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#dream x f!reader
inkymagpie · 1 year
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The Book Keeper Pt 1: The Dream is Crumbling
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Summary: You are the daughter of Thoth, Egyptian God of knowledge and writing. Three centuries ago you were appointed to the head of the New Alexandria library; once thought burned in a great fire it now holds all of the knowledge that was ever written by man. But when books start to go missing, and even worse are found burned beyond repair you realize something sinister is occurring.
Pairing: Morpheus x f!reader
Chapter Rating: General
Overall Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: Angst
Chapter Summary: Days went by, and then weeks and then months, Dream of the Endless did not return to the Dreaming; and you began to get more and more concerned letters from Lucienne. Her normal pristine penmanship becoming more scratchy, fear evident in her writing.
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The Library of Alexandria…a pinnacle of knowledge, a testament to the wisdom that the Gods bestowed upon humans through their scholars, their muses; a bastion for all those that sought out the unknown, the lessons of both the Heavens and earth. A gift so generously given only to be squandered by human folly and greed.
Mortals can be such fickle creatures.
It is said that the Library burned to the ground over two thousand years ago; the casualty of humans and their need to conquer their need for power. Razed in a war brought on by an Emperor from a foreign land; and it was thought that the books that had burned and the knowledge that they contained was lost forever. And it was…at least to mortals.
As the fires spread and scholars wept, the Gods had predicted this and had delivered the scriptures from the mortal realm back to the kingdom of the Heavens. New Alexandria, a beckon of knowledge now reclaimed and protected by its benefactors; and its caretaker, Thoth, God of the Moon, of scriptures and writings.
For more than millennia and the better half of another Thoth watched over the Library; its corridors and sections ever growing and expanding as time went on…But then Thoth was gifted a child from his devoted wife Ma’at.
Most Gods were known to have many sons and daughters, who then in turn had sons and daughters of their own and so on and so forth, but you, you were the only daughter of Thoth…His only child.
He watched as you grew, taught you of his realm, the realms of others, of humankind; and of the ancient ever presence of the Endless. He taught you the gift that knowledge was, how it shaped both past, present and future. And he taught you the importance of protecting it, so that it might be forever preserved.
However despite his teaching you viewed the importance of knowledge somewhat differently from your father, and at times it brought about tension between the two of you.
You became a Goddess of curiosity, of inquisitiveness finding more in common with mortals than Thoth would care for you to have and you spent much of your time cavorting about on earth, partaking in human customs and curiosities. And with your inquisitiveness and witnessing of the tribulations that man faced you also became a creature of compassion.
Thoth supposed you must have gotten some of that from your mother, though you were definitely more of a handful than she. He deemed that it was high time that he appointed you to a station, and perhaps that would settle you down some.
Around the turn of the century of 1600 to 1700 he gifted you with one of the most important appointments of all: Head Librarian of the Library of New Alexandria. At first you had been disgruntled by the fact you would be spending most of your time in relative solitude, no longer able to have the freedom to galavant around in the mortal realm with such frequency. But as the first decade went by you realized how much you loved being the caretaker of the knowledge that spanned all the way to the dawn of man.
You had always loved to read, how could you not? But the books and scriptures that had always been read to you or presented for you to read had usually been about great events in history, famous ballads and sonnets; epic tales of trials and tragedy. But now as the curator you had access to every story, large and small and you found yourself more fascinated by the very human stories; like a friar that had lost his sandals in the river while washing them. Or a man in a dimly lit tavern that said that he would never die.
The day to day life of mortals was fascinating and they all were so different, no two were exactly alike and you find that to be just as interesting if not more than the rise and fall of an empire. It was just so…human.
During your first century as Librarian you got to see a great number of important visitors; some other Gods, ones that you knew since childhood. Others were fae folk and beings of various magical prowess. But the most interesting guest to grace the halls of New Alexandria was an Endless.
He had arrived with your father one morning and you had watched with great curiosity as your parent spoke in soft tones with him; your father had eventually beckoned you over and you obeyed eagerly.
You had never met an Endless, though you had read about them and of course heard tales. You observed him keenly, non too covertly which had caused your father to scold you for being rude. But the Endless had gazed upon you with a look of amusement, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. And when he spoke his voice was as warm and as rich as honey and just as soothing.
“So you are the keeper of the books.” He had asked.
“Y/n and yes I am,” you bow quickly, watching him still. “Who are you? What realm are you from?”
“I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares and as my title would suggest my realm is The Dreaming.” He replied with a subtle fondness.
“Are you here for knowledge? I have a strict return policy.” You reply puckishly.
Thoth gave you a pointed look, and tapped his quill on the lip of the parchment board in his grasp. Ah, another warning.
“I like to make sure that the books are cared for, looked after.” You corrected hoping to appease your father.
“More should follow that practice.” The Endless nodded his head sagely. “And in a way, yes I am here for knowledge.”
You cocked your head at this, curious.
“The Dreaming has a vast library of its own and I believe it would be beneficial to share that knowledge across them.” He said.
You had heard of the Library of the Dreaming, after all Gods were born in the Dreaming, originally stories themselves brought to life by humankind.
“Might I see it?” You had barely been able to contain your excitement, the idea of seeing the stories yet untold by all living things, what a treasure that would be to witness in person.
“Perhaps one day my child, when the time comes.” Thoth spoke and gave a small nod to the Dream Lord.
“A raven will be in contact with you.” The Endless continued before you had anytime to pout. “They will bring you news of the Dreamings collection as well as ferry desired literature.”
“I will allow you one of my Ibis to do the same Y/n, until your sacred animal manifests.” Your father added.
You had gazed at the ground somewhat ashamed; your sacred creature had still not come to fruition, your worship still young and growing had not yet bore you a beastial symbol.
“I will take my leave Thoth, God of the Moon and Scripts.” The Endless said before he turned to you. “Y/n”
You bristled at that, your station as a goddess was rather small this was true, but he seemed to disregard it entirely.
“And you Morpheus, Shaper of Forms, King of Dreams.” Thoth nodded.
And as the being called Morpheus began to disappear into a cloud of white gold sand his gaze landed on you again.
“I suspect Lucienne will be most interested in speaking with you.” He commented.
“Who is Lucienne?” You called out but he was already gone, sands disappearing into the ether.
You had blinked, thinking for a moment before crossing your arms with a huff.
“He seems a bit-“ your father quickly interrupted you with a look. “…lovely.” You gritted out instead; insufferable you’d rather say.
“This will be a great honor, a partnership with one of the Endless.” Your father turned to leave. “I have the utmost trust that you will face the task with diligence and logic.”
You had watched as your father left the Library, heading back out into his kingdom.
You of course were diligent about your work…but you couldn’t help but take great pause with logic…
____
The smell of weathered pages, bound in leather and pressed paper and permeates the air; a comforting, familiar scent that you had come to love since childhood. The golden light of sun cast through the stained glass windows, casting rivers of iridescent colors across the worn limestone floors of the vast library. When you were given the appointment of head librarian of New Alexandria, Ra had bestowed upon you a gift that while the Library was in your father’s domain of the Moon, a kingdom ever beneath the star sky of the cosmos, you would always have the light of sun grace the halls of your station.
You sigh happily, a thermos of hot tea with milk and sugar in your grasp; you had popped into your favorite tea shop in the mortal realm; you didn’t think your father would be too upset with just a little visit; and innocent one no less! They also made the most delightful breakfast foods there and you took another bite from the pastry you had purchased as well; whoever said the God’s dined on ambrosia had never had Welsh cakes.
You walk further into the expanse of the ever growing library, enjoying your morning treat as you wait for your tea to cool. You hear the flutter of wings and you watch as a kingfisher flies overhead chortling at you, a rolled up parchment paper in its grasp.
You had been expecting a list of possible Gods from Lucienne. While most were never more than dreams, some came to fruition and would be more than figments of imagination and become beings of history.
The kingfisher drops the scroll on your very messy (though you insisted it was organized chaos) desk and lands on a tall reedy piece of drift wood you had set up as a perch. Next to them stands a large ibis, ever watchful of the recent addition to the library.
It had been over two centuries now that the ibis your father had bestowed upon you had aided you in your task, now more of a sentinel, ever keen and observant. Your worshippers had finally bestowed upon you a sacred beast. And while not as prominent or as distinguished as perhaps your fathers ibis or Anubis’ jackal, the kingfisher was a delightful creature that many mortals associated with the freedom and curiosity you so possessed.
You trill gently to the bird and tap their beak affectionately as you come to your desk, it trills in return and ruffles their feathers. You bow to your father’s ibis who ducks their head to you and begins to walk out into the library having completed its duty of making sure you hadn’t gotten lost gallivanting across the realms.
You sit down and begin to unravel the parchment paper, the kingfisher preening themself as you start to read the list from Lucienne, ready to document everything for the Library records.
Being a relatively new Goddess yourself having only come about during the time of the printing press it was still strange to see the concept of potential additions to new and old pantheons. Mortals were always coming up with new concepts to believe in, to worship; some more prolific than others.
Not too long ago you had seen ideas for gods and goddesses of steam after the industrial revolution had spread across the globe. Now it was electricity with the invention of the light bulb (something that you heard Thor was a bit sour about).
You laugh as you read some of Lucienne’s little quips and notes in the margins of her list as you document the ideas formally to fresh pressed papers. It was something that you had both started to do; an entertaining thing to lighten the mood, that and your frequent book exchange you had started doing for the past hundred years. In fact you were almost done with the last book she sent over, perhaps you’d finish it up tonight and tell her about your thoughts in your next letter.
Shortly you come to the end of the list. It didn’t appear that any of the new potentials were manifesting yet past dreams, though you think that perhaps something might happen with the idea of electricity since mankind fancied it so.
You sort the notes and give the stack to the kingfisher to take to the record's section (which now had sprawled far beyond their initial wing of the library). As you hand the papers over, twine forms along the left edge of the papers binding them together, the date appearing at the bottom right of the first page's corner. You would set them in the proper records book later.
As the kingfisher takes off into the belly of the library, you quickly gather up the personal letter that Lucienne also included with the list. You always took great joy in reading about the happenings of the Dreaming. Gods did dream but they didn’t enter the kingdom unless invited, or so your father said. Lucienne had visited you far more times in your realm than you had ever visited her in her lords (which you could count the total on one of your hands, and on one of your fingers). And you hadn’t even seen the Dream King himself while you had attended.
You begin to read through Lucienne’s letter, smiling at the mentions of Mervyn and how he always managed to strike a nerve. You had decided long ago that you would very much like to meet him in person as he sounded like quite the character. You flip the page and continue to read.
You frown at the mention of something more sinister than usual. A rogue nightmare…while it was true that Luceinne had told you about how colorful and at times creepy the Shaper of Forms creations could be, she had always said that they remained in the Dreaming. But here she was saying that he was out in the world of men, preying upon them. You made a note to check the stories of life to see if you could find anything more about this creature and if he had affected the history of man.
You breathe a small sigh of relief when you read that the Dream Lord had left just this morning (or perhaps it was night? Hard to tell sometimes when dealing with the mortal realm) to deal with the matter. You are sure that with the quick intervention that the stories of men will not be too affected.
However you could sense some sort of apprehension in the words that Lucienne wrote. You grab a stack of fresh papers and a fountain pen and begin to write back to Lucienne, hoping to ease your friend's worries. Perhaps you would send back a book as well; a favorite of yours to give some comfort.
Surely it would all be fine…
Days went by, and then weeks and then months, Dream of the Endless did not return to the Dreaming; and you began to get more and more concerned letters from Lucienne. Her normal pristine penmanship becoming more scratchy, fear evident in her writing.
And you yourself began to fear as well…the mortal world was suffering, even the other Gods whispered of a sleeping sickness that plague mankind. Your father continued to bathe the night sky under the light of the moon, but there were no dreamers to be found in its beams.
The library was changing…the stories of mankind becoming something that you feel they never should have been. Countless books now filled with the same suffering; from the pages of a young girl that could no longer find sleep to the pages of a doctor overwhelmed and doing anything they could to find a cure… an answer.
But the thing that scared you most was the pages of those that didn’t wake up; day after day the papers remained blank. Thousands upon thousands of mortals' life stories filling with blank chapters.
Your father had told you that Destiny had a path and to not interfere; if this was the history that mankind must write then it must be written. You had been quite angry with him and whoever this Destiny was…cruelty like this was not something you could bear to see. It was then you also realized that if mankind was suffering then what horrible fate was the Lord of Dreams facing; what horrible cruelties were befalling him that the whole of humanity ailed.
This had to end…
But it didn’t and months then turned into years.
Your letters to Lucienne became so commonplace that one of the Dreaming ravens and your kingfisher had started passing by each other while delivering notes. You had begun to slack on your own duties as a curator and instead of simply documenting and protecting the vast wealth of knowledge you began to pour through it. You looked for anything you could find, hints in the life books of mortals of where the Shaper of Forms had gone. You had also started to disobey your father more and more as well…traveling to the mortal realm in the light of Ra so that your father would not see you in the path of the moon.
And then one day…
“Miss Y/n!” You hear a frantic voice, it’s oddly familiar and you rapidly look up from your research. If you hadn’t been sitting you would have fallen on your behind.
Lucienne stumbles towards you, a waning portal flickering weakly behind her as she gains her footing.
“L-Lucienne?” You are still shocked she’s here in person; she never left the Dreaming to enter your realm unannounced.
“Please Y/n, I know that I did not send word but-“ she ducks her head.
You’ve never seen her so distraught and your heart aches as you worry she might begin to cry.
Quickly you stand and rush to her side.
“What is it, Lucienne, please what’s wrong?” You beg her to tell you, placing a warm hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at you.
“The books… they are all disappearing.” She says her eyes watery as she looks up at you and you feel her hands shake as she takes your other hand in hers. “Whole sections of the library; they are gone.”
Behind her the portal flickers and dissolves into the air. She drops to her knees and you follow, easing her to the cool stone of your own library.
“I used the last of my magic to get here…to seek your aid.” She says.
“Can the books move realms?” You ask quickly.
“I believe that they can, there are millions of them though.” She replies, brow furrowing.
“Can we gather residents of the Dreaming to help us bring the books here?”
“The residents have all left, save for myself and a few others.” You stiffen; they’ve all gone?
You knew that dreams and nightmares had been abandoning the crumbling realm but you didn’t know it had become such a mass exodus.
“We’ll gather those that are left.” You turn your head and whistle to the kingfisher that is by your side in a quick beating of feathered wings. “Gather your friends from the mortal plane please, bring them here and ask them to make haste.” You whisper to them and kiss their soft head.
The kingfisher coos and with the flutter of its wings takes off.
Slowly you stand, facing where the portal Lucienne came through had disappeared; you close your eyes and focus. Plucking at the threads within the ether, pulling them taught, weaving them together until a golden path is spun before you that leads directly into the library of the Dreaming. Lucienne watches, eyes softening and tense posture easing slightly.
“Thank you Y/n.” She says looking up at you, the thankfulness clear in her deep brown eyes.
”You are my dear friend Lucienne, I would do anything for you.” You reply and hold your hand out to her. She takes it, a soft smile on her lips as she stands.
You look to the glittering pathway, you wonder briefly if your father would be displeased with this action. You are, after all, interfering with another realm, however you doubt he would want to see a millennia of knowledge decay… you decide that you’ll deal with it later.
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visionsofmagic · 2 years
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⎯ I missed you.
[masterlist]
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྾ pairing: Morpheus [aka dream of the endless, & sandman] x f!human!reader
྾྾ summary: after disappearing for over a century, Morpheus finally get his freedom again. as he takes his sand back he begins to find you, his beloved girlfriend or was at least, who has given a gift from him, a stone that stops aging like endless. however, everything turn into ashes as he sees your new life, with someone else.
྾྾྾ word count: 3.6k
྾྾྾྾ explanation: requested by an anonymous: “Still with you or treat you better with Morpheus x human reader. Chose any of these two songs bc I’m confused and I must this idea is quite interesting”. After reading this request I wanted to use both of them because they will work so good together! I hope you will like it! songs that used; treat you better by shawn mendes and still with you by jungkook from bts. thank you so much for your request dear anonymous! <3 I hope you and other readers will like this. <3
྾྾྾྾྾ warnings: a little of my own imagination [especially with this particular stone that helps person to not age at all], not comic related. angst, dream being angry & jealous, original character, cursing (just one), rough kissing, protective manner, lots of tears, fluff, misunderstanding.
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     We laugh together, we cry together. These simple feelings were everything I had. When will it be? If I see you again, I will look into your eyes. And say, "I missed you”
                                                           &
     I know I can treat you better than he can. And any girl like you deserves a gentleman. Tell me, why are we wasting time. On all your wasted crying. When you should be with me instead?
                                                           ≡
  Dream was captured by Roderick Burgess on June 10, 1916. He had spent for over a century, in a glass, like a bird. Each passing time in that glass changed him. Thoughts, manners, and sympathy towards human were some of these changes in his character. Being humiliated by a mere human, not being able to move freely at all and making people suffer unintentionally because of this mere human’s own greed and hunger for power affected him, more than he expected.
However, not for a second, his love for his beloved human didn’t change. He started to find humans irritating creatures, just seeking for power and glory. Indeed, he felt anger towards them but not for you. Not even a little bit. Love in his heart for you didn’t extinguished. Contrast, it even increased because of realizing how much he missed you, how much he needed you and how many nights he found peace in his memories you two had.
You were belonged to each other. You were the reason why he kept hope in humanity. You were the most precious thing he had in his realm. In some certain days, he visited you in your dreams, sometimes with making his presence known to, on other times, being hidden to give you peace and seeing your peaceful face. Even if you asked him to do not control your own dreams, not turning them to good ones for all the time, he surely didn’t listen you. He didn’t want to see you suffering because of dreams you had, because of him.
He thought times you had together in his realms and in your world. Every time you laughed he put them in imaginary bottles to not forget them. Every time you cried on his shoulders, he promised you to be on your sides for eternity. Every time you kissed, he found himself tasting the sweetest flour of the whole realms. And every time you had intimate moments, he kept telling himself how he wanted to hold you inside his arms forever.
He even gave you a stone which he created with his own power in order to deign you an endless life. With this stone you wouldn’t die. You would be on his side for ever. It took him nearly 5 years to make you use this stone. You kept telling him how this was unfair for other people and it was totally against of your own human life. You didn’t want it. You thought there were other people who deserved the stone, not you. Your delicate heart touched his own one, if he had one. He knew if he really had a heart, physically, he would give it to you without thinking twice to make you live more.
After his confess about this whole situation, you accepted to wear it. That day, he was the happiest endless.
And today, he was the saddest.
He watched how his heart, you, was laughing with another man. Your laughs belonged to him. He was the one that you felt this happy with. He should be the one that stand on your side, not a random guy whose presence was nothing more except anger and pain.
How you could be happy if he wasn’t on your side? How long he had been gone to make you find happiness with someone else? Did you forget the love you held with him?
As painful questions kept traveling in his mind over and over again, he couldn’t help but making his dark presence noticed by you.
Eyes that spreading light, still, met with his now darkened ones due to feeling an unknown emotion in his chest. What was it, jealousy? No, he was not someone that can be jealous by a mere human’s presence. Not at all.
He saw how your face expression’s changed in a second. Firstly shock and confusion hit you. Then, sudden realization about who you were looking at. Lastly, some unreadable expressions filled your pretty face. He couldn’t name your emotions, changed in a second so fast, because of focusing more on the man’s hands travelling on your hands. Anger was filling each part of his internal body. Hands that missed to touch you turned to fists.
Even if he wanted to get closer to you, he stayed where he was, on the other side of the road, right in front of the café where you were in. He wanted to see your reaction first. He wanted to see your choice; acting like you didn’t see him at all or picking another option.
He was patient with you. He didn’t move at all ‘till you got your senses, understanding the situation. Then, he saw how you said something to other man who was looking at you in confusion, then to Morpheus. His blue eyes met with Morpheus’ dark colored ones. Morpheus’ attention turned from his eyes to you. That’s was when he realized how you rushed to leave café. Your body full of beauty appeared on his sight again as you left the café.
People were blurry for both of you. His eyes were focused on you while you nearly run towards him, passing some people and cars by risking your own life. He would tell you how reckless your action is normally but not now. He needed you to run to him. He waited so patiently ‘till you crossed the same floor that he stood on, opening your arms widely, and hugging him by his neck strongly, like he was your savior.
Your body’s warmth met with his cold one. His hands stayed on his sides, not making a move to hug you back. Even if you could feel his dark aura, you didn’t seem to mind. Hands stayed on his neck after stepping a little step to back to meet with his face, hurt tone that stayed in your voice that he didn’t hear for a long time. “Morpheus –“ Both of you felt sudden pain on your chests, you for finally being able to call him again and he for finally hearing the most beautiful voice, calling his name. How he missed to hear his own name that came from out of your mouth.
“I – You – How –“ You couldn’t keep going. With shaking voice and hands, tears began to fall from your eyes. They were real. He knew it. However, he couldn’t tell why you were crying, for you or him. Maybe both at the same time. His anger was no longer a barrier between you after seeing these tears. His hands immediately held your face, catching every tear from falling to your cheeks.
“I – I can’t –“
“I know.” This time it was your turn to feel heavy due to hearing his voice.
You touched his face with your soft hands. They travelled from here to there on his face. Then, hands began to touch more; hair, neck, shoulders, and arms. As hands stopped on his messy hair, you said, “God, Morpheus,” You tried to stop crying, “I – I missed you so much!”
Then you hugged him again. And finally, he hugged you back.
People kept walking pass from them, still blurry. In that moment, neither of them thought something else except each other. Their bodies melted with each other’s warm touches. His coldness was already warming thanks to feeling you inside his arms, finally.
Oh, how he missed you too.
‘ ‘ ‘
  “Good evening Ms. Hedy.”
You put a smile on your face as entered the apartment you lived in. One of the neighbors, Ms. Hedy who liked you like you were her own daughter she never had, was leaving the apartment at that moment. Her eyes looked you, then to Morpheus with a clear curiosity.
“Good evening to you my little girl,” If only she’d knew how older you were, you thought. “Who is this pretty gentleman?”
You smiled widely, pointing Morpheus who was keeping his silence, “He is Morpheus –“
“Oh, is this the gentleman you were talking about?” She closed their gaps a little to study Morpheus’ face more, “Hello there young man,” She smiled warmly, “Y/n talked so much about you,” She turned to you, whispering like Morpheus were not there at all, “I can see why you have such a love for this gentleman, my little girl. He is good one.”
Morpheus turned to you after lady’s confession, making your cheeks turn to color of pink instantly. “Ms. Hedy!”
“All right, all right. I will leave now but visit me tomorrow.” She pointed Morpheus, “We have so many things to talk.”
Then she left with a little chuckle. You tried to act like this didn’t happen. Morpheus followed behind as you walked towards your house on the second floor of the apartment. Silence between you stayed ‘till both of you entered the house, a place no one to disturb. There were only you now. Hot feelings began to rise in your chest. Tickles on your neck and palms made you realize he was real. Morpheus was real and he was in your house.
You pointed couch for him to sit. As he sat down finally, you began to walk from left to right in front of him. Love you held in your heart, soul and body was like a phoenix. After seeing him, this phoenix came back to life again with its ashes. After a really long time, you felt alive. Yes, so many questions were distracting you from the world but every gaze he gave to you made you focus on him instead these questions. They would be answered sooner. However, he could disappear suddenly. This fear made you sick.
“How – I mean – How –“ You tried to start a conversation, but words weren’t coming from your mouth. There were so many different feelings at the same time, hard to carry.
Morpheus who is only one can understand you fully without you saying any word, nodded slowly, “I was going to send back a nightmare to my realm that had left it without permission.” Your tensed body didn’t unnoticed by him. “This man, called as Roderick Burgess, captured me to seek power he desired so much.” His voice was filled with anger. As he kept telling his story slowly with a little information, you couldn’t help but kneel down in front of him. Your hands touched his kneecaps, your head rested on his left thigh. Your sudden closeness made you two become silence for a certain moment.
Even if a hundred, maybe more, years passed since the last time you both shared a touch, it didn’t feel like it. Indeed, you felt so lonely, so much pain in these years that felt like eternity, but now, it looked like years past so quickly. Like there was no pain in your body now. However, there was. There had to be. So many years without him changed you. You weren’t the same woman with so much happiness and joy. Without him, the world seemed as hell.
“I am so sorry.” You touched his cheek, caressing it. “I am so sorry that I couldn’t save you.”
“Why?” You knew what he was referring to with this question; why you didn’t come, why didn’t you try more.
“He said –“ You tried to speak, taking your hand back, looking anywhere except his heart breaking face, “He said you were dead.”
“Corinthian?”
“Is this his name?”
He nodded, “He’s the nightmare who escaped from my realm.”
His memories flashed in your memory, making your hands shake. Morpheus held them immediately, “Did he hurt you?”
You shook your head, negatively, “No. Surprisingly. He just said you were that and I could give him the stone.” You looked the necklace on your neck. “I escaped somehow. I think he let me go. To play mickey and kitty game, I suppose.” You looked at him again, “He is bad. He is so bad.”
Empathy filled his face. Iceberg in his heart already began to melt thanks to your presence. It was just an hour together but you already began to affect him in better ways. Wounds on his soul, if he had one, were healing. You were his cure.
“I tried to see a dream or even a nightmare. I tried to access to your realm but there was none. It was like everything left with you.” You chest’s heaviness increased with each confess, “If I could get in touch with Lucienne, things would be better.” You touched his face with both of your hands, “You would be better. I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I appreciate your efforts.”
He both sounded genuine and sarcastic at the same time. Your face show how much this made you confused. Was he thinking you didn’t try enough?
“I tried, Morpheus.” You stood up, “I fucking tried but there was no way for me to get in touch with you.” You turned your back to him, whispering yourself more, “There was no way.” Tears began to fall. “You were gone.”
After a long silence, he stood up too. Thanks to his now calmer aura you felt on your back, you came to your senses.
He asked, “Who was he?”
That’s was when you remembered Robert, your current best friend that you left in your favorite café a hour ago with a sudden explanation how you saw an old friend after a long time. He said it was okay and let you go. You knew his feelings about you, love as he told, but you were already in love. With no one other than Dream Lord’s himself.
“He is a friend of mine. He does magic.” You spoke with only truth, “We met when I was seeking powerful magician to help me.”
“When?”
“25 years ago.” You turned to him, “He is using magic to slowing down aging.”
“Apparently.” That was all Morpheus told before a raven’s mouth’s tip your window. You opened it immediately, realizing this was another raven that you saw on Morpheus’ side.
Without using its power to fly, raven just took some steps towards you, looking curiously, then, to Morpheus, “Man, it was so hard to find this place. Why you left so suddenly?”
Morpheus looked annoyed, “I told you to not follow me.”
“Yes, I hear this a lot today but what difference it makes? None.”
You chuckled how this raven had encourage to talk with Morpheus in this way. Your chuckle made him turned to your direction, tilting its head to right to study you.
“Y/n.” You said, “His girl –“ You fixed, “One of his old friends.” You didn’t know if Morpheus still felt love in his heart for you, so, it was better to call yourself as an old friend.
“Matthew, my lady.”
You smiled, “How gentleman you are Mr. Matthew the raven. Pleasure to meet you.”
His wings raised a little to greet you, “The pleasure is mine.”
You turned to annoyed Morpheus, feeling real happiness today, “He is cute. You should be friend with him.”
His arrogant face didn’t leave; instead, he just changed the subject.
“This friend of yours –“
“Robert.”
“Robert.” He stopped for a second, “Are you two –“
You immediately shook your head, “No, no.” You took a deep breath, “We are just friends, Morpheus.”
“It didn’t look like it.” His anger was rising.
“What are you trying to say?” You felt anger inside too. Was he really thinking you were in love with another man?
The moment he left his mouth to say something, a knock came from door, hinting you there was someone to visit you at this hour of evening. You wondered who this unexpected visitor was, quickly opened it, not reliving inside that much to the visitor.
However, as you see Robert’s concerned face, you surprised. Right now, you were talking about him and you saw how Morpheus felt irritation with his presence on your life. This is going to be bad, you thought as you tried to put a smile on your surprised face, “Robert?” You could feel Morpheus piercing eyes on your back, “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, “I wanted to see you are okay.” He tried to look inside, which was covered with your body.
“Of course I am okay. What wouldn’t I?”
