue it’s violet.

Feyre’s breath catches as you look down at yourself obliviously, fingers playing with the band of the material, tugging lightly at the lace. “It looked so pretty, and the lace reminded me of—… I mean, I liked their colour—”

“Finish that sentence.” Rhys’ voice cuts through your own, strained and demanding and you flinch. You force a laugh, settling down on your knees as you turn to him, Feyre still speechless. “The colour. The bluey-grey goes nicely with the violet—”

“No…” he tuts, hand lightly gripping your jaw as he tilts you to look at him. “What does it remind you of, huh?”

Your breath catches as he looks at you with those eyes.

You feel utterly bare.

You swallow, “I—…”

“I’ll know if you lie to me.” Your cheeks flush with heat and you try to force it down—to no avail. “I—…uh.” Your eyes skim to Feyre, who in turn is staring at you ravenously. Her eyes flick to yours and you nearly reel back at the hunger. The starving hunger in the depth of her gaze. “Your eyes,” you mumble, stammering the words out, “they reminded me of your eyes, High Lord.”

Rhys has to bite back a beastly snarl at the confession, needing to put his teeth in your skin, taste you, have you coming on his tongue—

“You like the feeling of our eyes on you?” Feyre asks, and you shift uncomfortably, raising your knees to cover your body as you lean back on your hands. “When you put it like that…”

She follows, shifting onto her hands and knees as she crawls after you, slowly cornering you at the other end of the bed. Rhys swears he gets hard from just watching the hunt. His huntress. Those years left their mark on her, and the scars are showing. “You liked the feeling of having us covering your most intimate parts? Hidden beneath those pretty clothes?” Your thighs squeeze together at her words, shaking your head.

“It’s not like that…I just—”

“Don’t.” She commands, barely a whisper as you reach the headboard, back pressing flush to the cushioned panel. Your lips seal at her order, following obediently. “Do you want to see mine?” She stops when she’s between your legs, hands pressing behind you.

You swallow, eyes flicking away. “Don’t you—… Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” She gives you a curious look. “You’re my High Lady. And…Rhys is my High Lord. And you’re mates.” Her lips quirk at the edges, “what’s a small peek between girl friends, right?” Her hands settle to the tops of your thighs, fingers dancing along your skin, cresting your curved knees. “You’re always saying I’m the closest friend you have… Besides, you’re already only in your underwear, wouldn’t you feel more comfortable if I was too?”

Her grin turns vulpine, “or do you like the idea of commanding Rhys’ attention?”

Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks. You don’t want to tell them the truth, you love having their eyes on you, love it when they care for you, and talk to you, and touch you— “do you—…do you want me to help you? Undo your dress?” You divert, and Feyre’s eyes spark.

She feels the imploring pressure of Rhys’ gaze upon her, encouraging her to take the opening you’re obliviously giving her. She won’t waste it.

The High Lady shifts on the bed, sweeping her hair over a shoulder, baring the ties of her dress to you. “Be my guest.”

She’s set on her knees, back to you. Your eyes traitorously flick to Rhysand’s, as if he might stop you from touching his mate so intimately, but his eyes are hungry, watching like a predator. He nods his head, and your fingers lift to her dress, pulling the ties free.

Then she’s allowing the gown to flow off her shoulders, crawling out of the constraining material as she kicks it away. Feyre turns to face you, revelling in the way your cheeks heat. “What do you think, birdie?”

“I—…uh, it’s nice. Very nice. Suits you…well.” It’s all an understatement. The fabric is a lighter blue-grey than your own, verging on a creamy navy, with white lace strewn finely across the straps. There are small, floral embellishments dotted across the material in thin, silver thread. Absolutely all of her is beautiful.

“That’s it? It’s just…nice?” She breathes, settling onto her hands and knees as she crawls over you. You swallow, leaning backward as she prowls forward. “I…I’m struggling for words, Fey. It’s…very lovely.” She pushes you beneath her, and you follow willingly, melting into a pliant mess under her guiding palms. “I’m sure you can find a way to articulate yourself…through one way or another.”

She leans closer, and you feel her breath puff over your mouth, eyes dipping down. Her tongue darts out, lapping over her lower lip, making your eyes flick back up to hers hurriedly. She’s caught you.

The High Lady wants to put her mouth over yours, but she’s struggling with that first step that will—hopefully—set all the others into a fluid stream. She needn’t concern herself, as she hears your heart rate increase, how your eyes are quavering, desperate to descend. Then your eyelids are fluttering closed, tipping yourself toward her. Access.

She hesitates. You’re drunk, and she’s not sure she would be able to look you in the eye if she has to wash your memory. But you’re clearly giving her permission…

‘What are you waiting for?’

Her eyes snap to her mate, who’s still sat on the edge of the bed, lower down. She can see the clear evidence of his arousal at the display, and it makes her thighs squeeze together.

‘Take her.’

‘She’s drunk, Rhys… She doesn’t know what she’s doing.’

‘She knows what she wants. Give it to her.’

Feyre returns her eyes to you, your slightly puffy lips, the heat from your cheeks, the open expectation resting on your features.

‘Before she opens her eyes.’

She leans down, lips ghosting over your own, and she feels the shudder that traces down your spine, the soft sigh you release.

‘Take her or I will.’

Her mouth presses against yours firmly, lips opening as she melts across your tongue, heat pounding between your legs. You moan quietly, almost dizzy from relief, feeling weightless. Her hands brush over your sides, grazing your breasts as you arch beneath her deft fingertips.

You yelp when she reaches around to your back, unclasping your bra, pushing the straps over your shoulders. Your arms fly across your chest, breaking the kiss to conceal you from her eyes.

Her hand settles over your wrist, not tugging, just resting there. “Why are you hiding? There’s nothing to be nervous about.” Her blue-grey eyes stare down at you gently, piercing through your shields with terrifying ease.

Your eyes flicker to where Rhys sits lazily, taking in the show, not making the slightest effort to conceal his arousal. “Don’t worry about him. Focus on me,” she demands softly, stroking your cheek to return your attention to her. “He’s harmless, really.”

“He doesn’t look harmless…”

And you’re completely correct. Being proven so as he prowls up quietly behind his mate, draping himself over her back, arms circling her waist, pressing kisses to her neck as he stares you down.

‘Sit upright.’

You follow the command mindlessly, not focusing on where the urge came from as you move to your knees before them, arms moving to settle between your thighs as they take in your perky nipples.

‘Open your legs.’

Again, you follow obliviously, simply yielding to the inclination. Your thighs part as you set them wider, revealing more of yourself to their hungry eyes.

“See? She just needs some orders to follow, then she’s all set.” Rhys whispers to her ear, fingertips tracing over her stomach as they both look at you with pools of desire in their eyes. “She won’t remember a thing in the morning. So what’s holding you back?”

Feyre shifts in his arms, a predator teaching his lover to hunt like he does. “Do you not want her? We can toss her out if you don’t like her.”

“Rhys,” she snarls. She knows what he’s doing, but falls for it anyway. Stumbling straight into his trap. “Then take her.”

When she hesitates longer, refusing to make another move, Rhysand sighs sharply. His fingers drop to the clasp on her bra, tearing away the offending material. Feyre gasps, wanting to cover herself from you, but he catches her wrists. “Don’t.” She snarls, but it lacks the necessary bite to warn her mate away from you.

You watch almost absently, until your return to the front of your mind, re-inhabiting your body as you flush at the sight. Your eyes latch onto Rhys’, and a dangerous promise dances in his gaze. If you make the first move, everything will follow, slot seamlessly into place. “Go on,” he taunts softly, “have a taste.”

Feyre nearly loses her mind when you hesitantly move forward, one hand placing on her thigh, the other cupping her jaw. Your nose brushes her, and you can feel their eyes on you, as if you’re some rare creature they’re tracking, afraid one move will send you fleeing from their bedroom. Your look down at her lips, so plump and pillowy, but…

You stiffen, the alcohol beginning to ware off. Fey’s your friend. And female. You shouldn’t be doing this. Your eyes worriedly rise to Feyre’s and your breath catches.

Please. The word shines in her gaze, so desperate and pleading it wipes away any previous doubts in your mind. Allowing yourself to live in the moment. Love in the moment.

You lower your mouth to hers, and feel the soft groan in her chest.

And then everything snaps.

She’s pulling off Rhys, her hands gripping your hips, snaking round your back, tangling in your hair as she raises herself onto her knees. Her tongue sweeps in, dominating your mouth with relentless, demanding strokes. All you can do is arch into her as she devours you, pulling you tighter against her body as she indulges herself.

Rhys chuckles softly, pulling back to watch the erotic display unfold. “I think I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, shall I?”

Feyre pulls away at the words, spinning you around so you’re back is to her mate. You stiffen, feeling his hungry gaze lick up your spine, feeling wary of having the devious male out of sight. He could get up to any number of tricks.

“You want a show, Rhys?” She growls lowly, hands brushing down until she’s grabbing your ass possessively. You press your hands to her rib cage, beneath her breasts as you startled at the proprietary handling. “A show would be nice,” he drawls, “I’ve become tired of resorting to fantasy. I’m sure the real thing will be much more satisfying, Feyre, darling.”

She snarls, pushing you down onto the bed, crawling up your body as she lays a dominating hand over your chest. Then she’s dipping down, teeth sinking into your neck as she marks you over and over again, until there are very few patches of skin that she hasn’t bruised. Her hands touch you greedily, cupping your breasts as she rolls the tips of her fingers over your peaked nipples.

Your High Lady pulls away, long enough to glare down at you. “And to think you’ve been keeping this to yourself.” Her eyes run over your body, “keeping yourself away from us.” You flush at the possessive tone, preening beneath her attention as she thumbs your breasts. “Fey…” you pant, desperate and pleading.

“Tell me,” she orders, “tell me what to do. What do you want from me? Say it and it’s yours.”

Your eyes nearly roll at her admission, parting your thighs for her to settle closer. “Your mouth,” you pant, vision blurring, “please, fey. I need you between my legs. Please.” She doesn’t think twice, already shifting down your body until she’s between your thighs, scattering more marks over your skin. The tears spill, “Fey, please. Don’t tease me.”

A hand cups your cheek, large and calloused as you meet violet eyes.

“Why should she, little lynx?” Rhys drawls softly, appearing above you. “You’ve been driving us mad for so long. Why should we reward you for withholding our pleasure for so long, hm?”

Feyre lowers between your thighs, her hot breath fanning over your clothed cunt. Slim fingers brush over the apex of your thighs, a ghost of a touch. It has you preening, raising your hips into her touch. “I’m sorry—… I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to!”

Rhysand laughs, brushing away your tears casually, as if they don’t cloud his mind with arousal at the thought of shoving your head between his legs and just using you until you’re spluttering and choking on his come. “Ohhh, I see. You didn’t know.” Feyre snaps the band of your underwear in response, drawing a whimper from your mouth, hips bucking.

“You want me to believe you’ve never noticed the way Feyre and I look at you? How she often walks you home whenever you’re drunk because you’ll become flushed and carelessly take your clothes off for her? How you’ll get those inappropriate daydreams at the most inopportune moments? Have you never pieced it together, little Lynx?”

Heat warms your cheeks as you shake your head earnestly. “No! Rhys, I swear…” Feyre’s fingers glide over your clit, brushing in light oscillations as you buck your hips toward her. “Fey,” you whimper, beseeching her, “please. Please, I need you so badly.”

“Ah, ah, ah. You want her, you’ll have to convince me.” Rhys stares down at you, upside down to one another. “What do you want?” You plead, feeling as her tongue lolls out, lapping over the material. You whine at the wetness, but it’s dulled by that damned fabric—

Rhysand laughs, appreciating his cunning mate for her quick-thinking.

“It’s quite simple really,” he begins, giving you a coy smile that has slick dampening your underwear. “What is it?” You try to hurry him, eyes nearly rolling as her tongue laps lower, pressing over your entrance. You need her inside.

He tuts, hand gripping your jaw as he tilts your head upward, pressing you into the mattress to look at him. “You’re ours,” he drawls. “Whenever we want, whenever we need. You’re ours.” You nod desperately, just needing Feyre to give you her pleasuring mouth. “Promise it.” He drawls. “Make that bargain with us. Submit yourself to your High Lord and Lady, and we’ll give everything to you.”

Feyre thumbs at your clit, tongue following soon after as it swipes over the wet fabric, a mix of saliva and arousal. “I’m yours. I swear it! Promise it. Whenever you want, for whatever you need. I’m yours. Just—… Please!”

Dark delights rushes those violet eyes, the pads of his fingers brushing against your lower lip as you feel something sting down your chest—along your sternum. The bargain mark.

“That’s it,” he groans, squeezing the muscles of your jaw as he leans closer to you, “so good for us.” He spits into your mouth, scenting the wave of arousal that overwhelms his senses. You moan at the action, Feyre pulling your underwear from your heat, strands of slick connecting from the fabric to your cunt.

Your tongue moves in your mouth, playing with his spit, preening as her mouth envelops you. It’s the best paradise you’ve ever known, the wet heat of her tongue lapping over your pussy, playing with your clit. You nearly scream when she slides two fingers into you, easing her way in. Your mind goes blank, gripping Rhys’ hand as you open your mouth wider, curving your back and lapping at his fingers, asking for more.

He forgets how powerful arousal is sometimes. How it sinks it’s claws into one’s mind, until you can hardly tell up from down, or whether you’re truly acting of your own volition. Right now, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were controlling him, with the way his lips seal shut, gathering the saliva on his tongue, before he spits down.

You shatter in response, Feyre suckling on your clit so intently as her fingers pump and curl, stimulating you in ways you’d never imagined.

This time, you do scream.

Your world collapses as wave after wave crests over your body, soaking you in arousal as pleasure crashes down, coursing through your skin like a second life force. Your eyes squeeze shut, pushing tears over their edge with you as you free fall through the pleasure.

“So good for us,” Rhys drawls, “so marvellously perfect, aren’t you, little lynx?” You nod desperately, swallowing down his praise, tasting him on your tongue because you’re so good and so perfect and so delightfully theirs.

Feyre pulls up from between your thighs, fingers withdrawing and you take in how her mouth glistens. Then she’s hauling you to her, and your thighs are wrapped around her hips, and you’re clawing at one another, already desperate for round two.

Your High Lady lifts you from the bed, turning you around so you’re on your hands and knees before her mate. He’s settled down, hands bracing himself on the mattress, long legs either side of you. He’s giving you a perfect view of his prominent arousal.

“Go on,” he taunts, softly, a hint of overpowering lust and affection twining in his lover’s voice, “set to work.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Feysand #Feysand x reader #Feysand smut #feysand x reader smut #Feysand x f!reader #Feysand x f!reader smut #x f!reader #June

[ctitan98official]

Anonymous: Hello!! Can I request the Dimetrescu’s? Y/N being extremely possessive :) Like so possessive to the point that if any of the maids even glanced at them with any sort of intention Y/N just goes fucking apeshit? Better yet, Heisenberg says something at a meeting (or whatever they do) about the dimetrescu’s and Y/N Legit threatens him? Lmao, I just see it being a funny concept of Y/N having the personality of a feral dog and the ladies are just: “Awe, they’re so adorable 🥰🥰🥰”

Yeah! Feral Y/N is a funny idea. I’ve definitely gotten into a few physical fights defending girlfriends (And being jealous) before. I got this. I went in a more protective direction for some, though. Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

Alcina is quite possessive of you, that’s for sure. However, what she doesn’t know is that you are also very possessive of her.

When Alcina has to go to family meetings, she occasionally takes you along.

One time, Karl was starting his usual insults and ragging on Alcina, but you weren’t having it.

You marched straight over to him and got up in his face. “You got a problem with my girl, Karl?” You ask, pissed.

Karl was surprised to see you getting so angry at him. He thought you two were good friends.

“Well, I was just-” Karl begins.

“You were just what, huh?” You say pushing him pretty hard.

Karl was caught off guard and fell on his ass from you shoving him.

You stand over him and hold him down with your foot on his chest. “Are we gonna have any more problems, Karl? I think you should apologize to Alcina, now.” You tell him and grind your foot harder on his chest.

Karl coughs and splutters from the weight of your foot on him, but manages to wheeze out “Sorry!”

You’re satisfied and take your foot off his chest. “Great!” You say and happily go back to snuggle with Alcina.

Alcina is blushing like mad and feels a little bit aroused from your display. She’ll make sure to “Thank you” later.

Bela:

You and Bela enjoy going for walks around the village. It’s usually peaceful, but sometimes villagers approach to insult Bela and blame the Lords for all of the problems in the village.

Bela is incredibly upset when this happens. She’s unsure of what to do, but you have no problem standing up for her.

On one walk, a villager sneers at you and Bela and starts spouting vitriol. Bela begins to shut down. You’re pissed.

“Hey, why don’t you look in the fucking mirror and realize that your life sucks because of you. Quit blaming others for your problems, idiot!” You yell and protectively push Bela behind you.

The villager is livid and comes over to sock you in the face. You beat him to it. You punch the ever loving shit out of him and he goes falling over, yelping in pain.

“Try it again, asshole!” You scream and lean over him.

Bela, sensing that you’re getting even angrier, frantically tugs you away and guides you back to the castle.

Once you two are a safe distance away, you turn to Bela. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Bela giggles and cups your face with her hands. “I’m fine, Y/N. But it is nice to know that I have my own bodyguard now.” She says and kisses you.

You’d be her bodyguard anytime. You love her so much.

