Pairing: Professor!Benedict Cumberbatch x Fem!OC Sofia Angel x Professor!Tom Hiddleston
Summary: Your engagement party dress seems to be causing a lot of problems.
Tags: MEGA Smut 18+, minors DNI, oral, fingering, penetration, degradation, threesome, everything filthy you can possibly imagine. This is pure porn.
Word count: 4.3k
Can be read as a one-shot or extra chapter of "A Hard Lesson"
My Masterlist - My Taglist
You and Benedict had spoken lengthly about the boundaries of your relationship. He had been adamant on one point in specific, I don’t want to share you ever again. He had spoken it clearly and seriously, and you had agreed immediately. It was not something you needed, however fun it had been previously.
No further conversation on the topic was necessary, and as your friendship with Tom continued to solidify after your graduation, the three of you put all thoughts of that one night into the past. Tom still joked about the fact that he had gotten to date you officially before Ben, and for all the people in the university, he would forever be just a rebound. Benedict paid no mind to the comments, knowing exactly who you belonged to.
The engagement had come soon after, and Tom had been the one to help Benedict plan absolutely everything; incredibly excited for the two of you to marry finally. He had offered his house for the engagement party, and you had both accepted immediately, eager to take advantage of his garden in the middle of summer. Ben and you started spending even more time at Tom’s house, planning every detail for the small-ish get-together that would take place in a month’s time.
The day of the event finally arrived, and you and Benedict headed to the house earlier than the guests, deciding to get ready there. Ben got in his beautiful navy suit, and you wore a silk ivory dress with an open back, making your fiancé stare at you with hungry eyes as you turned to ask him what he thought.
Benedict didn’t answer, walking to you instead and pressing his hand on your back, bringing you flush to his chest. “Have I told you that I love you?” You hummed a yes in response, breaking into a shy smile. “Would you forgive me if I ruined your dress before the party even started?” He smirked slightly, eyes hungry for an answer.
“No, I would not. I have been looking forward to wearing this dress for months.” You replied to him seriously and watched him give you a dramatically disappointed look. “Maybe later, once everybody is drunk.” You winked his way and walked out of the room, going downstairs to make sure everything was ready.
Tom was standing in the kitchen with a glass of whisky in his hand as he looked out of the window, watching as a dozen workers finished the last touches. “Hello there,” you called for his attention, and he turned to look at you immediately. His eyes, however, barely met your face before they moved down to the pearl necklace adorning your chest and then to your dress.
“Give me a twirl,” he spoke up, his eyes still scrutinising your dress.
You smiled at him and complied, missing the way his eyes darkened once he saw the back of the dress.
“Wow,” he said, walking towards you, a smile stamped on his lips. “Are you sure you want to marry him?” He joked, making you roll your eyes dramatically.
“You would never commit,” you huffed dramatically, leaning on his joke.
“Touché,” he laughed before his eyes finally left you, meeting his best friend’s gaze at the door. “You are a lucky man.”
You turned to look at Benedict too, and gave him a smile which he reciprocated. Yet his smile was not quite fully there, moving to Tom once again and sharing a look you had not seen in years. You ignored the way your cheeks seemed to grow warm, and a knot grew in your belly as the sound of the doorbell let you know the first guests were here.
Benedict and Tom watched you walk to the door, their eyes never leaving your figure until the sound of a jolly couple filled the room. Soon after, the entire room and garden were full of people, your family and Benedict’s present at the event, chitchatting with all your friends and work colleagues. You rarely left Benedict’s side, ignoring how his hands always seemed to end up on your naked back, drawing circles on your skin that risked to send you crazy.
Tom spent most of the afternoon mingling with your families, enjoying the myriad of compliments his house and garden were receiving. The glasses of champagne seemed to be endless as everybody was eager to toast the soon-to-be-married couple. You accepted each one of them with the same enthusiasm, ignoring the way it was making your thoughts move further and further away from the party.
Benedict seemed to be in a similar situation, finding himself thinking about that look he had exchanged with his best friend now hours ago. He had been the one to set the rule, then why was he thinking so much about breaking it? It was a stupid thought. You were at your engagement party. There could be no more inappropriate place to let such thoughts linger. Yet, the juxtaposition of it all sent the blood shooting straight down his trousers.