“Because you left so quickly with this man and I thought –“
“What did you thought?” Morpheus’ strong hold on your door opened it suddenly, reliving his face to Robert who looked surprised at how this strange man was in your apartment. You weren’t someone who was taking many people to your apartment as he knew thanks to 25 years you spent together.
Morpheus tall body was right behind you, covering yours with his stronger posture. You could feel his chest on your back, alerting you to how angry he was.
“Hello,” Robert tried to act cool with him, “I am Robert. Y/n’s friend.”
Morpheus kept his silence.
Robert’s hand rested on his back hair, “I just wanted to see my friend is okay.”
You spoke, “I am Robert. Don’t worry.” You pointed Morpheus, “He is Morpheus.”
Sudden realization appeared on Robert’s face. From what you saw, he felt sadness too. After all, Morpheus was the one who your heart belonged to.
“Oh,” He nodded, “I see.” Put a smile on his face, “Then, I should leave you two alone.” You smiled as well. You would definitely hug him if Morpheus saw him not as enemy, but a friend. “I am glad you are back, Dream Lord.”
He then left without any other word. You really felt bad for him but you promised yourself that you would gain his heart again, as a friend of course.
After closing the door, you looked at Morpheus, turning to his direction but keeping your closeness. You wanted to say something but after being in this close with him, chest to chest, head to head, words became blurry on your head. You already forget where you was, what time was it, and what happened a minute ago.
Now, it was just him. Him only.
Heavy feelings made their places knowledgeable again. However, you felt good emotions too; peace, happiness and love at its highest. So many years past. So many years with his absence. However, your love for him didn’t decrease even a little bit. Instead, it increased each day. With each passing day, you saw how your world was meaningful with his presence on it. You weren’t someone to rely on someone else but he was different. He was Dream Lord, Endless. He was the Sandman. Mostly, he was Morpheus. Your Morpheus. He was meant everything for you. The moment you met with him in his own realm, you knew how he would took your soul at his own as well as your heart. They were no longer yours only, they were his too. Like his soul and heart were also yours.
“Y/n,” He said, weakly. After a long pause, in which he had so many emotions on his eyes that you loved to look, he said, finally, “I missed you.”
That was the last thing that made you lose control. That was the last thing you remembered as your lips met with his. With great hunger, lust and love, you began to kiss like it was the last time you would kiss freely. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. All you knew was with each kiss you both would share; you would kiss like it was your last.
His cold lips’ warmed with yours, his hands on your waist, yours on his neck, pulling him close. You didn’t care that you needed air to breath after this kiss. You just simply enjoyed it without thinking at all. Morpheus’ lips were the sweetest liquor and you were going to drink all of it.
He took two steps to forward, making your back meet with your now closed door. In seconds your lips were departed, you took a deep breath only to meet with his lips again. Hunger, lust and love were rising. His hands were travelling on your body as well yours on his. This was going to be a night in which you would make love to each other like past times. You wouldn’t stop ‘till daylight. So many things would happen until you both show how much you missed one another. This night was going to be a long one.
He broke the kiss for a moment to say, “You know, I can treat you better than anyone else. Right?”
First, you were too drunk thanks to his lips and intense warmth to understand what he was referring to. Then, you realized. A smile appeared on your face, “Are you jealous, Dream Lord?”
He looked angry, “Me?” He kissed you passionately, “Never.” He began to kiss your neck, saying, “I just wanted to make you realize that there isn’t a single creature that gives you what you deserve.” He even bite your neck a little bit, sending vibration to your core. “I am the only one.”
A moan escaped from your mouth as he placed his hands on your lower part, suddenly, with a great but gentle power, “I am the only one for you, Y/n.”
You tried to nod, “You are Morpheus.” You kissed his lips again, “You are the only one for me. For the whole eternity.”
And this was the last logical thing came out of your mouth that night.
Morpheus finally was there, with you. And you knew how he would take his whole revenge from these years you spent separately, which you would accept with such joy.
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love, rose <3
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dreams-dreams-dream · 2 years
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A shuddering gasp leaves your lips, and another, another, each divided by a hitched, hushed breath in. Your body shakes softly in arms holding you like satin cushions and steel bars. Telling you you were safe. Protected. /His/.
The ragged breaths falling from your lips don't stop until your bodies meet fully, a low moan leaving your mouth as your eyes flit open to gaze down your torso to the cleft of his abdomen. Where you were joined, together as though one.
Your gaze flicks up, meeting those beautiful, beautiful eyes that bear an intensity akin to pure sunlight. Mesmerising. Scorching. A deep blush colours your cheeks, one hand lifting to his pale face now flushed rosy pink with the effort of holding back. "Morpheus," you whisper, reverently.
"Beloved," he replies, and /moves/.
Your head falls back, your mouth open in a silent cry that's soon buried in the Lord of Dreams's throat as he kisses you. Warm like sun stained marble, soft as feather down. You clutch him close, legs bending around him, arms folding around his neck, his shoulders, "More-!" You beg.
And Dream of the Endless obliges.
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swiftispunk · 3 months
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another time, baby | joel miller x f!reader
a your summer dream bonus chapter
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your summer dream masterlist | main masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates
pairing: dad's buddy!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 3.4k summary: joel makes good on a promise. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] established relationship, porn no plot, smut, age gap (28/50), unprotected anal sex, vaginal fingering, use of a butt plug, joel miller eats ass and pussy and also has a big dick, some affectionate spanking, creampie, cum play (eating and sharing), a little bit of spit, just a lot of bodily fluids all around, one (1) poetic description of a queef, joel miller's filthy mouth, pet names, ysd!joel at his most soft dom, joel's also kind of feral in this, multiple orgasms, sweet sweet aftercare, pov swap. no use of y/n.
a/n: you can all thank @gasolinerainbowpuddles for this one ya'll. but in all seriousness, your summer dream was my favourite part of this year. so what better way to send it off than with a horny little one shot for my favourite little freaks? and for anyone who hasn't read the series, i am stoked to tell you that you can absolutely enjoy this fic as a standalone. for those of you who have the read series, this takes place between the fall and winter seasons and you may find one teeny tiny little plot nugget in here which i hope you will appreciate. happy new year everyone!
"Oh, fuck, that's pretty."
His voice a low rasp, all hushed and adoring, he may as well be talking to himself at this point. You are somewhere far away. A pliant, whining, perfect thing slung over his lap, your soft skin glistens with lube around the transparent plug in your ass. Seeing you like this, Joel allows himself to think the worst–that you're his and no one else's, that only he can make you like this, only he gets to know this part of you. 
"Please, Joel, please," you'd cried when his tongue had dipped from your pussy to your other hole earlier this week. Your fingers clawing at fistfuls of his hair, he'd known by the desperate edge in your voice, the patience there waning, you were finally going to ask.
"What, baby? What do you want?"
You'd seized and moaned and shaken your head, afraid to say it, confess it.
Till he'd slipped one thick finger into your asshole, taunting you with a plea of his own as he'd slowly fucked you with it: "Tell me. Tell me, baby. Say it. Tell me what you want."
"Please fuck my ass, Joel! Please–"
And as his lips had closed around your clit with his finger still buried in your ass, you'd come apart for him with blinding force. Joel, for his part, had spilled onto the sheets beneath him and in the haze of the afterglow, he'd kissed your inner thighs and made a solemn vow. 
That he'll give you what you need–but he's gonna do it right.
Now you've stopped begging, reduced to little more than breathless whimpers under his touch while you let him ready you.
He cages your naked body under his, fingers spread wide over the globe of your ass, pinching and grabbing and slapping at the plush flesh there. Your poor, dripping cunt flutters around nothing and Joel can't help himself–he's a weak man; he takes pity on you.
"Feelin' empty, baby?" he muses, slipping a hand between your thighs to caress your folds, soaking with lube and your last release. He gazes down at you in wonder when you twitch violently at the contact, your ass jiggling around the end of the plug.
He's so goddamn lucky.
You make some muffled sound against the mattress and Joel's other hand comes down on your ass cheek in response. His lips twitch, chest and cock swelling with something like pride when you recognize it for the reminder it is, immediately pulling your face up off the sheets to answer him properly.
"Mm-mm," you croak and Joel can tell you're struggling to get the words out, your loose form spasming across his thighs whenever his fingers brush over your sensitive clit. "Feel so–full, Joel."
"Yeah?" he murmurs gruffly, still lazily petting your sex. "You like havin' your ass all stuffed, sweetheart? This what you wanted?"
"Want–more, Joel. Please fuck me."
But there's no strength behind the words, no genuine intention behind the plea because you know; this had been the deal. He'll give you this–and god, does he want to give you this–but he's not going to rush it and he's not going to hurt you. He's well aware of his size and he's well aware of your less-than-savoury experiences with men before him and he will not subject you to that. He'll spend all night prepping you if that's what it takes. 
Plus, he's having fun.
"Gonna feel a lot more full with my cock inside ya, baby," he hums, sinking his thumb into your wet heat, reveling in the way you push back into him with a breathy little moan. "You think you can take it?"
Your answer gets caught in your throat as he begins to fuck his thumb in and out of your weeping pussy, his fingers circling over your clit, buried between the soft meat of your thighs.
His lip curls in concentration, ravenous at the soft squelching sounds of your cunt and the choked, little whimpers spilling from your open mouth. Just one more time, he thinks–he just wants to watch you come one more time.
"Look at you, huh?" he marvels as he switches gears, using one large palm to spread you open and push his middle and ring fingers into your cunt instead, curling and scissoring them inside you till he swears he can feel the plug taking up your ass. "Look at you with both your little holes all full for me. Bet you could take two cocks f'you wanted. Ain't that right, babygirl?"
Something about that thought makes you gasp, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing your g-spot before you're coming again, a small gush of liquid pouring down his knuckles as you pulse around him with a broken cry. 
"Oh, fuck, yeah," Joel hisses through his teeth as the waves of wash over you, awestruck and mesmerized at the way you shudder and squirm in his lap. You're all his. It's all for him. You fall apart like this for him. "There's my good girl."
You go limp when it ends, a delicious noise of gaping emptiness escaping your pussy when he slowly retracts his fingers. He sucks them clean, sighing at the taste of you, and decides he's done enough.
"C'mere," he growls softly, manhandling you carefully off his lap and collecting your knees beneath you. You go like a ragdoll, folding in on yourself with your ass in the air for him, chest pressed into your thighs. He crouches beside you, trailing a hand up your spine to rest it at the nape of your neck, massaging the other over the rounded peaks of your ass.
"You ready, sweetheart?" he whispers, tracing his fingers around the edges of the plug. "Gonna take this out now."
"Oh, fuck," you whimper into the sheets, your voice all cracked and oozing anticipation. Your ribs expand and contract with each ragged breath you take and even Joel isn't sure he can wait much longer. 
He leans over your body, sinks his teeth into the meat of your ass, buries his nose into your skin and makes himself at home there. He stakes his claim with little indents into your flesh and yearns to mark you elsewhere–everywhere.
"Let me hear you say it," he insists. 
"I'm ready, Joel. Please."
He shifts to hover over you, cradling your body under one arm while he curls his fingers around the end of the plug.
"Relax for me now," he murmurs and even though you're already gooey and gone, you find a way to obey him. Your muscles slacken and you melt impossibly deeper into the mattress, waiting. 
"Good girl," he tells you and he's never meant it more than he does right now.
With patient care, he slips the plug past that tight ring of muscle, watching you stretch around the thickest part of the toy, groaning with you when he pushes it back inside. He repeats that motion, mesmerized at the slide of the plug moving in and out of the constricting fist of your asshole. You take it so fucking well. You're gonna take his cock so fucking well. 
It's all he can think about as he finally pulls the plug out of you entirely, cursing under his breath when your hole stays open for him, stretched out and lax, still so enticingly tight. He tosses it aside, hungry eyes fixed on your opening, locked in on it like a missile acquiring its target.
"Jesus Christ," he groans, feeling slightly crazed as he crowds the space behind you, hastily searching for the bottle of lube, abandoned somewhere on the mattress. He coats his length in it, stroking himself with one hand while the other spreads you open, one thick finger dipping into the inviting warmth of your asshole. "You gonna let me fuck you here, baby? This where you want me?"
"Yes," you whine and Joel's cock twitches in his grasp as you start to fuck yourself on his finger in shallow little thrusts, as if to prove your point. Fucking hell. He's never seen you so needy as long as he's known you and it stirs something carnal in him. 
"Alright, baby, okay," he hums, sliding his finger free from your hole to grip your side and still your movements. His cock is slippery and your skin is shiny with excess lube but he wants to be sure, overly thorough. He rakes his fingers through the seam of your cunt, collecting come and lube and slick, and coats your other hole in it. And just because he wants to see it, he lets a string of his of spit fall there too, rubbing his own fluids in with yours, over the sacred place he's about to fuck you. 
He thinks you look fucking perfect together. He thinks he might be in love with you.
He presses closer, notching the tip of his cock at your entrance. You reach back to grip the wrist of the hand he's got glued to your side and Joel's heart pangs. He can't tell if the way you squeeze his arm is a sign of nerves or eagerness or the same painful desperation he feels to be as attached to you as possible in every conceivable way. Frankly, he's too delirious with desire to even ask, just gives you what he thinks you always need, what he thinks he's best at giving you–
"You're okay, baby," he assures you. "Just relax, I got you. M'gonna make it feel good, okay? Gonna make it feel so fuckin' good for you."
-
Your fingers tighten around his wrist, a high-pitched moan pouring from your lips as you nod against the sheets.
You trust him–of course you do. 
And you want this, want him to fill the deepest corners of your body, to take up every vacant space inside you and make you his, over and over in every which way. Joel's unwavering control seems to fade as he lines himself up with your hole, his breaths coming shorter and less even, sucked through his teeth like some voracious animal. Your pussy clenches in an unconscious way, like your body still hasn't realized that's not where he's going.
It quickly becomes clear. 
Because then he's pushing forward, the head of his cock slipping past your puckered rim and it's like he stops breathing altogether, the flow of air from his lungs choking off into a strangled moan. You echo that sound, twist your free hand into the sheets and whine at the intrusion, the stretch and strain almost dizzying. 
"Oh–fuck–shit," he's rambling, stilling where he is to let you adjust–though you're wondering now if such a thing is even possible. "Fuck me, that's so fuckin' tight."
You can feel your breathing shallow, hear the distant sound of your own voice leaving you in the form of weak and whimpered nothings. 
Joel takes a deep breath. 
"Talk to me," he grits out. "Tell me how it feels."
You rack your brain but you can't find the words. 
"You're so-you're so fucking big, Joel."
He growls, a sound buried low in his chest, deep and guttural. "Tell me how it feels," he repeats. 
"Fuck–good," you cry, and you think it's true. The stretch, the ache, the fullness, the elation that it's him finally giving you what he'd promised you so many months ago; yes, it feels good. It feels perfect. "More. Please. I can take more."
"Fuck, yeah, you can," Joel groans, sinking deeper, still at a sedulous pace, till you feel his hips meet your ass and he bottoms out completely.
"Shit," Joel marvels, pausing once again with his length buried to the hilt in your ass, voice thick with adoration. "Feel fuckin'–so perfect, baby. Fuck, you look so good like this. Takin' it so well."
He experimentally rocks his hips and you feel yourself stretch open for him, the way your body accepts his girth and makes such willing space for him. It's fucking…otherworldly how big he feels inside you, the pleasant aching sensation of fullness unlike anything you've ever felt before. Your uneven breaths harmonize with his, breaking off into a groan of appreciation when he finally pulls out halfway just to push back in.
He fucks you like that for what feels like hours; slow, patient drags of his cock in and out of your hole while his hands rake over your skin in appreciative sweeping patterns. His words from before echo in your pleasure-drunk mind–"Bet you could take two cocks f'you wanted"–and while you can't say you've ever thought about that, the suggestion festers and consumes, so much so that you reach a hand between your legs to slip three fingers into your pussy and imagine how it would feel if they were something else.
"Oh, yeah, honey?" Joel croons when he notices, the pace of his thrusts picking up. "That feel good? You wanna be all filled up, don't you?"
You whine in response, burying your fingers deeper, meeting his thrusts with a steady rock of your hips back into him.
"C'mere," he's suddenly saying again, carefully pulling his cock free from the tight clench of your ass. Then he's maneuvering you onto your back and placing your arms by the side of your head. He hooks his hands beneath your knees and hoists them up to your chest before settling back between your legs. He takes a moment there, gawking at your naked front and your gaping hole, watching your face as he presses his palm over your mound and strums his thumb over your clit. 
And, god, he looks wrecked–wild. You can't imagine what he's seeing reflected back at him in your eyes. 
Fuck, you already miss him inside you. 
"Joel," you press him, tilting your hips upwards a little higher in a silent plea. 
He grants it without question, maintaining the steady ministrations of his thumb on your clit as he once again lines himself up with your asshole.
"You perfect fuckin' thing," he murmurs, his mouth falling open as he pushes back inside, his eyes never leaving your face. "You love it, huh? Love this big cock in this tight little ass. Yeah?"
His voice strains around the words as he begins to move again, faster and harder than before. You nod at him frantically–tell him yesyesyes–then you forget how to speak altogether as he eases his thumb into your cunt and fucks you with it in tandem with the drag of his cock in your ass. 
"There you go," Joel hums. "My girl's all full of me now."
It's overwhelming, a mind-numbing sort of satiation that has your eyes rolling back into your skull as you dissolve into a mess of wanton moans and broken sobs. You're too far gone to even feel surprised when another climax crashes into you, wetness pooling around Joel's thumb and trickling down to the place your bodies are connected.
"Fuck, Joel, oh my god–"
Your voice shakes as you quiver under him, sparks of heat cascading down your spine. Joel's heady grunting is buried under your own cries of ecstasy and then you're conscious of his hands are on the backs of your thighs, holding you open as he begins to fuck you with abandon, chasing chasing chasing. 
"Eyes," you hear him growl urgently. "You look at me when I come in your ass, baby."
Your eyelids snap open at once–and the sight of him takes your breath away.
His brows are furrowed in concentration, hot breaths coming in heavy pants through his bared teeth. Sweat dampens his forehead and shines on his chest and shoulders, the expanse of skin there dotted with splotches of pink. His soft belly flexes and falls as he pounds into you and you don't think you've ever seen his brown eyes look so black. 
He's so fucking beautiful. He's all yours. 
"Come for me, Joel," you beseech him, reaching out to touch your hands to his chest. "Please. Please come in my ass."
It doesn't take much more than that, Joel's hips stuttering as he groans out a chorus of expletives and paints your insides with his release. He comes hard, his final thrusts almost bruising against your ass as he fucks his spend deeper, filling you to the brim. You can feel everything–the way his cock spasms inside you, the soft press of his balls against your sticky skin, the wet drag of his length slowly slipping out of you the minute you've both caught your breath.
You reach out to touch his face, but Joel is not looking at you. Joel is transfixed on your leaking asshole, crouching back to watch his come drip from you, his big hands on your thighs still spreading you wide for him. 
He looks…overcome–trancelike as he dives forward without a word to bury his face between your cheeks. You gasp as his tongue laps at your pulsing hole, collecting fat drops of escaping come and it occurs to you then what he's doing. Your hands fist into his curls and you yank him up to kiss you, his lips crashing into yours as hot, salty release pours from his open mouth into yours. 
You swallow it eagerly, moaning against his lips as his body weight comes down on top of you. You wrap your legs around his middle and for a good long while, you stay like that, letting your tongue lazily dance with his in a kiss that's all gratitude and quiet devotion. 
As the fog of orgasm fades, your lips come apart. Joel rolls onto his side and pulls you into his chest, pets your hair and presses soft kisses across your shoulders. 
"You alright, baby?" he asks, clutching the sides of your face in his gentle hands and tilting your head up to meet his eyes. The blackness there is gone, replaced by tender warmth. 
You think about it. You are alright. You're sleepy, though. Sleepy and sore. And fucking…messy. 
"I'm okay," you tell him, feeling the corners of your mouth turn up in a smile. Joel mirrors it, his thumbs stroking lightly over your cheekbones.
"Did so fuckin' good for me," he breathes. His forehead collides with yours as he exhales something that sounds like a laugh. "I mean, that–that was so goddamn hot."
"It was," you agree. "Thank you, Joel."
"Thank you, sweetheart," he amends, ducking forward to plant another fleeting kiss against your lips. "M'gonna get a shower goin', alright? Get you all cleaned up? How's'at sound?"
"Sounds good," you smile dreamily.
He looks like he wants to say something else, lingering there with his face just inches from yours, soft eyes scanning your features like he's searching for something. You think you know the words he's holding back–think you could say them too right now–but you don't, and neither does he. Instead, he sighs and kisses your forehead, finally rising up out of bed to stride towards the ensuite. You let your eyes slip shut at the sound of running water, imagining it's a falling stream in a lush, tropical forest. You sigh.
It strikes you, in moments like these, how in the hell you ended up here. In Joel Miller's bed with his come leaking out of your ass, your heart so full it feels like it could burst right out of your chest without warning. 
You think maybe it should scare you, but it doesn't anymore. Because then Joel is sauntering back into the room and extending a solid arm out to you, hoisting you upright with all the care and attention you've come to expect from him. His embrace is so familiar it may as well be your second home at this point. And it kind of is. And it's kind of perfect. 
And you're kind of in love with him–but you don't tell him that yet.
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p0ckykiss · 19 days
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lovesick - lee haechan
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summary -> haechan is sick, and you are more than happy to take care of him.
warnings -> friends but they have a crush on each other😱
haechan laid in bed, sniffling. he had pulled the comforter back onto his body and curled up.
on the TV was his favorite show, he was currently rewatching it whilst he fought off his cold with rest.
lord knows where he had caught it, but it was unfortunate. days after he had decided to start his trek to college by moving out, he was sniffling and sneezing.
thankfully, he was able to postpone the college signup and tour, and get help moving into his apartment.
“i thought I told you to cover up with the sheet, not the comforter, hyuck,” you slowly opened the door, holding a plastic bag. “i only left for fifteen minutes.” you pulled the thick blanket off of him and folded it at the end of the bed.
the mask covering your face made it hard to see your expression, so haechan returned eye contact with his big, beautiful, brown doe eyes. “i’m cold.”
“i know you get cold, but we have to bring your temperature down. and you refuse to eat ice cream”
“speaking of temperature, I have to take yours again.”
he sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. “because you want me to eat the kind that doesn’t taste as good.” haechan really wanted you to take off your mask, because.. he just wanted you to.
you were gorgeous, and admiring your face could probably cure his sickness.
you shook your head. “i bought an alternative,” a few treats were pulled out of the bag. “ice pops. they’re cheap, and they are basically shaved ice. you can eat as many as you want, anything for the sake of you getting better.”
the thermometer that you had also pulled out of the bag was placed in haechan’s mouth.
haechan pouted while it took his temperature, because of how babied he was right now. it was to get him better faster, but he was supposed to be an adult, moving out into his old place. yet here you were, taking care of him.
“did you get any rest?” you held his face in your hands. partly to just coddle him further.
the thermometer beeped, and you took it out.
102 degrees.
still lower than the previous day.
“no.. I feel like my insides are on fire,” his voice was nasally and cute, the entirety of his nose red and irritated.
“and that’s what the ice pops are for, hyuck,” you peeled off the seal and handed it to him.
he took it from you, and stuck it in his mouth. immediately, his body felt a little more at peace, and his muscles relaxed.
earlier, he tried eating ice.
all that did was hurt his teeth. this was a happy solution to that madness. “how many did you buy?” he mumbled around the pop.
“i bought six, because I knew you would like them. they’re pretty big, so it should last you today and tomorrow. and just so you know these aren’t meals.”
“yeah, yeah,” haechan rolled his eyes and looked back at the TV.
“while you’re occupied, let’s take the sheet off of you, too,” you climbed onto the bed and laid next to him, close enough for comfort, but far enough to keep him from heating up. “you need to rest, once you’re done, got it?”
again, he rolled his eyes, but laid his head against your shoulders. his legs were tucked close to his body.
the show was getting good.
even if he was with you, he wouldn’t want to miss any of it - despite the fact that he was watching it again.
the couple in the show were getting closer, and he could actually see their chemistry. “look, look, they-” haechan pouted.
the ending music of the episode was playing, just as it seemed they would kiss. “how long have you been sleeping..” he set the empty ice pop inside the bag and grabbed another one.
best take advantage of this moment. haechan let you rest back on the pillows, curling you into his side as much as he wanted while covering you up with the sheet.
for extra measure, he slipped the mask off, down and under your chin.
“much better.” haechan grinned proudly.
-
nearly two episodes down the line, he felt his eyelids starting to get heavy, and he began to miss a few seconds of the show at a time. as a boring and ineffective part played out, his eyes began to shut. just then, you decided to wake up.
“hyuck..” you groaned, sitting up. “you didn’t even take your medicine..” it took you several moments to realize that your mask was off, but when you did, you playfully slapped his arm.
“stop, stop! I just wanted to see your face,” haechan pouted for the nth time this visit. “i’ll take my medicine if you give me a kiss.”
you pulled the medicine out of the bag and measured it out. “if you get me sick, I will be so mad at you, lee haechan, because some of us have to function in the real world, as fully functioning adults.” you held his chin and gave him a prolonged peck before handing him his medicine.
“hey!” it was hard to tell what part of his face was blushing, and what was red from his cold.
the way that you nonchalantly acknowledged the feelings you had for one another is what really sealed the deal for him. “thank you,” haechan mumbled as he took the medicine.
“i’m going now, before I catch more germs than I can afford.”
he stood up and grabbed your hand. “goodbye.” haechan’s eyes were wide, and he was feeling much bolder now that he was satisfied and not feeling like his insides were an inferno. he wrapped his arms around your torso and laid his head on your shoulder.
“goodbye, hyuck, take care of yourself while i’m gone, okay?” you rubbed his back and kissed his head. “my phone is always on if you need me.”
haechan retreated back to his bed, where he listened to you leave, before pulling out his phone to text you an unnecessarily long series of heart themed emojis.
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hunny-beann · 4 months
Note
I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.
Rest Now, Wife, Mine
Dream of the Endless x f!Reader
Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3
Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.
Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.
Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)
Word Count: 1,298
Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.
That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.
She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.
That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.
Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.
"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"
The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.
Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?
He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.
She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.
Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.
Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.
He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.
What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.
He could never love another.
As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.
Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.
What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.
"You are tired, my dear."
The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).
He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,
"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."
He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.
"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."
The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.
He frowned.
"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"
She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.
"No, of course not, I just..."
The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.
"You just what, dearest?"
He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.
"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."
Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).
"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"
He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.
"Poor thing,"
Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.
"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"
He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.
"Rest now, wife, mine."
He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,
"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."
If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.
And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.
After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.
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starlightkun · 3 months
Text
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❧ word count: 17.4k ❧ warnings: cursing ❧ genre: fluff, some mild angst, model jeno, journalist reader, reader is lowkey a bit of a jerk for some of it but for understandable reasons ❧ extra info: this is a reworked version of an old fic of mine that was about a former member. since i still really love the fic, i’ve made some (heavy) edits to re-release it about jeno instead. you can consider this the spiritual successor/an alternate universe to my sleepless cinderella series
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You’d finally gone insane, you’d decided. Absolutely bonkers, completely crazy. After all, how else would you explain the fact that you were now kissing Jeno?
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You felt absolutely pathetic. You were a journalist at a rather popular magazine, and your editor had finally entrusted you with a centerfold spot. So far, your word document for your article had less than a handful of words: your name. Writer’s block, and with only two months until copies were supposed to hit the shelves.
And so here you were, sitting on the small couch in your boss’ office, trying not to sound like you were whining to her. But you needed some sort of guidance. Ms. Zhang was sat on the other end of the couch from you, legs crossed, and round frames perched on the end of her nose as she thoughtfully listened to your rant.
Her voice was casual as she simply replied with, “Anything new in your life, Y/N?”
Which was a complete non-sequitur from your desperate plea for a subject. She really just wanted to make small talk while you were having an existential crisis?
Stunned, you blinked for a moment before answering, “Uh, not much. My roommate made me go out to this party a while ago.”
“That’s nice. Did you have fun?”
You were still completely unsure of why she wasn’t addressing your issue, but went along with it, nonetheless, “I guess.”
“Meet anyone?”
“Kind of. Seven someones, technically.”
“Oh?”