Cassandra:

Cass hates when she has to meet with prospective clients for the wine business. Typically, this is Bela’s job, but her older sister is helping Alcina with something else today so here she is.

The only upside is that you’re here with her. As you two wait for the client, she talks to you and gives you little pecks on the cheek. It’s nice.

When the client does show up, 15 minutes late, Cass adopts an air of professionalism (Which is kinda hot to see) and welcomes the sleazy guy in.

You don’t like the way he’s looking at Cass and you shoot daggers at him the whole time.

Towards the end of the meeting, it’s clear the guy doesn’t want to do business but rather wants to take Cass on a date.

“I’d be honored if you would join me for dinner tonight.” He tells her. Cass just scoffs, but you see red.

“Actually, she’s taken, buddy.” You say standing up and escorting the guy out.

“Thanks for wasting our time today. Don’t ever come back or we’re gonna have a problem, understand?” You threaten and literally push him out the door. The guy looks like a deer in headlights as you close the door in his face.

You turn to Cass… Who looks really turned on.

“Bedroom… Now.” She says, breathing heavily.

Hell yeah, this day isn’t turning out to be bad at all.

Daniela:

Dani is so sweet. Sometimes, she has difficulty standing up for herself. That’s why it’s good she has you.

Certain maids, who have been employed at the castle for a while, feel that they shouldn’t have to do as much for Dani because she always “Makes the worst messes”. However, they’re often pretty rude about it.

One morning, Dani comes across a maid that she has known for years. You just happen to be with her.

“Hello, Ingrid! Would you mind changing the sheets on my bed and just straightening up my room a bit? I’d really appreciate it!” She says in her usual cheery voice.

Ingrid just rolls her eyes and huffs. “You know, Lady Daniela, it might be good for you to start doing your own chores for once. Either way, I don’t have time today.” She says and walks off with a grunt.

Dani is close to tears at the rude way Ingrid just spoke to her. That makes you extremely angry.

“Hey, Ingrid. Come back over here.” You order between clenched teeth.

The maid groans and walks back over. “What?” She spits.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you’re employed in the castle as a maid. In fact, you are assigned to Daniela personally, right? So why don’t you suck it up and go do your job before I report you to the Countess for insubordination. Got it?” You seethe.

At the mention of Alcina, the maid stands up straight and nods her head before hurrying to clean Daniela’s room.

You roll your eyes at the little chicken shit, but Dani tackles you and covers your face in kisses.

“My hero!” Dani exclaims. You’re happy you were able to help.

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #bela dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu x reader

[igotanidea]

Glimmer: Jason Todd x reader

request: Jason Todd x fem!reader who is optimistic, sees good in people and gives him hugs and kisses when he comes from patrol.

****

She never knew it, and even if she did she would totally refuse to believe it, but there was something in her eyes that always made Jason feel better about world and about himself. A bit.

He met Y/N on one of his night patrols and not-so-surprisingly rescued her from a mugger. Typical Gotham occurrence, but unlike any other citizen of this god-forsaken city she did not seem shaken or terrified or even sad.

“How are you so fine with what happened?” instead of taking off the second the robber was dealt with Jason found himself captured by her unusual behavior

“I’m not” she sighed deeply and her e/c orbs focused on him, making him shake inside due to the intensity of the gaze “I’m not all right with how Gotham affects people. That the poor had to go to the great lengths to survive on the streets while crime lords have everything. I’m not fine with the fact that kids here suffer because their parents abandoned them. I hate that GCPD seem helpless when it comes to dealing with all this shit and vigilantes have to take matters in their own hands.”

“So, pretty much you hate Batman?” Jason scoffed, trying to act casually, not showing how touched he was by the mention of kids on the streets. After all, he was one of them many years ago and the memory of what he went through was still hunting him sometimes.

“I never said that!” she laughed. She laughed a few seconds after a traumatic events. “I admire everything he does. But unlike our fierce protector, I’d rather focus on seeing good in people.”

“Good?” Jason scoffed, his helmet muffling the sound a bit “There’s nothing good in this shithole.”

‘Maybe that is your problem, Red. Your aim is to get rid of the crime lords. Arguably by killing them all off….”

“I don’t do that anymore.” He chimed in

“Then hurting them. Injuring them. Making them remember the pain. I’d rather spread the good emotions. Like in the homeless shelter where I volunteer after work. Or at the child center. You should see the smile on those people faces just because you gave them ten minutes of your time. To talk, to actually ask them how they feel, if there’s anything they would like to do. Elders have so many to say, yet no one ever listens. And children, those poor little souls, who did nothing wrong in their life, except for what’s necessary to survive. A hug or a joke is enough to make them cry happy tears.”

“You’re being awfully optimistic, aren’t you?”

“Can’t help being who I am” she smiled so bright, Jason could swear that it lighted up the whole alley “you should try that sometimes, Red Hood. Anyway, sorry for keeping you this long, bet you have another parts of the city to patrol.” Once again her beaming, hopeful, sincere eyes landed on his face (or rather helmet) “thank you for helping me. I know you do not see yourself this way, but what you do matters. The method may be a bit extreme, but still, I appreciate what you did. What you do.”

“I……” Jason stuttered. It was the first time someone actually said something like that to him. Was he really good in her eyes?

“I gotta go.” She shook he head, hair falling all over her face and Jason had to use all his strength to fight the urge to brush those strands of. There was something about this girl…. ”Stay safe, Hood, will you?” she turned around and started walking away, but he called after her, making her stop.

“Can I get your name?!”

“Wonder why that matters to you.” she laughed, but decided in favor of answering “It’s Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”  with a single wave of the hand she was gone, leaving Jason wondering and muttering that single word over and over again.

***

“Hey, Drake. I got a favor to ask.”

“And out of all the people in the world you came to me?” Tim raised an eyebrow “You must be truly desperate, Todd.”

“I can always go and ask Barbara. Bet she’ll deal with the search I need much faster than you. She’s an expert after all.” Jason smirked knowing well enough how the reverse psychology affected Tim.

“Better!? No way!! What do you need?” the younger boy spun around on the chair, now facing the bat computer, fingers hanging over the keyboard, twitching in anticipation.

“I want to find a person. I only got a name, Y/N, possible living location and I know she works at the homeless shelter and kid center. Can you target her?”

“don’t know.” Tim tapped his chin, wondering “Is he a Red Hood’s object of interest or Jason Todd’s one?”

Fuck. There was no good answer to that question and Jason found himself falling right into Tim’s trap. 

“Let’s say a little bit of both.”

“Whatever you say……”

***

Tim was faster than Jason anticipated and with just a few clicks and searches he managed to locate the girl. And just a few minutes later, after breaking some speed limits (Bruce would pay for the tickets obviously) Todd was in front of the building she was spending her evening at.

It’s been a while since Jason seen so many hurt and scared people in one place and that reminded him how much crime actually was in Gotham. He was fighting some part of it, but the rest…. Damn it. The view was just painful. Starting from a few-years old, ending up on the elders, every age group has a representation in this place. And amongst all those citizens he saw Y/N. With messy hair and a smudge of something that seemed like a paint, but was awfully similar to blood she was telling a story to a bunch of kids, one of them placed on her knees. That little dirt on her cheek made Jason shudder. In the depths of his mind he already saw her injured, bleeding in some alley, after being attacked or raped, her optimistic attitude not serving as a shield.  But apparently her positive attitude was not a result of obliviousness and being raised in separation from the bad aspects of life, but rather the opposite. She experienced the sadness and pain everyday while working with those people and yet, remained cheerful. That was….. strangely alluring.

“Hey there.” She put the kid down, noticing him standing in the aisle, looking confused “Are you lost? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” she was so tiny in comparison with a tank Jason was and she wanted to help him. Not even expecting anything in return.  

“No…. I ……”

“Hey, it’s ok.” she reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder and he immediately felt the warmth coming all over his body. “You’re safe here. We can give you any aid you need.”

“I don’t need help. “ Jason shook his head.

“You sure?” she tilted her head “Cause it seems to me like you got a strained muscles, a bruise on the jaw and some cuts on the forearms.”

“You are quite observant, aren’t you?”

“Did my time as a doctor assistant.” She shrugged “never get to finish though”

“Why?”

“Um… you know, typical Gotham stuff. Parents getting shot. No one to help me pay for college…. I had to tend for myself and that required a full time job, not just studying. So I dropped. Became an assistant nurse instead. Shitty job, shitty pay, shitty work hours, but  get to make ends meet.”

“And you still find time to volunteer?”

“Like I said to someone before, I’d rather help people by spreading good. Seriously, can I help you with anything…..?”her voice hanged a bit and it took him a while before realizing she was waiting for hi name.

“I’m Jason. And I …. I think I want to be a volunteer as well.”

***

It’s been three years since then.

Three years in which she was constantly surprising him with her attitude, her smile, her uptake on things.

Three years of her being his rock, getting him through the shittiest, lowest day, never letting him give up or his darkness and shadow consume him. She was his ray of sun on those days when he had no power to push through.

Jason was not the first person to trust people, but somehow she managed to gain it quite quickly. After a few months of acquaintance, shaking because of the emotions (mostly fear) he told her about his alter ego, awaiting abandonment, terrified, judgmental gaze and her leaving him for good.

There was a moment of silence after his confession, two young adults just sitting on the couch opposite of each other. Jason looking down, silent begging for her to not leave him, missing the fact that Y/N’s signature honest gaze were focused on him.

“Jason….” she said quietly, careful not to startle him “Jace, please look at me.” The boy hesitantly raised his head, scared what he might see on the girl’s face “did you think I would leave you?”

“Yes.” He blurted not able to control himself anymore.

“You silly boy.” She leaned forward slightly, reaching for his cheek, not touching yet, since she learned how hard physical contact was for him “Can I?”

“Please….” He mumbled, and once she cupped his face, immediately leaned into the touch. So touch starved, so desperate for her, without even realizing this.

“Listen to me, Jason Todd. I am not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not.” she whispered “I’m honestly a bit offended you could even think something like that. Do you even know me?”

“I know you see good in place where there is none. And I’m no good. I’m bad news, always have been and….”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” She hissed and not giving a shit about being gentle put her lips on his, the urge being just too strong to hold it anymore. “Sorry….” Just a few seconds later she realized what she did and pulled back, her face turning apologetic. “I didn’t mean to push….”

“Come back here” Jason breathed out, wrapping an arm around her waist and claiming her lips again, this time fully. God, he never knew how much he craved her and how much fear of rejection on her part he had.  “I need you.” he whispered pulling her flush to him “God, I shouldn’t  but I need you so bad.”

“Good thing it’s mutual.” She smiled, brushing a curl from his face and connecting their foreheads

“But….” He tried to say.

“if you start talking about that shit about darkness and everything else I won’t kiss you for a week.”

“Are you threatening the Red Hood, princess?”

“Guess, I am” she laughed, realizing that little fact “is it working?”

“Sure as hell it is.” Jason gasped before closing the gap between them.

***

Y/N was quickly accepted into the Wayne family, turning into a valuable member of the team. And damn, she was good at working with Oracle from the cave. But the most important part of her job (in her own words) was still giving the good vibes. Keeping the batboys (and batgirls) up and running, showing them how much good they were doing and how grateful people were for that.

Jason needed it more than anyone else, still doubting himself and dealing with past trauma, not that anyone blamed him for that. If nothing else, dying and resurrecting definitely have an effect on one’s mentality. And that was precisely why, Y/N would always stay up in the night, waiting for Jay to come back from the patrol to welcome him in the most caring and loving way she could.

“Jace!” she jumped off the couch as soon as she heard him walk thought the door, his helmet and jacket already discarded on the floor. She practically jumped into his arms, wrapping legs and arms around him, tugging her boyfriend tightly, feeling his muscles relax under her touches and caresses.

“Hi, baby….” He sighed deeply feeling her in his arms. The only person that made everything he did worth the effort.

“My hero.” She tugged him even tighter, hands tangling in his hair massaging gently.

“Hero? That’s funny princess. Are you sure you’re not mistaking me for Grayson? Do you wish that it was someone else in your arms?”

“What are you…..?” she pulled back from him slightly, but his arms kept her in place, familiar smirk forming on his face. “You are incorrigible Todd! Why are you constantly playing with me?”

“Cause you look cute with that surprised Pikachu face” he kissed the top of her nose and she pouted.

“Stop it! It’s my job to kiss you and hug you. You’re tired and hurt. Let me take care of you.” her hand travelled down from his neck and rested on his heart “Please, love. I just want to take all the pain from you. Let me, Jason.” she was practically begging him now, and the fact that he truly had someone who was willing to do that for him was making him melt. Since the words failed him, he just nodded, closing his eyes not to show any vulnerability. Almost three years of being together and it was still hard for him to show her his emotional side. “Open those eyes” she commanded, once he put her back on the floor and they just stood in place. “I love you, Jason.” Y/N said with fully convinced voice “whatever you think about yourself, you are a hero to me.” a little kiss on his forehead “A protector.” Kiss on his nose “a fighter” one on each of his cheeks “I can never see you differently” a peck on his lips, too short, leaving him wanting more and chasing her lips “but it’s me. You don’t need to act strong with me when you are tired. You don’t need to hide your emotions. You could never be too vulnerable for me. I accept and somewhat understand Red hood, but it’s Jason Todd I fell in love with. My Jason. The emotional one. All right, baby?’ she caressed his cheek, grabbing his hand and leading him backwards towards the bed “will you rest with me?”

“Yes.” He whispered “Please……”

“All right.” She helped him lay down and once he rested head on her chest, feeling her fingers play with his hair, the other hand caressing her back, Jason slowly let the tension and the burden of opinion, judgments and expectations go.

She was making him feel better about himself.

She was making him feel better about world.

And maybe it was wrong and selfish and careless, but he loved her.

And he was going to tell her that.

Soon.  

#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd angst #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #fluff #dc fluff #tim drake #jason todd fic #red hood x you #red hood x oc

[friendsoup]

Hi Hiiiii! I was wondering whether you could do a shy fem!reader watching a horror movie with Tennant (from r1999 and any other character you want!) where the reader get's spooked from a jumpscare and cuddles into the character out of fear. Thanks!!

Horror Movie Night

Recipe: Romantic fic, Fem!reader, Reader x Tennant, Reader is insecure in the relationship :[, Tennant loves to tease, Cuddling, Reader is called M'lady and Mi Amor, Small hints of jealousy and insecurity WC: 1k Chef's Note: This is my first time writing Tennant, so please forgive me if it seems ooc!!! ;o;! I've been wanting to write her for a while now though, so thank you for gifting me the opportunity to! Writing this was pretty fun.

Lord knows how you got into this situation.

You’ve never liked horror movies, and watching a horror movie with a group was even worse. You’d been teased before for being squeamish and easily scared. That, on top of being forced to watch such grotesque things made your stomach churn. Overall, it was a terrible situation to be in. One you promised yourself you’d never do again.

It was An-an who brought up the idea of a movie night. You weren’t opposed, until she listed out what she wanted to watch with everyone. Some of the arcanists in the suitcase had never even heard of a movie before, was it a good idea to start them with Ringu and Out of The Dark?

You didn’t want to do it. Nothing on this Earth could convince you to go. 

Until Tennant opened her beautiful, dumb, mouth. “It sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” A smirk grew on her face, noticing how you shied away at her words. “A glimpse into the future. You don’t get that often.” You imagined for a moment, Tennant watching a movie with some of the other girls. Her wrapping her arm around one’s shoulder, lazily cuddling into someone else. Someone else hiding in her chest, shielding their eyes from the horrors on the screen. The thought made your face burn with embarrassment and envy. You and Tennant weren’t an item, only a casual fling, but the thought of her being with someone else made your heart sink into your stomach.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting next to Tennant, eyes glued to the screen in front of you. A few other arcanists sit around the two of you, too focused on the movie to notice your fear. You catch a glimpse at their expressions, the mix of fear and excitement, and some in pure amazement at what’s going on in front of them. For a moment, you consider leaving. Sneaking out the door, and allowing Tennant to continue her movie night in peace. However, you feel an elbow press into your arm, and when you turn to look, Tennant is smiling down at you. “M’lady, if you get too scared, you can hold my hand.” Your face heats up instantly, as you grow unbearably flustered. You turn away from her, muttering something about not being frightened. Tennant simply gives a low chuckle, her attention fluttering from you back to the screen.

You think for a moment about grabbing her hand. The two of you have never spoken about PDA. You’d always assumed she wanted to keep things quiet though, to keep other avenues open. But everyone was focused on the movie. No one would notice the two of you holding hands, right? It was safe. Your hand hesitantly moves towards hers, but you stop inches away. You can’t bring yourself to initiate touch. Something is keeping you back. Are you worried she’ll get angry with you? That she’ll move away? So many things keep going wrong in your head, you don’t want to risk it. 

You decide to quiet your mind by focusing on the movie.

After a moment, you find yourself growing quite lost in it. The way it’s filmed is excellent, and the acting is really well done. If you weren’t so terrified, you’d be a big fan of how put together it all is. You feel your heart rate begin to rise as the tension grows. The lead begins walking through the forest alone. He calls out to someone, but there’s no response. Your eyes are as big as saucers as you watch him run, calling for someone you know is already dead.

And then he hears a call back. Somehow, your hands find themselves on Tennant’s arm. She looks down at you, prepared to make another sly remark, but sees how focused you are on the movie, and decides against it. You give it a light squeeze, leaning into her.

You know it’s not his friend. There’s no way it’s his friend. But he follows it anyway, crying out how grateful he is to hear her voice. 