Why had you picked such a dress? It was obvious everybody’s eyes were gonna be on you. He couldn’t blame them. You looked incredible. He had barely been able to keep his hand away from you, touching your naked skin in the hopes that it would soothe him, but instead, it just intensified his desire.
But why think about including Tom? It is not like fucking you right now would not satisfy him just as much. There was something, however, about seeing his best friend take you, something that he couldn’t entirely remove from his mind. The thought of you wearing your white dress, that engagement ring on your finger as he shared you with his best friend, was sending his head spinning.
“Benedict?” You called his attention back into the room, giving him a small smile as you looked at him, waiting for an answer.
“Sorry, Angel. I think I am gonna go inside to get some water,” Benedict excused himself, tapping his best friend’s shoulder and walking inside with him.
You shrugged and joined the conversation you were in again, looking back briefly at the two men that were chatting in the kitchen.
…
Soon after the true party started, the DJ opened the dance floor as most older people left. Benedict had rejoined the party, opening a couple of whisky bottles with his friends. You had been dancing with your friends, enjoying the music, when your eyes fell on Tom and your friend Matilda, talking in a corner of the garden. You elbowed your friend, Mary, pointing at the two excitedly, hoping this would be the night she finally got to achieve her university dream.
Your fiancé reached for you just then, lowering his lips to your ear as he pressed your back against his front. “What are we pointing at excitedly?” He mocked you, following your gaze as you directed him to Tom and Mary talking in a corner. “Oh, I see, yes. He has been looking for something to take his mind off.” He gave you a knowing smile.
You cocked an eyebrow, unsure of what he was speaking about but holding tightly onto his hold on your waist, needy for his touch. “What has been bothering him?”
“Mmmh… I am not sure if I should tell you,” he spoke again, his rough skin touching your ear and then your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and forcing a small moan out of your lips.
“Tell me!” You replied, suddenly worried your friend was keeping something from you.
“It is actually a common worry we’ve had throughout the night,” he grew suddenly serious, “we cannot properly focus with you in that incredible dress.” He finally broke into a smile, causing you to laugh loudly and hit him in the chest, turning to face him.
“You are so dumb,” you smiled at Ben, quickly glancing in the direction of Tom again, coincidentally meeting his gaze as he lifted a glass of whisky your way, mouthing cheers.
“I am not joking. He is so desperate he begged me to just let him watch,” Benedict continued, and you quickly covered your face feeling your cheeks grow red and your core tighten.
“Stop it. There is a rule,” you hit him in the chest, your words lacking much intention as you tried your best not to even imagine it, knowing how horny it would make you.
“I know, I know. I am just playing with you.” He gave you another dashing smile before lowering his face to your ear, “Do you want to go upstairs?” His eyes grew dark as he spoke, his hand cupping your cheek as the other snaked around your body, touching your naked back.
“We have so many guests left,” you glanced at the full dance floor before looking back at him.
“Nobody will notice, Angel. They are all too drunk, and regardless, I wanna steal you just for a bit.” He continued, his gaze shifting to somewhere behind you for a second before moving back to you. “I need you, darling. I need to rip that dress off of you, or I will go crazy. I know you brought a different outfit. You are never unprepared.”
You broke into a soft chuckle. He knew you too well, and you were not really in the position to say no, feeling how your parties were already completely soaked from all the touching that had happened throughout the day.
“Go upstairs. I’ll be there in a second. I will tell Tom to keep an eye on the party and to come to find us if there is an emergency.” You nodded and walked into the house, walking up those familiar stairs and entering the guest bedroom where all of your things were. You felt your heart beating hard in your chest, pushing your legs together as the slick between your legs felt like it was about to drip down your parties.
A few seconds passed, and then the door of the room opened again. You turned to it and parted your lip to welcome your fiancé but were instantly silenced with a passionate kiss. Benedict’s hands wasted no time. One held your face in place, deepening the kiss that tasted like whisky and sex. The other reached for your ass, pulling you to him and crumpling your dress in his grip. The two of you stepped back until you hit the small desk to the side of the room. Benedict lifted you immediately on it, placing himself between your legs.
“Can I marry you right now?” He broke the kiss, the hand on your face lowering to brush against your side and breast, forcing you to arch your back and gasp in desire. You were a mess, a mess for him. He was all you wanted at this moment.