Realizing how that sounded, you grimaced to yourself before giving your boss an explanation of the actual situation. Your roommate NingNing had dragged you to the grand opening of a new nightclub, which she got an invite to thanks to her huge social media following. She was possibly the only actually down-to-Earth influencer you’d ever met—and you’d met plenty, thanks to her. The two of you had been friends since you were kids, before you entered into completely different lives as adults. You had a 9 to 5 while she was being paid insane amounts of money by luxury brands just to post a single photo of herself with their product.
The nightclub of course had a VIP section at the back, which NingNing was easily given access to, as well as you, her plus-one. It was there that you were introduced to Mark Lee, an up and coming young actor with a practically cult following online; Huang Renjun, an extremely popular video game streamer and YouTuber; Lee Jeno, an actual supermodel whose visage was across some of the biggest billboards in the city; Haechan, a pop star that you didn’t dare address by anything other than his stage name; Na Jaemin, another streamer and YouTuber who had recently been picked up for a modeling contract; Zhong Chenle, heir to the Zhong family fortune, whose family was involved in anything and everything to do with the entertainment industry and owned the nightclub; and Park Jisung, an influencer more in the same vein as NingNing, with millions of Instagram followers. Apparently, you had made a good enough impression that Chenle gave you your own pass to the VIP lounge—NingNing of course had her own, too.
At the end of your story, Ms. Zhang had a worryingly knowing smile across her lips, “You met seven celebrities in one night?”
“Do influencers and streamers really count as celebrities?”
“You met seven very popular men—three or four of whom are certifiable celebrities—in one night, have access to a private lounge they all frequent, and you still don’t have a subject for your article?”
Your jaw may have dropped slightly as you realized this. Immediately, your face turned hot as you refused the idea, “I don’t want to exploit them and make them uncomfortable somewhere that’s supposed to be free from that kind of stuff.”
She frowned as she shook her head, “I’m disappointed in you, Y/N. I thought you understood that journalism isn’t inherently exploitative.”
“I’m sorry, I know it’s not—”
“Are you going to publish horrible rumors and tabloid things with private information they don’t want to be out there? Is that what we do here?”
“No, but they’re all going to think that’s what I’ll do.”
“Show them those assumptions are wrong. It’s all in the way you carry yourself. If you are honest and humble and make them feel comfortable, they should have no reason to doubt what kind of journalist you are.”
At this point, you felt like melting into the pinstriped couch cushions in shame. You shouldn’t have doubted your boss’ vision for her magazine or demeaned your own career. And now you’d made Ms. Zhang disappointed in you. You would’ve preferred her to have yelled at you.
All that was left was to make her proud.
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Three days later and you still hadn’t returned to the lounge.
Honestly, you were just being a chicken. And a procrastinator. A procrastinating chicken.
Slumped into your armchair in your living room, you blankly zoned off into the distance as you listened to your playlist through an earbud. NingNing was perched on your kitchen table, feet swinging off the side as she edited some photos on her phone.
As she tapped away, you found your gaze fixating on the visage on the cover of a magazine that had been resting on your coffee table. Squinting your eyes curiously and tilting your head to the side, you asked, “He kind of looks like a dog, right?”
“Who?” Your roommate raised a concerned eyebrow as she peered over her phone screen at you.
“Lee Jeno.” You held up the magazine. “He kind of looks like a dog. Right?”
Your friend squinted at the cover then gave you that same look, “No, he doesn’t. Y/N, I think the sleep deprivation has finally gotten to you. You’re delirious.”
“No, I swear, he looks like a dog,” you insisted, pulling your earbud out to be able to better argue your point. “A very specific kind of dog, God, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“He doesn’t.”
You crossed your arms. “I bet the others would agree with me.”
“You want to go ask them?” She challenged. “Jisung texted me saying they were all going to be there again tonight.”
“If that’s what’ll convince you.”
“I have been begging you to go back for weeks, and now you’ve agreed to go back to ask them if they agree that Jeno looks like a dog?” NingNing scoffed incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Alright, fine, you weirdo. Be ready to leave at midnight.”
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When you arrived at the club, you immediately felt out of place again. You clung onto NingNing’s arm tightly as she confidently led the way through the crowd to the VIP lounge. She flashed a smile and her VIP pass to the bouncer outside the room, who nodded and stepped aside. As soon as the two of you entered the small room that consisted of one large rounded booth, you immediately regretted your decision. When NingNing said that everyone would be there, your brain hadn’t pieced together that ‘everyone’ included Lee Jeno, who perked up with interest as the two of you walked in.
Jeno eyed you curiously, an eyebrow raised, “So you came back.”
“Y/N has something really important to ask you guys,” NingNing announced, gesturing to you pointedly.
You felt like a deer in the headlights as all of them turned to look at you. Swallowing thickly, you avoided looking at Jeno as you tried to think of anything else to say.
“Sit down, let’s get you a drink first,” Jaemin kindly saved you, gesturing to the open space at the end of the booth seat.
NingNing sat down next to Mark, who had previously been at the end, and you scooted in after her. The circular table unfortunately made it so that you were looking directly at Jeno, who you couldn’t help but sneak glances at as your brain still stubbornly tried to remember what breed of dog he reminded you of. Another round was brought out for everyone, and you gratefully started sipping on yours.
It was when he smiled up at the waiter as he was handed his drink that it finally hit you. You had to bite down on your lip not to cry out in victory.
Chenle looked at you over his sunglasses—yes he was wearing sunglasses indoors at night, as he had been last time. He asked, “So what is this really important thing you have to ask us?”
You looked at NingNing desperately, but she just gave you a deliberate nod.
“Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fine.”
With a gulp, you gathered your courage to just fucking say it and get it over with. You still wanted to be right. “Okay, think about it really hard before you answer.”
They all nodded in assent, anticipating your question.
Taking a deep breath, you finally asked, “Doesn’t Jeno kind of look like a Samoyed?”
A couple of them seemed concerned for your mental state. The rest pondered your question whole-heartedly, brows furrowed as they studied the model. Jeno had a look of pure bewilderment on his face.
Finally, Haechan gasped, “Oh my God you’re right.”
“Thank you!” You sighed victoriously, looking over at NingNing smugly.
Jisung fervently searched something on his phone, eyes widening in shock, “Now that you’ve said that I can’t unsee it.”
“What? Let me see.” Chenle yanked the phone out of Jisung’s hand, holding a picture of a fluffy white Samoyed up to Jeno’s face.
The model tilted his head to the side in confusion, perfectly mimicking the picture on-screen. Chenle burst into loud, cackling laughter.
“Shit, he-he does!” Renjun declared between his own laughs.
Murmurs of agreement erupted around the table, and you were now fully vindicated. “Thank you! Thank you! NingNing didn’t agree with me so I had to come and—”
“No, I did,” she snickered. “It was just the only way to get you to come back. You’re a whole different person when you think you’re right.”
You tried to glare at her, but you were much too ecstatic at being proven right to really be all that mad.
Jeno looked about to open his mouth as Chenle giggled incessantly and started swiping through more search results of Samoyed pictures. A horrible sense of dread covered you like scalding candle wax. It was hot against your skin, thick, and you felt like you couldn’t move or breathe. You prayed to every deity you could think of that Jeno had a really good sense of humor and wouldn’t take offense to someone he had met twice saying he looked like a dog.
When Jeno’s gaze finally focused on you, you swore you had never wished to turn invisible more in your life than in that moment. Or make time stop. Or wake up and realize it was a dream. Anything to get you out of this situation. But you were absolutely petrified, all excitement from before completely eradicated from your being.
Then suddenly all tension was gone from the air as his eyes crinkled into crescents and his mouth parted wide to let out hearty guffaws.
You looked around in alarm, waiting for the hidden camera to be revealed or something. This couldn’t be real.
He managed to contain his laughter enough to choke out between chuckles, “That’s— that's really, really funny.”
Your wide eyes were focused incredulously on him as he caught his breath. Still with a grin on his face, he continued, “Oh my god, seriously that was fucking funny. I’m a cute Samoyed, right, Y/N?”
Utterly speechless. That’s what you were. And also staring at him, completely dumbfounded.
“I think you broke her, Jeno,” Renjun snickered, reaching a fist out as if he were about to knock on your forehead like a front door.
Instinctually, you smacked his hand away from your head, a scowl overtaking your features, “I’m fine, Renjun.”
“Then why can’t you look him in the eye?”
You pointed to yourself, “Normal person—” then to Jeno, “supermodel. I’m still not used to that.”
But Renjun was right, you couldn’t look Jeno in the eye, and your whole body was practically on fire. Honestly, how were you supposed to react to this situation? With grace and comfort? No way.
“What? Seriously?” Jeno scoffed, standing up from the booth to pointedly sit on your side of it. Directly next to you.
“I’m not that— Y/N, really? You’re actually scooting away from me?”
You hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted the opposite direction from him, pressed into NingNing’s side. Meanwhile, the others were all finding this spectacle absolutely hilarious, sharing annoying snickers and giggles.
Your face was burning, and despite your satisfaction at being vindicated, you were now regretting coming to the club at all.
“Can you guys stop? You don’t have to be so annoying,” Jeno scolded his friends, much to both yours and their surprise.
Haechan had a look of mild offense and disbelief across his face, “Being annoying comes as natural to us as being ridiculously attractive comes to you.”
“Speak for yourself!” Jaemin slapped Haechan’s arm as Chenle was practically howling with laughter.
While they were distracted among themselves, Jeno’s attention was focused back on you. If you could look him in the eye, you’d be able to appreciate the genuine concern held within them. But you couldn’t, so all you could do was hear the genuine concern in his voice as he said quietly, “Sorry about them.”
“You don’t need to apologize for them,” you reassured him, messing with your fingernails.
“Anyway, I can’t stand having you be terrified of me.”
“I’ll get over it,” you cleared the audible squeak out of your throat, “eventually.”
“Eventually...” Jeno didn’t seem satisfied with that qualifier you added at the end. “Are you busy today?”
“Uhm— I don’t know. Why?”
“We should hang out.”
“What?”
“The more you’re around me, the less scary I’m going to be to you. Right?”
“I guess.”
“Then we should start right now.”
Your throat nearly closed up at this suggestion. Especially because you realized that the room was dead silent. The others had ceased their squabbling and side conversations and were awaiting your response to this too.
So you did the thing that came most naturally to you: procrastinated the issue.
“Oh, well, it’s already after midnight—”
“Then tomorrow.”
“I’m going to be super busy for a while, I just got a really big assignment at work—”
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m a journalist. Just got centerfold and it’s going to make or break my whole career so it’s going to take up all of my time for the foreseeable future, so...”
Jeno was unfazed, “What’s the topic?”
“I-uh it’s...” you couldn’t even bullshit an answer at this point, your stupid tongue tripping over itself. “I don’t have one yet.”
NingNing just had to offer up her opinion right then, “Do it on Jeno!”
If you were a lesser person, you'd have strangled NingNing in that moment, because the model’s features lit up. He clearly liked this idea.
“Yeah! I would love to. If it’ll fit your guidelines or whatever, of course.”
You sighed, “It does...”
The socially anxious part of you absolutely hated this idea. But, the journalist part of you knew it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Gritting your teeth, you managed to look Lee Jeno dead in the eye and say, “I would love to interview you, Jeno. Thank you.”
“Uhm, Jeno?” Jisung speaking up stopped the wide grin that was spreading across his friend’s face. “Aren’t you like, banned from interviews or something?”
“Technically,” Jeno answered dismissively, not breaking eye contact with you.
“Technically?” You echoed in confusion. Were you just being messed with?
“Something… happened with the last in-depth interview I did a while ago,” he admitted sheepishly. “But! I’ll talk to my manager and get it cleared, I promise, Y/N!”
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[jeno: manager han gave the okay for the interview! when can we get started?]
Your stomach contorted itself at the message that just popped up on your phone screen. Last night you’d left the lounge with a growing sense of dread and anxiety. And Jeno’s phone number.
[jeno: i have a fitting this afternoon but i'll be done in time to get dinner]
[jeno: if that works for you, of course]
[jeno: we can always start it another day, whatever is good for you!]
[jeno: do you want me to send you my schedule for the next few weeks to make it easier for us to get together?]
Your phone’s continuous buzzing with enthusiastic and sincerely kind messages from him caught the attention of NingNing, whose feet were currently resting on your lap as you shared your couch together.
“When did you get so popular?” She questioned teasingly, peering at you over her own phone screen.
“It's just one person,” you informed her.
“Who texts you that much in a row other than me?”
“Lee Jeno, apparently.”
“Y/N, you seem very unenthusiastic about this,” she declared with a thoughtful frown, completely abandoning her phone. “Isn’t this a really big break for you?”
“I’m still a little shocked,” you admitted. “And scared.”
She shoved you with her foot. “Well at least text him back.”
“Right.”
Not a great idea to leave him on read.
[you: a copy of your schedule would be great]
[you: and yes, i can do dinner tonight]
It was less than a minute later that he replied.
[jeno: here’s my schedule]
[jeno: attached image]
[jeno: and could you give me your address so i can drive you to dinner tonight? the place i have in mind is kind of hard to find if you haven’t been before]
A lot was happening right now. Too much for you to process. Good thing there was another brain in this room to help you process it.
“Hey, NingNIng?” You got her attention before thrusting your phone screen towards her so she could read the texts.
“Uh, three options here.” She pointed to a new finger for each one as she listed them off: “He’s ridiculously excited about this interview; he likes you; or he’s going to kill you.”
“So far the last one seems most likely.”
With a shake of your head, you sent him your address.
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Your fingers anxiously tapped along your bouncing knee as you waited on your couch for the text from Jeno that he was here. He told you that the restaurant was just casual, but you weren’t sure that a model’s idea of casual wear was the same as yours.
Jeez, what were you doing? Getting dinner with and interviewing one of the most well-known models in the country? You were so out of your depth here.
A buzz came from your other hand that was tightly gripping your phone. An incoming call from Jeno. Maybe he was calling to cancel, and you could just keep rescheduling until you both gave up on the whole idea and you never showed your face in that VIP lounge again.
Answering it, your voice squeaked as you attempted to give him a casual, “Hello.”
“Hey, Y/N!” The bright voice of Lee Jeno came through your speakers. “I’m just parking now, I’ll be up in a couple minutes.”
“You don’t have to come up!” You told him a little too forcefully and quickly. Having Lee Jeno in your apartment would just be too much.
“I don’t mind—”
You leapt up from your couch and rushed towards your door, “Too late, I’m already on my way down.”
With a sharp hit of your thumb, you hung up. Pressing the down button on the elevator impatiently, you prayed that Jeno would just give up and wait in his car.
He didn’t.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby, with Jeno right outside them. In fact, you nearly slammed right into his chest, but thankfully he took a step back before you could actually collide.
His ‘woah!’ was muffled slightly by the dark face mask over his mouth, accompanying dark baseball somewhat successfully obscuring his identity. As long as you didn’t look too closely, he could be any other guy.
“I told you I’d just come down on my own.” You shook your head at him, eyes trained on your shoes.
“And I told you that I’d come up and get you,” he shot back smugly. “Seems like neither of us listen very well.”
With no response coming from you, Jeno took your silence as the cue to lead the way out to his car. It was nice, nicer than most cars you’d seen around, but surprisingly not that ostentatious. It looked like something a moderately successful businessman would drive, not an A-list model.
Inside was a comfortable leather interior, and you took quick, short notes on the small notepad you kept with you as you looked around. After all, this was an interview, and you had an article to write. You could get over your own social awkwardness and feelings of inferiority for the sake of your future career.
Hopefully.
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The restaurant Jeno had chosen was definitely out-of-the way.
It was down one back alley into another, through the back of an electronics shop, up a flight of stairs, then through a room of old ladies sat at sewing machines. They all gave a friendly chorus of hellos to the two of you, seeming to know Jeno pretty well as they all told him that he’d grown since the last time he’d come by. He bowed to them bashfully as he led you through. Past the curtains on the far wall, you finally ended up at the restaurant.
Okay, out-of-the-way was an understatement.
But despite the hard-to-stumble-upon location of the restaurant, it seemed busy. The small room was tightly packed with tables that you could barely see through the mass of people seated around them and plates of food resting atop them. A loud buzz of various conversations mixed in with the bumping of plates and clattering of utensils.
Just past the entrance was a small host’s stand where a young boy stood. He looked to not be out of high school yet, presumably a young relative of the owners: their son, nephew, or grandson.
He also knew Jeno, bowing to him, “Ah, Mr. Lee. We have your reservation for you. Come.”
Jeno bowed back and looked to make sure that you were still following the two of them through the nearly claustrophobic environment.
You were, eyes drinking in every detail as your hand furiously scribbled them down on your notepad, muscle memory functioning at full speed to write every letter without looking away from the scene around you. There was one more curtain for you to go through, and it was much quieter on the other side. This was most likely a VIP section of sorts, with just a couple tables separated by a divider.
The host gestured to one of the two tables, and you gratefully sat down across from Jeno. He then took his hat and mask off, fingers working through his hair for a moment to rid it of the hat’s aftereffects.
“Thank you, Yeonwoo,” he thanked the host, which you repeated as well.
The boy, who you now knew to be named Yeonwoo, bowed politely to the both of you before scurrying off.
“You must come here often,” you commented, hand poised to write his response.
“My family and I came here a lot when I was younger. Since I started my career it’s been difficult to eat here as often as I did before. Especially because their food isn’t technically allowed in my diet,” he had a mischievous glint in his eye as then he added, “But you won’t tell on me, right?”
“Of course not, unless writing an article about you that will be published in a magazine counts as tattling,” you snorted, much to his delight.
He laughed, “Right, right. That’s pretty much the ultimate form of tattling, huh?”
“If it gets published, yeah. If not, then the only people who will know will be you, me, and my editor. And I suppose Yeonwoo and our server, as well.”
“Speaking of our server, there she is!” Jeno announced, making the young girl who was approaching your table blush behind her notepad. She was probably around Yeonwoo’s age, maybe a little older.
“Good evening,” she greeted the two of you politely. “My name is Jieun, I’ll be your server tonight. Are you ready to order?”
You were a bit confused by her question, you hadn’t been given any menus yet. But Jeno seemed completely unfazed.
“Two orders of my regular, please,” he requested sweetly, which she quickly scribbled down on her pad.
“Of course, it’ll be out soon,” she informed you before hurrying away.
He turned back to you, “Jieun is Yeonwoo’s older cousin, their grandparents own the restaurant.”
You added this to your notes as well. It could be nice to add in to set the scene and show how down-to-Earth Jeno was, knowing this family as well as his own and not forgetting his roots even as a big model. Or something like that, you’d figure it out eventually.
“So, interview questions?” He prompted you, bringing you out of your contemplative planning ahead. You’d write that up later.
“Earlier you had mentioned your family, tell me a bit about them. Brothers, sisters?”
Could you have looked that information up online and found it? Definitely, but you wanted it from the source, to see if he would provide you with anything that wasn’t already out there. And you wanted to get a feel of your subject.
“Well there’s my parents, my older sister, and me. They’re not famous or anything. My parents own a grocery store nearby, and my sister’s a teacher.”
“You took my next question right out of my mouth,” you clicked your tongue in teasing disappointment, continuing on with a different one. “You said you used to come here often with your family, what are some other things you miss from your childhood that you don’t do as often?”
Jeno’s face easily betrayed his delighted surprise, “Oh, I wasn’t expecting that one.”
“Hm?”
“That’s a good question. Normally I get asked about celebrity crushes or my ideal type.”
You tilted your head to the side curiously, “If you thought that I was just going to ask you the same questions you usually get asked, why did you offer for me to interview you?”
“Never mind, never mind, sorry.” He coughed awkwardly, then quickly went to get off that topic, “Uh, it might sound kind of weird, but I used to help out at my parents’ store a lot as a kid. It was my first job I ever had. As soon as I could reach the register on a high stool, they put me to work. It’s actually how I got scouted, for modeling. My manager now just happened to come through my line while I was on the register and gave me his card. I thought it was a scam, honestly. But Jaemin made me give him a call, and he turned out to be legit. Even if I had the time to help at the store now, I’d just be too much of a distraction if I tried. And trust me, I tried. Once. So yeah, I miss helping out there.”
The desire for an answer to your other question was still there, but it was a path that you didn’t want to go down right now. Right now was time for the interview. So you simply scratched down his statement about his parents’ shop, then shorthanded off to the side ‘why me?’ as you readied your next question.
“You knew Jaemin before you guys were famous?”
“Yeah, we’ve been friends forever.” A fond smile crossed Jeno’s face. “Seatmates since primary school. He blew up with streaming first before I got my break as a model, actually. Most people usually assume it’s the other way around.”
“And what about the others?”
As Jeno eagerly answered your questions and you filled up page after page on your notepad, there was still that one lingering in the back of your mind.
Why you?
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Over the course of a couple weeks, you’d spent a considerable amount of time with Jeno. According to his schedule that he had sent you, every free moment he got was taken up by your interview. Sometimes it would be more formal, like your first dinner meeting, and sometimes it was more casual, get-togethers in the lounge with the other VIP members or a riverside walk that felt more like two friends talking than a professional interview. And it all went in your notes, it would all go in your article. This was going to be a great article. The real Lee Jeno when he’s relaxed, what he’s like off the runway.
Today was very special, however, as you’d been invited to tag along to one of his photoshoots. You were just outside the building housed at the address you’d been given when you were met by a young man whose stern gaze never left you. It seemed as if he had been waiting for you.
“Are you the journalist?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, completely skipping any greetings.
“Ah yes, Y/L/N Y/N,” you confirmed, nodding your head respectfully to him as you held out your VIP lounge card as proof. Jeno told you that would be your pass to get in.
The man only scrutinized the card for a moment before he pivoted on his heel, “Follow me.”
You kept his hurried pace easily, ready to ask him questions as well, “So what’s your job here?”
He took a moment to push open a door that then nearly closed on you before answering, “I’m Lee Jeno’s PA.”
“Oh, Song Eunseok!” The name easily came to your mind.
The PA’s eyes widened in surprise, “Jeno’s brought me up?”
“Of course he has! You’re with him pretty much all the time, how could he not mention you?” You flipped through your notebook to where you’d taken previous notes about him, “Here, I asked him to walk me through his typical day, and he mentioned ‘Seokkie’ like seven times.”
Eunseok physically grimaced at this, “I’ve requested that he not call me that.”
“Why? I think it’s a cute nickname.”
“Really?” His eyes were now trained on his shoes as opposed to his previous laser focus on the end of the hallway. Your eyes could’ve been playing tricks on you, but you swore the tips of his ears were tinged pink, too.
There was another door, and this time you definitely couldn’t miss the fact that he held it open for you this time.
“Really,” you echoed.
The door had led to what you could really only imagine to be the set. Huge lightboxes, a couple cameras, and a multitude of people all set up with a single black sheet as the focal point. A white loveseat contrasted it starkly, but that wasn’t where your eyes were drawn. They were drawn to the man seated elegantly atop it, dressed head-to-toe like the playboy prince of a small but filthy rich country. Lee Jeno.
“You can wait for him over here with me,” Eunseok tapped your elbow with a feather-light touch, snapping you from your near-trance.
“Thanks.” You walked with him towards a table lined with various food and drink.
Your focus was still on the PA as he got a bottle of water, opened it, took a lemon slice from a small bowl and squeezed it into the drink before plopping a blue straw in as well. Then didn’t drink it. Instead, he turned back to you and held it in his hand patiently.
“The straw disturbs the makeup as little as possible,” Eunseok explained to you, and it was then that you realized it wasn’t for him, it was for Jeno. “Makes the makeup artists’ lives a little bit easier.”
“That’s very considerate. I wouldn’t have even thought of that,” you commented, taking note of that process as your focus returned back to Jeno and the photoshoot.
Knowing that your next question might be considered disrespectful, you leaned closer to Eunseok to whisper, “So who’s the photographer?”
He understood your delicacy, replying back equally quiet, “Chen Man, she’s brilliant. Jeno’s worked with her in the past, but this is his first solo shoot with her. It’s for the new YSL campaign that he was chosen to be the face of.”
And you were rocketed back to the fact that Lee Jeno was a famous model. Obviously, you hadn’t really forgotten it, but in your casual meetings and interviewing outside of his work, the magnitude of it was lessened. But a PA, giant photoshoot, famous photographer, and being selected as the new face of a campaign for a huge designer really hammered in the famous model part.
“Wow.”
It was just then that Chen Man called for a short break, and the silent studio was immediately filled with chatter. Jeno made a beeline for you and Eunseok, his normal contagious grin across his face, “Hey, Y/N! I’m glad you made it here okay.”
Up close, you could appreciate the detail and regality of his outfit. It was made of crushed velvet of a deep cerulean color; various intricate medals flashing on his chest; dark epaulettes making his already broad shoulders even more imposing; large black boots; and silver jewelry and chains glinting on his fingers and neck.
Eunseok offered the water out to Jeno then, and he accepted it gratefully, “Thanks, Eunseok.”
You continued from the model’s earlier statement, “Yeah, Eunseok made sure I got to the right place.”
“Good, I sent him out there to get you.” He turned on his PA, “You didn’t give Y/N a hard time, did you?”
“My job is to make sure none of your insane fans somehow get in here,” the other man scoffed.
“So you did give her a hard time.”
Eunseok rolled his eyes at Jeno’s teasing words. Despite knowing that they were employer-employee, it felt much more like two friends to you. You added that to your notes.
Jeno took a couple big sips of his water, and you took this time to ask him a couple of questions.
“So Eunseok was saying that this shoot is for the new YSL campaign that you’re the face of. Have you ever done something like this before?”
He blinked at you a couple times before actually replying, “Yeah, it’s really an honor and a big opportunity to be chosen for this. I’ve done solo shoots before, but not ones of this magnitude.”
Another figure approached your small group, a makeup artist. Jeno handed his water back to Eunseok before leading the way a little further away to sit in a chair. As the makeup artist attended to his makeup, you continued with the interview.
“How familiar are you with the photographer on this shoot?”
“I’ve worked with Chen Man a few times before—” he paused to let the makeup artist apply his lip color again. After she was done, he continued, “Her ideas are incredible and she’s honestly so wonderful to work with. However, all those other times I was with other models, so doing a solo photoshoot with her is a bit nerve-wracking. She’s the kind of person that you really want to make proud, you know?”
Thinking of Ms. Zhang and her disappointment in you earlier, you nodded, “Yeah, I know.”
There was a call for everyone to start getting back into their places, and you took this as your cue to leave Jeno alone. He had work to do.
The makeup artist did one touch up on his face before letting him up out of the chair, another person coming to his side to fix his hair up just the way they wanted it, walking alongside him awkwardly to do so.
“Take a bunch of notes on your little notepad, Y/N!” Jeno quipped as he walked back in front of the camera.
“Will do!” You affirmed, holding your notebook above your head and shaking it slightly so he could see it.
Returning to your previous spot off to the side with Eunseok, you had a fond smile on your lips from your short interaction with Jeno. Eunseok had a little smirk of his own as he gazed at you.
“And what’s that smile for?” You questioned, head tilted.
“Nothing.”
You elbowed him with a short giggle, “Come on, tell me.”
“No,” he shook his head, that same smile on his lips.
Even as you rolled your eyes, your focus never faltered from Eunseok. You changed tactics, a slight pout on your face as you asked again, “Please, Seokkie?”
Finally, he relented, “You’re pretty special, Y/N.”
“What?” You questioned in pleasant surprise.
“For Manager Han to have approved this interview after what happened last time, Jeno probably begged.”
“I can't imagine what would be so special about me.”
Eunseok had a brightness to his features that you hadn’t seen yet as he replied, “I can.”
You raised an eyebrow, “And what is it?”
Shouts from the set took both your attentions away from each other. Chen Man had been calling directions out during the whole shoot, but never with such aggression as then.
“Jeno! Lee Jeno!”
You scanned the scene in front of you as you tried to figure out what exactly was happening. Jeno’s arms were crossed across his chest, a startlingly stern but calm gaze focused on… you?
“Jeno can you—ugh, fifteen-minute break, everybody!” She yelled out in exasperation, the rest of the crew breaking the silence, scattering from the set.
Chen Man continued addressing her model, “Jeno, your expressions… they’re off.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll work on them.”
Despite acknowledging her words, you were doubtful of if he had actually registered them, stalking off the set with seemingly one destination in mind.
“Y/N,” Jeno stopped right by you and Eunseok. “Can I speak with you for a second?”
“Of course,” you nodded, well aware of how the crew was only pretending to be busy, instead actually focused on the three of you.
Your subject took off again, and you guessed that he anticipated that you’d follow him. Which you did. Eunseok stayed behind.