You feel like you’re about to explode, your grip tightening around Tennant’s arm. She clears her throat, hoping you’d notice, yet you remain unaware of your situation. Tennant grows a bit flustered, annoyed that she can’t tease you like this. She can’t wait to see your face when you realize the two of you are touching.

The lead gets closer, and closer, and you feel your heart rising to your throat. You feel sick to your stomach, but the lead continues on, oblivious to your panic. And then he’s attacked. You jump, before burying your face into Tennant’s shoulder. You can’t stand to see the rest of it, what happens to him next. You breathe in her scent, finding it to be comforting. She smells of nutmeg and sage, with a hint of something else you can’t put your finger on. It smells like the nights you’ve spent alone together, talking about everything under the sun. It smells like comfort. Like the home you’ve built here. Your body grows less tense, your grip lightening on her arm.

Slowly, you come to your senses. You remove your face from her shoulder, meekly glancing up at her. She’s looking down at you, a light blush on her cheeks. She smiles down at you, a genuine look of admiration seated in her eyes. “If you needed a knight in shining armor, mi amor, you only need to ask.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, as you glance back at everyone else. They’re all focused on the movie, paying no mind to the two of you. “Tennant…” You whisper. “I’m feeling a bit scared. I don’t want to be alone tonight. Could you please keep me company?” You plead. Tennant’s face reddens further. She turns away, placing a hand to her cheek. “M’lady, how bold…” She gives another chuckle. “I would not be opposed, however… A night with you is always a blessing.” You nod, before turning your attention back to the screen.

“But let’s finish the movie first.” You tell her.

#x reader #reverse 1999 #re1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 tennant #tennant #tennant x reader #Tennant x you #Let's Make Friend Soup! #order up!

[diaboliklove]

modern day au where yui cannot catch a break, and things only get worse when her house gets broken into by an angry red headed robber — but instead of taking her things, he takes her heart

yui was having the worst year of her life.

even worse than in 2013 when her father wouldn’t let her go to that taylor swift concert since it was deemed ‘unholy.’

she really thought only taylor could understand her.

but now its 2024, and she’s begun to have adult problems. she’s broke, her heater is broken, her apartment has started to fall apart, she stained her favorite pink skirt with coffee, her phone screen shattered when she dropped it on the train, she ran out of her favorite lip gloss, college bills keep stacking up, her upstairs neighbors never stop engaging in fornication, strawberries are out of season so she can no longer afford them and most importantly —

her father just passed away.

and all she wanted now was to rot in her apartment and ask god for mercy on her poor heart.

“it’ll be okay,” she sniffled back a tear. “father used to say the lord puts us through trials to test our faith.”

yeah, used to.

it was now late night, coming back from her fathers funeral she felt more empty than when she first got the news. her feet hurt from the black heels she now had to walk home in, the black dress did little to give her warmth, her cheeks were numb from the cold weather and having to comfort people with a smile that she’ll be okay, that there was nothing to worry about.

… but yui was already worrying about dinner. also how she’d have to shiver herself to sleep again. she couldn’t allow herself to cry herself to sleep again, her face would be frozen when she woke up, and what if she finds another hole in the walls? tape didn’t work last time, and she’s running out of rags to stuff in between them. and what about her job? she can’t buy more rags without it. they granted her a leave of absence due to her fathers passing, but what if they replaced her? if she lost her job she couldn’t pay rent — and she couldn’t ask for another extension on rent, her landlord was fed up enough with her pleading, she wouldn’t get lucky again. and also —

“no, lets just take it one day at a time. thats right,” she neared the steps to her apartment. “deep breath in, and then out. lets have some canned soup for dinner, and then pair it with rewatching the kardashians. yeah. thats a great plan.”

she turned the corner to her door.

“everything will get better,”

she put the key in the lock.

“as long as i stay positive.”

and she swung her door open —

“shit!”

“AH!”

— right into a mans back.

at first she thought she opened the wrong door. but the faint smell of her candles hit her nose, and her eyes fell on the very TV she watched shitty TV on in the mans arms — and then her eyes landed on a fucking sword on his waist.

her eyes followed it as he dropped her TV from his arms, and unsheathed it from his waist —

— and directed it right in between her eyes.

“empty your fucking purse! ill fucking kill you!”

Oh wow. wooooow.

now you would think the right action would be to do as he said. anyone would listen to a manic man with hair as red as blood, especially when they pointed a sword at you that looked like it came from the 1800’s. its not like yui wanted to die, so maybe she should save her life and sacrifice her beloved tv and the few pennies she had in her wallet.

but instead. her face twisted, and yui broke out in the most ugly open mouthed sob she’s ever done.

it wasn’t out of fear. it didn’t even register how this man genuinely had bloodlust leaking out of him. it was out of absolute frustration and sadness that this was becoming her life — and that she couldn’t even have her dream of watching the kardashians.

she fell to her knees. because, seriously, what the hell did she do to deserve all of this? she was a good kid. never acted out to her father and attended mass even when she had the flu. she never wished bad on anyone. but why does everything always have to end bad? on her 11th birthday her goldfish frank died, when she wanted a coffee last week, her card declined and now she couldn’t even sob into her blankets while she heard kim talking about how rich she was. can’t she have one good day? can’t she —

“holy shit, are you crying?” the red haired man didn’t even move.

yui looked up to him, and just stared at the man’s flabbergasted expression. through her tears, she tried to inhale through her nose, but it came out in little stutters. she extended her purse towards him.

“take it. take everything if you want.” yui spoke through her sobs. its not like anything she really wanted was here anymore.

yui curled up into her knees and rocked herself, continuing to cry hysterically at the thought of just her life. she wouldn’t mind if that man stole everything in her house — material objects could be replaced… eventually. when her eyes started to burn by the amount of tears flooding out, she noticed she couldn’t hear the familiar floorboards creak from movement and her purse was still in her hands. lifting her head to see what was going on, she noticed that the man hadn’t moved from his spot, and just was gawking at her sitting on the floor. they held eye contact for a while, like they were both afraid to move.

sure, yui thought he was a manic. but he probably thought yui was a suicidal manic.

while she held eye contact, she finally really looked at him.

he was fit. wearing a black shirt and a ripped jean jacket, yui could tell he wasn’t bulky, but instead quite lean. his pecs were defined and his muscular abdomen and biceps were flexed against the fabric from welding the heavy sword. his joggers looked worn down, and black nikes seemed like they seen better days. his face was … nice. well sculpted and he had a well defined jaw. his lips were plump and chapped from the chill outside.

what threw yui off was the cacophony that was his hair and eye color. bright firetruck red for hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it in days, and green eyes fit for only a predator. regardless of the situation, yui could tell he honestly was… beautiful. dangerous. probably looked more attractive if he didn’t have his mouth wide open in awe.

his eyebrows furrowed, and he closed his mouth. he placed his sword back in his sheath, and leaned down to grab the tv from the floor. he looked towards yui again, with a face she could only describe as disappointment. clicking his tongue, he began to drag the tv … not towards the door but towards the tv cabinet.

“this isn’t fun anymore. you can have your shitty shit back.”

placing the tv back in its rightful throne, he squatted down and went through a worn down black backpack — that had some random pins of a band she never heard of — that was on the floor. within it, he took out her favorite necklace, her jewelry box, a couple of her wool sweaters and her damn smart toaster she picked up extra shifts for.

“this is yours. ill be back when you’re mentally stable, you deranged bitch.” he motioned to the items on the floor.

“really?”

the robber rolled his eyes. “of course I will be! do you know how much your toaster —“

“— no i mean. you’ll give it back?”

“you want me to take it?”

“well… i’d like it if you didn’t.”

“then! shut the fuck up.”

he grabbed his backpack and swung it around his shoulder. he started making his way towards the door right beside yui. as he took two steps past her, he paused.

“you’re really broke, you know.”

yui sniffled. “i know.”

“like, broke broke. i don’t think ive ever broke into a house that had so much of nothing. what are you, a level one sim? do you have no hobbies? do you even eat? i see nothing to even munch on here.”

“… i have soup.”

“you literally have two cans of spaghetti-os and tomato soup.”

yui sniffled louder. “i know.”

things were silent for a while. yui was sure the robber was still there, probably reconsidering his decision. she expected him to march back in to take her things again while flipping her off. this entire situation seemed too good to be true… but maybe this could end with her losing nothing... no. she wouldn’t let herself hope for something that was next to impossible in a situation like this.

but something even more unlikely happened.

the robber spoke again.

“do you like dennys?”

“w…what?” yui turned her head towards him.

“dennys. the best restaurant in the world. do you like it?” his face stayed neutral, but somehow the question felt like a threat.

yui feared the honest answer, ‘ive never been’ would end in her getting decapitated. so, she said, “i do.”

“do you want to go get some pancakes?”

it was yuis turn to gawk at him. he looked bored, and slid his hands in his pockets. now, maybe a normal person would say ‘fuck no, its 10pm and you just broke into my home somehow and then tried to steal my beloved tv and lovely toaster then pointed a fucking sword at me… also, i don’t even know your name you creep.’

but yui wasn’t a normal person experiencing normal things right now.

“pancakes sound nice.”

aka, the alternative universe in which two cold hearts find warmth within each other.

#toffee au’s #diabolik lovers #diabolik brothers #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #yui komori #komori yui

[maegalkarven]

So look in my mercy mirror.

m!Dark Urge x Gortash, m!Dark Urge x Astarion.

Redeemed!Durge (but not morally), good run.

The team confronts Lord Gortash in his keep.

Karlach wants to kill the man; June has another idea.

TW: tadpoling (not graphic), June refers to Gortash solely by his name.

What are you doing?

Emperor’s voice rings in his ears - in his mind - slightly tinted with suspicion. Funny, for how much the mindflayer insists June can trust it, it doesn’t seem to trust June at all.

You said I need to gather my allies, he replies absentmindedly, hands working on taking this damn cork off and opening the bottle. Such a small thing it is, and how much it contains.

Enver was personally responsible for the creation of this new, nether-touched illithid parasite.

Enver and him; the details are hazy, but June can easily see himself fit into the narrative the lordling painted for him. He can see himself, on top of the world, with crown of Karsus in his hands, ready to conquer the entire Toriel for his father.

What a fool he was.

It’s changed now. He is a changed man.

“June?” Karlach looks uncertain and that hurts.

Hadn’t she learned by now to trust his judgment, had he not proved himself to be a good, loyal friend? The mere fact what she doubts him still is simply unacceptable.

She’ll see, June knows. Once he puts his plan in action, she will see the brilliance of it.

What use Enver’s death would be to her? It would not turn back the time, it would not give her back her heart or ten years of her life.

But this? This can turn the tide.

“It’s alright,” he smiles, but for some reason she doesn’t smile back. Damn it, did the smile come out wrong again? “Just hold him firm.”

She complies, but looks even more unsettled.

“This is...Not what I’ve expected,” Karlach admits. “You...What are you going to do with this thing?”

June smiles; this time the smile comes out right.

“I am going to fix it.”

Enver lets out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“And there I was, concerned they’ve somehow ruined you,” for a man beaten bloody and pressed down the cold tile floor he looks surprisingly content. “Worried Orin damaged your brain too much and somehow turned you into...” he trails off. “But I was a fool to fear that. No, you’re just as you’ve always been.” Another annoyingly long pause and then- “You’re going to tadpole me.”

“Yes,” June smiles.

Of course Enver of all people would understand.

He pulls the specimen out of its glass cage and holds between his fingers. Gently, ever so gently.

Enver’s eyes trail the movement.

“We worked so hard on these curious little things; you’ve worked so hard on them. It would be a shame for you to not test out your own creation, would it not?”

“June,” Wyll calls out and June doesn’t need to turn around to know his friend looks downright horrified.

Why can’t they see?

This is the right thing to do. Death is too simple, too easy. This? This will give Enver a chance to atone for his crimes. No, it will downright force him to cooperate.

And cooperation is exactly what June needs.

He is in your head, comes out an echo of a conversation long passed. Gortash, Gortash, Gortash – this damned lordling is all you can speak of these days! I doubt father approves of that, brother dear.

But June doesn’t care if father approves anymore. June doesn’t do his father’s bidding.

He is a free man, a free and a good man. And if he can change like that, who knows how Enver could?

“This is a chance,” he thinks and realizes he’s spoken aloud. “To work together. To fix the mess we’ve started. To make things right.”

“This is wrong,” Wyll argues. “You know this is wrong, June-“

“Juniper,” Enver speaks. There’s a strange glint in his eyes and it takes June some time to decipher it. There’s dread, of course, but also...Satisfaction? Like this is expected outcome. Like this aligns with Enver Gortash’s image of the world.

June frowns.

“You look entirely too pleased, my dear,” he comments lightly, crouching down to Enver’s level. The parasite dangles from his fingers, sharp jaws opening and closing in a rather rhythmical manner. As if it senses the prey nearby.

Enver manages a weak shrug, still pressed firmly down; Karlach looks distressed but her hold does not waver.

“No sense to panic over something I can’t change, is there?” True, but that does not explain the smugness. “And it’s a relief.”

“A relief?” June slowly reaches out, hand getting closer and closer to Enver’s face. Did he caress this face before? Were they that close?

The deep, annoying longing inside insists they were.

Close. Closer than Bhaal would permit, perhaps. Was he the reason for June’s little rebellion?

If so, it’s only right to repay for that.

“This thing with Selûne,” Enver frowns. “It was entirely...anticlimactic. I am glad you’re as ruthless as I recall you to be.”

June frowns right back.

“You’re delusional,” he replies. “I was ruthless once, but no more. This is mercy. I am sparing you, sparing your life. Enver, I am your savior.”

That makes the lordling look even more smug.

“Of course you are,” he smiles as if he knows something June does not. Annoying. “Now, shouldn’t you cut this ‘will he, won’t he’ business and finally-“

His voice cuts short as June drops the parasite on his face, as close to the eyes as he manages.

The creature crawls up and immediately buries itself into the depths of Enver’s skull. Clever little thing.

June watches, fascinated, as the man struggles while parasite takes a hold on him.

Then he raises an artifact.

Emperor? He calls out. Will you do the honors?

Of course.

A wave of pcionic power washes over them and Enver’s mind clears. He blinks; once, twice, brushes the uncalled tears away. Then looks up, straight at June.

“Not too bad,” comments plainly, asshole. Like June didn’t just turn his life upside down. “I assume you’ll force me to comply with your clever plans now?”

“Of course,” June thought it was rather obvious. “Now we’re going to save the day like the true heroes we are,” he smiles. “We don’t need any gods for that, we don’t need any cults. Bhaal and Bane can fight over the rubbish all they want, but we know better. We are going to have Baldur’s Gate eating from our palms. But first,” he feels his smile turn slightly malicious. “We’ll visit an old acquaintance. Halsik has everything prepared and stands at the ready.”

At that Enver perks up.

“You’re dragging me to Hell,” he comments rather cheerfully. “Again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a trip to Hell is your idea of a date.”

June snorts, and Karlach snorts, and even Astarion, who was mostly silent through the entire encounter, snorts, though his snort is more unkind than the others'.

“No, silly,” June drags his hands up Enver’s torso until they lay placidly on his chest. Warm, he notices absentmindedly. Warm and familiar. Selûne’s Grace, am I in love with this man?

That would be...unfortunate, all things considered. But not entirely unexpected.

“We are going to break into the House of Hope,” he feels Enver stil underneath the touch. “I assume you’re more than familiar with the place, are you not?”

The lordling wets his lips, then grasps June and uses him as a leverage to stand up. Karlach almost doesn’t let him, but June waves her off and she, rather begrudgingly, lets go of the man.

There’s still a sense of unease about her, unease and...A hint of distrust? Of him, of June?  But he is fixing things, surely she knows that!

“And what exactly are you planning to get there?”

Enver is close, gods, he is so close and his breath is warm on June’s forehead and it’s hard to think- Fuck, they definitely were lovers and June is definitely not over it. Astarion is going to kill him. Or worse, going to be hurt by him, by that. Stop, stop, stop, he needs to stop-

Two things happen at once.

Enver’s hand finds its place on June’s waist and takes a sure, firm hold of it.

Astarion’s mind, gentle in a way a mind of a man intimately familiar with all the ways personal boundaries can be broken, making damn sure he is not breaking and entering into the depths of June’s mind unwelcome, brushes past him.

June lets him in.

Stop fucking fidgeting, his glorious lover complains immediately. You’re giving the bastard a leverage over yourself.

I’m sorry, June immediately blurts and does it with such a force he is sure both Karlach and Wyll heard him. He avoids thinking of Gortash being linked to them the same way now. I’m sorry, I didn’t know, or maybe I did, but didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he’s here and he is so close and I- I am sorry, I am so, so-

Do you take me for an idiot? Comes out a huff and how did Astarion manage to huff through a mental link? You might have emotional intelligence of a redcap, but I’ve been aware you two knew each other on a level what’s far beyond any niceties the moment Gortash stopped his own coronation to gape at you.

He didn’t gape at me, June argues, thought he isn’t so sure now. Was Enver gaping at him? He sure looked friendly, much friendlier than Ketheric and Orin combined. But gaping?

He stopped his coronation, Astarion repeats. To come down from his high horse and chat with you. To welcome you back. He took control over one of his steelwatchers simply to invite you to the damn thing. And you- now there’s an actual, visible huff coming from his lover.

June catches Enver watching Astarion closely; a loose, entirely self-satisfied smile on his lips, hand still on June’s waist, head leaning on his. Enver invades June’s personal space like it’s his life goal, like instilling his presence in June’s life is something he has at his top priority.