“We already have everything paid,” you tried to reason with him as his lips attacked your neck, moving down it and placing small kisses and bites throughout, making your brain short-circuit.
“Fuck the money,” he replied, a groan escaping his lips as he squeezed your breast in his hands, causing you to cry out in a moan.
“We already sent the invitations,” you tried to regain some control, causing him to chuckle and come back to your lips, kissing you again. Suddenly Benedict’s hands were on your thighs, moving under your dress and pulling on your panties. He didn’t want to waste any time making you lift your ass and get them off. Instead, he reached for a corner of the lacy thong and broke it off, causing you to gasp and break off the kiss. “Those were new, a matching set,” you hit him jokingly in the chest, feigning annoyance at the action.
He smirked at you before touching your cunt and feeling how wet you were, pushing immediately two digits inside of you. “I’ll buy you one hundred more. Don’t worry.” You tried to reply, but only a moan left your throat, the feeling of his fingers finally providing some relief from the absolute torture the entire day had been. “Or do you want me to stop? Should I stop, Angel?”
His tone was so pedantic, but you couldn’t help but beg, beg him to continue, to make you come. Tell him how badly you had been wanting him all day, ignoring the fact that just downstairs, all your friends were celebrating your engagement, moaning as loudly as your throat would let you. Benedict knew exactly how to use his fingers, having you reach your orgasm in a matter of minutes, having you holding onto his shoulders, eyes screwed shut as he whispered every loving word he could think of to you. I am so excited to marry you. God, I’ll never get tired of hearing you moan for me, Angel. Come for me, princess. I want you to come before I fill you up with my cock. You obeyed immediately, coming around his fingers and breaking into a chain of moans and pleads barely comprehensible. “Good girl,” he smiled at you, removing his fingers from inside of you and sucking them clean.
Your hands jumped instantly to this belt as he took off his suit jacket, working on opening his impossibly tented trousers. You soon freed his hard cock, pushing his trousers and boxers down his thighs. “Fuck me,” you begged or ordered him, your tone a mix of both as you pumped his hard cock, looking at him with your signature look.
Benedict didn’t say anything; instead, he grabbed your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the table and then aligned his cock with your folds before thrusting inside of you all in one move. You gasped for air as he groaned, “I could stay inside of you all day. Fuck, I wish I could dedicate the rest of my life to this.”
“Fuck me,” you begged this time, your voice strained by the neediness of the act. He complied immediately, a hand on your hip as the other held onto the table, his hips snapping hard and filling you with his cock over and over again. Your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to keep quiet, not to call the attention of anyone downstairs.
Then the knock at the door came, but Benedict didn’t stop. Your eyes shot to the door on your right as you tried to speak, “Ben… some-someone is knocking,” you whispered, between moans, trying to make him stop.
“Guys, sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency,” a tipsy giggling voice spoke from the other side, seemingly unaware of what was going on inside. “We ran out of whisky!” He added before laughing loudly
“Tell him to come in if you want. You know who it is,” Benedict whispered back, his pace slowing down, dragging his cock slowly, making it impossible for you to think.
“T-” you tried to talk in a normal tone, ready to tell the man to fuck off, but then Benedict thrust in you at full speed, breaking your sentence into a loud moan.
“Oh fuck,” the man outside shouted, finally realising what was happening inside, “I’ll leave you to it.”
“I know how much you like breaking the rules, Angel,” Benedict spoke quickly, one of his hands moving between your bodies and starting to rub your clit, forcing you to bite your lip.
“Come in, Tom.” You raised your voice, hearing your words echo inside your head, knowing exactly what this meant.
Silence filled the room, and for a second, you thought the other man hadn’t heard you at all. Benedict hadn’t stopped touching your clit, and as you felt your brain split between pleasure and expectation, the door opened.
Your eyes moved back to the entrance, and you immediately made eye contact with your friend, who grinned before licking his lips and adjusting his suit trousers. He started removing his suit jacket as his gaze moved down your body, observing how the thin strap of your dress was on the verge of falling and exposing your breasts.
Benedict’s face was buried in your neck, sucking on the spot he knew you liked causing you to arch back forcefully as he thrust deep into you. Tom’s eyes met yours again, and you couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by a second orgasm that took over your entire body, pulling a string of moans out of you. The two of you didn’t break eye contact, prolonging the pleasure caused by the shared experience.