His longer legs made it a little hard to keep up with him as he took twists and turns down hallways of the building.
“Jeno,” you breathed out, seeming to finally snap him out of whatever mood he had been in.
Immediately, he slowed down to your pace, a faint smile coming to his lips, “Sorry, long legs.”
“Where are we going?”
He abruptly stopped, “Here is fine.”
It was the middle of some random hallway. He apparently didn’t have an actual destination in mind, more-so a distance.
“So what do you need to talk to me about?” You questioned, pencil and notepad at the ready. It had to be something for the interview, it couldn’t possibly be anything else.
“Y/N…” Jeno reached his hands out to cover yours, gently lowering the pencil and notepad for you. His hands were big and warm on yours, and you felt nerves flare up at his clear insinuation that this wasn’t for the interview.
“Jeno…” you said back with a nervous half-giggle. He was still holding your hands.
“This isn’t part of the interview. I’m not interviewee Jeno, and you’re not interviewer Y/N right now.”
“Okay…”
As soon as you had accepted these terms, he released his feather-light hold on your hands and took his own back to wring them nervously. What could Lee Jeno possibly be nervous about?
“Hm, I’ve never done this before,” he chuckled, pressing a palm to the center of his chest.
“Done what?”
“Okay, I’m just going to be upfront. Uh, I think you’re super great, and pretty, and awesome and I’d really like to be able to take you out on a date some time.”
This had to be a fucking joke. No way that someone who looks like him, an actual model, someone who gets paid for being ridiculously attractive, could actually be asking you out. This had to be a sick, terrible, horrible joke he was playing on you.
And yet as his big brown eyes gazed at you, wide and hopeful, looking a lot like a puppy waiting to be adopted from some animal shelter, you knew that he was being genuine.
And you panicked.
Stuttering for a moment, you finally choked out the most formal and emotionally removed response you could’ve come up with, “I’m sorry, I—that wouldn’t be appropriate, since I’m interviewing you right now. A bias or conflict of interest would damage the integrity of my piece as well as my career.”
Surprisingly, his features didn’t seem as crestfallen as you anticipated, his expressions were always so easy to read. He, in fact, seemed very happy with your reply.
“I get it,” he beamed at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze for a moment before letting it go. “After the article, then.”
That wasn’t what you meant. At all. But between your own burning cheeks and internal state of panic, you couldn’t express this to him. Or even really process your own thoughts right then.
“We should head back, Eunseok will come looking for us soon,” Jeno nodded with his head back in the general direction that you two had come from.
He kept a polite distance from you, allowing some of the panic alarms blaring in your mind to quiet just a bit. You tried to brainstorm ways you could possibly keep this interview going forever. Ways to give you as much time as possible. To do what, exactly? Maybe come up with an actual way of rejecting him. Or maybe give him enough time to change his romantic focus to someone else, so that he would never end up revisiting this subject after the interview.
You could dream.
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“Oh my god!” NingNing exclaimed. “Are you shitting me?!”
You’d just recalled your day to your roommate, finally ending at the part where Jeno had asked you on a date. She had literally done a spit-take back into her soda as she smacked your leg in excitement.
Despite still being in disbelief yourself, Jeno had been extremely up-front and clear about it. No room for misinterpretation. Unlike your response to him.
“Well when’s the date?” NingNing squealed, pressing for more information.
“I said no,” you deadpanned.
“What?”
“Well, kind of.”
At the clear grimace on your face, your friend sighed, “Y/N, what did you tell him? Verbatim.”
“I told him that it would be inappropriate right now because a bias or conflict of interest would ruin the integrity of my piece and any career opportunity that came out of it,” you repeated your statement from earlier almost word-for-word, sure that it would be burned into your memory for the rest of your life.
“You do know that he now definitely thinks that you were telling him to just wait until after the article is over, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of,” you groaned, dropping your head into your hands and rubbing your face in exasperation.
“You don’t want to go on a date with Jeno?”
“I don’t want to date Lee Jeno,” you confirmed, nodding the head that you were still holding.
“Let me just review the situation here: you’ve got a very sweet, very funny, very hot guy that’s into you. What’s the problem?”
“He’s hot.”
Finally, you’d found it. The real reason you’d said no, the real reason you had a deep pit of dread in your stomach as soon as the words had left Jeno’s mouth hours earlier.
She snorted, “That’s a problem?”
“His entire career is based off being hot, he’s a model,” you explained rather desperately, relieved to finally be able to put your tumultuous thoughts into proper words. “I can’t deal with all that shit that comes with it. I just can’t.”
“So you’ll never want to date him? You’re not going to change your mind?”
“No, never. I couldn’t.”
“Never say never,” NingNing taunted with a sing-song voice, but at your eye-roll, became more serious. “Okay, let’s just say you’ll never date Jeno in your life—despite the fact that nothing is ever definite—you shouldn’t lead him on. Intentional or otherwise. Don’t let him spend the next few weeks thinking that you two are going to date after the article’s over.”
The anxiety was still there, however. “What if he doesn’t actually think that and I just misunderstood him? What if he just naturally gets over me in the next few weeks and doesn’t need me to confront him about this and straight-up reject him? He’s probably never been rejected in his life, what if he doesn’t take it well? What—”
She cut your endless strings of ‘what if’s short, “Y/N, didn’t he say that he’d never done this before?”
Realization hit you straight to the gut. “What if me rejecting him makes him never want to ask anybody else out again for the rest of his life and I scar him permanently?”
Your roommate had a clear look of ‘yikes’ on her face, and pure mortification ran through every inch of you.
“Never mind, there’s no way I could ever have such an impact on Lee Jeno’s life, that’s fucking ridiculous. I’m just some normal person, some journalist, and he’s literally a supermodel. No way this would actually matter to someone like that.”
“Y/N, don’t say stuff like that,” NingNing frowned, pulling some hair away from your face gently. “You matter to me, remember? You’re my best friend.”
Completely ignoring her, you continued, “I just have to be upfront with him, tell him I don’t want to go on a date with him, and be done with it. He’ll probably never think about it again for the rest of his life.”
She let out a sigh as if she were going to say something but thought better of it. You didn’t press her; your mind had been made up.
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You couldn’t do it.
The next time you saw Jeno, you had every intention of being upfront. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were an absolute coward. Some part of you didn’t want to tell him, for whatever reason.
Maybe because the way his face absolutely lit up when he saw you was something you’d never seen anybody do for you before. Maybe because he asked you how your day was and didn’t look disinterested in your answer. Maybe because no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself that this was a professional interview, he made you feel so at ease that you somehow talked more about yourself than him.
Maybe because you did kind of want to date him.
Your notebook had been completely abandoned about fifteen minutes into your ‘lunch meeting,’ a fact that went mostly unnoticed by you. Until the waiter came with the bill and you had to move it out of the way for him to set it on the tabletop. You’d written just a couple short notes, nothing substantial. That wasn’t an interview, you couldn’t even try to bullshit it to yourself. That was a date-but-not-a-date. And you enjoyed yourself.
As you contemplated over your mostly-blank page, Jeno had already tucked his own card into the pouch and waved the waiter back over. Before you could argue him paying for you, the waiter was halfway across the restaurant.
“Jeno, I can pay for my own food,” you reminded him gently, feeling very much like you were scolding an over-excited puppy that had accidentally knocked over a potted plant in its haste to greet you.
“And I can pay for both of ours,” he countered.
You held his gaze firmly, waiting for him to— there it was.
His mouth split into a sheepish grin as he held up his hands in surrender, “Alright, I get it, I get it. Interview time right now. We’ll split the check for now.”
For now.
Maybe you liked the idea of that.
“Except this one, since they already ran my card,” Jeno added, a victorious smirk on his face, one that had you shaking your head fondly.
“Can I at least tip?”
“Already added that on the receipt.”
“How dare you be so thoughtful and respectful.”
He seemed about ready to quip something back when a distant chorus of squeals cut him off. You took a cursory glance around, eyes landing on a group of teenage girls standing just outside the window that you were seated by. They weren’t uncomfortably close, but it was clear what had made them so excited.
Jeno ducked his head shyly as he raised a hand to acknowledge them, only setting their nervous titters off again. Maybe he should have left his mask and hat on, or not chosen a table by the window.
And your heart dropped as you were once again reminded of who exactly the man in front of you was. Not just some cute guy named Lee Jeno, but a model who was known internationally, with fans who would recognize him out and about, with a career and life that was under the public gaze constantly.
You couldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject yourself to that. It would be too much for you.
With the girls still watching the two of you, you collected your notepad and stood up, stiffly bowing to him. “Thank you for allowing me to interview you, Mr. Lee.”
Thankfully, he took your lead, standing and returning your bow, “Of course, thank you as well, Ms. Y/L/N.”
Hopefully the girls got the message that this was business and nothing else. A dating rumor with Lee Jeno was absolutely the one thing you did not need in your life. Lee Jeno was absolutely the one thing you did not need in your life.
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The light hum that had been in Ms. Zhang’s throat through most of her reading of your article suddenly changed tone as she came to the ending. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully, and your mind was running wild with nerves as you waited for her to speak.
“It’s good, Y/N,” she started.
You sensed a ‘but’ coming next.
“But… in the very first paragraph you introduce him as model by day, and explorer by night, or something to that effect.”
“Yes, that’s how he and his friends introduced him.”
“But you never bring up his ‘exploring’ again. This is about his life as a model and what he’s like outside of modelling here. You hooked me on the exploring part, but left me ultimately unsatisfied with that point.”
She was right. She was absolutely right. In your own personal whirlwind of confusion about your emotions and wants, you’d left a loose end in your article.
Ms. Zhang continued, her tone rising, “But…”
Oh, another ‘but.’
“This might just be perfect for a sequel. We publish this and advertise it as a two-part look into him, the first part his model by day, and the second part all about him as an explorer.”
You were caught off-guard, “You want to publish it?”
You had honestly expected her to throw it in the trash and fire you. You’d been so all over the place the entire time you’d been working on the article, you didn’t think it was anywhere close to your best work.
“Of course, this is the most hard-hitting and real piece that’s ever been done about the man! Most of it is tabloid nonsense. Not to mention that this is the first interview he’s done in over a year, it’s fresh content. It’s perfect, Y/N.”
Ms. Zhang just called your article perfect. You were on Cloud Nine, barely listening as she continued.
“Do you think you’ll be able to get a second interview with him? Maybe even tag along on one of his exploring trips or something, like how you went to one of his photoshoots in this one?”
That snapped you back into reality. Going on a trip with Jeno? That sounded dicey. But… also a chance to extend the interview, prolong the inevitable: his expectation that you’ll start dating after the interview. Your worst fear.
Avoiding an uncomfortable scenario and making your career out of it? It was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up.
“Of course, Ms. Zhang.”
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Right as you walked into the VIP lounge, you were met with the expectant face of Jeno. You’d agreed to meet him there on your lunch break, right after your morning meeting with Ms. Zhang, to let him know if she was going to move forward with publishing your article or not. It felt a bit weird being at a nightclub in the middle of the day in your work clothes, but it was one of the more private places to meet with him.
“So?” He asked hopefully. “How’d it go?”
“She’s going to publish it,” you breathed out, still in shock yourself.
Two strong arms were suddenly around you, pulling you into a warm chest that was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Oh my god!” Jeno hugged you tightly. “Congrats, Y/N! I’m so proud of you!”
You hugged him back for a moment, enjoying it more than you should have considering you swore up and down that you weren’t going to let yourself date him. Then you remembered the other half of the conversation, your arms going limp.
“And she wants a second part.”
“That’s great!” He exclaimed, then after another moment, it seemed to have dawned on him. “Oh wait.”
And he let go of you, a particular chill coming to your body as he took a step back from you, declaring, “Professionalism. No bias or conflict of interest.”
You felt bad. You felt so bad. And yet you nodded, “Yeah, it’s still going to have to be like that.”
Maybe forever, if you could swing it just right.
“So… a second part about what, exactly? The article was super great, but I’m not sure how I could be interesting enough for a sequel.”
“Your ‘exploring,’” you explained. “I had mentioned it, but never returned to the topic or expanded on it, so she wants this whole second part to be about your trips and you know… all that stuff. Whatever you get up to when you’re not a model, and when you’re not a regular dude here.”
A rather cheeky grin spread across his face at this, and you didn’t want to know why he was so excited about you not dating, because you had a feeling it would be something awful close to it.
“Well then, what better way to get to know Explorer Jeno than coming with me on my trip to a tropical island next week?”
You were taken aback by both the invite but also by the event itself. After all, Jeno had given you his entire schedule for the past two months, which included next week. And you didn’t remember a trip being anywhere on there.
“Since when have you been going to a tropical island next week?” You asked incredulously.
“Since now.”
You sighed, rubbing your face. “Jeno, you can’t drop everything in your life just to do this. I can wait until whenever your next actual scheduled break is for whatever trip you make then.”
“Yeah, but I can’t wait,” he insisted, a near pout across his features. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, half-mumbling to himself, “I’m calling my manager right now. He owes me vacation days anyway, I’ll just take them early. Make my three-week backpacking trip in Europe next year fifteen days instead. I can’t wait.”
That went straight to your heart, and you felt your chest hurt from the implications of that. He couldn’t wait until he could date you. With every passing moment you felt like a more and more terrible human being. Which you were, you absolutely were just a horrible human being for doing this to him. After all, like you’d said, you were never going to date Lee Jeno.
Right?
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One week later and you were in your third airport of the trip, your second layover as you waited for your connecting flight. You’d been in interviewer mode since Jeno had picked you up to head to the first airport that morning. Asking questions, writing answers, asking more questions. There was no room for anything but business on this trip. This article would be the follow-up to your first piece that your boss thought was perfect. So this had to be more perfect than perfect. You wanted to make her proud.
Jeno, surprisingly, was being rather professional too. Other than the slight touch here, an odd phrase there that couldn’t exactly be classified as professional. A brush of your hands as he tried to get your attention, off-handed comment about how cute you were when you were focused taking notes. You’d only remind him that this was a professional article, hoping that he couldn’t see the bashful smile on your lips.
Or even now, he returned from what was supposed to be a quick bathroom break with waters and snacks for the both of you.
“How much do I owe you?” You asked as you accepted the food and drink.
“Nothing.”
You frowned.
“Come on, Y/N,” he sighed in exasperation, cracking open his own water bottle. “I know we’re serious professional interviewing here, but two people doing business together can still be friendly and do nice gestures for each other.”
He was right. He was absolutely right. You were being a jerk for no reason. Well, not for no reason. There was a small voice in your head that hoped that maybe if you pushed him away enough now he would change his mind about wanting to date you, that he’d think you were actually a jerk. And that little voice was apparently wrong. And also a piece of shit. Jeno didn’t deserve that.
“Right, sorry,” you shook your grumpy face off, offering him a smile instead. “Thanks, Jeno.”
He pulled down his face mask to be able to drink the water, and that combined with his inconspicuous baseball cap brought back the idea that he was a famous celebrity who had to cover up his appearance when he went out to avoid being detected. Even in some random foreign country you didn’t know the name of on a layover. If you did actually start dating him, would he have to wear those on your dates? Any time you wanted to spend time together in public? Would you have to start wearing them?
Those were ridiculous thoughts, especially because you were never going to date Lee Jeno.
Right?
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On the plane, you halted the interview to allow the two of you to both take naps, already feeling the toll of the heavy travelling you’d done today. And you’d be doing even more soon, as this flight wouldn’t even take you to the island directly, you had to take a ferry from a different island’s airport out to the actual island that was your destination. Then a car ride of some sort from the harbor to wherever you were staying. And based off the clothes Jeno had requested you bring, you’d be getting very in touch with nature on this trip, another exhausting idea.
All for an interview. All for a way to avoid the inevitable.
As you snoozed, not quite asleep yet, you felt Jeno slowly shift in his sleep, his head lolling to the side until it finally found a resting place on your shoulder. Even in his sleep this man completely disregarded professionalism.
But you were too tired to complain, soon falling asleep yourself, with your own head rolling until it finally found a resting place on his.
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“So what exactly happened at your last interview that was so bad you were banned from them?”
Your questions continued as soon as you’d left the airport on the island, only halting when you were caught off-guard by Jeno’s choice of transportation: a cream yellow moped. Which you were now on the back of, clinging onto your bag for dear life. Thank God you had packed light like he suggested.
“It’s kind of a long story,” he replied loudly over the wind. “I’ll tell you when we get to the hotel, okay?”
“Fine.”
“We’ve got some tighter turns coming up, you might want to hold on to something actually attached to the moped.”
He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you then held onto him for dear life as he whipped around the turns. How he could possibly make a moped feel dangerous was truly incredible to you.
“Yeah, that—” he stumbled over a voice crack. “That’s good. Much more secure.”
“This question shouldn’t be a long story: Have you ever driven one of these things before?”
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The hotel was small and homey, with so few rooms that the two of you would be sharing one. Jeno had already informed you of that beforehand, having asked for the okay from you, that sharing the room wouldn’t be too unprofessional. While it definitely was, there were no other rooms available, so you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. When he informed you that there were two beds, you finally agreed.
Except it wasn’t two beds, as you found out when you walked in. It was a bed and a pull-out couch. And he’d already claimed the pull-out couch for himself.
“Jeno,” you sighed again as you watched him set his stuff down on the less comfortable option. “This isn’t two beds.”
He shrugged, “We have separate places to sleep, that’s what you were worried about, right?”
Your patience was wearing thin. It was almost annoying how sweet he was. Well, it wasn’t really him being sweet that annoyed you. It was the sneaky ways he liked to do it.
“Jeno…” you repeated his name, trailing off as you waited for him acknowledge you.
He was still messing around with setting up the pull-out couch.
“Jeno, look at me.”
At your request, he immediately did so, the attentiveness catching you off-guard for a moment. But you were determined.
“I don’t like being lied to or tricked. Even if it’s something nice, you know? It’s sweet, but I like to make my own decisions about things. Even things that may seem little to you, like splitting the bill at restaurants, or whether you’re coming up to get me or I’m going down to meet you, or you dropping all your plans to go on some spur-of-the-moment trip, or who’s taking the couch and who’s taking the bed. I’d like a say in the matter, okay?”
He gulped, seeming to really be taking his time to mull over what you were saying. And you did, too. It was another reason that you could never date him. He was a celebrity, he was used to being able to do whatever, to not having to worry about the kinds of things normal people like you had to worry about. The implications of that terrified you. You couldn’t do it.
Finally, he said, “Okay, yeah. I understand. I never really saw it like that, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more thoughtful of how it was making you feel. I’m really sorry, Y/N.”
Shit, this dude was way too fucking sweet.
You nodded, mumbling some kind of response to the genuine apology he’d given you.
Clearly as eager to change the topic as you, Jeno spoke up, “So, what was it that you’d asked me on the moped earlier?”
And you were more than happy to revisit that, snatching up your notebook from your bag and sitting on the bed, “What happened at your last interview that caused you to be banned from them?”
“Oh, right,” he physically grimaced at this, rubbing his face with his hands for a moment. “It’s a long story, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’ve got plenty of paper.”
Jeno let out a sigh, sitting on the pull-out couch. “No, Y/N. I can tell you, but you can’t write it down, you can’t publish it. I’m sorry to have to ask you this, because I know how dedicated you are to the integrity of your work but… if you’re going to publish it, I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. The others don’t even know the whole story. Jaemin doesn’t know.”
His words struck you differently, hearing the genuine defeat and distress in his voice. With a twinging heart, you tucked your notepad and pencil back into your bag. For someone who had been preaching about professionalism and keeping the integrity of your article, you were really so ready to throw it out for him as soon as he asked, weren’t you?
“I won’t write it down, I won’t tell a soul,” you reassured him, wanting nothing more than to sit down next to him and hold his hand and tell him that everything was okay. But you still clung onto some little semblance of professionalism here. For some fucking reason, when it was getting clearer by the minute that all your resistance would be futile.
Just a glimmer of a smile was across his lips for a moment at your actions before it was taken over by the same pensive face as before, and he started the story.
“It was… oh probably over a year ago now. I was still kind of new to the modelling industry, but it felt like everyone’s eyes were on me. My company toted me around as their rising star and every second I wasn’t at a gig, I was being interviewed by someone. It was a lot, but it was freaking awesome.”
The brightness in his features that had been there as he recalled the earlier days of his career suddenly turned dark at his next words. “Until this one interview. It was for a smaller magazine, and my manager didn’t even know why I wanted to do the interview. But it was a magazine that my mom liked to read, and I wanted her to be able to see her son in it. So I sat down with the interviewer, and it felt like it was going like all my other interviews had gone. And maybe because I wanted to really make a good impression on her, so the article my mom read would be as positive as possible, I accidentally led her on or something like that.”
You tilted your head curiously at this last statement. If it had come from any other hot guy, you might have doubted his actual intentions, but it was Jeno. You knew that he wasn’t only physically attractive but had such a way of being naturally charming and making people feel at ease that it was impossible not to be drawn in by his attractive personality. He didn’t do it on purpose, he was just a genuinely nice guy.
“But afterwards, she asked for my number. I said no. I let her down as easy as I could, and she took it with grace. Or I had thought so until Manager Han and the CEO of my company—who I had never met until this—sat me down in his office and showed me a naked picture of some guy and asked if it was me. You couldn’t see his face, and his build was similar to mine, so I could see how they were doubtful. It wasn’t me, but that didn’t matter. The interviewer had sent those pictures to my company saying that if they didn’t pay her a bunch of money, she would post them online saying they were of me.”
Your eyes widened almost comically at this. You couldn’t believe that someone could actually think of doing something like that, especially to Jeno.
“Now, the company doesn’t take very well to people trying to extort them or threaten their people, so she was taken care of.” After a pause, his eyes shot open comically wide as he shook his head fervently, “Legally, in the legal system, it’s not like my company like killed her or anything, I phrased that very badly.”
A quiet laugh came from your mouth at his backpedaling.
“Anyway, they decided that after that, it would be best for me to not do interviews for a while. I don’t really know what happened to her after the court case, but to my knowledge, she hasn’t bothered us. And I haven’t had an interview since. Until you.”
“Until me,” you echoed, mind reeling from this story.
This interview really meant more to Jeno than you had realized before. You’d incorrectly and selfishly assumed that he was so invested in it just because he liked you. But it was more than that. His last interview had been a disaster, the interviewer threatened to humiliate him publicly, and betrayed him. He had taken a chance on you to be different than that, taken a chance to make you his first interview back after the shit the last one had put him through. You were sure that he was feeling the pressure from his company to make it the best possible return to them ever. And he had entrusted it all with you.
You weren’t sure of how long you’d been sitting in silence for, but it started suffocating you, so you finally choked out, “I’m sorry she did that to you. She’s… a bitch.”
Jeno chuckled, “I guess. I kind of just feel bad for her.”
“I don’t,” you snorted, feeling your blood starting to boil as you thought about it even more. “She tried to ruin your career and reputation because she got rejected. It’s not your fault, Jeno. You didn’t do anything to deserve that. She’s just a bitch.”
While he didn’t outright agree with you, the faint smile on his features was still apparent as he went to stand up, forcing some pep into his tone. “Okay, time for some island exploring. After all, you’re here for Explorer Jeno, right?”
“Right!”
Right?
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Being on the island was refreshing. Not only because you’d never been on a trip to a place quite like it before, but just everything felt absolutely perfect. It was the perfect temperature outside, the warm sun being balanced out by a cool breeze that blew through your hair, the water surrounding you was the perfect clear blue, the flora the perfect rich green, and the man with you was… perfect.
You’d given up on trying to keep your fond thoughts of Jeno at bay. He was wonderful, that was undeniable. And as you went around the island together, his baseball cap and face mask left behind in the hotel room, the notion of his fame slipped from your mind. Sure, you were still writing down your observations, small adventures, and pertinent questions you asked him. But you weren’t interviewing Famous Supermodel Jeno right now, you were interviewing Explorer Jeno. And he was someone you could let yourself fall for, even for just a few days on this little island.
After your third day on the island as you signed onto the hotel wifi to transcribe your notes from your notebook to your word document on your laptop, a few email notifications popped up, catching your attention. Reception wasn’t the best, and you had so many other things occupying your focus and time—mainly Jeno—that you rarely checked your phone. Not to mention that before you’d left, you were unsure of if you’d even have cell phone service on the island, so you’d told your friends to email you if they needed anything.
One was an email from NingNing, the short preview of her message that you could see making you shake your head. You were not on a romantic getaway with Jeno.
The next was some flyer from a store advertising their latest sale, which you quickly discarded in favor of opening the one from Ms. Zhang. The person who was literally paying for you to be there right then.
The gist of her email was basically just asking for a status update, a routine check-in to see how your research and interview was coming along. You filled her in on what kind of direction and outline you were thinking of for the article, telling her some of the things you’d done together around the island, framing it as professionally as you could. However, it was very hard to make it business-like, you realized in slight defeat as you reread the email draft to yourself. Maybe you could make it casual-business-friendly-sounding instead. After editing a couple phrases here and there, you read it one more time. Satisfied that you’d made it sound the least like a ‘romantic getaway’ as possible, you hit send.
You had just sent it when Jeno emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed and toweling off his wet hair.
When the two of you had gotten back from wandering the streets and seeing the nightlife of the town, you’d given him first shower of the night, wanting to sort out your notes as soon as possible. You had a lot to move over just from that night alone, especially the moment when Jeno was ordering something from an older street vendor and had suddenly busted out some local dialect he’d picked up from God knows where. And the man knew what he was saying too. Jeno never ceased to amaze you.
“Jeno,” you called his name out from where you sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop with the email still up in front of you.
“Hm?” He hummed in acknowledgement, abandoning his towel in order to run his fingers through his damp hair.
“The way the guys had described your exploring, and the stuff you’d told me to bring made me think it’d be more… rugged than this.”
A handsome, crooked grin split his lips, seeming very delighted at your observation, “And what did the guys tell you?”
“Jaemin and Renjun seemed fearful for my life and told me to be safe; Haechan and Chenle were rather ecstatic and told me to have fun in a tone that made me not want to know their implications; Mark told me to bring plenty of water and a first aid kit; and Jisung… well he didn’t actually say anything but his face said it all.”
“You talked to all the guys about the trip?”
“Not by choice, NingNing brought me to an influencer party with Jisung, Jaemin, and Renjun the other day, and I was summoned to the lounge by Chenle and subsequently ambushed by him, Haechan, and Mark about it.”
“They’re all menaces,” Jeno shook his head fondly. “But don’t worry, I’ve got some plans for us tomorrow.”
“That sounds ominous.”
He giggled.
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“So we’re hiking to the top of this volcano?” You summarized what Jeno had just told you, in much fewer words.
“Yep!”
“Then camping near the top, which we may or may not be allowed to do.”
“Yep!”
“Without a guide.”
“I’m your guide, Y/N! I do this kind of stuff all the time, and there’s a trail to follow anyway.”
“Now I know why Jaemin and Renjun feared for my life.”
“They were being dramatic, it’ll be fine.”
“Oh I’m not protesting going, I’ll just make sure to type up my will in the notes app in my phone first.”
“Now you’re being dramatic.”
You laughed, putting your hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. I won’t write my final will and testament right now.”
“Let’s go!”
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Thankfully, you’d taken heed of Mark’s advice to bring extra water. With the amount you were sweating, you would’ve been dehydrated less than an hour in if you weren’t constantly replenishing the lost fluids. It wasn’t an incredibly strenuous or difficult hike. Not a casual stroll, but you were managing. It was just that it was so hot and humid now that you were in the more confined landscape of the trees, you couldn’t tell if more of the moisture was your own sweat or the water hanging in the air and clinging to your skin as you continued through it.
Jeno kept you plenty entertained with stories of his previous (mis)adventures, almost all of which were solo. There were a couple times that he brought along others, but they didn’t go great. One unfortunate happenstance was when he’d dragged Eunseok out white water rafting with him and the poor guy fell out of the raft into freezing cold water. According to Jeno, his PA almost quit right on the spot. Another time, the other VIP lounge members had joined him as a celebration trip after Renjun hit 10 million subscribers. They ran out of water on the second day, Chenle ended up spraining his ankle, and they were ready to commit mutiny before the 48-hour mark, so the trip was concluded early.
“Jeno, it sounds like the people who go exploring with you don’t have a great track record of enjoying themselves,” you pointed out, taking another swig of water.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Y/N?” He countered.
Looking around, you could just make out a peek of blue ocean through the trees, and looking ahead of you, the two of you were more than halfway to the top.