This is...flattering.

“No, the fuck, it isn’t,” Karlach says aloud, and it’s a cue for June to realize he might have been thinking too loudly. “This is disgusting is what it is, I can’t believe you would-“

“My sweet June has his strong suits and his weak ones,” Astarion speaks, giving Gortash the smile so sharp it should’ve splinted the man in half. “His awful taste in men is, admittedly, one of the later. Not me, of course,” he chuckles, but June hears the underlying self-degrading tone noneless. They should’ve made Cazador Szarr suffer more. “But other,”  vampire spawn gestures at Gortash. “Lesser men.”

“Lesser, you say?” And of fucking course Enver would take the bait. “I would-“

“Enough,” Wyll all but barks and for once they all comply. “We have bigger things to worry about but you two fighting over June’s affections,” June catches Karlach make a gagging face at that and Enver sending her a rude gesture in response.

Children, he is surrounded by literal children. Worst of all, these children are the ones saving the world with him. Ridiculous.

“Right, right,” he sends a grateful smile Wyll’s way and is relieved to see the man smile back just as warmly. At least someone is in his corner. Someone other than Astarion, but that’s given; June and Astarion are bound for life now, for as long as both of them live.

Admittedly, said life might include Astarion murdering June’s former, current – who could tell? – tyrannical lover in a cold blood. Or hot blood. In a pool of blood, definitely.

June isn’t even sure he would be very angry about it, mostly just...sad? He does seem to care for the said tyrant a lot. Oh, bother.

“We are going to break into the House of Hope,” he reminds these literal children who now are making faces at each other. If anything, seeing Karlach and Enver flip each other off would work for an evening entertainment. June will have to work on this destrusting undertone of her; talk her through it, explain things.

Karlach is a good person, she will understand. June is sure of it.

They’re doing this for the greater good.

“For what?” Enver cuts the chase off. “I assume not to make a deal with Raphael, he usually comes to his victims himself.”

“No,” June agrees. “Not for that, though he tried to strike a deal. He needs the Crown of Karsus, you see? And has something we need. But luckily, Raphael was kind enough to let us know he has it.”

“And why would we strike a deal with him,” Astarion hums. “When we can simply take what we need?”

“Exactly.”

Enver smiles.

“You are planning to steal from him.”

“No,” June leans into him almost involuntarily. He smells...good. He smells familiar. He smells like home. “We are going to steal from him. You,” a sharp nail hits Enver in the chest. The hand is immediately grabbed and held firm. “Are going with us. Care for some heist, my dear lord? Not Mephopheles’ vault, I’m afraid, but just enough for an evening entertainment.”

Enver smiles, wide and sharp and entirely wicked. An evil smile, people would call it. How he managed to convince people of the Baldurs Gate he is not villainous villain is beyond June’s comprehension. By brainwashing them, most likely.

“When let’s rob the devil,” the lordling speaks.

Then he kisses June.

And June can finally breathe.

#dark urge #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #astarion x dark urge #dark urge: june #bg3 #dark urge x astarion #baldur's gate spoilers #june is delulu #he is lowkey terrifying in that #also yes june's full name is juniper but literally noone but gortash uses it #june in response always calls gortash just 'enver' #it's so instilled into him recalls it even after the brain trauma #baldurs gate 3 #avery.txt #fanfiction #june: i'm a good man! #everyone: DOUBT #unproofread #june is unhinged without realizing it and gortash digs it #isn't it fun when your lover is capable of horrors without realizing he is capable of horrors #or what he's doing is indeed a horror #not pictured: karlach and astarion getting into a fistfight with gortash behind the tents #they kick him so hard withers has to resurrect him #asks like 10 times if June is sure #song: mercy mirror by within temptation

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — epilogue

Summary: The next chapter of your story begins.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

masterlist

. . .

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Close Your Eyes by Michael Bublé

0:00 ───|────── 3:33

. . .

epilogue

“C’mon, kiddo, you can do it. Say, ‘dada.’”

“Matt, she’s still a little young for that, don’t you think?”

“No, my kiddo’s a smart one. She can do it. Isn’t that right, Seline?”

Seline is all curly blonde hair and brown doe eyes as she flashes her parents a one-toothed grin. The sound of her tiny hands clapping together echoes through the Kemper’s living room, which is positively littered with toys. 

Ava scoffs, eyeing her husband with amusement. “You’re right, she is smart. That’s why she’ll say ‘mama’ first.”

Matt reaches for her hand where it rests on the floor between them. When he raises her knuckles to his lips for a kiss, his eyes are soft and adoring. “You’re right. She would be smart to say ‘mama’ first.”

Molten warmth floods your chest at their interaction, at the way that their attachments glow and sing with every word, laugh, and look. An unseen bystander, you reach forward from where you sit cross-legged in front of them to graze your fingers over the green storge attachments that tie their little family together. As your fingertips pluck at the threads like harp strings, they ring and strengthen. 

Was it necessary to fulfill every attachment? No, not anymore. Now that all philia, eros, and agape attachments were ensured, that only left pragma, storge, philia, and philautia to fulfill. In spite of this, you’d realized over the past six months that you still liked to walk through your daily assignments, fulfilling all of the attachments that made their way onto your list. You are a creature of habit, after all. Plus, the way the threads sing when you pluck them never gets old. 

Thank you, the storge attachments say, their threads bright, warm, and alive beneath your touch.

“You’re welcome,” you say in turn. “I’ll see you all again tomorrow. Don’t let her say any first words while I’m gone, got it?” 

Got it. 

With a pleased grin, you rise to your feet. As your attention shifts from the Kemper family, a new sight grabs your focus—a radiant stream of red, orange, yellow, blue, purple, and white. The threads unfurl from your chest, mingling and weaving into a delicate braid of light. They trail from your heart, out the Kempers’ front door, to a place far beyond this realm. Their whispers coax you to a realm of dreams and nightmares, to a man with a touch like cashmere and stars for eyes. At the mere thought of following them, your heartbeat quickens. 

Philia. Eros. Agape. Pragma. Philautia. Erotoropia. Even after six months, there was still one attachment that you and your Dream Lord had yet to foster. Green, unconditional, familial storge. 

You can’t help but wonder if today is the day. It is a very special day, after all. In fact, a quick glance at the clock on the Kempers’ living room wall informs you that it’s time for you to depart for the Dreaming. Lucienne will be expecting you soon.

Before you go, however, there’s one last stop you need to make. A friend to see, and a promise to fulfill.

. . . 

The morning sun shines surprisingly bright upon London as you step onto the street outside The New Inn. Far removed from the main roads, the sound of morning traffic only faintly reaches your ears on the pleasantly warm breeze. As you push through the entryway, the door handle’s bells jingle a tune that is all too familiar to you now. The New Inn’s windows have been pushed open to welcome in the early summer air. Several patrons sit at various tables sipping tea or coffee and nibbling on pastries that Hob purchases from the bakery a few blocks over. 

When your gaze shifts to the bar, you spot him—dimpled chin, stubbled jaw, chocolate eyes. When he begins to chat up an elderly gentleman sitting at the bar, offering to refill his coffee, you can’t help but beam. “‘Morning, Hob! Is the coffee pot still hot?” 

Hob‘s gaze darts to you at the sound of your voice. As he begins pouring coffee into the elderly man’s cup, he waves you over. “Wouldn’t turn it off until you came through. Get over here.” 

There’s an undeniable bounce in your step as you walk to the bar and hop onto one of the leather-topped stools. Hob makes his way over quickly, grabbing a clean coffee mug as he goes. When you spot the red apron he’s wearing over his normal attire, you have to suppress a snort. You rest your chin on your palm when he stops in front of you, gazing up at him adoringly. “You make a pretty barista, you know.” 

Hob lifts one dark brow at you, lips drawing into a smug smile. He begins filling your coffee cup without so much as breaking eye contact. Show off. “I’m flattered. You don’t think the apron is too much?” he responds, dark eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“Not at all. In fact, I’m going to buy you a fancy one with the little pockets for pens and the loop for towels,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. He chuckles at your teasing, earning a satisfied grin from you. The warmth of the coffee seeps through the ceramic mug and into your hands as he hands it to you. “Thanks, Hob. I really did need the pick me up today.”

Hob returns the coffee pot to its hotplate behind the bar before turning back to you. “Ah, yes. Today’s the day you become the Queen of Gloom, right? The Monarch of Melancholy? The Sovereign of Solemnity?” 

You couldn’t hold back your laughter if you tried. Silently, you thank the Maker above that you weren’t mid-drink when he said that. “Alright, you’ve made your point,” you say, swallowing another giggle before taking a long sip of your coffee. 

A sly grin pulls across Hob’s lips as he rests his forearms against the counter. “Glad to hear it. You’ve yet to convince me that he’s not the God of Pessimists.” One dark brow shoots upward, curious and inquiring. “But you know what would? You telling me what’s really going on here.” 

Fondness blooms in your chest, warm and supple. Before your temporary death, your blossoming friendship with Hob had been limited to occasional check-ins. Working to combat Desire had been a full-time job, after all. In the six months since your sacrifice, however, life had slowed down a bit. This allowed for many morning coffees with Hob, during which time your friendship had deepeed, and his questions about Dream had never ceased. “Secrets, Hob. You know they’re Tall, Dark, and Broody’s to tell, not mine.” You smile as another long swig of coffee warms your throat. 

Hob rolls his eyes at you good-naturedly. “Right, right, secrets. Just you wait. I’m going to trip you up someday,” he says with a wink. A contented silence settles between you as you chuckle at him, closing your eyes and savoring the rest of your coffee in long, grateful sips. When you open your eyes, placing the empty mug in front of you with a contented sigh, you find that Hob’s expression has softened. When he leans toward you, it’s with a kind smile. “Well, I’m wishing you luck today. Really, Love. You deserve this. You deserve love.” His hand rests atop yours gently, but firmly. “You deserve to be happy.” 

When the gratitude swells up at the base of your throat, it takes you off-guard. Sudden and powerful, it steals your breath away. The familiar prickle of tears stings at the backs of your eyes. It’s only when he gives your hand a gentle squeeze that you finally find the strength to speak. “Thank you, Hob. So do you.” 

Off to your right, a new customer approaches the bar, waving Hob down for service. Hob gives your hand a quick pat before he slips away to take the patron’s order. The distraction gives you a moment to collect yourself, to swallow the lump in your throat and wipe the wetness from the corners of your eyes. You know it’s time for you to go to the Dreaming. But before you do, there’s one last thing you have to do. 

When Hob finishes waiting on his customer, you wave him back over. As you rise from the bar stool, you flash him a dazzling grin. “Well, Hob, I’d better head out. I’ve got a wedding to go to, you know. But before I do…” You reach across the bar, planting a hand on each of his strong shoulders. Surprise flickers in Hob’s brown eyes as you hold his gaze firmly, intently. “A new patron is coming to the Inn tonight. Should be around eight-o'clock. A word of advice from me…” You give his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “…make conversation.”

You can see the exact moment that your insinuation lands, the precise second that the meaning registers. Hob’s chocolate eyes widen in astonishment; his lips part in awe. Stunning the innkeeper into silence is no easy feat, but it seems you’ve done it. It’s several long moments before he slowly smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. They glimmer with excitement, with promise. “Right. Yeah,” he breathes. “Make conversation.”

You pat his shoulders once, firmly. “You’ve got it, my friend.” 

When you slip out The New Inn’s front door, it’s with the jingle of bells, a levity in your heart, and a smile on your lips. 

. . . 

The sweet scents of pollen and nectar greet your nose as you walk the fields of Fiddler’s Green with Dream at your side. Between crafting dreams and nightmares, visiting Cain and Abel mid-murder attempt, and listening to Mervyn complain about another blood-and-perrier mishap by Fashion Thing in the main hall, it had been a hectic morning for the Dream Lord. When you’d popped into the Dreaming from a morning walking amongst the mortals, you’d taken quick note of the overcast sky and heavy, humid air. One look at the particularly deep crease between Dream’s exasperated eyes, and you’d known just what was in order–a walk.

As you trek into one of the grove’s lush meadows, Dream Country’s sun beams down on you, fat and gold as an egg yolk. The air, once thick and oppressive, is now crisp and refreshing. A sea of blue flowers greets you–dancing periwinkle, bobbing hydrangeas, rustling forget-me-nots, and swaying hyacinth. A few days ago, when Lucienne was dusting the shelves of ‘1800’s - W’ in the library, you’d made the off-handed comment that Robert William Wood was one of your favorite painters. The fact that you’ve stepped right into the scene of Fields of Blue is not lost on you. You can’t help but smile.  

As you enter the field of blues, a strong gust of wind sweeps the meadow, stealing blades of grass and stray leaves from the earth. As the breeze gathers the array of foliage into a familiar humanoid form, you come to a stop. Dream falls into place at your side. 

When two blue poppies settle into place on the dream’s face, you smile. “Good morning, Fawn. You’re looking particularly radiant today.”

Fragile iris petals unfurl as Fawn offers you a smile. While you adore all of Dream’s creations, the dream of freedom has always been close to your heart. She was your first collaboration with the Dream Lord, after all. “Thank you, Miss Love. The Dreaming’s sun shines so much brighter these days. My leaves adore it.” 

You shoot Dream a knowing glance out of the corner of your eye. A small, pleasant quirk of his rosebud lips is his only response. “As do I, Fawn. You’ll bring sweet dreams to my friend Theo tonight, won’t you?” 

Fawn bats her dandelion eyelashes at you, giving you a wide grin. When she spins in a giddy circle, blue petals dance around her like confetti. “Absolutely, Miss Love. He’ll have so much space to run, he won’t know what to do with himself. I’ll make sure he runs himself silly.” 

The sun is warm on your cheeks as you beam at her. “Thank you.”

With one last grin, Fawn dissolves in a flurry of leaves, departing for the Waking World. With a happy sigh, you step further into the meadow, relishing the warmth of the sunlight against your skin.

After several long seconds of silence, Dream speaks. “The Dreaming loves you,” he says, his voice a soft rumble on the honey-sweet breeze. 

“And I love the Dreaming,” you say, crouching down amid a gathering of hyacinths. You press your lips to their blue petals fondly, drawing in a long, savoring breath. 

“Then wed her.”

Stillness. You misheard him, didn’t you? Surely you must have. You straighten slowly, stunned. “What?” 

When you turn to Dream, you find a tension in his form that is foreign to him. His pink lips are pursed, his shoulders pulled back, his hands held rigidly at his sides. He looks…hesitant. No, you realize suddenly. He looks nervous. 

“Become her Queen. Her monarch. Her partner. Her caretaker,” Dream continues, his voice soft and tight. When he swallows, his throat bobs like sea foam on the tide. “Let us stand together. Officially.” 

A powerful stirring is rising in your chest, like the rapid flutter of hummingbird wings. The dizzying mix of awe and disbelief grows and grows, warm and insistent, leaving no room for air. “Is this your Endless version of a marriage proposal?” you breathe, taking a small step toward him. 

There’s a subtle shift in Dream’s form when you draw closer, like the coiling of a spring. He wants to touch you, you realize, but nerves have gotten the best of him. “In a sense,” he murmurs quietly. His ocean eyes study you intently, desperately. “You were expecting something more elaborate.” 

You could laugh out loud. You could tackle him to the grass and kiss him silly. “No. Yes.” 

“Clarify, love.” 

“No, I don’t need anything elaborate. I’ve never wanted anything elaborate. All that’s ever mattered is you.” You step forward, taking his hands in your own. “And yes, I’ll wed her. I’ll stand beside you. Officially.” 

Dream’s rosebud lips part in awe at your words. Was it possible that a small part of him was surprised at your acceptance, even after all this time? You bring his hands to your lips, pressing soft kisses against his knuckles one by one, as if pressing promises into his flesh. 

Dream leans over you, regarding you softly. “To become Queen of the Dreaming is to wed her. And to wed her is to bind yourself to her creator,” he murmurs, lifting one thumb to caress your chin. 

His skin is warm against your lips as you smile. Slowly, you draw his hands to your chest, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “You think I don’t understand the implications?” 

When a small smile lifts Dream’s lips, Dream Country’s sun gleams like a golden yolk, an extension of its master’s heart. “You are certain, then,” he says. Though his voice is quiet, there is an energy beneath it, a thinly-veiled eagerness. Excitement. 

When you lean forward to brush your lips against his, the grove’s birds chitter with glee. “As certain as I am that you are mine.” 

. . . 

In all your months in the Dreaming, you’re certain you’ve never seen the palace halls so busy. Dreams and nightmares of all shapes, sizes, and colors hustle back and forth through the halls in a blur of movement and chatter. As they pass by carrying trays of food, baskets of linens, and armfuls of decorations, they peer at you with wide eyes and even wider smiles. The excitement in the air is electric and infectious. You smile kindly at each resident as they pass, cheeks flushed and bashful, mind buzzing with glee.

“Your coronation attire will be waiting in your chambers within an hour’s time, Miss Love.” Lucienne’s voice cuts through the chatter around you, capturing your attention. You turn to where she walks at your side, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, reading over a list of tasks left to complete. “The beachfront is prepared, and the Dreaming’s residents will gather there at twilight.” Lucienne turns her head to you, brown eyes wide and attentive. “Will you still be reading your own oaths?”

Your lips lift in a nervous grin. “Yes,” you answer, heart fluttering in your chest. It had been your idea to do so, after all. Another mortal custom, you’d explained to Dream. Quiet as he was, you’d thought you might be the only one to write your own vows. When Dream had agreed to do the same, it had taken you aback in the best way possible. You’d been working on writing them for weeks, rehearsing them each morning before you left for your duties. 