Benedict pulled out of you as you came down from your high, grabbing your face with one hand and looking at you in the eyes. “Should I let him fuck you, Angel?” You were torn on your answer, unsure of what your fiancé wanted on whether this was a test of your loyalty. It was difficult to even think right now, as you were completely and utterly cock drunk. “I would love to share you again,” he added, realising what you were probably thinking about.
You finally nodded and watched as Benedict stood to a side, revealing Tom sitting on the bed, leg spread and sleeves rolled up. “Come here, Sof,” he asked as you followed as if it was an order, coming down from the table and ignoring as your broken panties fell to the ground.
You stood between his legs, the same you had done on that fateful night and watched as his hand touched your thigh, this time moving lower to your knee and pulling you onto his lap. Benedict moved to the chair on the side of the room and sat down, having a perfect view of the two of you.
“This dress, Sof. It was just too much. God, it is not even that I think of you this way anymore. I just saw you in this dress, and all the blood left my brain,” he spoke as his hands caressed your outer thighs, moving dangerously higher with every rub, finally grabbing your naked ass and groaning, closing his eyes into an exhale. You bit your lip, so needy, ready to be fucked again. You wanted both men to enjoy themselves first, though, so you got off Tom’s lap, causing him to look at you again as you pulled his hand so he would stand up.
“Baby, come here,” you called for Benedict, who stood up almost mechanically, now free of his trousers, still massaging his hard cock. Now that you had the two men in front of you, you stood on your tiptoes, grabbing Benedict’s face and whispering to his ear, “You better punish me for what I’m about to do.”
You didn’t give the man time to reply, instead going back to his friend and kissing him before he could even speak. This was your first time kissing Tom in a sexual context. You knew he was a good kisser, you were used to kissing each other, but there was something so particularly sensual in feeling the eyes of your fiancé on you as you did. Your hands reached for his belt and opened it, massaging Tom’s cock over his trousers and forcing him to moan in your mouth. You slowly lowered yourself, breaking the kiss and getting on your knees, freeing Tom’s erection from the remaining fabric.
You looked at the two of them, eyes glossy with lust as you grabbed both of their cocks, pumping them. “So fucking pretty,” Benedict whispered, his hand reaching for your chin for a second before letting you go as you reached to lick Tom’s cock, focusing your eyes on him.
“Let me see you suck his cock, Angel. Show me how fucking filthy you look, sucking off another man in front of me. I know how wet it makes you to have two men wanting you. You are just greedy like that princess, aren’t you?” Benedict continued, and you hummed in agreement before taking Tom’s dick between your lips, hallowing your cheeks as it reached the back of your throat.
Tom cursed under his breath, closing his eyes as you worked on him. The feeling of your engagement ring as you pumped his cock provided just that bit of extra texture to have him moaning softly for you. Your free hand continued to work on your fiancé, whose eyes were stuck on your face, taking in the view he had been thinking about all day.
You finally moved away from Tom’s cock, looking up at Benedict with a smile. “Aren’t you jealous of seeing me sucking him off?” You pouted jokingly, trying to rial him up.
Benedict smirked, before grabbing and moving your hair away from your face, “Why would I be? I get to have your pretty little mouth for the rest of my life.” You felt your cunt drip all the way down your thighs as you took him in your mouth, moaning around him to cause a further reaction. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, guiding you softly as you continued to suck his cock exactly how he liked it.
You had to focus all your attention on Ben, letting Tom play with himself at the sight. Ben pulled you away from him eventually, not ready to come. Tom touched your cheek and then helped you stand up, biting the inside of his lip as he shook his head. He stepped out of his trousers and sat back down on the bed a bit further in. You understood the message right away, climbing his lap and pushing him down to lay fully on the bed.
You turned to look at Benedict, who gave you a soft nod, before you lowered yourself, not taking Tom’s dick in but instead grinding against it flat on his stomach, letting your dripping cunt stimulate the two of you as you used his shaft to massage your clit and he enjoyed the feeling of your cunt on his cock.
“Fuck, Sof. You could make me come just like this,” he whispered, his hands reaching for your ass and encouraging you to grin faster and harder. You could barely hold in your moans, ready to beg for it all. You would comply with anything right now, thinking of all the filthy things the two men could do with you.