“Yeah, I am. So far. There’s still time for me to sprain my ankle or fall into a freezing river.”
He shook his head affectionately at your teasing, “Careful, you’re going to jinx yourself.”
“Old hiking superstition? If you talk about spraining your ankle you will?”
“No, but still. My own little superstition, I guess.”
“Got it. Then I’ll un-jinx myself: I will not sprain my ankle or fall into a freezing river on this trip,” you announced loudly to the surrounding forest, earning another fond smile from Jeno accompanied by a soft chuckle.
“There you go.”
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“Another five minutes or so and we’ll be at the peak!” Jeno yelled back over his shoulder to you excitedly.
You were a few steps behind him, your legs had been complaining for the greater part of the last thirty minutes. But with this information, you felt reinvigorated, having the end so close bringing a new spark of energy to your tired limbs. You caught up to him, sharing the trail at the wider parts and staying just behind him at the narrower parts.
Finally, you were at the top. And you knew because the trees opened up to a clearing, the leaves and branches giving way to the most incredible sights you could’ve imagined.
“Wow,” you breathed out, turning to get the full view.
From here you could see the whole little town below you, other nearby islands, the forest you had just hiked through, and the vast, glistening blue sea surrounding you. The sun bounced off of the water at the perfect angle to make it look like it was made of diamonds. It was breathtaking. Not to mention that now that you were out of the humid forest, you could once again feel the cool breeze across your heated skin.
A pod of dolphins surfaced briefly, their fins dipping up and down between the calm waves.
“Jeno, dolphins!” You pointed them out to him eagerly, instinctually clutching his arm in excitement. “Did you know that dolphins in the Amazon River are pink because of repeated skin abrasion, and that the males are pinker because they have a lot more interspecies aggression?”
“I think my guide told me something like that, but I was too focused on getting my paddle back from one to really listen to him.”
You turned to him with wide eyes. “You’ve seen them?”
“Yeah, I went to the Amazon last summer. I had to wrestle my paddle back from a rather playful one,” he shrugged, as if it was just a casual little day trip or something. “So you really like dolphins?”
“I did a report for school when I was like 11, some of the info just stuck.”
As you kept watching the dolphins, a smaller one popped up in the middle of the pod. “Oh! A baby! It’s so cute!”
“Yeah, she is,” he agreed with you.
You furrowed your brows in confusion. “You can’t tell it’s a girl from here!”
Then you looked over at him, realizing that his focus wasn’t on the dolphins, but on you. Mumbling something about professionalism, you let go of his arm, clasping your hands in front of you as you awkwardly looked back out to the sea.
With a victorious smirk on his face—probably enjoying the fact that he was able to fluster you—Jeno took a few steps away from you, yanking his knapsack off his back and grabbing a blanket from it, “Time for a late lunch.”
He laid the blanket out on a flatter part of the terrain, then brought out a small assortment of foods. You sat down with him, eager to dig into the food. With how much your legs hurt from hiking up here, you hadn’t realized that you were starving until he mentioned lunch. Your stomach growled angrily, and you just hoped it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.
Jeno had packed a very nice lunch for you to share. For the most part, you two were quiet, mouths full of food and eyes still drinking in the stunning view of where you were. You turned your phone on to snap a few pictures before shutting it off again. With no charging ports out here, you had to conserve the battery until you were back in the hotel.
“Do you know which island that is?” You asked Jeno, pointing to the one that seemed the closest to you.
“Nope.”
“That one?” You pointed to a different one.
“Nope.”
“This one?” You teasingly pointed at the ground you were sitting on.
Jeno raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
Right as you had opened your mouth to say something smartassy back, you pursed your lips in defeat. “Uh, nope.”
He chuckled, capping his water and starting to put the trash and leftover food back into his bag. You followed his lead, standing when he did so he could pack the blanket back up too. Stretching, a few satisfying cracks came from your back, letting go of the tension that had built up from your sitting position that probably wasn’t great for your spine.
“We should head down to the campsite soon,” Jeno informed you quietly as you had gone back to watching the ocean.
He’d told you while you were still at the base that you wouldn’t be camping at the peak, but at another area a little further down the mountain that was a lot safer for sleeping on. You wished you could’ve stayed up here for the rest of your life.
“Can’t we stay and watch the sunset?” Your voice was nearly a soft whine as you resisted leaving so soon. “It’s got to be incredible from up here.”
“I’m sure it is,” he sounded very reluctant to be telling you this. “But we have to set up camp before it gets too dark.”
“A couple more minutes?”
“Yeah, of course.”
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After being rather useless in helping Jeno set up your campsite—not for any chivalrous reasons on his part, you were truly just inept at things and did more harm than good when you tried to help—you sat outside the tent with him. The two of you were going to be sharing a tent, which he had asked earlier if that would be okay. You told him it was fine with you.
The blanket previously used for lunch earlier was under the two of you as you sat just outside the tent. The site Jeno had chosen as your campsite was in a rare area where the foliage wasn’t too thick, and you could just make out some of the ocean as the sun set. It wasn’t the picture-perfect sunset you imagined could be seen from the peak, but it was still pretty.
You continued with your interview questions as you looked out towards the water, scrawling down his answers in the fading light. You couldn’t quite see what you were writing, hoping you didn’t just make a bunch of illegible scribbles instead of notes. He spoke again of his trip to the Amazon, saying how he’d like to go back again sometime, and maybe have a better look at the pink river dolphins. The way he said it fostered some implications, a thought in your mid that maybe you could go with him if he did go back. That was a nice thought. And impractical one, but it gave you warm fuzzies nonetheless.
“So, why do you think you like exploring so much?” You asked him after hearing so many stories of all the destinations he’d gone to.
“Who doesn’t like to travel?”
“What you do… it’s not just travelling, it’s not just a vacation. You’re not booked up in five stars hotels in city centers or doing every tacky tourist thing out there. You get at the heart of where you are, you explore it, you don’t just visit it. Why is that?”
“That’s a rather deep question,” he let out a light chuckle, shifting to face you as he closed his eyes, taking a moment to think. “I guess… like you said, I try to get at the heart of the place, not the surface-level stuff everyone else sees. I’ve always had a sort of wanderlust in me. When I was about twelve, I damn near gave my mom a heart attack because I got on a train and wanted to see where it went and ended up fifty miles from home. And now, I don’t know, I guess the stuff everybody else does doesn’t really interest me… the picture that’s painted to tourists of a place isn’t what it actually is, and I want to find out what is. If that makes sense. Did that make sense?”
You swallowed hard, nodding fervently. “Yeah, it did. I completely understand, yeah.”
That’s how he saw the world, and it was beautiful. And maybe you could see it like him; maybe you could look past the picture that’s painted and what everyone else sees to get at the heart.
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Up this high, cold started setting in some time long after the sun had finished setting and darkness was all around you, save for the soft glow of the lantern Jeno had going. The temperature wouldn’t drop terribly, but it was cooler than it was during the day, encouraging you to tuck your chilly fingers into the inside of your knees for some warmth.
“I’m sorry,” Jeno frowned, standing up and stepping over to the tent. “I forgot to tell you to bring a jacket, didn’t I?”
“I’m alright, Jeno,” you assured him, but his arm popped back out of the tent holding a couple pieces of clothing.
It was two sweaters, one he offered out to you, the other presumably for himself. You didn’t refuse, which maybe you really should have for professionalism’s sake. Slipping the hoodie over your head then sticking your arms in, you were immediately swallowed up by it. Sure, Jeno was pretty buff, but you were sure this would be oversized even on him.
You didn’t even have to try to pull the sleeves over your hands, sweater paws already there as soon as you’d put it on. Which wasn’t ideal if you wanted to keep writing stuff down for the article.
“I would’ve told you that I’m a human space heater, but I figured this was a little more professional,” he said, heavy implications there.
Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach as you took it upon yourself to scoot closer to him until your legs and sides were touching, “This is still professional, just two professionals huddling together for warmth.”
“Yeah.”
You were trying to convince yourself more than you were him, knowing that you couldn’t really fool yourself on this one. But damn, you could pretend you did.
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It was pretty soon after he’d gotten sweaters for the two of you that Jeno interjected into your conversation, “So when is the article technically over? When you’re done writing it? When your boss okays it? When it’s compiled with the other articles in that issue of the journal? When the copies hit the shelves and its uploaded to the website?”
You let out a shallow breath, knowing what he was really asking. When can the two of you date?
The part of you that was saying ‘never!’ was getting smaller and smaller, and the part of you who just wanted it to be right now was growing bigger and bigger. And yet, for some reason, you were still listening to the little one.
“I don’t know, probably when it’s officially published. You know, when ‘the copies hit the shelves and it’s uploaded to the website.’”
“When do you think that will be?”
“The first one is being published in this month’s issue. So, depending on how fast I get this one written up and proofed, at the earliest next month.”
“And the latest?”
“A couple months. I’m not sure how long Ms. Zhang will want between the two, if she wants to leave the audience in suspense for longer or give them the next part as soon as possible. Probably the first one, if I’m being honest.”
“Oh,” Jeno’s pout that you could see illuminated from the lantern was suddenly split into a wide yawn. “We should go to sleep, we’ve got the climb back down tomorrow.”
You were glad that he had brought it up first. After all, you were pretty tired, but you weren’t about to be the one to end the nice time you were having. Nodding, you stood, taking the lantern in your hand as Jeno folded the blanket back up.
Ducking into the tent, you immediately plopped down onto your sleeping bag, giving Jeno as much room as possible to maneuver his limbs around as he zipped the tent up behind him and set his stuff down in the corner. You put the lantern down at your feet, keeping the area illuminated as you climbed into your sleeping bag and started settling in for the night.
With the covers pulled up to your shoulders and Jeno’s hoodie bunching around your face in a comfortably warm way, you were pretty content to fall asleep then and there. But the light was still on.
Groaning, you looked down towards your feet, glaring at the lantern you knew you’d have to get un-comfy to turn off. Jeno had a small smile on his face as he sat up, “I’ll get it. You ready to turn it off?”
You nodded, your ‘yes’ muffled by the hoodie.
The last thing you saw before complete darkness was Jeno’s soft grin. That was a rather nice image to have in your mind as you drifted off to sleep.
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Eyes fluttering awake, the first thing you were aware of was that you were warm. Very warm. Way too warm. One might say that you were currently in a pool of your own sweat. You’d have to wash this hoodie before giving it back to Jeno, it was definitely disgusting.
Speaking of Jeno, he wasn’t in the tent with you, which you noticed as you peeled the somewhat damp sweater off yourself. You took the opportunity to apply some more deodorant and change your short sleeve shirt before shoving your feet back into your shoes. You headed out of the tent, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you did so.
The very last traces of the sunrise were still in the sky from the little that you could see, but it was definitely morning. Looking around, you spotted Jeno standing a little further away from the tent, holding his hand out towards a lower-hanging branch. You wouldn’t have quite been able to reach it yourself, but he could. Perched atop the branch was a bright blue bird, eating right out of his hand. Your eyes widened just a little at this, though you were too tired to be terribly surprised.
Watching him feed the bird for a little longer, you felt your chest swell. His hair was messy, not having fixed his bedhead yet; a peaceful hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; his big, round, eyes watched the bird eat with a certain simple happiness that for some reason had tears threatening to well up in your own.
You opened your mouth to call out to him, but instead a hoarse croak came out, one that made the bird take off in a flurry of blue feathers and fear. Jeno’s head whipped around to look at the source of the noise, you, and a bright grin came to his features.
“Morning, Y/N,” his voice was even deeper from sleep as he greeted you. He didn’t even seem mad that you’d scared off the bird.
As he approached you, the swell in your chest continued to the point where it hurt, and your vision started going blurry from the tears building up. Jeno’s expression changed to one of concern as he seemed to notice your moist eyes the closer that he got.
“Wh—”
You’d finally gone insane, you’d decided. Absolutely bonkers, completely crazy. After all, how else would you explain the fact that you were now kissing Jeno?
With your hands gripping at his shirt to bring his mouth down to yours, you kissed him like you’d been sick for your whole life and his lips were the cure. All the voices in your head finally shut up, your chest decompressed, and a single tear ran down your face.
He immediately kissed you back, but his hands seemed unsure of what to do, gingerly resting on your arms, featherlight as they hovered there. As if he was afraid that he’d break you, despite the force with which you had crashed your mouth to his.
When you let yourself come back down—and also breathe—you loosened your grip on Jeno’s shirt, releasing him from the slightly hunched position he had been in. Slowly, you brought one of your hands down to wipe away the lone tear.
Jeno was looking at you with a tilted head. “Well, that wasn’t very professional.”
A strangled chuckle escaped your mouth as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, “Yeah, sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize,” he said softly, a gentle hand coming to cup your cheek, urging you to look back up at him. And when you did, he lightly brushed his lips against yours. A tender ghost of a kiss, one that didn’t last long as Jeno ended it almost as soon as he’d started it.
Opening your eyes, you saw a nearly silly grin spread across his face, precious giggles bubbling up. His smile was contagious, one gracing your mouth as well.
“Is this going to ruin the integrity of your article?” He asked, still smiling down at you. “If you want this to be a thing, of course.”
“I do, I do,” you nodded fervently, a great weight lifted off your soul now that you let yourself admit that. “I’ll tell Ms. Zhang and see what she wants to do about the articles. Until then, we’ve got to lay low.”
“Movie nights,” he immediately surmised.
Quite liking the idea, you agreed, “Yeah, movie nights.”
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The doors opened to the VIP lounge, where you had agreed to meet Jeno after your meeting with your boss. It was almost two weeks after you’d returned from what NingNing was now definitely referring to as your ‘romantic getaway,’ which you couldn’t argue. Most of those two weeks was spent by you finalizing your second article, not wanting to tell Ms. Zhang about how that trip had really gone until after you had work to show for it.
Jeno was waiting for you, already standing up and pacing the small room nervously. He seemed more worried about this than you were, despite it really being your career on the line and not his.
You made a beeline to wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest, and he immediately reciprocated it, holding you closely and pecking the crown of your head.
“Hey, how’d it go?” His gentle tone of voice betrayed his assumptions that it was bad.
Bringing your face out of his chest in order to look up at him, you squealed, “She’s still going to publish them!”
“Ah!” He cried out, tightening his grip on you until it was practically bone-crushing. “I knew it! I knew you were just so good she would have to publish your articles.”
You elaborated, practically buzzing with excitement, “Because I kept out the uh, more private details of the trip and focused on you and the trip itself, she says that it ties up the loose end from the first one nicely. Although, she did recommend not going public until after the second article was out.”
“But you won’t get fired if we don’t abide by that recommendation, right?”
“No, I won’t,” you reassured him, happiness fluttering in your chest as he pecked your forehead.
“I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”
“Mhm,” you hummed, letting him peck your lips too before you spoke up. “I do think she’s right, though, we should wait a while to go out in public as a couple.”
Jeno clearly didn’t like that idea, sighing in reply, “Why?”
“It’s been less than a month, what if you decide you don’t like me?”
It was meant to be a joke, but he took it seriously, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then finally your mouth, “Impossible.”
After a moment, he relented, “Alright. I waited two months, another one or so shouldn’t be that bad.”
“Actually, she’s publishing the second article in a special edition that’ll come out two weeks after the first, not a month.”
“I can wait three weeks.”
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And wait three weeks he did. Three weeks exactly. Twenty-one days after your conversation in the VIP lounge, two days after your second article hit the shelves, Jeno picked you up for your first public date. This time, you let him come up and get you—your roommate wasn’t home to bother you—and he left his hat and face mask at home.
“Hi Jeno,” you greeted him as you opened the door.
“Hi, baby,” he replied, wasting no time in lacing your fingers together as you walked to the elevator.
As soon as you stepped foot out of your apartment building, whatever resolve he had broke down, and he smooched your cheek loudly. You giggled at the gesture, squeezing his hand to let him know that you were okay with it. After all, you’d made the poor guy wait longer than he should have, some PDA was in order.
The date was at a small café a few blocks over, within walking distance. Which you were sure Jeno appreciated, having a longer time to be out in public with you, never once letting go of your hand or without physical contact with you. He had to let everybody know that you were dating, and you didn’t mind. You liked that he was so ecstatic to be dating you.
At the café, you ordered up at a front counter, and the cashier asked, “Together or separate?”
“Together!” Jeno replied brightly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
You leaned over to murmur to him, “She means, are we paying together or separate?”
“Together!” He repeated.
Squinting up at him for a moment, you didn’t argue it, letting him take the check for both of you. Although you did take a few crumpled bills out of your wallet to drop into the tip jar. After getting your food, you eagerly dug in, a light and amicable conversation had between bites.
“So you really waited exactly three weeks, huh?” You teased him.
“The second article came out two days ago, I think that’s plenty of time for everyone to read it,” he defended himself.
“It took you five days to read it.”
He seemed about ready to quip something back when a muffled chorus of squeals cut him off. You took a brief glance around, eyes landing on a group of teenage girls standing just outside the window that you were seated by. They weren’t uncomfortably close, but it was clear what had made them so excited.
Jeno ducked his head shyly as he raised a hand to acknowledge them, only setting their nervous titters off again. This situation was eerily familiar, déjà vu washing over you.
But this time, you were kind of glad that he had left his mask and hat at home, and that he’d chosen a table by the window.
Because your heart soared as you were once again reminded of who exactly the man in front of you was. Not just a model who was known internationally, with fans who would recognize him out and about, with a career and life that was under the public gaze constantly, but also a cute, sweet, funny guy named Lee Jeno.
You could do that. You could subject yourself to that. It would be fine as long as you had Jeno with you.
With the girls still watching the two of you, you reached a hand out across the table towards him. Thankfully, he took your lead, picking it up before pressing a few tender kisses to your fingers. Hopefully the girls got the message that this was romantic and private, and nothing else.
A dating rumor with Lee Jeno was absolutely the one thing you needed in your life. Lee Jeno was absolutely the one thing you needed in your life.
“Jeno?” You called for his attention, ignoring the gaggle of fans outside the window.
“Yes?” He focused on you, squeezing your hand.
“I have a question…”
“I thought the interview was over,” he pouted teasingly.
“It is, I swear.” You lifted your linked hands pointedly. “I just… There’s something that’s kind of been nagging at me, about the interview.”
“Ask away.”
“Why me? Like, I remember at our first interview session, you thought I was just going to ask you all the normal stuff about celebrity crushes and stuff.”
“You remember what I said, about my parents’ shop? How I used to help out there?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“When NingNing brought you to the lounge, and you said that thing about you being a normal person, and me being a supermodel, and how you weren’t comfortable around me because of that, it really hit me. I-I really hated that.”
“Jeno, I’m sorry—”
“No, it’s not your fault,” he insisted. “It’s nobody’s fault, that’s just how it is, how our culture is, or whatever. But I hated that you felt like that around me. Because I didn’t use to be like that. I used to be a normal person, too. And I just thought that if you and I had met a few years ago, when I was working in my parents’ shop or something, I could’ve talked to you like a normal guy, and I would’ve been able to put you at ease and flirt with you like a normal person. Instead of having to do it in the most roundabout way like I did this time.”
You grinned. “Oh, I don’t know, you would’ve still been a stupidly attractive register boy, Jeno. I might’ve been a bit tongue-tied if we had met back then, too.”
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
“I guess not,” you clicked your tongue. “Though that would’ve been an even better meet-cute than me saying you looked like a dog.”
“Oh, so we’re not telling that story to our kids?”
“Kids?!” You sputtered out. “When did kids enter the equation here, Lee Jeno?”
“What? Who said that?” He blinked at you innocently.
“At least say the L-word first, jeez.”
“I love you.”
“Christ, I was joking!”
“I wasn’t!”
You shook your head, unable to fight off the smitten grin on your lips. “I love you too, Jeno. You crazy son of a bitch.”
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⤷ blog masterlist
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janaispunk · 20 days
Text
i can see the end as it begins
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chapter 1 • series masterlist
pairing: Dave York x f!reader
summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.
word count: ~5k
tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻
a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻
follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)
dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!
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“I want a divorce.”
It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.
He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.
And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.
He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.
It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.
He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.
It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.
Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.
But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?
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You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.
You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.
If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.
Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.
You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.
“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.
Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.
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Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.
“Lots of women you could meet there!”
He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.
He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.
He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.
“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.
“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.
“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.
“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.
Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–
“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.
“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.
“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”
She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.
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The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.
He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.
The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.
You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.
“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.
“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.
Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.
“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”
You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.
David. Dave. Oh. Oh.
“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.
Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.
The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.
Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.
When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.
David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.
It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.
The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.
No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.
When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.
“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.
“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”
Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”
You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.
You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.
“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.
“I don’t think you are.”
Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.
“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.
The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.
He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”
You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.
“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.
“Me too,” he rasps.
When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.
“Do you want me to come up with you?”
“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.
“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.
“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”
“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”
He shakes his head, still not looking at you.
“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”
“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”
His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.
“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.
His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.
“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.
“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.
Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.
“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”
You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.
“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.
At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.
“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”
Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.
He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.
“Good.”
He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.
“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”
You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.
“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.
With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.
“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”
He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.
“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”
You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.
The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.
“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”
You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.
“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”
His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.
“Just one time?” he rasps once more.
“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.
He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.
You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.
“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.
“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.
He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.
So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.
“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.
He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”
You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.
“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”
Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.
“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”
He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.
“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.
“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”
Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.
He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.
“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”
You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.
You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?
He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.
Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.
Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.
“You alright?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.
He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.
You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.
“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”
He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.
“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.
You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.
When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.
“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”
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if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)
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ghouljams · 4 months
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real talk you ever think about the FACT that price is the type of husband who immediately gets home after working late with take out and a giant slobbering kiss on your lips as soon as you rush out to greet him get the food
price is literally the perfect blue color husband. fucks you just like one too. slow and sleepy, mindful of his sore muscles from working all day, fucking with purpose with feeling.
and then food :3
God yes, literally the perfect man
You always wait up for him, he knows you do. Knows that you'll be half asleep when he gets home, that you probably got home late too and didn't have time to eat anything before you were thinking of him. The only thing on his mind the whole drive home is you. The takeaway smells heavenly in his passenger seat, but all he can think about is burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, you always smell like home.
You're perfect coming over to greet him, gently catching the food he drops in favor and cradling your face and kissing you. He's too eager to lick his tongue against yours, to dip into your mouth and taste you. All the stress of the day seems to melt away when your tongue presses against his, slow and lazy the way you kiss him. You have all the time in the world, and there's no one else he'd rather be with. That's why he married you after all. He walks you beck towards your bedroom, gives you just enough time to drop the brown paper takeaway bag on the dining table before he tugs you off to bed. There's a proper order to these things after all, and it isn't food he's hungry for. 12 hours without seeing his baby takes a toll on a man.
And you're so good to him, stripping your pants off and fumbling with his fly as he eases you back onto the bed. Your soft pyjamas fall so easily, and you were smart enough to skip the underwear. "Fuck you're good to me," he mumbles, hauling you close and gripping the base of his cock to rub against your wet slit.
"Knew you'd be tired," you murmur back, spreading your legs a little wider for him, "all prepped, go ahead baby."
There's no better invitation. He sinks into your tight wet heat with a low groan, his cock aching at the clench of your gummy walls. Not a place on earth he'd rather be than between your legs. He presses close against you, eases into a slow rhythm. In and out with the hitch of your breath. Gentle the way he fucks you, makes love to you. He presses his nose against your neck and breathes you in, your shampoo, your soap, the crappy coffee shop by your work, the last dredge of your perfume still clinging to your skin. No one compares to you.
You hook your legs around his back, cross your ankles to keep him close. Your fingers thread through his hair and pull him to your lips, kissing him with the same slow passion he fucks you with. The steady, sleepy, build of heat that hardly seems to care about the end. Neither of you care about the end, this is for sharing each other's company. The closeness, the push and pull of intimacy, that Price craves so dearly is right here in bed with you at the end of a long day.
Later you'll eat cold take away and share the day's highs and lows. Later you'll clean up and find your places in bed again, this time cuddled close as you both drift off to do it all again tomorrow. For now Price rocks against you, his heart full as you whisper your love to him, and he doesn't need anything else.
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tightjeansjavi · 1 year
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Welcome to my masterlist of all my Pedro Pascal character writings ♡ kind reminder that my blog is +18. If you are a minor, do NOT interact.
Happy Reading
🌿🩵🦋 About me
‼️‼️HOW YOU CAN SUPPORT PALESTINE‼️‼️
🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸
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🌿 Joel Miller Masterlist | Post-Outbreak 🌿
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🪴 Joel Miller Masterlist | Pre-Outbreak 🪴
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🥀 Javier Peña Masterlist 🥀
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🍄 Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🍄
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🦋 Frankie Morales Masterlist 🦋
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🌻 Javi Gutierrez Masterlist 🌻
Pedro Pascal Character Head Canons
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inkymagpie · 1 year
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The Star in the Field Pt.4
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Morpheus X Fallen Star! Reader
Chapter Rating: General
Overall Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3.9k
Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of loss, minimal descriptions of y/n
Chapter Synopsis:  A pause fills the room and you are not quite sure how to respond to the Dream Lord so you duck your head gazing up at him through your lashes, you can feel your face growing a bit hot. What is wrong with you…maybe you’ll borrow Hob's thermometer when you get back to the waking world, perhaps you were coming down with your first cold.
Note: Morpheus calls the Star Astraea which means star-maiden.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
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The sheer size of the palace was truly mind boggling and you briefly wonder if it actually has a permanent structure or if it changed based on the needs of the occupants. You wouldn’t be at all surprised based on what you had seen so far. 
You trail behind Morpheus as you take in the environment, though he is patient with you and keeps his steps measured as you continue further and further into the maze that was the palace. You try to be mindful to not stop completely, though you can’t help but reach out and touch an ebony column as you pass by. The stone you realize almost looks like it was made from molten obsidian, makeup slowly ebbing and flowing through the structure. You almost expect your fingertips to be wet when you pull your hand away. 
This place was truly surreal. 
Above you Matthew flies leisurely, gliding back and forth; keeping pace with you and Morpheus…is he humming? 
“What are you singing Matthew?” You ask after a moment and you hear him squawk softly in surprise.
“Oh! uhhh I think it’s an Elton John song? Can’t remember the name.” He hums some more, perhaps trying to remember the name through the lyrics. “Damn it’s on the tip of my tongue…”
You hum softly, mimicking his tone and he lands on your shoulder, giving you a bit of a surprise but he urges you to continue humming with his own notes as he bobs his head up and down. You can’t help but laugh a little, quite enjoying the company.
“I’ll have to ask Hob if he knows the song, he seems to know everything.” You laugh and try to commit the tune to memory.
Being so wrapped up in Matthews company you don’t notice that Morpheus has put some space between the both of you, and you certainly don’t notice the small soft smile gracing his lips. 
When you arrive at the library you had expected to be somewhat used to the grandeur of the Dreaming and its palace; however you cannot contain the soft gasp that passes your lips as you gaze about the space. 
A library is a defined space, a finite concept, even one as grand as the one you had visited in the Asterism had and end; yet this place is infinite, almost like a hall of mirrors and how they make a space appear to go on forever. But this…this is no illusion, at least not that you can tell. Halls lined with books in every shape and color seemingly go on forever becoming hazy points in the distance,  singularities of leather and parchment. And not only do they sprawl outwards but the shelves that are not bisected by floors arch up to the cathedral ceilings and look as though they drift off into the twinkling cosmos above. You wonder briefly if your sisters decide to dream again if they could pluck the very tomes of the Dreaming out of the night sky they seem to disappear into. 
When you finally manage to get your gawking in check you notice that Morpheus is watching you, head tilted, expression cool but not chilly.
“How…how many are there?” You ask, on your shoulder Matthew laughs.
“Probably only Lucienne knows that.” He says and the Dream Lord fixes him with a hard look, bristling at the light jab. 
“You think that I don’t know my own-“ Morpheus starts but is cut off by a measured, polished voice.
“You are being awfully surly today Matthew.” You turn to see a well dressed woman with pointed ears and lovely deep skin making her way down the large ornate stairway that leads up to the second floor of the library. “I’m sure that Lord Morpheus would prefer it if you were on your best behavior for our guest.”
Matthew jumps off your shoulder and sits on a pile of books that lay on a trolly nearby. 
“I’ll be nothing but behaved for our guest, scouts honor.” He says bobbing his head, still a bit cheeky. 
The woman’s attention is pulled back to you after she gives the raven a curt nod, she gives you a soft smile and the genuineness of it warms you.