Lucienne’s lips draw into a wide, pleased smile. “Excellent. If you wouldn’t mind, prior to the ceremony…”

As you round the corner near the palace ballrooms, two approaching figures quickly steal your attention. Lucienne’s voice, once loud and clear, fades to a quiet hum in your ears. You watch in silence as Dream and Mervyn Pumpkinhead stride briskly in your direction on the opposite side of the corridor. Mervyn gestures wildly, features pulled into his characteristic frown, while Dream listens intently, his dark brows drawn inward. 

The nature of their conversation, of Lucienne’s discussion, of anything else going on around you grows distant as Dream draws nearer. With each step, the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears becomes louder, the coaxing in your chest growing stronger. You picture each thread between you glowing brighter with each footstep, whispering more insistently with each inch gained. 

Come closer.

Come closer.

You need to be closer. 

There is a moment as you pass ways when the spell suspends, when your transfixion takes a deep, yawning breath. When Dream’s eyes flicker to meet yours, your mouth turns dry as cotton. There is a brush against your knuckles, a featherlight touch that you feel from the tips of your fingers to the marrow of your bones. Fire and ice drip down your spine in equal measure. You shiver.

And then, he’s gone. In a blur of black and orange, Mervyn and Dream stride past you, their conversation uninterrupted. Your eyes trail after them, still halfway spellbound. You’re almost convinced that the moment never even happened. Only a lingering tingle against the back of your fingers makes you wonder otherwise. 

“Miss Love?”

Your head whips around so quickly it verges on whiplash. When your eyes lock with Lucienne’s, she levels you with a knowing smile. “I was just inquiring whether you could bring me a copy of your oaths prior to the ceremony?” she prompts, voice lilting with amusement. 

Heat creeps up your neck as you give her a quick, sheepish nod. “Yes, absolutely. No problem.”

“Splendid,” Lucienne says brightly. She removes her pocket watch with deft fingers, coming to a stop outside the tall wooden doors that lead to the palace kitchens. “This is where I must take my leave, Miss Love. I have a very zealous chef to attend to.” She gives you a wide, assuring smile. “Perhaps you should retire to your room for a while. There is much left in store for you today. It is best to be well rested.” 

As the two of you come to a stop, it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve really paused today. Between your assignments, visiting Hob, and preparing for the day’s festivities with Lucienne, time had passed in a blur with scarcely a moment to think. There was much of the day left to live. You wanted to be ready for it, to enjoy it wholeheartedly, to savor every moment and commit them all to memory. 

“Thank you, Lucienne. You’re right. I think I will.”

With a nod and a bow, Lucienne departs, heading into the palace kitchens with her task list in hand. Likewise, you turn and head in the direction of the staircase that leads to the palace’s living quarters. 

As you walk the halls, you pass dozens of dreams and nightmares discussing the festivities, carrying decor, and so on. Now that you aren’t busy with Lucienne, several stop you to make brief conversation as they go about their duties. You smile and greet each one, thanking them for their hard work preparing for the evening’s events. Though the excitement in the air is palpable, you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your chest. The gravity of the day’s events is far from lost on you. In fact, it’s been a persistent occupant of your headspace ever since Dream proposed in Fiddler’s Green. 

I am going to become Queen of the Dreaming. 

No matter how many times you think the words, they still leave you in utter disbelief. 

When you step off the staircase and into the palace’s lodging area, you find the hallways quiet and empty. The quiet padding of your sneakers against the stone floor echoes off the walls as you walk to your room at the end of the hall. Your mind slips in and out of focus, rehearsing your vows, reviewing the schedule for the remainder of the day, remembering the brush of Dream’s skin against yours in the corridor—

There is a gentle pressure around your wrist, a quick tug. The movement is so sudden that you don’t even squeal as you’re pulled into one of the halls branching off the main corridor. Stumbling forward, you catch yourself against something warm, solid, black, and familiar. Instantly, the adrenaline in your veins turns to giddy glee. 

Warm breath fans across your face, gentle and sweet. “You did not say hello.”

A small smirk lifts your lips as you slip your hands under Dream’s cloak, entangling your fingers in stars and constellations. In the low light of the side corridor, his blue eyes burn like the flames of young stars. “Neither did you,” you say, leaning instinctively into the warmth of his torso. 

Dream’s eyes flicker at the teasing lilt in your voice. There is something downright otherworldly about the way his palm glides over the curve of your waist, the way his fingers trace the soft flesh at the nape of your neck slowly, tenderly, reverently. His touch leaves fire in its wake, a simmering heat that makes your mind scramble and your heart race. 

Over the past several months, you’d been surprised to find that physical touch was a love language the Dream Lord was very adept in. While you’d experienced his more intimate side in the unconscious world he’d created for you, you hadn’t known what to expect from him in real life, especially given the new nature of your relationship. You’d quickly found that while he was largely reserved in public, he had no inhibitions in private. 

Of course, you weren’t complaining. Dream’s touch was a drug and an antidote, a cure and an affliction, all in one. Even now, as his rosebud lips tilt upward at your shallow, eager breaths, a force greater than gravity pulls you toward him, like the poles of a magnet. When the pad of his thumb settles against the curve of your bottom lip, reality bends deliciously, your skin humming with delight. 

“Of course I did. In my own way.”

The touch. You laugh breathlessly at him, fingers twisting in the fabric of his black shirt. “Of course, Dream Lord. Ever so subtle.” You push up onto your toes, trailing your nose along his jaw affectionately. He smells like salt and seaspray. You breathe in deeply. “Well, hello.”

”Hello, love.”

For several long moments, there is nothing but the soft chorus of your breaths, the sinewy warmth of Dream’s form against yours, the overwhelming contentment that you always find in his arms. Finally, you pull away just enough to make eye contact. “Did you and Mervyn successfully solve the world’s problems?”

Dream’s blue eyes roll upward, eyebrows pinching in exasperation. There is a certain delight that comes from seeing him annoyed. When you first met, his lack of non-verbal cues and muted reactions were maddening. How you’d longed to make a chip in the armor, to be privy to the inner workings of his mind and heart. The vulnerability that he now seemed to reserve for you alone was a gift, one you cherished and treasured. 

“Mervyn prefers to work at his own pace. The high expectations of the day are a challenge for him, but one he is well-suited for.” When Dream’s eyes return to yours, the softness in them does, as well. “On the subject of the day, how are you feeling?”

It’s the first time that anyone has asked you. A small, tentative smile forms on your lips as you lean into him, fingers curling and uncurling in the fabric of his shirt anxiously. “Oh, you know. Excited. Nervous. Can’t wait, but also kind of want to throw up. It’s a big day.”

Dream’s eyes regard you gently, thoughtfully. You find no judgment in them, something that sets the flutter in your stomach at ease. “Indeed,” he says softly. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw slowly, as if he could dispel every trace of worry with his touch alone. Not entirely out of the question, you muse. “I assure you, there is no need to be tense.”

You lean into his touch gratefully, relishing in the solace he instills. It never ceases to astound you how completely transcendent you feel in his presence. As if you could move mountains and steal stars. His touch emboldens you to open up, to bring light to the shadow of doubt that has plagued your mind since that day in Fiddler’s Green. 

“You know what I feel for you. I know what you feel for me. But the Dreaming’s Queen? Are you really sure about this?” You pause, swallowing down the nervous lump that presses at the base of your throat. “Are you sure that I’m…that I’m worthy of this?”

There is a long, lingering moment where Dream does not move, does not breathe. Not even the familiar flicker of his eyes searching yours. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve broken him. But then, his rosebud lips suddenly part. 

“Worthy?” he echoes slowly. His eyes are wide, his tone incredulous, as if he can’t fathom what you’ve just said. When his palms cup your face, thumbs settling at the corners of your lips, his touch carries a gentleness that makes your heart ache and flutter equally. He pulls your face to his gently, so close that your noses nearly brush, so close that there is nothing but the bright, burning surety in his eyes. “There is no question of your worth. There is no question that you are what is best for the Dreaming. The Dreaming is not worthy of you. I am not worthy of you.”  

Liquid light pours into you with every word from Dream’s lips, from every inch of his skin against yours. The shadow of doubt shrinks away in its presence, leaving assurance, solid and true, in its wake. When you offer Dream a small, grateful smile, his expression softens. He leans forward to press his lips to the space between your brows, to the corners of your eyes and lips. 

“In fact,” he murmurs lowly, lips lingering against the corners of your mouth, “I intend to show you exactly how superlative you are later this evening.” 

If you were molten light before, now you are raw static, all white heat and crackling energy. The pressure behind Dream’s fingers as they trail down your arms makes you dizzy. You can feel the giddy flutter of your heart in your chest, like a flurry of moths gathering to flame. Pressing the bridge of your nose to his, you hold his gaze, smiling against his lips. “Why wait?” you ask with a quirk of your brow. 

If there’s one thing you know about the Dream Lord, it’s that he loves a challenge. When he tilts his head back to get a better look at you, his eyes dance with amusement. “You are incredibly adept at wearing on my resolve,” he rasps. There is a slight quirk to his rosebud lips. You want to kiss them silly. “But there is much left to attend to.”

Your mouth falls into a playful pout. “Lucienne says my coronation outfit will be here shortly. You’re sure you don’t want to stick around?” you tease, only half-joking. 

A chuckle escapes the Dream Lord, ghosting across your cheeks. It’s low and breathless; the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “Do not mistake my need to leave for a desire to leave. You know exactly what I desire,” he murmurs. He reaches for your hands within his cloak, holding them between you, thumbs dancing across your knuckles in farewell. “I will see you shortly, alright?”

Smiling, you concede. “Alright.”

When Dream steps away, you force yourself to swallow the quiet, pleading sound that rises in your throat. Just before he re-enters the main corridor, he gives your hands a gentle squeeze. “Remember my vow to you,” he says softly, his voice earnest. “There is no reason for you to fear ever again. And there is certainly no reason to be fearful of anything pertaining to today.”

You squeeze his fingers in return. When you smile, this time, it’s with confidence. “Right. Never again.”

. . . 

You remember the first time you witnessed your function like it was moments ago, not centuries. The awe that had wiped your mind clean of thought when you’d witnessed the first attachment, the giddy excitement that had coursed through your veins when you stepped into the kaleidoscope world that was yours, the overwhelming rightness that filled your chest to the brim when you first made those threads sing and shine. Your function was radiant, vibrant, all warmth and technicolor beauty.

It was a juxtaposition, then, how you’d always seemed tied to the dark. You’d died in the dark, had come into new life in the dark. In all the years you’d spent isolated and alone, you’d always felt comforted under the night sky, as if befriended by those glittering stars. Though you couldn’t remember it, your mortal self had first encountered Dream in the midnight hours of sleep. When your paths finally crossed again in the throne room, he had seemed to you the darkness of night in human form. A walking dream with moonbeam skin and stars for eyes. 

Perhaps it only makes sense, then, that you feel at home clothed in twilight. The place between the fading radiance of day and the comforting embrace of night. The gossamer fabric of your coronation gown spills over your skin like sand from the Dream Lord’s palm. Woven from stars, the silken material feels weightless upon you. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes catch on the gown’s hem. Traces of pastel pink, lavender, and teal swirl like nebulous dust beneath the glittering stars, accenting the fabric that pools at your feet. 

A flash of color amidst the darkness. A piece of him, a piece of you. 

A small, shaky breath escapes you as your fingers trail over black gossamer and stars.    In the mirror, your smile is equal parts eager and nervous. It’s time. 

As if on cue, there is the soft creak of a door and a familiar flash of dark hair in the mirror behind you. When you turn around, you find Dream standing in the entryway, quietly closing the door behind him. The rectangular-cut ruby that pins the top of his ceremonial cloak together gleams in the lamplight of your bedroom. Living flames lick at the cloak’s hem where it trails along the floor. In the soft lamplight, the flames flicker and jump, imbuing his porcelain skin with warmth, casting shadows from his cheekbones. 

The breath slips from your lungs in a soft, awed rush. He’s beautiful. And his ocean eyes are on you, wide and staring, his pink lips parted as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that was, is, and ever will be.

He’s crossed the room before you even get the chance to say hello. “Breathtaking. Radiant. Exquisite,” Dream breathes. His hands find the curve of your jaw, cradling your face in his palms. “There are no words.” 

You laugh, leaning happily into his touch. “You just said several words.” 

There is a soft hum in Dream’s throat at your jest. “They are all inadequate,” he amends, a smile pulling at his lips. 

Now it’s your turn to give a hum of pleasure. “You look pretty exceptional yourself. The flames are a nice touch,” you muse, tugging lightly at the edges of his cloak. You press a quick kiss to his chin before you step back, ruffling your skirt in a shimmering wave.  “You like it, then?”

“More than you know,” Dream says. He takes a step forward, appraising your gown  thoughtfully.  “But there is one thing missing,” he continues. 

For a brief moment, your brow wrinkles in confusion. But when Dream reaches into his cloak  and withdraws his hand moments later, all you can do is gasp. From the cosmos hidden within the black fabric, Dream produces a swath of material spun from stars and comet dust. Thousands upon thousands of pinprick flames ripple and shift like liquid glitter against the black gossamer in his grasp. 

With careful hands, Dream turns you to face the mirror. His fingers make quick work of fastening the cape of stars to the straps of your bodice. When the material slips from his hands, the bridal cape spills to the floor, burning like a comet’s tail. 

Your heart catches at the sight, throat thick with emotion. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, all of it. You are spun from cosmos and constellations. You are at home among the stars. You are a walking dream. 

Your voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Oh, Dream.”

Dream’s touch is warm as his fingers trail down from your shoulders. His feather-soft hair tickles your cheek when he settles his chin in the crook of your neck. “You have always liked mine, have you not?” he breathes against your skin, blue eyes bright within the mirror’s reflection.

You capture his hands in yours, turning to meet his gaze head-on. With his rosebud lips so close, his breath warm and honey-sweet against your cheeks, the desire to pull him close and kiss him is undeniable, coronation schedule be damned.  

And so, you do. “Yes.” With a gentle tug, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. When you breathe in unison, it’s a sigh of contentment, an exhalation that says, finally. There is nothing but the soft whisper of breath; the gentle press of Dream’s mouth and fingers against your own; the fuzzy, intoxicating warmth that spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes with each movement. 

When you finally part for air, you smile, nuzzling your nose against his, favoring the slight dimple at its tip that you’ve always loved. “Thank you.  You really never cease to amaze me.”

“You never cease to inspire,” Dream responds. After pressing a final kiss to the corner of your mouth, he leans back to regard you. “They are ready for us. Are you ready?” 

Dream’s eyes hold you gently, assuredly. Under his gaze, all doubt slips away. Under his touch, confidence blooms and thrives. By his side, you have nothing to fear ever again.  

“Yes.” 

In a flourish of fabric and stars, Dream whisks his cloak over the two of you. When the Milky Way and constellations slip away, you find yourself standing on the dirt path outside the Gates of Horn. Beyond the towering structure of polished bone and keratin lies the black sands of Dream Country’s shore. Twilight is breaching over the familiar waters, painting the sky in pastel pink, burnt orange, and rich gold. Beneath the watercolor sky stands two great crowds of Dream Country’s residents, gathered on either side of a self-made aisle. Their smiling faces and eager eyes are illuminated by the setting sun. And they’re all looking at you. 

You had expected to feel nervous, or bashful, or self-conscious. But as Dream extends his elbow to you, as your arm slips into his own, as you begin to walk forward into this new life, all you can register is excitement. 

Side by side, you and Dream pass through the Gates of Horn, the same gates that had led you to him all those months ago. The black sand is soft beneath your feet as you walk down the beach, still warm from soaking up the day’s sun. The glittering eyes and wide smiles of dreams and nightmares both humanoid and abstract greet you as you walk through the crowd.

You recognize all of them. You’ve had the privilege of encountering countless dreams and nightmares during your time in the Dreaming. After Dream had made his proposal, you had doubled down your efforts to mingle with the Dreaming’s residents. He was their creator, the seed from which all things grew. He loved them. You loved them, too. If you were to stand by his side, to care for the Dreaming as your own, you wanted to know them. You wanted them to know you. 

There’s a particular face among the crowd that jumps out at you. Death of the Endless stands at the end of one of the frontmost rows, curls bobbing as she cranes her head to watch you two approach. When your eyes lock, the sheer enthusiasm in her toothy smile seems strong enough to light the Sunless Lands. You return her grin with equal excitement as you pass, making your way to the final smiling face that awaits you at the end of the aisle. 

Lucienne gives a slight bow when the two of you stop in front of her. The flames along Dream’s cloak lick at the sand as the two of you turn to face one another, hands joined between you, just as you’d been instructed to do. A Dream King with raven hair and stars for eyes and a goddess with light in her veins and night on her skin. What a pair the two of you made. 

It’s time. 

“Greetings, dear residents of the Dreaming,” Lucienne begins. Her voice echoes over the beach, carried on the saltwater breeze. At her words, any quiet chatter and excited shuffling within the crowd stills. “We have gathered together today for not just a coronation, but a celebration. Today, the Dreaming gains a Queen, a defender, a nurturer, and a champion. As the Queen weds the Dreaming, so too does she wed its creator.”

Your eyes turn from the royal librarian to her King. Dream’s eyes are only for you, lingering on each flicker of your gaze, each shift in your expression. When you smile, his eyes brighten. His thumbs drift over the backs of your knuckles tenderly. No reason to fear, they say. You are what is best for the Dreaming. 