You were so focused on the pleasure that you moved your hips just a bit too high, letting his cock come up again and enter you fully. The moan that left your lips as he was finally inside you completely shuttered your body. Tom had never been inside of you, and now he was. “God Sof, you are such a pretty little cum-slut wearing your engagement party dress as you let me fuck you. The mere thought makes me wanna fill you up.” Tom spoke as he started to thrust into you, his lips parted as he tried his best not to come just yet.
“What do you want, Sof? Tell me,” he counted you, completely aware that you were not in the position to talk as he pounded you.
“She wants us to fill all her holes. That’s what she wants.” Benedict replied for you, bringing you slightly back into the picture. He was right. He knew exactly the image that filled your brain. “Next time, Angel. I gotta prepare you better for that.” His words made your cunt clench around Tom’s cock. Next time?
“She likes the idea. I can feel it.” Tom joked with his friend. You sat up slightly and started moving again. The straps of your dress finally fell, making it all bunch up on your waist, showing your boobs to the man you were riding. “God, she has such perfect tits. Ben, how are you not marking this more? May I?” He asked, and you nodded emphatically but he didn’t even look at you, instead looking at his friend who was jacking off at the sight for permission, almost as if you weren’t the one bouncing on his cock.
“Go ahead, Hiddleston but nothing permanent.” Tom dove right in, sucking on your breasts and increasing the overall feeling and sending an electric wave down your spine, pushing you towards your next orgasm.
Before you could come, however, Tom grabbed you by your hips and turned you on your back, laying right under him. He pumped inside of you again, looking at you with a smirk stamped on his face as you could barely hold the loud moans from escaping your lips, fisting the sheets for some stability. Tom’s thumb found your clit as his other free hand-held on your right breast for stability, fucking you as deep as he possibly could. “Come for me, Sof,” he ordered as he watched you raise your hips more and more, seeking more and more friction.
You reached your shattering orgasm a few seconds after, milking Tom’s cock who barely managed to pull out on time, soiling the dress and your tits with his cum. Tom smiled at you before he lowered himself, pressing a final panting kiss on your lips before getting off of you. You sat up and looked at your fiance, who hadn’t moved at all from his chair.
“Come here and let me fill your mouth, Angel. I think you’ve come enough for one day.” You didn’t let him ask you twice, walking to him, ignoring the feeling of the warm cum covering your chess and kneeling in front of him, sucking him off immediately, refusing to let the burning feeling of your chest or tears stop you from making the man you loved the most happy.
“The best fucking mouth I’ve ever felt. I love you so much, Angel,” he spoke in between groans, holding your hair out of the way. “Mine, forever. I cannot wait, baby.” he added as his hips stuttered, suddenly groaning and releasing in your mouth. His cum dripped down your chin onto your chest, staining whatever part of the dress was left clean.
-------
Liv's Note
Thank you very much to my angel Chi @little-diable for reading this before it was posted. Please go check out her work for absolutely outstanding smut. This is a one-shot for all my AHL babes that miss the fic. I cannot wait to see you all in the comments discussing it because nothing makes me happier. I know many of you wanted another scene with both men so I thought I would finally give it to you. I hope you enjoyed it ;)
As always please reblog my work to support it! it means the world to me! if you are feeling especially generous feel free to buy this poor student who is supposed to be studying a Ko-fi :)
A self-indulgent little drabble for my birthday! I hope everyone is having a lovely day ❤️
Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader
Tags: Bucky is an anxious boyfriend; nothing but fluff.
Word count: 550
Bucky’s nerves never failed him. He had been forged into a killing machine that never doubted or hesitated. He was unhesitating, unfailing, unyielding. It had been everything he had been for almost a century, and then.. then you had shown up. Bucky knew he had technically nothing to worry about. You would have been happy regardless of what he did, always grateful and happy with anything he did for you. Then why was he standing in the cake shop as an annoyed Peter listed every cake on the menu for the 10th time?
“She loves chocolate cake,” Peter exhaled, dropping his arms dramatically on the counter.
“She doesn’t. She just says that ‘cause she knows it is your favourite.” Bucky blurted out in an annoyed sigh, exhaling and closing his eyes for a second. “Did Sam answer your message?” The super-soldier added bitterly, realising how low he had fallen.
“Yep. He also says chocolate,” Peter replied smugly.
“Fuck.” Bucky shouted, pacing across the small cake shop as a teenage girl stared at the two men incredulously.