“I am Lucienne, head librarian of the Dreaming, it is wonderful to meet you my dear.” She bows her head and you return her action a bit stiffly, a bit unsure of the protocol of a Kingdom you only just entered. 
“Lucienne, it’s lovely to meet you as well. I’m Y/n.” You smile back at her, fidgeting slightly suddenly a bit shy with all the attention “Your library is amazing by the way!” 
Her smile grows at the praise, her eyes crinkling with genuine pride and delight.
“I’m just the caretaker, but I thank you for your kind words.” She replies, observing you for a moment before speaking again. “Would you like a tour?” 
“Really? I don’t want to intrude.” You say trying to keep your curious excitement in check. 
“Nonsense, if the Lord has invited you into his palace you are more than welcome in the library.” You cast a quick glance over to Morpheus who nods his head but doesn’t meet your eyes, you wonder if you had somehow over stepped without knowing. Before you can ask, Lucienne gently takes your arm and leads you to the staircase you saw her descend. “I’m sure that you wish to see your book of Dreams.” 
“Oh yes!” You perk up at this, attention moving fully back to Lucienne. “Morpheus mentioned that I could see it, if that’s alright with you of course.” 
“Did he now? He’s not usually so quick to offer.” The librarian's voice sounds playful, and you hear Morpheus scoff behind you as you climb the steps. 
“Then I guess I’m honored?” You weren’t sure what else to say. 
Above you Matthew flies over to the second floor landing and lands on the bannister, slowly walking across it, one clawed foot in front of the other. 
“You are certainly an honored guest.” The raven comments and your brow furrows as you arrive on the second floor.
Morpheus passes by you and Lucienne, making his way further into the library without a word, Matthew follows him hoping along the banister until he flutters to the ground and continues to hop after his Lord.
Lucienne leads you to follow after Morpheus, passing row after row, section after section of bookshelves. You still marvel at how many there are and you are nearly sure that all of them are unique in some way, you assume to match the dream they contain. 
After a short while your mind wanders back to what Matthew said, about being an honored guest.
“Why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?” You inquire. 
“Hmm?” Lucienne looks over to you curiously and you realize you sound like a fool.
“Sorry, what Matthew said before…that I’m an honored guest, why is that?” 
“You are a Star, an uncommon visitor here as of late. You’ve caused quite a stir here in the Dreaming.” Lucienne says leading you past another row of books, these ones look quite old so old you worry that if one were to pick them up they might crumble.
“I’m sorry, I hope it’s nothing bad.” You reply, you’ve only just started feeling like you weren’t a complete burden to Hob, if you had also caused the Dreaming trouble already…
“Of course not.” You startle a bit and you turn from Lucienne to see that Morpheus had stopped in the middle of the corridor and is looking at you with a slight frown pulling at his brow. Had you eyes in the back of your head you would have been able to see Lucienne shaking her head, trying to hide a knowing little smile. 
A pause fills the room and you are not quite sure how to respond to the Dream Lord so you duck your head gazing up at him through your lashes, you can feel your face growing a bit hot. What is wrong with you?…maybe you’ll borrow Hob's thermometer when you get back to the waking world, perhaps you were coming down with your first cold.
Morpheus clears his throat quietly and turns away from you before continuing further into the library, Matthew following close behind and you’re almost sure you can hear him snickering. Next to you Lucienne gives you a soft nudge and you continue walking with her, following after the now very quiet Prince of Stories. 
“Stars haven’t entered the Dreaming in some time.” The librarian continues and you listen intently. Before you Morpheus turns down an aisle of books. “ Since your kind is so ancient it tends to become a bit… monotonous to them.” She has you turn down the same row as her Lord and his raven. 
Most of the books in this section look just as old as the ones you had seen before, ancient and worn, and now that you see them closely they are quite thick. Down near the end of the row, by a warm glowing candle stands Morpheus gently plucking a tome from the selves. He cradles it gently in his hands as he turns to face you, the book in his hands much newer looking and far less filled. 
“However, you aren’t exactly one of the ancient ones are you?” Lucienne says, letting go of your arm and gently nudging you towards Morpheus. 
You slowly walk towards the Dream Lord, eyes honed in on the book in his hands until you’re standing before him once again almost as close as you had been out in the palace gardens. The book in his hands is a lovely dusty blue, its cover delicately stamped leather with silver text… the text adorning it is your name. 
“New Stars are not a common thing in this day and age.” Morpheus says and you glance up to him. “The Nebula has started to quiet this era and last.” 
“More are coming to rest and replenish in the Nebula.” You say and he slowly slips the book into your hands, his fingers brush against yours for a moment and their coolness is a lovely sensation. “There aren’t too many Stars being born anymore, I guess I should consider myself lucky.” You add with a small smile. 
Before anymore can be said a loud ca-chunk echoes through the library and the sound of shuffling footsteps and grumbling follow.
“Shoulda known all of ya would be here.” A gruff voice calls out and you look over the banister to the first floor to see what looks to be a man, he’s gangly and tall and…has a pumpkin for a head. And the expression he currently has across it is rather sour.
It’s at this point you notice something very peculiar; well other than the man with a pumpkin for a head. As you gaze down to the first floor you can see the large ornate doorway you had come through as well as the winding grand staircase you had climbed to get to the second floor. However you had been quite sure you had walked past dozens of sections of books in order to get to this one, but as you observed your surroundings it appeared as though you had only traveled four rows down. Your brow furrows as you do a second take and try to recount your steps. Yes you had definitely walked for far longer than just four rows of books.
“Mervyn, I assume that this is something of importance.” Morpheus is coolly observing the newcomer over the banister. 
“Well if more cracks and a big freakin’ hole in the east garden is something of importance then yeah.” The pumpkin head replies nonchalantly folding his arms across his chest. 
Though the Dream Lord is facing away from you you can see him bristle at this; his shoulders tensing and his posture straightening further. 
“It appears that the Vortex is causing more disturbances.” You turn to look at Lucienne perplexed. 
“The…Vortex?” You ask.
“A Dream Vortex, yes, we have been…researching how to handle the matter.” She replies, you catch the small look of exasperation in her eyes as Morpheus stalks past you, pinning Lucienne with a hard stare.
“I will take care of this matter.” Morpheus replies, voice biting, cold like the far reaches of the galaxy and you shrink a bit at his tone, but Lucienne merely adjusts her spectacles and nods.
“Of course my Lord.” She says and he breezes past her, rounding the corner of the bookshelf and moving out of sight. 
Before you have time to process what has occurred or ask anymore questions on what is going on exactly you hear Morpheus addressing Mervyn and you turn to look over the banister to see him already briskly walking with the other man towards the main doors. He was just here? How did he get down there so fast? 
It’s the Dreaming you suppose as you watch him and his companion leave the library…things don’t have to make sense here, or follow the rules of reality. Still it was such a strange thing to wrap your head around as the doors swing shut on their own, their heaviness echoing throughout the space. 
“Are you going to open it?” You nearly jump when Matthew speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“Sorry, what?” You finally ask when you gather yourself, looking over to him, he’s perched on a small pile of books.
“Are you going to open your book?” He reiterates and nods to the book still in your hands that you had completely forgotten about.
“Don’t be a bother Matthew.” Lucienne reminds him but you are already sneaking your fingers beneath the cover. 
“What? Aren’t you a little bit curious about a Star?” He asks moving to the banister to get closer to you.
“It’s not our place to intrude, don’t be pushy.” She replies a slight chiding evident in her tone.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” You say earnestly, looking up at her with a small smile. “I don’t think there will be anything too scandalous.” She chuckles and shakes her head. 
“I have some work I must attend to but you are more than welcome to make yourself comfortable.” Lucienne replies before fixing Matthew with a hard stare. “Don’t be afraid to tell him to behave or to leave if he becomes an annoyance.”
“I’m a joy to be around, thank you very much.” The raven says haughtily and ruffles his feathers. You can’t help but laugh at this.
Lucienne rolls her eyes but a slight smile gives her away before she gives you a small bow and leaves you to your reading. 
It’s quiet for a moment, almost perfectly quiet, not in an eerie way but a silence that comforts and envelopes you and warms you as it lulls. You look back down to the book, your book. Your forefinger still slipped beneath the soft leather cover, poised to open it. 
“Do you want to go to one of the reading nooks?” Matthew’s voice breaks the silence but it’s softer than you’ve ever heard it in your short time knowing him. 
“That would be…really nice actually.” You say looking over to him and he ruffles his feathers before taking flight.
“Just follow me!” He calls and you do just that. 
____
The little sitting area that he brings you to is cozy, it almost reminds you of the parlor at Hob’s… Hob!
“I’m sorry, how long have I been asleep?” You ask Matthew quickly, suddenly very nervous that you’ve been asleep for days on end.
“Don’t worry, time moves differently here.” He’s perched on the back of the winged armchair. “You’ll start to feel the pull of the waking world when it’s time to wake up.” 
This soothes your worries a bit but you wonder if you’ll wake up late for the first time in your life, you’re certain Hob would have a field day teasing you if you did. Slowly you ease down into the chair, it’s quite plush and it smells of pressed parchment and incense. Matthew shuffles closer as you settle to get a better view and you can feel his wing feathers brushing softly against your hair.
You pause for a few moments longer, not quite sure why you’re so nervous about reading about your own life, did the Dreaming form an option for those that entered it? Shaking trepidation from your thoughts you finally press open the cover, oh! You must have been the first or one of the first to open it because the spine crackles like a new book from the store when you open it. You turn to the first pages and you realize it’s about your creation in the Nebula, your first days brought into existence, you angle the book to show your companion.
“All Stars are born in the Nebula.” You say to him with a soft voice. “We don’t need to go through childhood or learn to walk or speak, but we know very little beyond the place of birth or our kin.” 
“Must be nice not having to go through growing pains, though I guess you miss the fun of your rebellious teen years.” Matthew comments and you laugh.
“We still have growing pains, and a lot of Stars go through rebellious streaks, ours tend to be longer too since we are immortal.” You reply and flip through the book slowly.
“Man I’d hate to have five hundred years of an angsty teen as a parent… wait…do Stars have parents?” He cocks his head. 
“We have parental figures that help teach us and we often have those we consider our brothers and sisters, though I guess we aren’t blood related.” You pause, thinking for a moment. “I never really thought about it before to be honest.”
You continue to read through your book, Matthew observing quietly.
“I miss them you know…” you say after a moment glancing over at Matthew. “My sisters and brothers, I’ve tried to get used to living on earth…but it’s still hard sometimes…”
For awhile the raven doesn’t say anything and then very gently.
“Do you know why you fell?” He asks, his voice careful and soft. 
“No…Stars that fall to earth are usually knocked from the sky by something outside of our control. Sometimes they are punished and lead aground but that is very rare from what I’ve heard.” You pause, collecting yourself “I was sleeping when it happened… Believe it or not I was trying to dream.” You let out a sad chuckle at the irony.
Matthew is quiet and stays quiet for sometime, you don’t move from your current spot in your book, too busy reminiscing about your past.
“Maybe it’s in your book?” He says suddenly. “I mean if it has your life’s story in there then it should have that right?”
The feeling that washes over you is a strange combination of excitement and dread…would the reason you fell to earth be in this book? Would you finally know why? Did you really want to know why?
Your fingers tremble as you begin to turn the pages faster, skimming your life’s story, your breath catching in your throat as you near the inevitable. You pause, fingers digging into the parchment as you stare down at the words before you, on the page is the last night in the skies, if you turn to the next surely it will be about your fall from the heavens.
“If… you don’t want to, you don’t have to…” Matthew says gently and you swallow thickly. 
“I need to know…if it’s in here I need to know.” You reply adamantly though your voice trembles. 
You turn the page, like pulling off a bandage and begin to read, taking in the words and…
Nothing…
Well not exactly nothing, it has how you woke up to find yourself in a farmer's apple orchard and that you had fallen to earth but it doesn’t have anything in it that states how you were pulled from the heavens. You sag in the chair, both relieved and utterly disappointed. 
“I’m sorry, I figured since it’s a story about, well, you that maybe it would have it.” Matthew says after a moment, voice genuinely apologetic.
“No…it’s okay, it was a good idea.” You say, fingers brushing over the pages, your body feeling tired even though you were actually asleep. 
You decide that you no longer want to dive any further into your book, suddenly feeling emotionally drained.  Slowly you close the book and sag into the chair again. Matthew sits with you quietly, and although you certainly don’t mind his chatty nature, the quiet of the library is a welcoming blanket of comfort.
After a while you feel a tingling at the back of your head that creeps down into your fingertips, it’s not a bad feeling, almost like gentle warm waves ebbing in and out of you, lapping at your skin. You look over to Matthew curiously.
“Is this the waking world?” You ask and he cocks his head.
“Do you feel it pulling you?” He asks. 
“I think so? It’s strange but not bad, kind of comforting?” You reply it’s getting harder to concentrate as you feel a tug on your consciousness.
“Well, you can always come back tomorrow night!” Matthew says and you smile at him, enjoying his eagerness. 
“I’d like that very much.” You feel another pull and you start to ease into the feeling. “I wonder if I’ve slept in longer than Hob.”
“Oh! I meant to ask you earlier do you mean Hob as in the Hob that Morpheus is friends with?” Matthew’s voice is very far away and then for a brief moment everything goes still, a warm darkness enveloping you.
____
You can hear what sounds like birds chirping and there is a soft light warming your face, slowly you open your eyes, lids fluttering as you find yourself in your room in the New Inn. You take a deep breath, the air feels slightly different in the walking world you notice; after spending so much time in the Dreaming it almost feels heavy. You can smell the alluring scent of coffee on the air as well and you know that Hob is already awake. 
Sluggishly you step out of bed and begin your morning routine somewhat shocked when you look over to the bedside table and see that it’s already past 8am. 
As you get ready your mind wanders back to the Dreaming, still in awe of the realm beyond mortals. You walk down the steps to the kitchen continuing to think about your first real experience dreaming.
“We’ll good morning sleepyhead, someone slept in!” Hob’s cheery voice breaks your train of thought, you blink at him pulling yourself back to the present before laughing sheepishly.
“I’m getting all sorts of new experiences here on earth.” You say and he starts to pour you a cup of coffee as you move to the table.
“Have good dreams?” He asks, handing you the steaming cup of coffee and milk.
You’re quiet for a moment as you hold the mug, letting the warmth seep through to your hands and fingertips.
“I did.” 
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Thank you so much for being so patient with this story! I’ve been crazy busy lately and haven’t had much time but I’m so glad to be back to writing; and thanks to everyone that has been enjoying this! it really means so much to me!  
Taglist: @boofy1998​ @gnnnne @deniixlovezelda​ @oo0lady-mad0oo​ @imma-too-many-fandoms​​ @melancholypancakes​
AO3: Link
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bakubunny · 2 months
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daydreaming abt being shota’s housewife. he comes home, and you get to kiss him on the the cheek, offer him a warm meal, snuggle up on the couch, listen to him talk about his day…. he’ll listen when you want to chatter about anything because maybe the weather was bad, so you’ve been cooped up in the house all day. there’s lots of hugs and kisses and sweet moments and -
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sky-bunnyyy · 5 months
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Stu Macher as a Caregiver!
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⟡Stu is an amazing caregiver, though he can be a little insensitive at times, but he always makes it up to you with cuddles and gifts. ⟡He loves younger littles (2-4) but is great with all little age ranges ⟡If you’re a baby regressor, he can, and will carry you absolutely everywhere ⟡He carries you on his hip while making your bottles, before naps ⟡Speaking of naps, he has set bedtimes for you, and maybe even a full schedule or planner, if you need it ⟡His bookbag, and locker are full of regression gear for you, if you slip while at school; bottles/sippies, pacifier, stuffies, colouring books, and any toys/fidgets you use. ⟡He keeps sweets, and candies for you ( specifically the heart-shaped suckers), and gives them to you periodically to cheer you up (in moderation, ofc) ⟡He is incredibly cuddly with you, and you’re often nuzzled into his side, especially around his friends/other people. he gets possessive easily. ⟡If you guys are walking, your hand is always in his, it’s like an unwritten rule at this point. ⟡He also follows the sidewalk rule ⟡When you’re overwhelmed, or having a meltdown, he bounces you on his lap, or bounces you while walking around ⟡You guys are almost always at the park ⟡He loves pushing you on the swing ⟡Also loves going down the slide with you between his legs. ⟡Is very scared of you getting hurt though, so he watches you like a hawk ⟡Always have band-aids incase you get a boo-boo , the band-aids always have cartoon characters on them ⟡Kisses your boo-boos and owwies away, just to hear you giggle ⟡Because Stu’s always around Billy, you're also always around Billy, so you’ve grown custom to calling Billy ‘bubba’, and he finds it adorable ⟡Movie nights with the two of them happen very often; you squished between them both on the couch, with a stuffie in your hand ⟡Stu doesn’t like you watching scary movies while little, cause he doesn’t like the thought of you getting scared, or having a nightmare. ⟡But it has happened on more than one occasion, and always ends up with you cuddled in Stu’s lap while he rubs your back and pets your hair until you calm down. ⟡Stu’s parent’s are often out of town, which means you’re at his house a lot, and you almost always stay the night with him ⟡He hums you to sleep while you lay either with your head on his chest, with your leg draped over him, or fully on top of him --- SFW interactions only, please!! Age regression is a coping mechanism, not a k!nk
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swiftispunk · 2 months
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the wildest winter | joel miller x f!reader
a your summer dream one shot
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your summer dream masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
–Albert Camus, Return to Tipasa
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 9.3k
series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), angst, smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, alcohol, food, secret relationship until it's not. series summary: after falling head over heels for your dad's buddy on vacation, it's now time to navigate the real world together. or, a year in the life with joel miller.
chapter summary: your plan to tell your parents about your relationship doesn't quite go as planned. chapter warnings: smut, some angst, unprotected p in v sex, brief cockwarming, dirty talk, pet names, fluff and romance, exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, narcissistic mothers, actually reader's mom is just The Worst in general, mentions of babies and discussions of parenthood, the closest han will ever come to breeding kink (but like, hardly), a lot of unresolved drama, a lot of joel playing guitar, reader's dad's birthday is in january, alcohol, food. no use of y/n.
a/n: thanks to everyone who waited for this i hope it's ok and if it's not um please be nice i'm just a baby
You don't think you've ever seen Joel look more handsome.
Of course, it's not really a fair contest; he's handsome all the time. You'd first found him beautiful in patterned shirts under twinkling lights, tanned and glowing in tropical heat. He's still tanned, still glowing, still perfect–only now he's shrouded in the dim light of your childhood bedroom, clad in a white-button down and a simple black blazer. His hair's longer, pushed back out of his face and curling around his ears, flecks of grey poking through in places they hadn't before. His hand rests on the small of your back, taking in the space–taking in you in the space–perhaps wondering, just like you, how in the hell you've ended up here.
"That was my bed," you tell him, nodding to the twin-sized frame pressed flush into a corner on the far side of the room. "It used to be over there."
You point to the patch of wall beneath the window, now occupied by boxes filled with god-knows-what. "I'm never here, so they just use this room to keep all their old shit in now."
"Beats payin' for a storage unit, I guess," Joel shrugs, frowning. 
"The joy of being an empty nester, I guess."
He shakes his head. "I kept Sarah's room just how she left it when she moved out."
"Yeah, well," you roll your eyes, flicking the light off and leading him back out into the upstairs hallway of your parents' house. His hands wind around your waist, pressing into you as he follows you past the walls lined with family photos and mass-produced artwork. "You're the Best Dad Ever, we know this."
Joel laughs, the sound so sweet against your ear as you come to a stop in the hallway, gazing at the photos together.
"I remember when you looked like that," he says.
"Oh god, shut up."
His chin rests on your shoulder and you lean back into him without any fear; in the quiet of the upstairs hallway, there is only you and him.
You and him and the wall of photos, haphazardly hung in mismatched frames against a dark green backdrop. Three coats of green to be exact; you recall that month all too well. When your parents had stripped the walls and laid out canvas sheets across the carpet so the three of you could roll up your sleeves and Do It Yourselves. Your dad had been unwilling to relinquish control to anyone else, let alone hired painters.
Except Joel, of course. Because Joel had been there, on the second weekend for the second coat, something you only remember now that he's here with you again. 
"Yeah, look," he hums, reaching out from behind you to point at a picture of a much younger you on the front steps of this very house, yellow backpack slung over bare shoulders, Velcro sneakers strapped over tiny feet. First day of school. Fourth grade, you think. "Your smile ain't changed a bit."
His voice against your neck tickles, and sure enough, you mirror your past self, teeth poking out from behind your lips in a sheepish little grin. You shake your head and Joel kisses a spot just below your jaw.
"There it is," he murmurs and his scruff drags over your skin in a way that feels like he's smirking.
There's a sudden change in pressure as his hands drift up your sides and find a home above your rib cage. Your tummy flutters, meeting him where he's at.
"Some things have changed," you whisper, guiding his palms higher to daringly rest them over your breasts, pressing down and encouraging him to squeeze.
He does, kneading the soft flesh under the fabric of your dress, a low growl echoing in the hollow of your ear. He presses his frame closer into yours, his semi-hard bulge prodding at your lower back, and for a moment you both let yourselves forget where you are. Forget the clattering of dishes and the distant back and forth of your parents downstairs, forget the whole reason you're here in the first place.
Your head falls back against his shoulder as Joel trails one hand lower, emboldened when you sigh to slip it between your legs under the hem of your dress.
"They sure have, baby," he rasps, cupping your sex in his massive hand, feeling at the wetness staining the cotton of your panties, assessing it. "Fuck, they sure have."
Downstairs, silver clashes with porcelain and a whining timer dings but, as usual, you are lost in Joel. The slow circle of his fingers over your clothed clit makes your mouth fall open and your eyes slip closed and even though you know it's wrong stupid wrong to do this here, now, like this–you don't stop him. You never do.
Not when his teeth nip at your ear and his fingers apply more pressure to your clit, or when you start to think you might actually be able to come like this, breaths already shortening, stomach already fluttering. And Joel just laughs when he feels you loosen, when you lean back into him like you'd crumble without his arms around you.
"Naughty thing," he whispers as his fingers dip below the edge of your panties to touch you properly, his other hand moving to close over your open mouth and catch your gasp. "Yeah? S'at feel good?"
You can only nod, brows knitting together as he increases his pace, expertly swirling over your clit in slick little ministrations. You're barrelling towards climax at alarming speed, something about the risk and the setting and his tangible hunger for you causing heat to pool in your core all too quickly. 
"Shit," Joel grins when he feels you begin to shiver in his grasp. "You gonna come right here, baby? Just like this for me? Gonna come on my fingers with your folks downstairs?"
And as if that's what fucking does it. 
Joel's appreciative sigh soundtracks your silent orgasm as your body tenses then falls. He draws it out long enough to make your knees buckle but it still somehow ends too soon; not nearly as perfect as what you know he's capable of giving you, but blinding all the same. 
When your shudders subside, he pries his palm free from your mouth. You choke out a steadying breath and Joel plants a warm kiss behind your ear as he slowly retracts his fingers from your now-soaked underwear.
"Don't think I've ever seen you come so fast, baby,” he breathes reverently into your skin. "You're so fuckin' sexy."
"And you're–" You turn in his arms to face him, breathless as you lace your fingers behind his neck before pressing one fleeting kiss against his lips. "–a fucking menace."
He chuckles and shrugs, but doesn't deny it.
"You coulda just said the word n' I woulda stopped."
"Yeah, well," you roll your eyes, squish his sweet, scruffy, stupid face between your palms and kiss him again–just because you can. "You already know that'll never happen."
The man fucking giggles and your heart nearly explodes, fingers coiling into his curls like you could just burrow yourself into his scalp forever. 
You feel good, and not just because you're still riding the waves of an orgasm. It's a good night. You can feel it.
It's your dad's birthday dinner and you're telling your parents about Joel. 
You should probably feel scared, or nervous, or any number of things other than giddy but somehow, that's all there is. Excitement, anticipation, a fierce joy at the thought of making this thing with Joel into something real.
"Y'still wanna do this?" Joel asks, thumbs stroking soothingly at your waist. 
"I do," you nod, and his face breaks into a blinding half-smile. 
"No goin' back after this," he says. 
"After this?" you scoff, eyebrows shooting up your forehead. "I've been locked in for a while here, big guy."
"Oh yeah? Since when?"
"Hm," you ponder for a moment. Your bodies gently sway in the quiet of the hallway, and somewhere in the back of your mind it occurs to you that you've been gone for far too long; your parents are probably starting to get suspicious. But your imminent confession makes you bold. They'll know the truth soon enough anyway. "Remember that day by the pool? In Costa Rica?"
Joel laughs, the aquamarine memory dancing behind his eyes as he nods. "Yeah."
"Pretty much since then."
His laughter fades, something more pensive passing over his features. Staring at the floor beneath you, he shakes his head.
"What?" you press him. 
He reaches between your bodies to gently cup your chin, swiftly withdrawing his fingers to settle them over the shell that hangs from your neck. His gaze settles there too, at the place where his fingers are fiddling with the chain. 
"Think it was on the plane for me," he admits. You swallow tightly.
"Like the plane home?" you ask weakly, even though you already know that's not what he'd meant. 
Joel shakes his head. At last, his eyes meet yours from under his lashes, his stare all bashful and warm as he flashes you that familiar crooked smile.
"Nope," he sighs, infusing his tone with a sort of mock-solemnity, diffusing the weightiness of the moment. "'Fraid I've been locked in since day one, kid."
"Gross, don't call me that," you groan, pushing back on the suffocating emotion his words inspire and untangling yourself free from his embrace instead.
With nothing but adoration and trust–and something else you haven't voiced yet–coursing through you, you take his hand and lead him down the stairs. 
-
"What the hell were you two doing up there?" your dad asks when you and Joel walk into the dining room, no longer hand-in-hand, but with a respectable amount of space between your bodies. 
"I was just giving Joel a tour," you shrug, taking your usual seat at the dinner table.
"Joel's been here a thousand times, kiddo," he protests, but amazingly there's no suspicion in his tone. God, he really has no idea. You kind of start to worry you might break his brain tonight. "He comes around more than you. Least he used to."
He smacks a hand against Joel's shoulder, an affectionate gesture if not a little chiding. Because even though they're both smiling, you can sense the genuine hurt there. You've stolen your dad's friend away from him, a fact that haunts you more and more with each passing day. You twiddle your fingers in your lap and force a smile of your own, suddenly consumed by guilt. You work to rein it in; once the truth is out there, Joel won't have to hide anymore, and your dad can have his friend back. The thought keeps you tethered, solidifies your belief that telling them is the right thing, for everyone.
"Just been busy, you know how it goes," Joel says, eyes briefly flashing to you like he can't help himself. Your dad doesn't seem to catch it.
"I think he's got himself a new lady friend," your dad winks at you and your responding awkward laugh sounds so painfully put-on you think he must hear how much you're hiding beneath it. "Too busy with some woman to see your old man."
"Yeah, that sounds like Joel," you tease with a tight smile. Joel stifles a laugh under his breath and your dad looks like he wants to say something else but then your mother is emerging from the kitchen, announcing her presence with a clap of her hands. 
"Food's ready," she chimes in. "Can I get some hands in here?"
You're the first to follow her back into the kitchen, driven perhaps by some strange, childlike need to get on her good side.
-
"Well, here's to this little Costa Rica reunion," your mother toasts, holding up her third glass of wine over your near-empty plates. You all answer the call, your dad with a beer bottle, you with your own glass of wine, and Joel, sitting on your left, with the same crystal glass of bourbon he's been nursing for the past hour.
He's nervous, especially now as dinner is nearing its end and your time to share your news is running short. You'd agreed that it would be best to wait, ease into it, maybe let your parents get a few drinks deep before dropping a potential bomb on them.
The second Joel's done eating, his hand is on your thigh, concealed beneath the tabletop. It anchors him, you think–anchors you too.  
"And here's to you, dear," she adds, turning towards your father. "Happy birthday."
"Happy birthday, dad," you echo, punctuating the sentiment with a clink of your glass against his. Joel mirrors you, offering you an extra little nod of encouragement as he sips his drink beside you.
"Thanks, guys–thanks, honey," your dad smiles appreciatively, pulling at his beer and sitting back into his chair. "I'm just glad we could all get together for once."
Beside you, Joel squeezes your thigh–it's time–and your hand comes down over his. Anchoring. It's time. It's time. 