“Agape, Deity of Love, presents herself to you today with the intention of leading you, guiding you, nurturing you, and defending you. She has passed through the Gates of Horn, ensuring that her heart is truthful and her intentions are pure.” Lucienne pauses, allowing her declaration to settle over the crowd. Out of the corner of your eye, there is a shift of movement as she raises her hands to address them. “The Dreaming acknowledges the presentation of their hopeful Queen. Does the Dreaming accept her?”

“We do,” a thousand voices chorus in unison. The flutter in your chest is undeniable as the sound washes over you, as the sunset’s reflection in Dream’s eyes shines a little bit brighter, as the grounding, peaceful sense of belonging settles in your soul like Dream’s hand in your own.

“Excellent,” Lucienne says. When you pull your eyes from Dream, you find her dark lips stretched wide, the corners of her eyes crinkled with delight. Lucienne had been with you since the very beginning, from nearly the first moment you set foot in the Dreaming. To see her joy, to know that she is pleased at your union with Dream, to receive her blessing, means everything. “The Dreaming accepts Agape, Deity of Love, as their Queen. As she binds herself to its creator, so too does she bind herself to us. She will now offer her oath to our King.” Lucienne leans forward slightly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Do you need your oath?” she asks. 

You shake your head gently. You had been dreaming of this moment for a long time. You had rehearsed these words again and again until they were etched upon your heart. You knew precisely what you wanted to say. 

You turn to Dream with a deep, grounding breath. In spite of the crowd around you, the gravity of this moment, he looks at you as if there is no one else, nothing else, that matters. As if it is only you, the sand, the setting sun, and your joined hands. 

A sweet, all-encompassing calmness settles in your bones as you watch one another. As you open your mouth to begin, you allow yourself to be drawn into his gaze, into an intimate pocket of the universe where it’s just the two of you. “Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, Dream Lord, Dream. One night, on a wooden dock in a sea of stardust, I told you that love was difficult. That it was as much about sacrifice as it was about reward. And I was right.” A pause. A breath. “But what I didn’t tell you is that every sacrifice is worth it. Because it leads you to where you’re meant to be, who you’re meant to be, and who you’re meant to find. Sacrifice means that you have something, or someone, worth continuing on for, risking it all for, giving everything for. For me, that someone is you.” 

There is a soft bob of Dream’s throat as he swallows, drinking in your words. The ever-present pull between the two of you swells and crescendos, coaxing you to him as the rising moon calls the tide. You take a step forward. “We’ve both lived lives with plenty of sacrifice. Now, it’s time for our reward. I vow to love, cherish, and keep you. I vow to be yours in any time, in any realm, in every reality. I vow to support you, protect you, and defend you. I vow never to forsake you. I vow to stand by your side in every circumstance; to be your constant solid ground; to be someone you can always rely on. I vow to make every sacrifice and moment we were without one another worth the wait. I vow to spend every moment of every day for the remainder of my existence showing you just how deeply, unfathomably, uncontainably loved you are.” You lean forward, your words a whisper for him and him alone. “I vow to be yours, forevermore.” 

Time passes slowly in this pocket of the world. Seconds or hours could pass as you and Dream watch one another with bated breath. The flames at the edge of his cloak leap and flicker eagerly, as if your confession were kindling. There is an electricity between you, a yearning to answer that ever-present coaxing between you, to satisfy the universe’s will. When you feel Dream’s fingers curl around your own, you think he might just do it. 

You have to suppress a jump when Lucienne’s voice startles you back to reality. “Does the Dream King accept these vows?” she asks. 

Dream’s eyes flicker briefly to Lucienne, then back to you. It’s evident that the pull back to reality was just as off-putting for him. You offer him a small smile, raising your eyebrows ever so slightly as if to say, Later. 

When Dream affixes you with a knowing look, your stomach erupts with butterflies. The slight quirk of his lips is hidden from the crowd, visible only to you and Lucienne. “I do,” he rasps. 

Lucienne gives a soft huff, a thinly-veiled laugh that only the three of you can hear. “Excellent,” she says. Refined as she is, you suspect her desire to admonish the two of you over your barely-concealed affection at this event is compelling. But when she turns to look at Dream, her brown eyes are crinkled and happy. “Our King will now offer his oath to his–our–Queen.”

When your eyes lock with Dream’s, you find them burning with conviction, soft with promise. When he takes one step closer, you picture the six threads between you glowing and singing with glee. “Agape, Deity of Love. Love. Fate and destiny are powerful creatures, ones we are both well-acquainted with. Throughout the eons, there have been moments when I questioned mine. There was surety, purpose, and fulfillment in my function. It was my fate, my destiny. And yet, I was plagued with a persistent absence. Regardless of what actions I took, an enduring emptiness remained. It was a call I could not seem to answer, a phantom limb I could not shake.” A pause. A swallow. “From the moment you set foot in the Dreaming, from the moment we met, you were known to me. The soul knows its counterpart.  For the first time, I found that the emptiness was filled. The call had finally been answered.” 

A soft, shuddering breath escapes you at Dream’s words. It has to. After all, there is no spare room for it in your chest, not when this bittersweet ache is filling your lungs. The love, deep and deliciously painful, crowds out everything else, pouring forth from your heart, spilling over, over, over. When Dream squeezes your hands tighter, you wonder if he can feel it, too.

“I did not know peace and contentment until I knew you. I knew not what it was to feel complete. It took a long time to comprehend that sensation. But now, I understand,” Dream says. “You once confessed to me that the deepest desire of the soul is to not venture through life alone. You were right. And now, both our souls are satisfied.” A pause. A brush of thumbs against the backs of your hands. “I vow to devote myself to you, wholly and completely. To cherish you incomprehensibly, boundlessly, until the last creature dreams. I vow to give you stars to comfort you and an embrace to run to. I vow to protect and defend you, to rewrite worlds for you, regardless of the sacrifice. I vow to give. I vow to remain yours, as I always have been. As I always will be.” Dream draws near to you, his voice like the sea breeze, so soft that only you can hear. “S’agapo.”

When Dream withdraws to stand up straight, you think you’re seeing stars. The smattering of lights beyond his face must be a product of your imagination, a consequence of the lack of oxygen your brain is currently experiencing. But when you take a deep, settling breath and blink, you find that they are stars. As the sun dips below the Dreaming’s sea, twilight is receding, revealing the faint beginnings of a night sky overhead. The coronation is almost complete. 

“Well said, my Lord,” Lucienne says, more for herself than anyone else. Her spectacles gleam in the fading twilight as she turns to you. “Does Agape, Deity of Love accept this oath?”

As if you could answer any other way. “I do.”

“Excellent. Together as one, the King and Queen of the Dreaming will now procure the symbols of their union.”

It was the only part of the ceremony that you hadn’t rehearsed. After all, you couldn’t do it without Dream. Will it really work? you had asked him one morning as you walked along the shoreline. 

Eyes dancing with vague amusement, Dream had affixed you with a knowing look. Need I remind you of what I told you the first night we crafted together? In this Realm, all things are possible. 

Dream reaches into the folds of his cloak with one hand, procuring his infamous pouch of sand. The whisper of the grains is barely audible over the ocean tide as he pours a palmful into your hand, and then his own. At first, when you re-join hands, clasping the grains together between you, nothing happens. And then, like magic, like a dream, they begin to warm. 

“May these tangible objects serve as a reminder of the intangible union that is forged here today. The binding of souls, the merging of realms, and the entwining of futures.”

You feel the exact moment the sand disappears, the exact moment that something small and spherical rests in your palm instead. When you open your hands, you find that the sand has been replaced with two rings made of clear, iridescent sand glass.

“The King and Queen of the Dreaming have elected to recite a final vow as they conclude the binding ritual,” Lucienne announces to the crowd. Quietly, she adds for you and Dream, “Whenever you are ready.”

You had never been more ready for anything in your entire life.

Dream’s fingers are warm and gentle as he takes your hand in his. When he slips the sand glass onto your finger, he does so slowly, carefully, like making a dream. “Do not urge me to leave you or to turn back from you,” he breathes into the saltwater air. 

Never again, you think. We will never be apart again. “Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay,” you vow in turn. The sand glass ring slips over his knuckle with ease, as if it was always meant to be there. And it was. 

The stars overhead catch in Dream’s eyes as he watches you. In the darkness of dusk, the flames on his cloak reflect in the glass ring on your finger, coloring it orange and gold. His fingertips skim over its surface eagerly, ceaselessly, as if he can’t quite believe it’s there. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.”

“May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me,” you finish softly. 

There is a long, quiet moment where there is nothing but the whisper of the tide against the sand. And then, Lucienne speaks. “Dreams and nightmares, beloved residents of the Dreaming. I present to you…your new Queen.”

In an instant, the entire beach erupts into a chorus of cheers and applause, as if they were only waiting for permission to do so. Your gaze turns to the crowd instantly, lingering on each grinning face, soaking in each cry, shout, and holler. The Dreaming had always possessed an undeniable talent for turning the intangible tangible. It was a place of pure imagination, after all. In this moment, the sheer joy from the crowd crashes over you in a wave that truly feels physical. It’s overwhelming. 

You can’t help but smile and laugh along with them. 

Dream’s hand is warm against the small of your back as he turns you to face the crowd. He leans in close, so close that the unruly mop of hair you love so dearly tickles your cheeks, eliciting another giggle from you. “Welcome home, love,” he breathes, his voice low and honey-sweet, meant for you and you alone. 

You turn to look at him as his words settle over you. Home. 

It takes only the briefest of moments. Your hand against his cheek, a touch he leans into. Reaching out, reaching through, you peek into the Realm of Attachment. Because you need to know. 

In an instant, the night sky overhead turns into a kaleidoscope of color. When you look at the space between you and Dream, you find seven radiant attachments. White, soul-bound philia; red, romantic eros; purple, playful erotoropia; orange, companionate pragma; blue, compassionate philautia; golden, selfless agape; and green, unconditional, familial storge. 

Welcome home, love. 

And it feels like, finally. 

. . .

In all your time visiting the Dreaming, you have never seen the palace so packed full of people. When you’d peeked into the ballroom earlier today, the sheer number of tables and chairs set up for the post-coronation banquet had astounded you. You’d thought that surely they wouldn’t all be filled. 

Now, sitting at the front of the ballroom, gazing out at what must be every single resident of the Dreaming, you realize that you were so wrong. Not only does every chair at every table have an occupant, but it seems it’s not enough. Dreams and nightmares gather in the corners of the room, drinking, laughing, and conversing. Winged creatures fly to and from the lavish buffet tables, bringing plates of hors d’oeuvres and delicacies back for themselves and their friends, while others brave the crowd on foot. The energy in the air is infectious, practically buzzing with chatter, laughter, and life. 

Dream’s thigh presses against yours beneath the table as he leans into you. “Are you doing alright?” he asks, his voice warm and low against the high-pitched chatter of the crowd. “You’ve hardly eaten or drank since we sat down.”

Your hand finds his beneath the table, fingers toying with the sand glass ring around his finger. When you turn to him, you find his blue eyes soft with concern. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, husband. It’s just overwhelming. Everyone seems so…so happy.” Smiling, you lean in close, brushing your nose against his. “I am happy.”

Dream’s lips quirk upwards at your admission. “Then all is as it should be,” he murmurs against your cheek. 

His skin against yours is like kindling to flame. You lean in eagerly, hungry for more, scarcely caring if any of the Dreaming’s residents take notice. “Indeed, husband. I think it finally is.”

Dream’s laugh is a rumble in your ear. “You seem quite fond of that term of endearment, wife.”

What you’d give to drag him out into the corridors and show him exactly how fond of it you were. 

Just as you’re about to declare as much, the bright sound of silver on glassware captures your attention. Just a couple of tables away from your own, you find Death of the Endless rising from her seat with a champagne flute in hand. 

“Before you two get lost in your canoodling, I think we need a toast. It’s not a wedding without a toast, right?” she states, wiggling her eyebrows for emphasis. As warmth creeps up your neck, Dream shoots his sister a knowing look. Though he does not smile, the twinkle in his eyes betrays his amusement. Death gives him a quick wink before continuing. “I just want to say that I feel largely responsible for this union. So, you’re welcome. And congratulations, lovebirds.” She lifts her glass so emphatically that her bubbling beverage nearly spills over. “To Dream and Love, King and Queen of the Dreaming.”

“To Dream and Love, King and Queen of the Dreaming,” the room echoes in response. 

Death waves her fingers playfully at you as she takes her seat. You roll your eyes half-heartedly at her, making a gesture as if to say, I’ll find you later. “Maker love her. I should have known she’d make a toast. Did you know?” 

“Perhaps,” Dream muses with a quirk of his brow. 

Just as you’re about to ask if there are any other surprises you should know about, another round of sharp chimes echoes through the ballroom. Scanning the crowd for the source, you find that Matthew has perched himself atop a tray of glasses carried by a server. The sound of his talons clinking against the delicate drinkware gets everyone’s attention. 

That draws a laugh out of you. “You’re letting him talk?” you ask incredulously. 

Dream’s mouth smiles against your ear. “He begged me,” he says, the baritone melody of his voice trailing shivers down your spine. 

Across the room, Matthew ruffles his wings, preparing for his big moment. “Alright, everyone, it’s toast time. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks,” he crows, his voice thick with drama. “First things first, Boss, Lady Love–congratulations. You two make a beautiful couple. And I mean that both literally and metaphorically.” 

There is a gentle rumble of laughter throughout the room. You offer Dream a small smile as if to say, Here we go.

“If there’s one thing you all should know about me, it’s that the Boss and I have been friends for a long time. Or, it feels like a long time, at least. When you’re putting up with his melancholy ass, the days tend to drag on at times,” Matthew continues. He takes flight briefly, swooping over to land atop a lantern centerpiece on Death’s table. “But he and I have been to Hell and back together–literally–and I care about him. When Love first came around, I thought, ‘Man, this girl is nice. Way too nice for this guy.’ Honestly, Boss, you’re such a stick in the mud, I don’t know how she put up with you.” 

Matthew pauses again, obviously reveling in the crowd’s chuckles. With a shake of his head, Dream speaks up. “Please, Matthew, do go on,” he prompts, eyes flashing with thinly-veiled amusement. 

“Will do, Boss. So, yeah, at first I thought, ‘These two have nothing in common.’ Wasn’t really sure how this whole partnership thing would work out. But then, I realized I was wrong. They did have something in common. They’d both been hurt. They were both lonely.” 

This time, there is no laughter when Matthew pauses. His eyes gleam like black pearls in the ballroom candlelight. When your eyes meet, your throat tightens. “I’ve watched these two go through a lot together. I’ve watched them grow and change and open up in ways I never expected. I’ve watched them sacrifice everything for one another. I’ve watched them heal. And now, I get to watch them both be happy.”

There is a long, yawning moment where the ballroom is entirely still. Beneath the table, Dream’s hand squeezes yours. 

Matthew dips his head at the head table in acknowledgement. “To Dream and Love, two kids who finally got their happy ending.”

“To Dream and Love,” the Dreaming choruses in unison. 

For several seconds, there is only the quiet sound of residents sipping their drinks. Then suddenly, Matthew ruffles his feathers emphatically. “Well, what are you all sitting around for? Someone get some music going! It’s time to fucking party!”

All at once, the Dreaming seems to burst into life once again. A round of applause sweeps the room as dreams and nightmares alike leap out of their seats. A group of dreams quickly gather next to the balcony doors across the room. With practiced hands, they procure a fiddle, mandolin, flute, and bagpipes from thin air.  When they start up a fast-paced, jovial tune, the Dreaming’s residents flood the ballroom floor between the crowd and the head table. 

“He really knows how to set the mood, doesn’t he?” you laugh, watching as Matthew sweeps across the room, shepherding people toward the dance floor. 

“He has always been exceptional,” Dream muses thoughtfully. 

The two of you watch in contented silence for several moments as residents of the Dreaming take their celebration to the dance floor. Between the electric joy in the air and the music, you have to admit that even you want to dance. “Well? Should we–”

In a flurry of black, Matthew lands on the table in front of you. “Ah ah ah, not so fast,” he says, waving a wing at Dream. “I call the first dance, Boss. I got the party started. It’s only fair.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud at the absolute Matthew-ness of it all. The raven ruffles his feathers appreciatively at your response. “Well, what do you say, Boss?” he asks. 

Dream looks from you, to Matthew, to you again. You know he’s only dragging it out for dramatic effect. They were both dramatic, though neither of them would ever admit it. You suspected it was part of why their dynamic worked so well. 

The Dream Lord lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “Be my guest.”

. . . 

When you slip out of the ballroom and onto the balcony, you’re not sure how many hours have passed. All you know is that you’re dizzy and breathless, and the Dreaming’s night air feels so good against your skin. The granite is cool against the soles of your feet as you walk to the balcony railing, your shoes long-since abandoned. You honestly can’t remember the last time you had them on. Spinning and stepping through the thick throng of dancers, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to hold onto the cape Dream made. 

A long, contented sigh escapes you as you rest your elbows against the balcony rail. You can faintly hear the persistent hum of music as the instrumentalists start up another song inside. But now that you’re outside, you can also hear the soft whisper of the breeze and the quiet chorus of katydids and crickets far below on the palace grounds. Beyond the palace lights, there is only the darkness of empty houses and the endless expanse of stars above. 

Will the mortals dream tonight? you wonder absentmindedly. With everyone here at the palace, would humanity have a single night of comforting darkness free of dreams and nightmares alike? Or would they dream of these festivities, awaking with joy on their lips and wine on their tongues, their limbs exhausted from a night of dancing in another world?