“We can just buy different cupcakes?” Peter proposed and instantly regretted it as the super soldier glared at him.
“Cupcakes? CUPCAKES? It’s her birthday, Peter! Not a picnic!” Bucky exhaled, counting to ten before continuing, “fine. We will take them all.”
“All?” The girl finally snapped out of her shock.
“One of each,” Bucky replied, pointing at every cake behind the counter.
“Are you... sure?”
“You heard the man! One of each!” Peter butted in in an overly excited tone, looking forward to drowning in cake for the rest of the day.
The girl nodded emphatically and silently walked to the back of the cake shop, ready to pack everything.
….
“Haaaappy birthdaaaay to youuuu, happyyy birthdaaaay to you,” the crowd sang as you walked into the compound’s living room, still holding the massive flower bouquet Bucky had brought to your dinner. You felt your heart pound in your chest as the man next to you looked at you with a worried expression, not letting the gigantic smile on your face deceive him. Your eyes weren’t sure where to look as the main table was flooded with a dozen cakes, each with a different set of candles.
The song came to an end, and you slowly made your way around the cakes blowing out all candles. You thanked all your friends and then reached Bucky again, wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering, “thank you, my love. You didn’t have to.”
He pulled you closer, holding you tight. “I didn’t know which one is your favourite.” He chuckled, feeling a weight leave his chest and a blush cover his cheeks as he looked into your shiny eyes.
You stood on your tiptoes and reached his ear, “it is red velvet, but if anyone ever asks, say chocolate. That’s Sam and Peter’s favourite, and I love how happy they get.” You pulled away giggling, a smug look stamped across your face like you had gotten away with a crime.
Bucky couldn’t help but shake his head and grin, “happy birthday, my love.”
Now that you've told Chris you're quitting, you're stuck dealing with his mercurial behaviour. Things escalate real quick.
Part 1: HERE
Word Count: 832
If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving some feedback, thanks! ❤️
"Here's something to eat," you offer, wiggling the protein bar before you with both hands. "Don't worry, I did all my research before I got it, and I've double-checked with your trainer and your nutritionist. They both approve of this one."
Seated upright on a director's chair with his arms loosely crossed, Chris stares ahead. A hair and makeup artist hovers before him, putting the finishing touches to his hair before dabbing his T-zone with a blotting paper.
He doesn't bother looking at you or the snack you're trying to soften him up with. "Do I look hungry?"
The bite in his tone is hard to miss; the hair and makeup artist throws you a confused glance before she skitters away. Too bad you can't do the same.
You try to keep your own irritation in check, knowing the day is still a long way from being over. "Look, you didn't eat much this morning and lunch is still a while away. Are you sure you're going to be okay until then?"
Chris finally turns his head to look at you. "I was okay until about two days ago," he points out. You refrain from rolling your eyes.
"No offense, but being difficult isn't doing much to convince me to stay."
A twinkle erupts in his blue eyes. "So it's still possible, then?"
"What is?"
"Convincing you to stay on."
Before you can answer, one of the producers on the set approaches. Just in time, too; you don't think Chris would be too happy with your response.
Whatever prickly attitude you witness from the actor does not, fortunately, make it before the cameras; like a light switched on, Chris instantly brightens as the interview commences.
You've been trying not to ponder over how mercurial he's been these days. Sure, his sour mood lined up with you telling him that you're leaving, but he's also deep into a cutting phase, as per his trainer's instructions. Put together, Chris' behaviour made sense, you suppose. You've gone and disrupted whatever semblance of a routine his career could afford in the middle of a calorie deficit. Wouldn't that set you off, too?
Wrinkling your nose at the smell, you watch as a red panda named Kit Kat is brought onto the set. Venturepop Media is clearly determined to go viral with this interview; to maximize views, the producers decided that combining one very attractive Hollywood actor with a lineup of cute and eye-catching animals should do the trick. The idea no doubt sounded cheesy on paper, but you have to admit you can't look away. If Chris was faking it for the cameras at the start, he's genuinely happy now; his face glows with barely-contained excitement as one animal after another is brought before him, his charm on full display for one and all. You hope his buoyant mood will carry through for the rest of the day.
Off camera, a crew member asks Chris which Avenger he would've liked to play other than Captain America. The questions have been fairly standard, as they should; by the looks of it, Chris is barely listening while he tickles Kit Kat's belly just like its retainer suggested he do.