You take a deep breath and–
"I'm actually really glad you're here," your mother suddenly interjects, pointing at you across the table with the rim of her glass. "I've been wanting to tell you about this nice boy I met through one of the women in my yoga class."
"O-oh," you choke out, whatever words you'd been about to say dying on your tongue in an instant. On your left, Joel visibly stiffens, sucking in a haggard breath through his nose as his gaze drops to his lap. Fuck. You squeeze his fingers, as if to say, I'm sorry, I'm here, don't listen to her. 
"He's about your age, just got his Master's from UT, already has a job lined up and everything."
Fucking hell. 
Every word stings like a knife to the chest, but what hurts more is the way Joel's eyebrows pull together, the way his hand loosens on your thigh, the way he minutely shakes his head as she lists off reminder after reminder of all the things he doesn't have, things you know he wants to offer you but can't, things he thinks you deserve. She breathes life into every one of his anxieties and it makes you fucking livid.
"Mom–"
"And he's very handsome," she cuts you off. "Peggy showed me pictures. And I know every mother thinks the world of their son, but he really is a good-looking guy. I think he'd be your type."
"Mom, I'm really not looking to meet someone new right now."
Scoffing, she waves a hand at you dismissively. 
"It doesn't have to go anywhere!" she insists. Jesus, she's talking so fucking loud; every word rattles your bones and twists a blazing rage in your guts. Joel shrinks like he's been shot beside you and you need her to shut the fuck up, now. "But it wouldn't hurt to think about putting yourself back out there. You're going to be thirty soon and I just think–"
"I'm dating Joel, mom!"
Silence, thick and deafening, befalls the table. A weight you didn't know you'd been carrying disappears from your shoulders with a sigh. It settles in around you instead, tensing the air between you and your parents. You lace your fingers with Joel's and when you turn to offer him a gentle smile, you see that weight is gone from him too, his features relaxing as he meets your gaze, eyes all soft and grateful. 
It's not exactly how you'd planned for it to come out. But fuck, it feels good. 
Then you look up.
Not at your mother, but at your father.
Your father, who stares blankly between the two of you with his brows furrowed in confusion, frozen in place with his head tilted to the side.
"This Joel?" he demands, not like he's angry but like he genuinely doesn't understand.
And before you can even say yes, this Joel, your mother bursts into a fit of biting, mirthless laughter. 
"Of course, this Joel. What other Joel would she be talking about?"
Your father shakes his head, apparently still trying to make it all make sense. 
"I just–since when?"
You're about to answer him, but you're cut off once again.
"Since Costa Rica, obviously," your mother says, followed by another dark laugh that she swallows with a sip of wine. 
Something about her tone makes your blood boil but you can't quite figure out why.
"You knew?" you ask her.
She rolls her eyes and your burning anger only grows. "I had a feeling."
"Okay, well," you sit up a little straighter, refusing to let her attitude dissuade you. "Yes. You were right, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"
She laughs again, and the knife in your chest twists. "Not particularly, but here we are, I suppose."
Through the blinding fog of rage, you're conscious of your father beside her, staring across the table at Joel, his expression still painted with confusion. Joel seems unable to return his gaze, instead keeping his eyes trained on you. 
"Well, we–we're really happy," you continue, not unlike how you'd rehearsed it, though it comes out through gritted teeth in a way you hadn't planned for. "And we wanted to tell you guys–"
"At your father's birthday dinner?" she interrupts. Your heart sinks. "You thought that would be a good time to drop this on us?"
Drop this on us.
It's cruel–cutting–so overtly mean that it makes you want to run from the table, up to your childhood bedroom, so you can bury your face into your sheets and cry. But you are not a teenager anymore, and you are not hers to control. Instead, you channel your sadness into anger, and retaliate. 
"I'm telling you about my relationship," you argue. "I don't see the problem here."
"You don't see the problem?" She looks between the two of you, like the aforementioned problem is right there in the space between your bodies, clear as day to anyone on the outside looking in. And it is, you know it is, you've just become so desensitized to it that it's lost all meaning to you now:
Fifty. Your dad's friend. 
"What about you, Joel?" your mother goes on, speaking directly to him now. You imagine jumping in front of him as though her words were a bullet, as though you could protect him from the wounds you know she's about to inflict. "Do you see the problem?"
He opens his mouth like he wants to respond, but seemingly changes his mind when he locks eyes with your mother, succumbing to her glare and dropping his gaze back to his empty plate. And that kills you; it's one thing to feel the power she has over you, it's another to see it so clearly affecting Joel. 
You can't think of anything to say either, too dumbfounded and hurt and frustrated to form a half-decent response. Through a hefty breath of momentary quiet, you note that Joel has looked up from the table, but he's no longer looking at your mother. He's locked in some kind of silent staring match with your father, soft browns all pleading pleading pleading.
Your mother sips her wine, eventually cracking through the uncomfortable silence with a sigh when it becomes clear neither you or Joel are going to answer her.
"I'm never gonna have grandchildren, am I?" she asks to no one in particular, finally rising from the table with a shake of her head and disappearing towards the back door. 
It punches the air from your lungs, leaves you wide-eyed and cracked apart. Gobsmacked. 
Joel, you think. You need Joel. Need his tethering calm and his soothing drawl, need him to pull you back from the reeling like he has for so long now. 
But Joel is still staring at your father, still engrossed in some wordless, masculine conversation you can't get a handle on. 
Goddamnit. You know what needs to happen now. They need to hash it out. And you can't be here.
"I'm gonna go talk to her," you mutter and at that, Joel finally whips around to look at you, something like panic in his eyes.
"It's okay," you tell him, cupping his cheek in your palm and ignoring the sound your father makes in response. "You guys should talk."
His eyes flash to your mouth and you want so badly to kiss him, like you've grown so used to doing. You decide not to push it, opting instead to quickly squeeze his hand three times before unfurling your fingers from his, watching him steel himself as you stand and back away.
"Dad," you say, forcing him to tear his eyes away from Joel to look at you instead, that same befuddled glint in his stare.
"I'm really happy," you repeat, willing him to hear it. "I'm really happy, okay?"
He nods, mouth a straight line, eyes still searching. It seems like the best you're going to get right now.
So you nod back, offer Joel one last twitch of your lips–almost a smile–and go find your fucking mother. 
-
She's sitting on a lawn chair out on the back deck, legs crossed out in front of her. Somehow having procured another glass of wine, she's sipping on it lazily as she stares into the dark of the backyard. It's warm–always somewhat warm here, even in the dead of January–but her demeanor feels needlessly icy, like she's putting on a show of it.
You sigh, and take the seat beside her.
"I don't get why you’re so mad about this," you begin.
Now it's her turn to sigh, and in spite of her being nearly a bottle of wine deep by now, she seems strikingly sober.
"I'm not mad," she insists. "I'm just…baffled."
"What's so hard to believe?" you demand, leaning towards her with your hands on your knees, as if proximity will help her see your side more clearly. "Joel has been so good to me, mom. He's-he's kind and charming, and handsome–"
"And twenty years older than you," she interjects. "That man knew you when you were a child."
You vehemently shake your head at the suggestion behind her words.
"No. No, it's not some creepy thing, okay? We never even thought of each other like that until Costa Rica–"
"Are you sure about that? Maybe that's true for you, but how do you know it's true for him? What do you think a man his age wants with a girl like you?"
You just shake and shake and shake your head, defiant. 
"Joel is not a bad guy, mom," you say with finality.
She shrugs, sitting back in her chair, sipping her wine. 
She doesn't believe you.
"Why don't you trust me?" you ask, and it comes out like a whisper, some of the hurt you've been coddling finally coating your tone. It seems to affect her. Carefully assessing your pleading face, she frowns, and then finally, concedes.
Well, almost.
"Maybe you're right," she sighs. "Maybe it's better to just let you get it out of your system."
"Get it out of my system?" you repeat, taken aback. 
She hums, appearing contemplative when she sips her wine now, struck by some new train of thought.
"I mean, you never had a rebellious phase or anything like that," she muses, swirling dark red liquid in her glass. "Always did everything by the book. And then you met Chris and–I mean, there was your whole future right there, right? Then that ended and now…"
She nods to herself, clearly very proud of her little psychoanalytical assessment. 
"This is not about Chris," you assert. It burns your tongue to even say his name. 
"Well, no, not entirely, I'm sure," she agrees with an errant shrug. "I think it's also about me."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"What?"
"Sweetie, come on. I know you resent me for wanting you to get back together with Chris. Someone you had something great with. And I know–" she holds up a hand to stop you from interrupting, leaving you to seethe in silence instead as she twists the knife even deeper than before. "–I know he hurt you. I don't think you should take him back. But what you're choosing now? This? Wasting time with a man you absolutely have no future with? Your father's friend, for Christ's sake…I can't help but feel like you're trying to prove some kind of point."
Every word, spoken with such flippant disregard for you or your feelings, has heat erupting in your veins all over again.
"Maybe the point," you spit, rising to stand over her, desperately fighting to feel less small. "–is that I fucking like him. Did you ever consider that?"
"I don't doubt that you do, sweetheart," she says, and the sympathy in her voice only serves to make you more enraged. 
"So that's it?" you huff and the hurt is there again in your voice; the hurt and the shame and the sting of betrayal. "You're just...not gonna approve of this?"
"You're an adult, honey, I'm not gonna stop you." She sounds so patronizing you could scream. "But you can't ask me to pretend to be okay with this."
You can't find the words to retort and she doesn't say anything else. All you can do is scoff, shattered and indignant as you leave her behind and storm back inside.
You can't stay here a second longer.
"Joel," you call as you make your way back into the dining room, stopping dead in your tracks at the scene you find there.
Joel and your father, unraveling from what you can only describe as an affable embrace. 
What the fuck?
They both turn to face you and you blink at them dumbly, your temper momentarily dissolving into confusion before you collect yourself.
"We're leaving," you tell him even though you have about a million and one questions to ask both of them. You don't care right now. You just need to get out of here. 
Joel immediately nods without question, sensing the urgency in your tone.
"Kiddo, wait," your dad protests as you grab Joel's hand and drag him towards the front door.
"Happy birthday, dad," you say to the welcome mat. "Sorry for ruining it."
You can sense he's about to say something, but you're already turning the doorknob and stepping through the threshold, tugging Joel along behind you.
"Do you need a ride to your apartment?" your mother's voice calls from somewhere you can't see.
From the front porch, your responding shriek–
"I fucking live with Joel, mom!"
You hear Joel curse under his breath at that; you weren't planning on telling them that part yet. It's a shitty note to end on but you're past the point of caring.
You slam the door shut behind you, and let Joel take you home.
-
In the shallow depths of sleep, a melody intrudes.
A distantly familiar tune that reminds you of hotel rooms and burgers and missed texts and Joel. You can't put your finger on why, your half-conscious mind still piecing it all together like a puzzle made from memories.
Then, a voice.
"She broke down and let me…shit."
You stir at that sound, that voice that feels like a getaway car and home all at once. 
Again, "She broke down and let me in…made me see where I–goddamnit."
You hear what he hears, a sour note on brassy strings. You also hear annoyance in his aggravated sigh, and then you hear him start again.
"She broke down and let me in…made me see where I've been."
You're awake now, creeping up out of his bed in the same dress you'd been wearing at your parents. Your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your thighs and your cunt, a bitter reminder of this evening's earlier pleasure, before it had all come crumbling down. You slip them off and leave them in a heap on the floor.
Your head feels heavy and hot in that way it often does when you fall asleep crying. Joel had let you stew, let you sob and rage and rant and eventually, sleep. Although apparently not for long; the clock on his nightstand lets you know it's barely past eleven. 
You follow the sound of his voice, pad down his stairs and find him in the living room under the orange glow of a floor lamp. He doesn't see you right away, so you allow yourself the time to stare, drinking him in in his boxers and his soft grey t-shirt, acoustic guitar resting on his bare thigh. He's not singing anymore, focused instead on the complex guitar part you remember he'd once told you he knew how to play. He struggles now, but only slightly. To you, his thick fingers move with astonishing skill over the strings, emotion stinging at your tired eyes as he plucks away at the winding melody until–
"Shit," he curses as he loses it, hands falling away from the strings with another frustrated sigh.
He sees you then, standing in the doorway of his living room, watching him. Always watching.
"Hey, baby," he murmurs, smiling up at you softly.
"Try it again," you tell him.
He laughs and shakes his head, bashful.
"I'm no good," he admits. "Can't remember it anymore."
"You sounded good to me. Try it again."
He huffs a little, shaking his head again as he sits up straighter, fingers retaking their place on the strings. He glances down at them for a moment, and then his eyes flash up to yours. 
"No laughin'."
You can't help it, the seriousness of the request makes you giggle. Joel shoots you an indignant glare. "Sorry, sorry–I won’t laugh."
"You're already laughin'."
You bite your lip to stifle any further giggles, silently gesturing for him to go on.
And he does, after a skeptical glance your way and a sigh. He focuses on the strings, and then he starts to play.
It's the same bright melody that awoke you just moments before, the same notes that had echoed out in the haze of a setting sun over room service and confessions all those months ago now. He doesn't sing, intent on his calloused fingers moving along the neck of the guitar. You're intent on him too, feeling the way a smile spreads across your face as you listen, some soft, golden warmth pooling down your spine and settling in the pit of your tummy. The feeling turns to tears in your eyes, the kind of adoration that aches, bursts from every orifice in a manner almost violent. 
You are so lucky. There never needs to be anything more than this, you think. Or at least it's what you tell yourself.
Joel plays until your chest hurts, and then he fumbles.
"Ah, fuck."
His hands abruptly fall when he loses his way, laughing at himself as he finally looks up at you.
"No good, see?"
The lingering ache between your ribs begs to differ.
"You're so talented," you tell him earnestly.
He seems to hear the emotion in your voice, a tenderness overtaking his stare and his lips melding into a tight, sympathetic smile. 
"I mean it," you insist. "You could've been a singer."
Joel chuckles, setting down his guitar and leaning it against the side of the couch. You take it as an invitation, hesitantly crossing the room to stand between his legs and let him take your hands in his. His thick thumbs stroke the backs of your knuckles, callouses catching on soft skin. 
"Maybe if I'd'a been braver," he shrugs. He's gazing up at you, but you can't seem to look away from his hands. "Kept the band goin'."
He winks, but the reminder only makes you think of your father. You quickly change the subject.
"I bet you sang a lot for Sarah, though."
His responding laugh rumbles in the space between you, low and fond, deep in his chest. 
"Did," he says. "'Fore she got old enough to tell me to stop."
You try to laugh too, but it sounds distant even to your own ears. A grating thought begins to claw at your insides as you conjure up an image of a younger Joel, little baby in his arms, sweet brown eyes all alight with devotion and love and fear. An image so foreign to you, a Joel you'll never know, a feeling you'll never know, one you've never even really wanted. And yet you can't unhear that voice–
I'm never gonna have grandchildren, am I?
"Did you ever…"
You quickly swallow the question back, frowning with your gaze still fixed on your conjoined hands. Joel squeezes your fingers lightly, sensing–always sensing–that you're holding something back. 
"What?" he presses. 
You take a deep breath, and let the words spill from you before you can stop to think them through.
"Did you ever think about having another kid?"
There's a long, excruciating pause, Joel staring at your face, you staring at his hands. When he finally speaks, his voice is level, and if he'd heard any sort of implication in your words, he doesn't let on. 
"Sometimes," he slowly nods. "I love bein' a dad. Think I'd'a had way more kids if I thought I coulda managed that. But Sarah was more'n enough."
You share an almost-laugh, two soft exhales passed through two sets of nostrils. You don't know what to say–because truthfully, you don't know what you're after–so all you give him in return is, 
"You did a great job with her."
Another loaded pause and you still can't bring yourself to meet his eyes. Joel's not having it. His fingers hook under your chin and he gently tilts your face up. Tells you, "Look at me," until you finally do. There's genuine curiosity there, in the deep brown of his gaze, a quiet ferocity that does little to put you at ease. 
"Do you…want kids?" he asks. 
You don't know what to say; you don't know the answer. 
"I…"
"It's okay," he assures you. "You're not gonna scare me away."
"No, it's–" You shake your head, feeling stupid. Your brain feels scrambled, all hazy and exhausted. One too many anxieties had been brought to the forefront of your mind this evening and you feel every one of them consuming you now. "I don't think I do."
"Then what's wrong?" he presses, almost pleads. 
Everything, you think. But mostly–
"I think my mom just…got in my head."
Joel's shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh, his expression shifting to one of understanding. He resituates himself on the couch a bit, opening up his right side for you to crawl up into. His strong arm loops around your back, a warm palm stroking up and down your spine as you let your head fall tiredly against his chest. 
"I probably never will give her grandkids," you mutter after a quiet moment. "I'm her only daughter–it's like, my one job. And it doesn't matter how much I tell myself that's not true, I just always, always come back to this feeling that I'm letting her down."
He waits until you've fallen completely silent, squeezing you into him a little tighter as you speak. You don't cry; you don't think you have any tears left. You're just seeking, needy for that comfort only Joel can provide, the sense of safety he's offered you since that day on the beach when you'd first bared your heart to him. 
He doesn't disappoint. 
"You know, sweetheart," he sighs gruffly. "There ain't a whole lot in my life that's gone the way it was meant to. Hell, I don't think there's been one goddamn day that's gone by where I haven't asked myself if I'm doin' the right thing or if I coulda maybe done somethin' different."
You peer up at him and his big hand cups your face, thumbpad stroking lightly over your cheekbone. 
"You make the most of what you get, and do it for you and the people you care about," he whispers. "There's no schedule. You ain't got some kinda job–" his soft voice twists bitterly around the word, like he's offended at the very suggestion. "–That's not what you're here for. I'd never expect grandkids outta Sarah and it's…fucked up your mom expects that of you."
You can hear him getting worked up, his obvious frustration only further endearing you to him, as if that were even possible. Suddenly, you don't feel nearly close enough, moving to straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. He welcomes you with open arms, holding you firmly against his chest as you bury your face into his shoulder. 
"Thank you, Joel."
"I got you."
A hint of frustration lingers there in his voice, but mostly you feel it in his embrace, his hold so fierce it's like he's trying to carve it right into your muscles–he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. 
You hold each other like that till your breaths match his and you finally feel safe enough to ask what you'd failed to ask before you'd fallen asleep. 
"Joel?"
"Hm?"
You pull back to see his face, knotting your fingers into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. 
"What did you say to my dad? Why wasn't he mad?"
To your surprise, his brows furrow and his eyes flit to the shell around your neck as he swallows nervously. 
"He was mad," Joel admits softly. His hand cups your face, dull fingernails scratching at the side of your head as he speaks. Anchoring. "S'mad as any father'd be if he found out his buddy was screwin' around with his daughter, I reckon."
As mad as I'd be if the roles were reversed, you think he wants to say. 
You nod slowly, searching his face and waiting for him to go on. Joel frowns at your necklace, seeming to just notice the shell is facing the wrong way against your chest. He takes his time readjusting it, like it's the most important thing in the world–and it kind of is, you guess. Eventually, he sighs, resting his palm above your left breast, fingertips brushing your collarbone. 
"'Cept I…" His voice drops an octave, so low and quiet it's like he's talking to himself. "I told him I wasn't just screwin' around with you."
"Oh."
You're not sure why the confession makes your heart pound hot in your ears and butterflies dance in your stomach; you've always known it was more than that with Joel. But something about hearing it out loud has a brightness stirring in your chest, the words so dangerously close to the ones you've almost said for months now.
His other hand wanders up your spine to curl his thick fingers around the nape of your neck. At last, his eyes find yours, two soft, brown, adoring orbs that burn with an intensity so powerful and fearful that you feel his next words before you even hear them.
"And I…I told him I think I'm in love with you."
"Oh."
The air leaves your lungs in a shuddering breath, as a tingling wet warmth pricks at your eyes.
Oh god, you know this feeling, have known it so long. And now Joel breathes life into it, makes it real. The hand behind your neck pulls you in closer and you go without question, let your forehead collide with his as the tears you thought you'd run dry steadily begin to fall. 
"Yeah," he murmurs. 
"Is that true?"
You feel him frown, his body shifting under yours to clutch you into him tighter, like he's trying to show you. 
"Yes," he admits hoarsely. It's hard to see from this angle, but you can just make out the fact that his eyes are wet too, and his forehead feels hot where it rolls under yours. "God, yes–yes, it's true. I'm sorry."
"Don't you dare," you protest, crushing your mouth against his, kissing away the doubt and the guilt and the apologies from him like sucking venom from a snake bite. Between sniffles and kisses, your own hushed confession–
"I love you, Joel. I love you so much."
You feel the change in him the second he hears it, the abandon with which he begins to kiss you. His tongue slips past the seam of your lips, sitting up beneath you just to get you closer still.
"Fuck, I love you," he groans, kissing feverishly along your jaw until he finds your ear, nipping at the lobe while his fingers tangle in your hair. "I'll be whatever you need, baby, whatever you want. M'not goin' anywhere. S'long as you want me."
Your breathing stutters as he trails his lips down, down, down, over your pulse point, past the shell around your neck to suck at the skin above your sternum. 
"I'll fuckin' show her, sweetheart, I'll show her how good I can be for you."
He keeps his face buried against your chest as he rocks his hips upwards, making you gasp when you feel the hard line of his cock make contact with your bare pussy.
"I'll give you a baby f'you want one," he rambles on gruffly, pulling you down into his lap over and over and over. "I'd give you a hundred kids f’that's what you wanted."
You gasp at that, dizzying arousal clouding your vision, drunk on his devotion and the feeling of his clothed cock grinding against your velvet warmth. You imagine him filling you, really filling you, making you his in every conceivable way and it makes you fucking needy. You match his shallow thrusts upwards, chasing contact as you arch your back and press your chest into his, never feeling close enough. 
"Talk to me," he grits out, breath hot against your bare chest. 
But words evade you, lost in his touch as Joel slips the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders to palm at your breasts. He feasts on you, mind and body, bites down hotly on your jawbone and rolls his hips beneath you.
"Talk to me," he repeats, grunting it into the space behind your ear. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck with one hand and pulls your face up to meet his eyeline. His eyes are nearly black, shining with leftover emotion and blazing with covetous need. 
"Fuck me," you sob.
Joel wastes no time, breath shaky as he reaches between your bodies to free his cock from his boxers. He taps your sides and you lift your hips, locked in his stare as you lower yourself back down onto his length. Joel's grip on your hips encourages you to move slowly, though it makes no difference; your jaw still falls open at the stretch, and you pause when you're fully seated just to appreciate the space your body makes for him. 
"Keep talkin'." Joel growls as you adjust. Slick drools from your cunt as you experimentally roll your hips, but Joel's arms around you hold you perfectly still. The tip of his cock tickles the deepest parts of you, his open mouth hovering over yours. Finally as close as he can get, he holds you there.
There are no words for this feeling.
"Can't–I don't–"
You gasp when he shifts beneath you, his thick cock moving inside you just enough to ease the ache, if only for a fleeting moment. Your pussy pulses around him, sticky-wet and so fucking full.
"Just–say anythin', please," he begs. His forehead falls haplessly into your shoulder, heavy and hot and damp with sweat. You bury your face into his curls while his arms around you loosen and at last you start to move–slow, reverent rocks of your hips against his that have you both moaning softly into each other's skin. "You make me feel so fucking good," you breathe raggedly. "No one–no one's ever made me feel as good as you do."
Joel groans, sliding his hands up your spine as you begin to ride him in earnest, impaling yourself down on him again and again and again. 
"Don't–" Joel protests, grabbing at your hips to slow your movements, encouraging you to grind on him instead. "Wanna feel you come on it."
You whimper, letting Joel guide your movements till he pinpoints that perfect spot inside you, each roll of your hips making his cock prod against it while you wet the coarse hairs at his base. 
"Show me how good I make you feel," he huffs as you chase your release, devouring your lips in a kiss that's more shared breaths than anything else. His lower belly rubs at your clit and you feel it start to build, that deep-seated pressure growing in your core and threatening to swallow you. You moan into his mouth and his hand tightens in your hair, clutching you impossibly closer as you increase your pace, greedy in the way you're using him. Joel's obvious pleasure in watching you fall apart stops you from caring. 
"Show me, pretty girl," he rasps, voice low against your lips. "No one else gets to have you like this, do they?"
"No–fuck, Joel!–only you, only you."
"Yeah, baby–you're fuckin'...all mine, huh?" he groans. "My girl. And I'm all yours. All yours, baby. Lemme hear it. Lemme see."
"I'm yours–please," you cry as your orgasm licks up your spine, building slowslowslow then crashing into you all at once. Your hips stutter and you clench around his cock, a high-pitched wail pouring from your mouth into his and Joel just talks you through it, a quiet refrain of there you go, there you go, there you go as you gush down onto his balls. 
"You're so fucking perfect," Joel growls before it even ends, unable to stop himself anymore from fucking up into you. The hurried drag of his cock moving wetly in and you of your spent hole prolongs the pleasure, shooting aftershocks through your veins until you lie limply against his chest and let him find his own high. 
You whine into his shoulder while you let him ride it out, his arms so tight around your back you wonder if your bodies won't just melt into one. 
"Come in me, Joel," you implore him weakly, clawing listlessly at his scalp. Fresh tears collect in your eyes and spill out onto your cheeks and you can't imagine there is anyone on Earth as full as you are right now. As full of love and warmth and Joel. 
"Oh, fuck," he moans, losing his rhythm slightly as he nears his edge, pounding up into you harder. "I will–m'gonna–"
His rambling chokes off into a laboured grunt, his entire frame shuddering under you as he comes. He pumps his seed into the deepest parts of you until hot cum seeps past your walls and down his length. He doesn't stop moving till he's emptied himself completely, breathless and faded when his lips find yours again, his cock still buried inside you. 
"I don't want any babies," you tell him as you come down, clutching at the sides of his face and kissing every part of him you can reach. "I just want you. Just me and you."
Joel nods, pulling you into a sticky-warm embrace, breathing unevenly into your hair.
"Just me and you, babygirl," he vows, voice barely above a whisper. "Just me and you."
one month later
Winter is so long.
You know on some level that with each passing day, the sun hangs in the sky a little longer than it did the day before, but it never really feels that way, does it? It's just winter, cool and dark and barren, until suddenly, it's spring. The leaves will return and the flowers will bloom and you'll be left wondering when the hell winter even started in the first place.
For now, you remain in the thick of it. Mid-February brings with it a rare weekend of snow, barely enough to coat the earth, a pitiful dusting destined to melt by Monday. Not that you need much of an excuse these days to spend your free time sheltered inside with Joel, but it's nice to have a reason for once. Cross-legged on his living room floor with Henry in your lap, Joel sitting above you on the couch with his guitar across his knees, you'd be content to stay this way forever.
Of course, a grey cloud of irresolution still hovers over you; you don't try to reach your mother, and after about a week of ignoring her texts, she stops trying to reach you. And it's fine. It's fine. You don't need her approval and you don't need her judgment. Beside, the more time that passes since your father's birthday dinner, the more you accept that her response had–probably–been coming from a place of concern. You know she's not an evil person. It's still easier to stay angry with her, though.
Then there's the other cloud, somehow darker and even more ominous, the nimbus that's been following you since before Costa Rica. Heather. Apparently she's changed her number, because she's been texting you non-stop for the past week, pleading for the chance to be forgiven, to meet for coffee, to come over and catch up–anything.
And the worst part is, you're starting to consider it.
It's not lost on you that you've been isolating yourself with Joel since last summer, and while your parents now know you're dating, it's not really like you can talk about it with them. Plus, you'd be lying if you said you didn't miss her–at least, what you had with her before…everything. You're not sure you can ever truly get that back but you're beginning to wonder if maybe some version of it still exists.
"You don't gotta take the high road or nothin'," Joel had said when you'd told him. "But you can always hear her out. Ain't no shame in that. But only f'that's what you want."
Supportive to a fault. For once–just once–you wish he'd just tell you exactly what to do.
Anyway, most days you barely think of Heather, or your mom. Most days are consumed by work and Henry and Joel. You aren't thinking of them right now, for instance.
"Right–sing that high part again," Joel tells you, after accompanying you through the first verse of Fleetwood Mac's "I Don't Want to Know" for the third time in a row now.
You frown. "The…high part?"
Joel rolls his eyes–a little dramatic. "The part you were just singin'."
You sigh exasperatedly–you'd just been messing around, casually jumping in when he'd started strumming the familiar intro. But then he'd gone and looked all proud and smiley and impressed and curious and now it may as well be a goddamn singing lesson with the way he's bossing you around.