“Does my beloved wife grow weary of dancing already?”

The smile that lifts your lips at the sound of his voice is instantaneous. It’s as second-nature as the warmth that blooms in your chest when he draws near, as instinctual as the way your fingers find his when he wraps his arms around you. “Just needed a little break. I think Mervyn might have two left feet. He just kept guiding me in circles.”

There is a quiet rumble of acknowledgement in Dream’s chest as he winds his arms around you, resting his chin against your shoulder. “I have never seen him move with such fervor. It seems you brought out a new side of him,” he muses. Turning his face to yours, he presses his lips to the tender hollow beneath your ear, a sacred spot that only he knows. You sigh with contentment, sinking into his embrace. “As you do with all, love.”

You remain that way for a long time, wrapped comfortably in Dream’s arms, chests rising and falling in unison, looking out at the midnight landscape of the Dreaming. Allowing yourself to simply relish in the sweet warmth within your chest, the soul-deep contentment within your core, the stillness of your mind, and this overwhelming, all-encompassing sense of rightness. 

Love. Happiness. Peace. You are complete. 

Dream is the one who finally breaks the silence. “I have been thinking…once the festivities have concluded, perhaps we should go to the dock and craft?” he says, his voice a lullaby in your ear. 

For a moment, you simply blink, allowing his words to sink in. With all of the day’s events, your functions had been the furthest thing from your mind. The fact that the Dream Lord was busy pondering dreams and nightmares while you were tripping over Mervyn Pumpkinhead’s feet is the most Dream Lord thing you’ve ever heard. 

With a grunt, you spin around, hopping up onto the balcony railing to get a better look at him. Dream’s hands instantly settle on your hips, grounding you in place. Though it’s a long way from the balcony to the palace grounds below, you don’t fear falling. You have no reason to fear, not when you’re with him. “You want to go craft on our wedding night?” you say, raising a questioning brow at him. 

Beneath the midnight sky, the Dream Lord’s eyes glitter with stars. “Do our functions ever cease?” he asks, each syllable spun from night and velvet. Leaning forward, he presses soft kisses to your forehead, the corners of your eyes, your cheekbones, your nose. His eyelashes brush over your skin, delicate as butterfly wings. Your eyes flutter closed in contentment. “Dreams and nightmares never rest, love, nor do humans ever cease to sleep.” He pauses, his breath warm and sweet against your lips. “And they sleep so much more soundly when you’re with me.”

Perhaps the Dream Lord was right. Perhaps love was too feeble a word to describe what was between you. As your heart outgrows its home, as your eyelashes flutter open, as your eyes lock with Dream’s, you’re certain that there is no word that can fully encapsulate this feeling. It’s impossible.

“So set in your ways,” you tease, your voice soft and breathless. “You know, stubbornness isn’t typically considered an endearing quality.” 

Dream dips his head slightly, looking up at you through dark, full lashes. This is it, you think. You’re going to spontaneously combust. Your heart is going to burst right out of your chest and leap into his hands. 

“And what do you think of it?” he asks softly. 

It’s not just endearing. It’s downright maddening. 

“Come here and kiss me, Dream Lord.” 

When Dream’s lips meet yours, it’s like coming up for air. As if every fiber of your being that was starved for him is fed, as if every nerve ending that was numb is brought to new life. The hum that pours from his throat into yours is so much more satisfying than any feast. His mouth is cashmere and honey against yours, his hair soft as silk between your fingers. Everywhere he touches seems to burn and sing and glow. 

If he is the night, then you are a star. With each kiss, he pours light into your soul. With each touch, he kindles the flame. There is nothing more powerful than this feeling between you. You’re sure of it. It could ignite galaxies and illuminate worlds. It could create and destroy. It could overcome anything that stood in its way. 

And, you supposed it already had. 

Only when the burn in your lungs becomes painful do you part for air. Fingers tangled in that beloved perpetual bedhead, you brush your lips against his. “Before we go craft, there’s one thing you have to do for me.”

Dream’s eyes burn like sapphires in the darkness. “Anything,” he says. 

You pause, holding your breath for dramatic effect. And then, you smile. “You have to dance with me.”

For a long moment, Dream only stares. And then, he laughs. Not just a chuckle, or something soft and breathless–something low, delicious, and happy. 

You want to coax that sound from him again and again. You’ll dedicate the rest of your life to doing so. It will be a worthwhile cause. 

“I believe that is a fair request. A husband would be a fool to leave the celebration without first dancing with his wife,” Dream says. He presses a final kiss to your lips before stepping back and offering you his hand. “Are you ready, then?” he asks. 

Yes. Yes, I’m ready. 

Your hand slips into his with ease. “Lead the way, Dream Lord.”

. . .

AN: And so, we come to the end of the road, my friends. When I started WYGIWG back in September, I had both the highest hopes and the biggest fears. Writing was a passion that I had let lie dormant for a long time. Would this story be any good? Would anyone read it? Would I have the time to dedicate to it? Would I really be able to finish?

In the end, what encouraged me to take the leap was understanding that I didn't have to have a perfect answer to all of those questions. As long as I was writing something I loved, it would be good enough. Even if no one read it, I could be proud that I accomplished my goal. If it was something I truly cared about, I would make the time. If I kept my mind and heart focused on those things, I would be able to finish.

I never could have expected what has come from this story. All of the mind blowing support I have received, all of the phenomenal people I've had the pleasure of talking to, all the the laughs, smiles, and memories shared over this story! You all are the flame that lights the fuse. Every kind word and reaction fueled the fire that brought this story to life. I truly could not have finished WYGIWG without you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It's been such an honor to get to know you all and to bond over something that we all love.

I'd be remise if I didn't include my incredible husband in this thank you. Nearly ten years of loving him inspired every sentence of this story. Tyler, thank you for making writing about love easy. From every emotion described, to the very title of this story (central to our wedding and featured in our home), to the final song featured (Close Your Eyes by Michael Bublé - our wedding song), you were at the heart of each part. S'agapo.

I still hope to do some bonus content for this story. I'm not sure exactly when any future posts will be up, but I will be sure to let my update list know. If you'd like to be tagged in any future updates, please let me know! Also, if you have any asks or special requests, please let me know. I will try to do what I can. x

All my love always, my friends! x

#dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus #dream #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x reader #dream x fem!reader #morpheus fanfiction #lord morpheus #the sandman x reader #the sandman imagine #the sandman x you #morpheus x you #dream x you #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus x fem!reader #sandman #lord morpheus x you #matthew the raven #lucienne #death of the endless #sandman fanfiction #sandman x reader

[starogeorgina]

Broken bonds

Paring: Ser Harwin Strong/ OC

Warnings: Swearing, character death

1.07

You were surprised to find Alicent waiting for you just outside the dragon pit when you returned to the keep. She has a furious expression on her face. You were glad Harwin insisted on travelling back to the keep by boat instead of dragon back. “Queen Alicent,” you curtsied. You didn’t particularly like her, but you always gave her respect as Queen. “What is wrong?”

“What is wrong? You’ve been gone for months! The king has been beside himself with worry since you returned to Dragonstone.”

“Worrying my father is the last thing I wish to do, but It didn’t seem right to leave Dragonstone so soon after what happened, your Grace. Good men died while protecting our dragons; the least I could do is stand by them.”

Your father's council had declared Arthur Weststar a lone madman; neither you nor Daemon believed this, but with Otto whispering in the king's ear, it was hard to convince him otherwise. Since then, Otto had been fired from the hand of the king, and Lord Lyonel Strong had replaced him. You had remained on Dragonstone, only arriving back on the morning the celebrations for Rhaenyra’s wedding began.

Alicent’s eyes start to become glossy. “I understand wanting to remain loyal to those who protect you.”

You felt bad for her; Alicent was just a young girl, just as you were, forced her into marrying someone before she was ready. You sympathised with how lonely it can feel, and in a way, she’s now lost her father. You clasp your hand over hers and say, “I’m loyal to House Targaryen, and that includes you and my siblings.”

She gulps down and quietly says, “Thank you, princess; your kind words mean a great deal to me. But I must tell you there have been troubling tales surrounding why you returned to Dragonstone.”

Your face heats up. “Forgive me your grace, but I’m unaware of what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently you have been fucking Daemon.”

Disgust is the only word you can think of to describe how you feel after hearing those words. Ew. You loved your uncle very much, but not once had the thought of even kissing him crossed your mind. “I can assure you that is nothing more than a venomous lie. I admire and respect my uncle, but there is nothing further from the truth.”

“I believe you,” she says, clearing her throat. “Have you spoken much to Rhaenyra recently?”

“We have been exchanging ravens, mainly talking about our dragons or her wedding. I do believe Laenor Velaryon is an excellent match.”

Alicent remains quiet for a moment, and when she finally speaks, she asks, “When was the last time you spoke to Daemon?”

“He left Dragonstrone a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Alicent’s knuckles were turning white from gripping the fabric on her sleeves so tightly.

“No,” you confirm. “My uncle just told me he was leaving; that is all.”

“Very well, I think it’s best we start to prepare for the celebrations.”

You bow your head. Alicent turns on her heels and leaves, with two knights close behind her. Something about the conversation that just transpired didn’t sit right; although she was asking about you and Daemon, you had a feeling it was more about your sister.

—

“Sister!” Rhaenyra says excitedly as you enter her quarters.

Skilled handmaidens delicately place small sparkling rubies in her hair, which was braided in an elaborate up-do. It blended beautifully with her white gown with gold embellishments. If this was her outfit for the welcome feast, you could only imagine how magical she’ll look on her actual wedding day.

“You look beautiful.”

Her face lights up. “Thank you. I know you have a selection of gowns, but I had the seamstress make one for you especially.”

One of her handmaidens brings forward a black gown made of silk with a vibrant red cloak that has dragons sown into it. The gown has a v-neck with long sleeves that have gold embroidery at the cuffs.

You reach out and your fingers glide along the smooth fabric, tears springing to your eyes when you let go. “It’s stunning, thank you.”

Seeing your eyes start to well up, your sister orders everyone else to leave the room. “Vaella, what is wrong?”

“I just wish our mother was here; she’d be so proud of you.”

“Don’t,” Rhaenyra begins to fan at her face, “you’ll make me cry, and this is supposed to be a happy day. So let’s change the subject while you get dressed.”

“I’ll ask the handmaidens to come back.”

“I will help you get dressed so that it’s just us two, and we can catch up.”

By the time your gown was on and fitted properly, Rhaenyra had filled you in on Daemon leaving her at a brothel, her sleeping with Ser Criston Cole, and the arrangement made between her and Ser Laenor. Truth be told, you were jealous that she was married to someone so understanding; even if she and Laenor didn’t love each other in a romantic sense, you had a strong feeling they would still have an incredible friendship.

“What about you, sister? Was there any other reason why you remained in Dragonstone for six weeks, aside from avoiding Thomas, of course?”

You chewed on your bottom lip. You weren’t sure how Rhaenyra would take your confession; she might think you were being foolish. “I stayed because I wanted to be happy; of course I missed you and my father, but being on the island I felt at peace, and I was even happier because I had Harwin by my side.”

She raises her brows. “Your sworn protector, Ser Harwin Strong?”

You nod.

“I guess we both have a thing for fine knights.”

You look up at your sister and smile as she stands behind you and begins brushing your hair. “I love him, Rhaenyra, in a way that I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“Does he feel the same way?”

“I think so; we haven’t said the actual words to each other because once we do, everything changes.”

She kisses the crown of your head and says, “Then I believe you made the right choice by staying in Dragonstone.”

—

It amazed you how many houses had turned up just for the feast before the official wedding celebrations began. You are seated between Lord Lyonel Strong and your uncle Daemon, who had turned up fashionably late. You were desperate to know what plans he had set in motion for Ely's house, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

Anger simmered beneath the surface of your skin. Queen Alicent had made a mockery of your house by arriving late and wearing a gown the same shade of green as the Hightowers beacon that glows when Oldtown calls its banners to war. It was an insult to the Targaryen name.

From your chair, you look over at Ser Harwin. It was hard for you to stay away from him, but it was best not to be seen as inseparable while at court. But as the night progresses, you can't take your eyes off him. He may be sitting beside his brother not far from you, but you can't shake the gnawing in your gut that if you look away for one second, he'll evaporate into thin air.

You had a sense something bad was going to happen for a while, but your dreams were vague and hard to piece together.

Beside you, Daemon arches his back, and his spine cracks. “Care to dance, niece?”

You accept his hand and follow his lead to the dance floor. You notice his gaze is on Lady Laena as he twirls you around. “She’s pretty.”

“So is her brother.”

The next song that plays is one that requires you to change partners. You dance with a few different lords, and just as the song ends, Harwin takes your hand in his. He holds onto it tightly while placing his other hand on your lower back as slower-paced music begins to fill the room.

“I trust your journey back was well.”

You fall into his voice as he tells you of his travels back to the keep. Harwin once told you he was terrified of drowning, which is why he usually avoided open water unless absolutely necessary. His laugh pulls you from your fixated trance. “It seems fairly safe compared to travelling on dragon back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of Varos.”

He pulls you in closer and quietly says, “No, but my feelings for his rider do.”

Deep down, you knew this thing between you would never last when you returned to the keep, not unless something changed. You didn't want to confess your true feelings to him just yet; you wanted to at least wait until the wedding celebrations were over before you could figure out how to make it work.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand come down on your shoulder. “Might I cut in?”

You grimace upon seeing Thomas standing beside you. You had managed to avoid him so far. You fight the urge to smirk, thinking how pissed he must be that Rhaenyra requested he not dine at the top table with the rest of your family.

Not being able to refuse him, Harwin nods and says, “Lord Thomas, princess.”

You feel as if bugs are crawling beneath your skin when you take Thomas’s hand in yours to dance. His tone is biting as he says, “I know what he means to you, Vaella, but you are my wife, not his.”

“Ah yes, your wife, who will one day be a pawn in your game and produce a male heir just for you to try and usurp her sister with.”

Thomas seems unfazed that you knew about his plan. He says nothing and tilts his head back to where Ser Joffrey Lonmouth and Ser Criston Cole are talking. “I’ve just had a conversation with Joffrey; it appears he had a lot of information about your sister and her sworn protector.” Thomas grips your face tightly; he forces a smile so onlookers would think it was just a tender moment between man and wife. His voice is dark and threatening. “I guess being a whore runs in the family.”

“Better to be a whore than a Lannister.”

He smirks, “It’s such a shame what happened to Ser Harwin; not to worry though, I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time?”

“Next time, I’ll hire someone better than a fucking Weststar to carry out a simple task.”

You spit in his face, “Traitors cunt.”

Before Thomas can reply, a sharp scream pierces the room, and all hell breaks loose. He lets go of you to see what is going on; you see a flash of short silver hair. At the same time, a knight of the king's guard grabs hold of you and escorts you to the table where your father is standing up, watching as chaos erupts in the centre of the great hall as the lord and ladies, who were dancing moments prior, push and shove each other, many of them falling to the ground.

Your eyes scan the hall, looking for any sign of Rhaenyra. She had disappeared into the crowd of frightened people. “Where’s my sister?” You ask one of the knights, “Rhaenyra! Rhaenyra!”

A horrified shriek fills the room, but it’s from the opposite direction of where the main gathering is. Your father gripped your shoulder tightly; he was afraid. He looks to the knights standing behind the table and says, “Go find my daughter!”

“There! The princess is over there!” Alicent says, pointing at Rhaenyra, that she was backing away from something. When she lets out a loud scream, you push your way through the crowd to get to her, ignoring the calls for you to come back.

Just as you’re about to reach her, an arm reaches around your waist, holding you back. Harwin pulls you back. “Trust me, princess, you don’t want to see what’s down there.”

“What’s happened?”

“Ser Joffrey Lonmouth is dead,” he says, clearing his throat. “So is Thomas Lannister; he’s been killed.”

“Killed? How?”

“He was stabbed multiple times.”

You step back from Harwin to look at Rhaenyra and see your uncle comforting her. You and Daemon lock eyes, and the small nod he gives you is confirmation that he’s the one who killed Thomas.

A sickening knot twisted in your gut.

You turn to the side and vomit after experiencing a sudden pain in your stomach and wave of nausea. You hated Thomas, but the reality of what you had set in motion sank in. Rhaenyra rushes to your side, rubbing your back with one hand and holding your hair back with another. When you look up, Daemon is gone.

It was just another secret for you to keep.

—

The chill of the night's air bites at your exposed hands as you sit beneath the godswood, looking up at the sky and tracing the stars with your eyes. After the chaos during the feast, your father thought it was best for Rhaenyra and Laenor to marry as soon as possible, which they did in a small ceremony with just family present.

“Princess, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was worried when you hadn’t returned to your chamber.” Harwin says as he marches towards you that when you don’t reply, he kneels at your level, reaching for your hand. “Vaella, at some point we need to talk about what has been going on. I know a lot has happened tonight, but I want you to know that I love you, and I’ll remain by your side no matter what happens next.”

You sigh, “I love you too.”

“Then why can’t you look me in the eye?”

“I need to see a maester.” Looking back, you should have realised that things had changed much sooner than now. You lower your head to look at Harwin as tears roll down your cheeks. “I think I’m pregnant.”

#house of the dragon #ser harwin strong x you #sir harwin #ser harwin strong fanfiction #ser harwin strong #ser harwin breakbones #Ser Harwin Strong/you #harwin strong fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fandom #house of the dragon fanfic #broken bonds #ser harwin strong x oc #harwin strong x oc

[leavethemtorot]

more than anything

Here is angst. Of course it where Harriet is. That's her spotlight.

Sammy sat alone in the cabin, double checking inventory counts and crew reports. The words ever so slightly swimming. It was going on 48 hours with no rest in sight for him. Not when Harriet had disappeared again.

She will be back, she always is. Her bloodshot blown out eyes, ever so slightly slurred words, and bruises marking her skin will always confirm to him where she was. As if Diego disappearing at the same time hadn’t already. He always followed her after all.

Until then he’ll pick up the slack. He always did. One day she’ll pay him back.

The door creaked open.

There she is. She looks like a wreck, hair mussed up, stains against her shirt, bruises scattered around her neck. She looked exactly as he thought she would.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sammy? Get away from my desk.” She sneered, stumbling towards him.

“I’m doing your job. Like I’m supposed to do. A first mate is supposed to step up when the captain can’t. That’s why you made me your first mate. Or are you too drunk and high to remember that?”

“Fuck You.” She spat, not having a good rebuttal for his accurate accusations.

He simply stared at her, unamused, before standing up. He is nothing compared to her, five foot three and wiry to her 5 '11 and pure muscle, yet he was just as much of a force of nature as she was. Turning, Sammy forced her into the chair, giving her a pointed glare before grabbing a waterskin.

“Drink. Lord knows you need it.”

“Oh please. There’s no god here that cares.”

All he did was look at her before forcing the waterskin into her hand and up to her mouth, wrestling her until he could tilt her head back and pinch her nose shut, forcing her to drink. When he was satisfied that she had drunk enough he relented, taking a step back to avoid the spitting and the swings coming for his face. She glared at him with all her might.

“Why you little-”

“Careful Harriet, you’re beginning to sound like your father.”

She stopped. Chest heaving. She froze, reevaluating her life. That was her worst fear and he knew it. Which is why she decided to hit back just as hard.

If he was gonna play dirty why couldn’t she?

“Like you’re much better. You’re in here, cleaning up my mess. Making everything to MY preference. When was the last time you did anything that wasn’t for me, huh Sammy? How’s Marya? Or your precious little brothers? How can you protect anyone if you are always here? Catering to. My. Every, Need.”

“That’s it. It’s time for bed Harriet.”

He grabbed her, his grip bruising on her arm, dragging her to her bedroom. Slamming the door open, not caring how loud he was. It’s not like anyone heard, and if they did they know better than to question the noises coming from Harriet’s quarters. He shoved her towards the bed, taking her sword off her in the same motion. It was easy considering just how much practice he’s had doing so.

She started stalking towards him before tripping on a loose board. Taking his chance, Sammy strong armed her into bed.

“Now sleep. I don’t want to have to break out the restraints again. I’m sure you wouldn’t like that either.”

Harriet gave one last glare before turning and curling into herself. She knew that he would, Sammy always stuck to his threats. Besides, she was feeling tired. She was doing this on her accord you see. Saammy could never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, she lied to herself.

Sammy, seeing that she was going to listen for once, returned to the office. The reports are even messier than they were earlier. His work now was going to take even longer. It was going to be another all-nighter getting all of these finished. Pushing Harriet’s words out of his head, he returned to writing.

There was no room for emotion or doubt when he needed to create some form of stability for the crew.

He had work to do.

#descendants #disney descendants #isle of the lost dead #sammy smee #harriet hook

[krikeymate]

For @bossnhug91, who requested some Core 4 + Kirby. Found here.

“Why don’t you take your words and shove them up your-”

“WOAH, Tara no!” Sam yells, grabbing her sister by the shoulders and pulling her back frantically from the now sopping-wet man she was yelling at.

“I’m so sorry about our friend here, she’s a little drunk,” Chad blurts out, hands raised placatingly. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says with a nervous laugh. Chad knows he’s pretty big and strong, but not as much as this guy… and his friends. 

Maybe taking Tara drinking for her 21st was a bad idea. Ya think, dingus! the Mindy in his head chimes in. He’s a little glad she’s not here yet, lord knows his sister doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble… and neither do the other sisters in his life, apparently.

Chad backs away, squeezing himself through some other patrons - sorry, coming through - and turns to find the girls, who have… disappeared. And left him alone, again. Why does this keep happening to him?

Sam drags her sister to the bathroom, elbowing drunk white girls out of the way without remorse. She all but shoves her face into the sink with the intention to splash water on her face and sober her up a bit.

Tara doesn’t get the message and yanks herself away, tripping as she turns and throwing herself to the floor along the way.

“Tara,” Sam sighs wearily. Maybe those last shots were a mistake. Maybe letting her drink in the first place was a mistake, but it’s what Tara had wanted, and if she’s learnt anything over the past 14.5 months since she’s come back into her life, Tara’s going to do what Tara wants to do. She was the same as a child, although she wasn’t anywhere near as stubborn, back when Sam used to hang the moon and Tara blindly worshipped every word she said.

The real mistake was letting Mindy talk them into going out to celebrate, instead of staying home. And Mindy isn’t even here to deal with the consequences of her terrible decision. Where is she anyway?

Sam’s head snaps down as Tara groans on the floor. It’s the type of groan that happens moments before disaster; it has Sam grabbing her sister under the arms and heaving her off the floor and into a toilet stall in a flash.

And just in time.

It’s times like these that Sam doesn’t miss drinking. It’s also times like these where she kind of wishes she was.

She pats her sister on the back with one hand, and draws her hair away from her face with the other. She wishes Tara wouldn’t do this to herself, but she’ll admit, only to herself, that she’s so grateful that she’s been given the opportunity to do this for her. To be the type of sister that Tara can trust to keep her safe, that she can rely on. That she’s a good enough sister that Tara feels the need to defend her honour when some douchebags at the pool table start loudly talking about the psycho girl drinking soda at the bar.

She’s definitely mad that Tara’s drunk enough to pick a fight with a guy three times her size and with a gang behind him though. Then again, maybe Tara doesn’t need to be drunk to do that actually. Her sister does like to fight, she’s noticed. It used to be just Sam. Now it seems to be everyone but Sam.

Maybe she should leave a message for Tara’s therapist.

“Why’d yuh’stop me,” Tara mumbles from the porcelain. “I coulda had’im.”

The words make Sam snort. Her sister has always known how to make her laugh. “Sure you could have, baby. He’d have been real threatened by you throwing up on his shoes.”

“He’d deserve it,” she mumbles, leaning back. “Nobody talks ‘bout you like that.”

Sam helps her up off the floor, keeping hold of her arms to steady her. “I’d kill anyone who says anything ‘bout you,” Tara continues.

The words make Sam wince. “That’s a little overkill for some gossip, don’t you think?” she murmurs, leading her back out into the bar area to find Chad. It’s time to call it a night, she thinks. “We can’t control what people think or say about us, but we can control how we react to them,” she recites to her sister. It’s a mantra her own therapist has her repeating whenever something like this happens.

Her eyes catch Chad’s from across the room as Tara mumbles something about Mindy, and Kirby, and how they should be here to join in the fun, and then there’s an unfortunately recognisable form standing in front of her.

“Hey, YOU!” the wet man calls out, blocking their way. “That little bitch owes me and the lads some new beers,” he growls, posturing. It’s fairly effective, Sam’s actually intimidated, all too aware of Tara hanging off her arm and barely able to stand on her own.

“We’ll buy you a new round,” she says, smiling civilly. She doesn’t want a scene, well - another one, not right now. Why had Tara felt the need to flip the tray out of his hands? Why had she felt the need to confront him in the first place? Well, what are big sister’s for, if not fixing the problems their little sister’s make.

Of course, when has anything ever gone her way?

He should have said “great, that’s all I wanted, lead the way.” Instead what he actually says is “Or maybe she can make it up to me another way,” with a lewd grin on his face and a finger poking her in the shoulder. And what was Sam to do, take that lying down? 

Chad had thankfully made his way back over - why had he left in the first place, wasn’t he right behind them before? - just in time for her to shove Tara into his arms and take a swing at the bastard who thinks he can say whatever he likes about her sister.

It gets a little chaotic after that.

She thinks she remembers Chad taking an elbow to the face. Tara was on someone’s back. Sam’s pretty sure she took a bottle to the head, if the way it thumps with every heartbeat is any indication.

Being held face down against a pool table with her arms pulled harshly behind her and her wrists tightly bound in handcuffs isn’t a new experience for Sam, but having her sister beside her in the same position, hurling expletives at the police officers holding them down, certainly is.

“Hey! Be careful, she’s injured, jackass,” Sam spits. 

“Quiet you,” the officer snaps, lifting her up before slamming her back down.

It makes Sam’s head spin. She can hear Chad in the background, protesting. Then she hears the voice of an angel say “is this how you treat all woman who try to defend themselves, Officer Sawyer?”

Kirby “please stop getting into trouble Sam, you’re making my life very hard” Reed is here to save the day once again. Hopefully. Probably. Definitely. Sam’s working on having faith in people.

Sam meets her sister’s eyes across the table while Kirby argues with the officer holding her down. The grin Tara shoots her should not be as endearing as it is, given the circumstances.

Before long, they’re being begrudgingly released into Kirby’s custody and ushered out of the bar. Sam can’t resist looking back, and finds Officer Sawyer glaring at her with his arms crossed. Oh good, another enemy to watch out for.

She gets distracted by Chad’s arm wrapping around her shoulder and the cheery “well that was fun,” he chirps out.

Kirby spins in an instant and gets in their faces, well, as much as she’s able given how short she is. She’s about as intimidating as Tara. “It was not fun. You started a bar fight! You got injured! What is wrong with you people? Can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes?!”

Tara giggles into Sam’s side, swinging their hands together. “You said five,” she mumbles.

The words throw Kirby for a loop and her anger quickly fades into bafflement and concern. “Is she okay? Did she hit her head?”

“She’s just drunk,” Sam explains, wrapping her arms around her sister. The girl squeezes her back, humming into her chest.

Kirby frowns up at her. “Should she really be drinking?”

Sam’s saved from another opportunity to start a fight by Mindy’s arrival. 

“Oh man,” she huffs, out of breathe and bending down to rest her hands on her knees. “I’m so sorry I’m late, there was this dumb fire drill at the dorms and we couldn’t leave and woah, what… happened here.”

“Bar fight. Tara’s fault,” Chad replies.

“It was not Tara’s fault,” Sam barks, glaring at him.

Chad grins back at her, “it definitely was.”

Mindy pouts. “Awh man, I can’t believe I missed it.”

Kirby rolls her eyes. “We’re leaving, all of you, come on.”

#/mp #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #Chad Meeks-Martin #Kirby Reed #my writing tag #this didn't quite turn out how you asked for but I couldn't resist the opportunity to have Mindy miss out on all the action again #it turned out way more sister-centric than I intended. but what else can you expect from me of all people I suppose.

[multimilfs]

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Mysterious Ways

Summary: Melissa Schemmenti + 10 — “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Prompts found here!

A/N: We’re nearing the end of ficmas and I’m both excited (to relax) and sad. It’s a lot of fun writing so many new things as a challenge but all the time… I would not survive. Thank you for joining me on this fun little journey and I hope you enjoy the last two fics!

Also happy christmas eve to those who celebrate!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @carolncwman

Warning(s): None

You smile as you pass Barbara in the hall, “Good morning, Miss Howard.”

“Good morning.” She smiles, greeting like a melody with the way she drags it out. The happiness Barbara’s radiating is infectious.

You continue on your way to your classrom. There’s half an hour left before the kids start pouring in for the day and you’d like to organize your classwork before then.

There’s a squeak behind you as Barbara turns on her heel, “Miss Y/L/N.”

“Yes?”

“When are you going to speak with Melissa?”

Taken aback, you gape, before collecting yourself. You tilt your head to the side. Barbara laces her hands in front of her and waits, smirking, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” She sounds almost disappointed, “It is almost the new year. Be brave.”

“Mrs. Howard, I appreciate what you’re saying, but… Melissa and I are just friends.”

Shaking her head, Barbara throws her hands up in defeat. No one can say she didn’t try. She’s just not a miracle worker. Lord willing, her meddling isn’t for nothing.

You hear Barbara mutter a disapproving Mm, mm, mm as she walks towards her classroom. You didn’t lie to her; you and Melissa are just friends, after all. Even if you wish it was more.

But one thing you learned early on is not to mix personal and workplace relationships.

If you make a pass at Melissa and it’s unwanted, you ruin the amazing professional relationship you have. Teaching is worth it, but no one ever said it was easy; Melissa makes it easier.

She always has your back. If you ever needed it, she’ll call in any favors to get you what you need. Loyalty like that is hard to come by in anyone.

You’re content with her friendship… even if you’d give up a lifetime of cheesesteaks to kiss her just once.

Going through the day, you ignore the regret in the back of your mind.

——

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, Alex?” You look up from your papers.

Alex looks deep in thought. His elbows are up on the desk and he’s resting his head in his hands. You lean back in your chair and wait.

“If there’s a Black Panther, can there be a Mixed Panther too?”

You blink.

“That’s a good question. I think the answer is a little complicated though.”

“Why?” He asks.

All of the class is paying attention now. Their worksheets on long divisions are forgotten, all eyes on you. You didn’t want to get into a conversation like this today. The kids are naturally curious and you love that, but some topics are meant more for parents.

The problem is that once your students get a question or idea in their heads, they won’t let it go. You’ll be badgered for days. You can almost admire their dedication.

“Well, why do you think you need a ‘Mixed Panther?’” You ask carefully.

“Because Black Panther is Black, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Do you think you’re not Black if you’re Mixed?”

One of your other students pipes up, “My Grandmama doesn’t think so. My daddy says when I was born she asked whose white baby I was.”

That prompts an uproar of conversation and laughter from various parts of your room. With your door firmly shut, you let it stand for thirty seconds before clapping out a familiar pattern. All of the children stop to clap back the same.

A few stragglers are still talking and you clear your throat, waiting. The pointed stares of their classmates quiets them.

“If you want another super hero that looks like you and your friends, Alex, I see no reason why there shouldn’t be. But there’s no degree of Blackness, okay? Black Panther is meant for you just as much as your friends who look a little different.” You say, hoping they’ll all understand what you’re saying, “Now, I’m glad you’re all interested in this, but we have long division questions that still need to be filled out.”

They all grumble, but don’t seem too distracted anymore. You’re sure with a little time their brains will come up with another line of questioning to further distract from the lesson. That’s a problem for you later.

——

The teacher’s lounge is full and you balk upon walking in the door. On a good day, maybe three of the tables are full at once. Among the five tables in the room, not a seat is left unoccupied.

You spot Barbara and Melissa at their usual table. They sit just the two of them. The extra chairs at their table you could occupy are pulled away by others, holding teachers you only slightly remember.

Ava is curiously absent, you notice. Which is a shame. She said she’d be at lunch today.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, something wrong?” Melissa asks when you wander near their table.

“No, no,” You shake your head, “I’ve just never seen it so full in here.”

“Ava offered to watch over lunch today. Which is odd, since it’s, y’know, Ava.”

“Don’t be so hasty. Maybe she wanted to do something nice, that’s all.” Barbara suggests.

“More like she finds the new lunch lady cute,” Melissa says, “but sure, Barb, maybe she developed a mature personality for the afternoon.”

“I think it’s nice what she’s doing.” You shrug.

“See?”

You add, “It makes it a pain to find seating, though.”

Barbara stands up quickly and gathers the remainder of her lunch. She flashes you an award winning smile. Melissa looks stunned and confused, pushing her glasses on top of her head and leaning back to better look at her friend.

“I’ve got some last minute grading. Take my seat.” Barbara says, tone perfectly sweet.

“Mrs. Howard, really, it’s fine.”

“No no, I insist.”

Barbara doesn’t say much else as she turns and walks out of the room. With her back turned to you, you miss the wink she shoots at the cameras.

——

“That?” Barbara smiles out in the hall, “Just a friendly nudge. The Lord may work in mysterious ways, but so can I.”

——

You take up the spot next to Melissa with a nervous smile. When your legs brush, you nearly jump back, fearing even that is too much between friends. A flush works its way up your neck.

Even a minute with her makes you feel like an awkward highschooler again; wondering if looking at the girls in your grade for too long is inappropriate and avoiding any contact for fear it’ll be interpreted as something else. You hate feeling so nervous.

But Melissa is always easy-going. Even in her tougher moments, she’s easy to talk to. Her laugh alone relaxes the muscles in your body and you melt into every conversation.

“I heard you had an interesting conversation in your classroom today,” Melissa says between bites of ziti, “Tackling race theory seems a little involved.”

“One of my kids, Alex, asked a question and it kind of evolved into that.” You admit.

“Kids always have a way of finding the sweet spot with conversations like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, they do.”

You smile, but you can’t shake the awkward feeling of being too close, too much. The conversation lapses into silence.

Melissa pokes at her ziti while you push rice around in your bowl. You want to say something, anything, but can’t make your mouth move.

Melissa sighs, “When are you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“On a date. It doesn’t need to be anywhere fancy, you know?”

You blink. Staring at her hard, you’re trying to figure out if you’re hearing right. Melissa Schemmenti wants you to ask her on a date? Like… a real one?

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, honey,” Melissa sighs, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. Now, when are you going to ask me?”

You’re overwhelmed and shocked, but elation takes over it all, “Today after the kids go home. My classroom… and don’t be late.”

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #abbott elementary imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #dec2022 #multimilfswritings #multimilfsficmas2022