You straighten your spine, fill your tummy with air just like Joel had taught you, and nod. "Okay, okay."
He plays you in, and then you sing for him.
I don't want to know the reasons why Love keeps right on walking on down the line I don't want to stand between you and love Honey, I just want you to feel fine
He lets you get through half a verse before he stops you. 
"Good," he says. "Feel where that's sittin'?"
"No," you scoff. You don't even know what that means. "I can't sing, Joel."
"You can," he insists, smirking. "And you're doin' great. Try it again."
You roll your eyes now, taking another deep breath before he leads you into another refrain.
Only this time, when you start singing, he joins in too. A harmony, lower than the part you're singing, the two lines perfectly melding together in the space between your bodies. Your eyes widen at the sound you create, something beautiful crafted from two voices coming together as one. It tickles your ears in the strangest way, and by the time you get through a verse together, you're laughing in wonder, Henry finally jumping out of your lap, clearly betrayed by the unpleasant vibrations of your joy.
"Sounded pretty good, huh?" Joel grins.
Your eyes are still wide with shock and even if you still highly doubt your abilities, you can't deny that it did, in fact, sound pretty fucking good. "That was so cool."
"See?" He cocks his eyebrows, setting the guitar down beside him so it's leaning against the front of the couch. "You can sing."
"Yeah, yeah," you laugh. From the other room, you hear the front door open and close–right on time. "You're just a good teacher."
"Who's that? Joel?" a familiar voice says, your father rounding the corner from the hallway into the living room, shrugging off his jacket as he goes. "Yeah, right."
"Hey, dad," you greet him, as casually as you can muster.
He hesitates in the doorway, still a bit uncertain of his place here, even though it's become fairly standard now for him to pop in on the weekends like this. The three of you had made the decision to work towards normalizing your relationship with Joel even if it feels…less than comfortable sometimes. You try to think of it as a win-win; your dad gets his friend back, and you get to feel like at least one of your parents supports your relationship. 
You smile warmly up at him from your place on the carpet, and at last he eases into the room, stopping to pull you into a one-armed hug on his way to the La-Z-Boy.
He's giving you his own best attempt at a smile as he sits himself down on the chair next to Joel, the two of them greeting each other in that grunted, male way, hands slapped on shoulders with all the casual friendliness of two people who've known each other for years.
It's a work in progress. But you're grateful that he's trying. 
"Can I hear?" your dad asks, nodding towards the guitar perched beside Joel. You cringe at the thought of that, immediately glancing at Joel with barely-concealed horror in your eyes. 
"Oh, I don't–" you begin to protest but your father cuts you off. 
"C'mon, just a little."
Joel's cheeks flush a light shade of pink, his own embarrassment showing through the crooked smirk he's wearing. He tilts his head at you and shrugs, resigned. Might as well. 
"Alright," you reluctantly agree. "Sure, okay."
Joel's lips split in a genuine smile then, as he reaches for his guitar and your father sits back into his chair. You can feel him looking between the two of you, assessing the silent conversation you share with your eyes, the familiarity, the safety, the love. The way Joel nods at you encouragingly and shoots you a little thumbs up, watching you with furrowed brows until you nod back, a quiet indication you're as ready as you'll ever be. 
Then he starts to play.
You keep your eyes on Joel, not just because the even nodding of his head helps keep you in time, but also because it's just too embarrassing to look at your dad. Joel holds your stare, and together, you sing. His voice rings out in that same harmony from before, seamlessly knotting with yours. He lets it go on longer this time, watching your confidence grow as he guides you through the song, all the way through once, then again. Eventually you start to forget your father is there at all, honestly too enraptured by how easy it's starting to feel to hold your harmony alongside Joel's, how satisfying it feels to hear the two melodies intersect and resolve, stronger and stronger with each passing refrain. 
It's kind of magical, how something that once felt so foreign feels so comfortable with Joel. 
You get through two rounds of verses and choruses before Joel finally cuts it off with a chuckle and a final little flourish of his guitar. 
It's quiet for a moment as the remnants of your duet fade into the ether. You're still staring at Joel. 
"You guys sound really good together," your dad eventually says and when you turn to face him, you find his lips are pressed into a tight smile, an earnest sort of warmth swimming in his eyes. "Real good."
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fandoms-writings · 25 days
Text
In My Dreams • 3
Pairing: Post-Engame!Bucky Barnes x DreamWitch!Reader
Word Count: 3K
Summary: Looking for something to aide his sleepless nights, Bucky searches for you, the dream witch of New York. You're known for helping vets with PTSD have terrorless nights and being a home to the gifted mutants of the city. What Bucky didn't expect, was for you to be so captivating, or for him to open up to easily around you. But to have the powers you do, you've got to be more than just a mutant, right?
Warnings: Not much for this chapter, some anxiety, mentions of traumatic pasts (not very detailed though), bucky is soft in this
Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost
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Bucky hadn't been back to see you in a few weeks. It wasn't like he didn't want to, he did - he missed you. But he didn't know what to say. 
He felt like a coward for the way he'd left. He knew that you meant no harm, that you weren't offering this dream walking solution to use what you'd find in his head against him. He understood that you were just trying to help, that his options were limited. But the thought of someone else rummaging around in his head again let loose the anxiety he'd just recently gotten a hold of and it gripped him by the throat, making it hard to breathe and hard to think. 
All he could focus on was getting himself back home where he could wallow in his anxiety as it settled back in his chest and overthink every possible scenario. None of the scenarios where you intended any harm sat right with him. They felt wrong. Not just because it would be a horrible thing for you to do, but because he knew you wouldn't do that. 
He knew you better than that.
And he knew he needed to apologize.
Which was why he was standing outside your warehouse, a box of fresh beignets from your favorite bakery in hand. 
He hadn't gone inside yet, something felt off and he'd started to think that maybe he should've called ahead of time. But he'd never done that before, and if you were busy he could leave the baked goods with Tori and she'd take them to you. 
He brushed off the weird feeling that was crawling up his neck as he opened the door and walked down the hall to that familiar door that thrummed with magic. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open, ready to face the other patrons and the music. 
But there was no music.
And the space was empty. 
Empty save for the people who worked directly under you. They were tidying up in silence, looking as if they spoke they'd be reprimanded. 
Bucky swallowed once, his anxiety suddenly pricking at every nerve in his body,  before shuffling his way to the bar, where he usually sat and waited for you. He caught the attention of Alec, the young lanky man behind the bar, whose eyes widened when they landed on Bucky. 
Alec rushed around the bar, holding his finger over his lips in a shushing manner when Bucky opened his own to ask what was going on. As he quickly walked over, he gestured towards a closed off sitting room, and Bucky followed the silent suggestion, stepping into the familiar room and turning towards the young man who carefully shut the glass door. 
Bucky didn't dare speak first. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, he didn't like how cold it made your safe haven seem. How the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck wouldn't go down.
"You shouldn't be here." Alec whispered, barely audible over the heavy silence. 
"What's going on?" 
Alec looked through the door, fidgeting with his fingers, "The coven is here."
"The coven?" Bucky had never heard of a coven. He knew now you weren't just a regular mutant, but for some reason he thought you were the only one. He hadn't considered the fact that you might have some sort of magical family - you never spoke about them. "Is that a bad thing?" 
Alec looked to the floor before he raised his gaze back up to Bucky's, his eyes sorrowful, nervous. "It is when she's an outcast." Bucky went to ask what happened, but Alec shook his head, as if to tell him he'd have to ask you directly. "The last time the coven showed up. . . it didn't go very well." 
Bucky's blood ran cold with that familiar calculating stillness. "What did they do?" 
Alec shook his head, "All I can say is they took something from her. They took something and left. And she didn't come down from her rooms for three days." 
He would've asked what they took, but he knew Alec wouldn't tell him. He released a long breath through his nose. "When will they leave?" 
Alec took his eyes off the door, "They're usually only here for a few hours when they visit. They should be gone by dusk at the latest." 
Bucky looked at his watch - dusk was two hours away. He glanced to his usual seat, where he'd sit and tell you about the dreams he'd had, the good memories that your help brought back to him, and he sat. He had nowhere more important to be. "I'll wait." 
~~~
You held your head high as you escorted your "sisters" to the main lobby. They're random check-ins always wore you down, making it an effort just to keep your back straight, to not let them see the way they stole all of your energy. Their snide remarks and not so subtle glares of disgust at your home. The way they spoke to you as if you were still a child. The way they talked of you redeeming yourself in their eyes when you knew they'd never let you back in. 
It was exhausting. 
But as you led them down the stairs, a certain leather jacket behind a closed glass door caught your attention and your breath caught in your throat. It took every ounce of concentration to stay leading the women out of your home, to not run to see his face. You hadn't seen or heard from him in weeks and you were dying to know how he was holding up. You would've checked in, but you didn't want to impose where you might not have been wanted. He needed time and you gave it to him. 
Your pace slightly quickened at the sight of the front door and you pulled it open, revealing the dark warehouse tunnel on the other side. 
"Travel safely," You stiffly said as the five women barely nodded before leaving. Barely acknowledging you as they peered down their noses at you. The five matrons never liked you, so it was something you were used to, but it still stung. 
The last one, Lady Gianna, paused at the threshold, turning to you with eyes of steel. She was a beautiful woman in her mid fifties, but she was cutthroat, ruthless. She demanded respect that you willingly offered her with a bow of your head and a slight bend in your knees. 
You stiffened as her voice reached your ears, a low whisper meant only for you. "Something is coming, protect yourself." You looked up to see her not even looking at you anymore, her gaze down the hall. "Do not do anything brash. I do not wish to punish you a second time. It will be the last." 
With that, she stepped into the hall, swiftly joining the other matrons in the shadows of the warehouse, but you didn't wait to watch them leave before quickly shutting the door, turning the lock with shaky fingers. 
What in the hell did that mean? You pondered the words of Lady Gianna for a moment, your forehead pressed to the humming wood of the door. She'd never warned you before, and to admit she didn't want to punish you was odd. Last time, it felt as if she found the most joy out of watching you suffer. 
A door opening behind you had you tucking her words away for later, not to be forgotten, as you turned to meet those baby blues you'd missed so much. 
Your lips hesitantly drew up in the corners, as you slowly stepped towards him. "James." 
He gave you a grin full of sorrow as his name fell from your lips. He looked well enough, though his cheeks were just a bit more hollow and the area around his eyes seemed dark. You supposed he wasn't getting enough sleep in the past few weeks. You knew he ran out of your spells a day or two after you'd last seen him. 
You stopped just a couple feet away from him, fighting your itching fingers to reach out and touch him, to embrace him, to squeeze his hand, anything. "I was wondering when I'd see you again." 
He took a step forward, gently reaching for your hands and holding them in his own. "I'm so sorry," He breathed, "I'm sorry for running off the way I did and for not reaching out. I just didn't know what to do." 
A breathy chuckle broke past your lips as you smiled, squeezing his hands, "You don't need to apologize, James. I'm just glad to see you're alright." 
He offered a soft smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes as his worried gaze remained on you, "Are you okay?"
You cocked your eyebrow, "What are you talking about?" 
"Alec said your coven was visiting," he muttered, as if the words themselves would hurt you, "He also told me that things don't really go well when they visit." 
Your small smile faltered as you struggled to keep it up, glancing down to your entangled fingers. "What else did he tell you?"  
His fingers squeezed yours, "That they took something from you. He didn't say what, or why, and you don't have to tell me either. But I just want to make sure you're okay." 
Your vision was blurry when you looked up at him again, the moisture in your eyes distorting your view of him. "I'll be okay," You hated how your voice trembled over the words, "I promise." 
He nodded, his lips now a thin line as he hesitated, but ended up letting go of your hands, your fingers instantly cold in his absence. But it didn't last long as he reached around your shoulders and pulled you in, holding you close. 
You tried to fight it, to reign in the way your body reacted to him, but it instinctively melted against his as your arms wrapped around his middle and your nose buried into his chest inhaling the smell of him. Pressing your eyes closed, trying not to let the tears slip, you tried to focus on just him. Hints of mahogany, cedar, and leather flooded your senses and you sighed as his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you to him while he traced gentle lines across your skin. 
You could've stood there in his arms forever if he let you. There was something about him that lured you in, that comforted you and made you feel light. Something about him that made you happy. 
He held you for a long few minutes before his lips brushed your ear in a whisper, "I brought you something." 
Pulling out of his hold, you wiped at the few tears that had slipped through your lashes, "You brought me something?" 
"I did," He turned back to the room he'd been waiting for you in, leading you inside where a box sat on the little coffee table. 
"What is this?" You smiled as he gestured to the box, silently telling you to open it. 
"It was my peace offering," He stated as you lifted the lid, beignets filling the box."I thought maybe you'd be mad at how I left." 
"So you were going to bribe me with beignets?" You asked, a brow raised in mock suspicion and he chuckled. 
"I was going to try," He looked at you, "I don't know what I'd do if you stayed mad at me, I had to do what I could." 
"I wasn't mad, or upset," You closed the box before laying one of your hands on his chest. "I was just worried." 
"I didn't mean to worry you," He muttered, grabbing your hand with his own. 
"I know," You sighed, wanting to start feeling better and looked back to the box of desserts before a grin took over your lips. "I have something I want to show you." 
~~~
You lead him up the stairs to the second level where your office was. But you kept walking down the hall, passing the large oak doors and the various hallways before coming to a set of small hidden metal spiral stairs. He followed you up, though when you looked back at him, he was climbing the stairs at an angle between the center pole and the railing, causing a giggle to tumble from your lips. His shoulders were a bit too broad to fit. 
When  you reached the top, you unlocked and pushed open the hatch, climbed out and took the box of beignets from him to let him join you. 
"What is this?" He asked, his eyes roaming the space. 
"This," You stepped around him, closing the hatch with a soft thud, "is where I come to hide from my life, sometimes." You watched as he walked around the small area, the plants hanging from the trellis brushing his shoulders as he passed under them. You watched him run his fingers along the back of the outdoor couch, the cushions a dark brown to match the small table that was lined with books in front of it. 
"It was freezing out today," He turned to you and you walked around the couch, taking a seat and placing the box on the table. "How do you keep it warm up here? It's perfect." 
You flashed a smile, "Take a wild guess." 
He scoffed with a smile before sitting next to you, "I know it's magic, but," He paused, as if he shouldn't even be asking. 
"You want to know how it's done." 
He looked over to you with a nod but was sure to quickly add, "You don't have to tell me." 
Tucking your feet under you and grabbing a beignet, you leaned back, savoring that first bite before you sighed. "It's an almost constantly running sort of shield," You explained. You reached for a pebble from the ground, tossing it at the edge of the roof. It bounced off of what seemed to be just air, but upon contact left a gold ripple that traveled over the expanse of the dome surrounding your little roof. 
"Wow," He turned to you, "Could I. . . ?" He gestured to the same pebble that landed at his feet, and you nodded, watching him toss it in the same spot. He tracked the ripples, tipping his head back as far as he could to watch it go down the other side. When the wall stopped shimmering and was back to being invisible, he turned to you again, "Doesn't keeping this up all the time wear you out?" 
"Truthfully, no." You shrugged, taking another bite of your treat before explaining further, "Sure, it does drain from my magic, but in the grand scheme of everything else I'm doing at all times, this is just a splinter in the whole tree." 
"That's incredible," Bucky muttered, turning to look at you, "You're incredible." 
There was a sudden lightness in your chest as you fought to not smile too broadly, to not allow yourself to become too flustered. "Why do you say that?" 
"You're protecting so many people, and helping so many more. You've got this place under lock and key hidden in plain sight with a constantly running magical security system. You've got half the city protecting you because they want to," He sighed, "And you don't have to do any of this stuff. You could take your magic and run away. You could be selfish, and only help yourself. You could leave the rest of us to struggle while you climbed your way up. But you don't leave anyone you can help behind." He reached over, gently swiping his thumb across the tip of your nose, the surface coming away with powdered sugar as he chuckled. "I've only really known one other person who was like that." 
You instantly knew who he was talking about. It wasn't a secret that his best friend was the Steve Rogers. The whole damn world knew. But what the world didn't know was how Steve left. 
It didn't know how Steve left to return to the past and his friend had left behind. How he left his friend heartbroken and alone. Lost in a world he didn't know. 
The world didn't know that, but you did. Bucky had told you. He'd told you of the memory he dreamed about with Steve. The one where they were just teen boys going to Coney Island. Where he saw his friend in a different light for the first time. 
He'd told you about the emotions he remembered struggling with in a time where those sorts of feelings between the two of them wouldn't have been accepted. You knew about him trying to move on, dating girls around town. And how he had written to Steve when he was shipped off to the war. How Steve never responded and it hurt but it helped bury those feelings he harbored. But then his friend showed up to rescue him from a scientist, and all of those emotions flooded back. 
Then he told you about how after Thanos, Steve told him he was going to stay in the past after returning the infinity stones. He was going to leave the shield to Sam and go find Peggy Carter for that dance. Bucky told you how, even though he was heartbroken once again, he hugged his friend and told him he'd earned that dance. 
He let him go. 
You wanted to curse Steve Rogers. For leaving behind this gentle man before you. For not keeping true to his end of the line promise. 
You wanted to curse him for breaking James's heart. 
But you hardly imagined that Bucky would so easily forgive you for digging up his friend's bones and cursing his soul, so you left it alone. 
You sighed and finished the beignet in your hand before making Bucky take one. As he took a bite, you reached for another one, smiling at him as you snuggled into his side, watching the city as you made a silent promise that you weren't going anywhere. 
That you would never leave him behind.
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hunny-beann · 4 months
Text
You Can; You Will...
Dream of the Endless x f!Reader
Note: Hi! This is my first time ever writing for Dream, so if anything seems a bit off or if there are any minor lore issues, please do your best not to pay them too much mind (although absolutely feel free to point them out). That said, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I really hope that you enjoy it!
Warnings: Uh angst(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he should be.
Word Count: 2,644
This had to be torture, surely.
Some evil method of malice created by some long forgotten god of pain.
Why else would Dream have been looking at you so?
Here, sitting in his rotting throne room, upon his crumbling dais, his expression as close to pained as you had ever seen it before.
"You have returned."
He stated matter of factly, though his eyes betrayed the solemn tone that his voice held.
It had hurt him to come back to his realm and find that you had gone with the others, more so than you ever could have anticipated or imagined. You could see it in the way that his fingers gripped at the arm rests beneath them, and in the way that his all encompassing presence seemed to shrink slightly, as if the very particles of him and his power that made up the world beneath your feet were attempting to flee from you.
You swallowed thickly, but managed a nod in spite of your nerves and the heavy weight that bore down upon your heart at the sight of the being before you.
"I have. I did not anticipate it, but I found that I was suddenly overcome with the urge to..."
The words 'go home' died upon your lips before you could say them, because in truth, you were not entirely sure if this realm truly was home anymore, not just for you, but to anything besides the endless sitting before you and his most loyal of dreams and nightmares.
His own creations.
Dream let out a soft hum in response to your words, before he carefully rose into a standing position, his coat swishing at his feet in that familiarly dramatic way that you remembered so painfully at present, and had once recalled so fondly in the past.
Now though, after over a century of having it as only a memory, a longing lodged deep within the confines of your soul, you found that it almost hurt to bear witness to his familiarities again.
You had buried the Morpheus you had once known in all ways but the physical sense, mourned and grieved him as if you had watched his demise with your own two eyes, never having a day pass you by where you did not think of him and the way that his voice had sounded, or that his hands had felt.
And now, he was standing before you so casually, and you could not help but view this figure before you as a caricature, some imposter sent to cause you even more pain than you had already endured.
Being an immortal human was a burden in and of itself, because it meant watching nearly all those that you loved die in the span of a lifetime, which to you, had long since started to feel like nothing in the grand scheme of things.
You had begged Death to take this weight from you, to let time have its way with your body, bones, and soul, but Destiny had seen to it that his sister knew better than to meddle with this particular affair.
A long dead family member had blessed you with what they perceived to be a "gift" long ago.
And now, you suffered while they lay buried in the ground in lands you had not seen nor touched in centuries.
So, once upon a time, Dream had meant everything to you.
Ever since the day you had met him, after once again grovelling with Death to let you go, he had become abundantly special in your eyes.
Because unlike almost everyone else around you, Dream could not die, not from the ticking of any clock, nor the feebleness of his own body.
He was the one thing you believed to be permanent.
And certainly, it had taken quite a while to warm up to the man, and far longer still for him warm up to you, but after enough impromptu meetings in Death's domain over multiple centuries, he had eventually indulged you when you asked hesitantly if you could see his realm, 'the dreaming' as he so fondly referred to it, for yourself.
And oh, what a sight it had been.
Lush rolling lands, fields upon fields of flowers, a palace so tall it seemed possible to view it from miles and miles away...
You had never wanted to leave.
And eventually, you would not have to anymore.
Not after you had fled to the dreaming after losing your very best friend to disease, her death so dirty and without dignity that you could scarcely bare to even consider it.
He had sensed your arrival, of course he had, for the realm was made of the very power that he possessed, but he had not sensed your woes, nor had he anticipated your sudden presence in his crowded throne room, searching for any familiar face that might serve as a reminder that you were not without some semblance of certainty, to prove if nothing else that you were not yet alone.
You had all but collapsed at the foot of his throne, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet with tears as you regarded him with a pain he was all too familiar with, but had no clue how to comfort you about.
Loss.
'I can't do it anymore.'
You had told him with absolute certainty, hands clenched into fists as you struggled to hold back sobs,
'I can't endure this torture, I feel as if I have died a thousand deaths without ever having experienced even one.'
Morpheus reached forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before he sat back once more, taking note of the way that, simply due to his touch alone, you were now giving him your entirely undivided attention, breaths shaky but eyes wide and trained on him, as if you had never been touched before, or maybe as if you had never expected him to touch you in the eternity that you would experience.
'You can.'
He said, voice steady and eyes cold, though almost determined looking as he spoke.
'You will.'
You felt your eyebrows crease at his words, but Dream simply shook his head slightly before you could even open your mouth to reply.
He watched you for a few moments, before finally, he decided that enough silence had passed.
'If it is easier, you may remain in the dreaming as long as you please. All I ask, is that you do not make me regret my kindness.'
Shocked, you had nodded, before finally mustering up the strength to respond.
'But why?'
You had asked, watching as the being sitting before you sighed, his gaze traveling up toward the ceiling as he spoke,
'You will not have to watch nearly as many crumble to dust here in my domain, and I can see the toll that your immortality is taking on your feeble human mind. My sister has taken a liking to you, and I do not doubt that she would want me to take pity upon your unfortunate circumstances. To preserve someone she calls a friend, I will allow you to reside here until you give me a reason not to.'
And you never had.
For so very long now, hundreds upon hundreds of years, you had remained almost entirely within the dreaming.
You had friends here, nightmares and dreams alike, although truthfully, none captured your attention in the way that Morpheus did.
And none captured his nearly as much as you somehow managed to.
You were close, bound by some firm understanding of one another that never ceased to solidify the fact that the dreaming was your home, the place where you belonged, and Dream the very host that so effortlessly kept you rooted.
Before, there had been almost nothing for you in the way of consistency or rhythm, and now, there was an ebb and flow, a push and pull, a beat to follow, and the biggest surprise of all was that you made up half of each of these things.
Where Dream would ebb, you would flow, where he would push, you would pull, and you so very easily followed along with and eventually even progressed and changed his rhythm in a way that almost made the dreaming feel as if it had two rulers.
The dream lord,
And his once missing other half, the muse of the very land beneath your feet, and of the wind within your hair.
Until one day, that all came to an end.
The king of dreamers left and did not return.
And you could not even dare try and pick up the pieces of his realm that he left behind.
It had been a shameful abandonment, one full of pain and grief, but only a few short years after Dream's disappearance, you grabbed the scarce few items that did not remind you of him or the family that you were leaving behind, and you vanished just as he had done.
At that point, the slow but sure crumbling of the dreaming had only just begun, but your cowardice had won out over your strength, and you'd quickly found that you could not bare to see it shrink into nothingness.
'You can.'
Dream had once told you.
'You will.'
He had assured.
But you could not this time.
You likely would not ever again.
You were not the first to leave the dreaming, not by a long shot.
But your absence and the meaning that it carried rang out loud and clear for all of those who had chosen to remain.
The once so honored and beloved guest of their lord of dreams had chosen her painful mortal world over anything that the realm had left to offer...
And for many, that was all the proof that they needed that their creator would not return.
You were far from the first to leave.
But you were even further from the last.
"Did you lose faith in me?"
Dream asked suddenly, and you felt yourself gasp slightly at the question.
Lose faith in him?
Was that what you had done?
With almost no consideration for the question, you shook your head.
"No."
You said firmly, watching as the endless in front of you tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes boring into your own even from across the room and down the ruined steps,
"Never."
Morpheus took a few steps toward you, and almost instinctively, you moved to lessen the space that lay between before forcing yourself to stop, hands clenched into fists at your sides, the pain of seeing your friend, who you had believed to be dead just hours ago, too great even for longing to overcome.
Dream seemed to notice this, and stopped in his tracks, though he was now far closer than before, only a few short steps away.
"Then why did you leave so easily? Why did you abandon the life that I offered you here if you had the faith required to know that I would someday return to the dreaming? Return to you?"
Your breath shuddered at the implication that he had come back in any part for you, but you chose to ignore his words in favor of fighting off his accusations of faithlessness on your part.
"I left because I could not bear to see this world that you created fall apart around me while I did nothing. It felt as if I were watching another loved one die, and I could not deal after believing that someone had taken your life as well. I was hurting, and I found that it was easier to hurt in the waking world, where pain was familiar, than it was to hurt here, where it never seemed to bite so hard. That is why I left. But I never once lost faith in you."
Dream raised a brow at that last part, and you were quick, to clarify,
"I may have thought you dead, but I did not once believe that if you were alive, you would not come back. My belief that you were dead, my certainty in that regard, came from the immense faith that I have in you, Lord Morpheus, because I could not fathom that you ever could have abandoned us or the dreaming... After years, I ceased being capable of thinking that you were somewhere out there anymore. I did not think it possible for anything to bind you so tightly away from your duties, if not for death herself."
Dream stared back at you in response to your words, as if taking them in for several long moments, before finally he nodded,
"I see. Though I do wish you would have considered the fact that I never would have allowed myself to die knowing what I would be leaving behind."
You sighed exasperatedly,
"But we know that you would not be the first to abandon your post, my lord, not the first to leave something as fickle as your universe given duties behind. Who could have blamed you if you died in spite of these things if others were able to willingly leave them?"
Your voice was small and quiet as you spoke, unsure of how Dream might react to the mention of Destruction, even when the wound was not necessarily new anymore.
You watched as the being before you stiffened, his gaze growing ever so slightly colder, before he spun around and began making his way back toward his throne, his tone firm and serious as he replied, still facing away from you all the while.
"I was not speaking of my duties to the dreaming."
He stated simply, though you could tell by his cadence that his words were anything but.
You sighed, exasperated and fragile after all that had been said thus far,
"Well what else was it that you were leaving behind that was so important that I should have known it would keep you alive then, Dream?"
The lord of the dreaming locked eyes with you as you finished asking this question, cold piercing gaze filling you with a deep regret and an immense longing as he sat upon his throne once more, one long leg crossing over the other as he all but stared into your very soul.
"You."
He said simply, voice low and gaze unwavering as he spoke, watching as that one word alone sent you staggering several steps backward, one hand clutching lightly at your chest as your feeble human mind tried to comprehend all that had happened to you in this one day alone.
"Me?"
You whispered, voice echoing slightly throughout the empty throne room in spite of how quiet it was.
"But I am not-"
"You are everything."
Dream cut you off before you could finish, eyes still boring holes into your own as he continued to watch you from his seat, as if knowing that if he moved any closer now, that you would run, run and likely never return for fear of what any of this meant for you and for the once permanent seeming fixture that Dream had so easily played within your life for so long.
You floundered at those words, vision growing bleary and spotty as you turned to rush out of the room, to be anywhere but this pale comparison of the dreaming, the once beautiful world that you had known for so very long.
You fled your home with tears in your eyes and a hand at your heart.
Dream stayed where he sat upon his throne, and watched your fears consume you again until you faded from view.
He did not try to stop you.
A broken home like this was no place for a fragile soul like yours.
And he could offer you no better than the very world he had once so kindly rescued you from.
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