"Next question: is there a figure in real-life you'd like to portray in a movie?"
"Honestly, as of now, this guy," Chris responds, letting Kit Kat lick his fingers. Laughter erupts from the crew just as your phone vibrates in your pocket.
Your attention dips in and out of the interview while you respond to a text from Harvey, Chris' trainer. He was left back at the hotel, but you had mentioned the actor's low appetite this morning and that had worried him a bit.
Harvey: will C make it until lunch?
While you text him back, the interviewer asks a new question; Chris murmurs something that makes the crew laugh again, but you miss what he actually said.
You turn your focus back onto the set. Kit Kat is now on Chris' shoulder, its little paws tangled in his hair. Looks like you're going to need hair and makeup again as soon as this interview's over. You wince inwardly when you realize the colour of Chris' shirt; you're going to need to find that lint roller in your bag, too, if not another top for him to wear altogether.
"What is something I can't live without? Hmm," he says absentmindedly, a boyish smile dancing along his mouth. "Let's see, now..."
Dodger, you think. You just know you're right.
"There's absolutely no way I could live without my dog," Chris answers, still distracted as Kit Kat makes a grab for his arm. "Oh, and there's my PA, too—buddy, are you after my watch? Alright, okay, here, have it—I sure don't think I could live without her. Yeah, definitely my PA, alright—Kit Kat, darn it, how can something be this adorable?"
You don't actually process his response immediately; you're just as fixated on Kit Kat as Chris is.
Except, eventually, you do.
And you swear to god, you're going to murder him.
FYI this scene is basically a variation of the infamous Buzzfeed interview with puppies and I have no regrets. If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! It would mean the world to me if you reblog and/or leave feedback!
Tagging @atoosa22; special thanks to @evanswife1918, @hopefulbonkvoidland and @she-wolf09231982 for leaving a comment, I really appreciate it!
Summary: Sherlock craves your attention and a bet may just do the trick.
Word count: 1.6k
Tags: grumpy Sherlock, confident reader. Inspired by that one Christmas episode where Sherlock is awful to Molly.
— masterlist —
Please reblog and comment to support my work ♥️ (Join the Taglist here ♥️)
“Merry Christmas, everyone!” You shouted, entering the room, noticing how all the attention shifted from Sherlock to you. The violin was still in his hands; you assumed he had just finished playing a Christmas song. Everyone stood up to greet you while the detective released an unhappy comment under his breath. He hated it, the way you managed to move all attention to yourself so effortlessly. He hated the fact that you didn’t even seem interested in it, brushing it away as just another natural characteristic of being you. But the thing he hated the most was how he was equally captivated by you as everybody else.
His eyes had yet to move away as he watched you greet everyone but him. Sherlock waited patiently until you had hugged everyone, even John’s new girlfriend. He held his breath as your eyes moved his way for a second. You locked eyes with him, and he leaned slightly forward, making his own stomach turn from his eagerness, sure you had noticed too. Then you didn’t say anything, simply offering him a polite smile before moving your gaze to the kitchen, “where is the wine?”
Sherlock felt his stomach sink, left alone in his embarrassing desperation. His lips were slightly parted as his eyes watched you walk away from him. Nobody else noticed. They were too busy talking nonsense, but you did, and that was more than he could bare. He placed the violin on the table and reached for his jacket, causing the rest of the party to turn his way.
“Where are you going?” John asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Out for a smoke,” Sherlock replied coldly, cursing himself as his eyes looked for you again. He found you busy on your phone, unaware of his exit, while everybody else’s eyes were on him.
“I thought you had stopped,” John brought his attention back to him.
“Next year,” Sherlock replied before walking out of the apartment.
…
Sherlock leaned against the entrance door and felt the embarrassment and anger melt away as he sucked in the warm smoke. He composed himself, closing his eyes and convincing himself he could get through this.
He re-entered the apartment, sighing at the sound of your cheerful voice as he walked up the stairs. You were still in the kitchen, leaning against the doorway, looking up to Lestrade, who was standing right in front of you. He felt his body tense as he watched you smile at the policeman, pausing with the wine glass to your lips just for a second before taking a sip. Lestrade was into it, he knew nothing would come of it, but he was still happy for the attention.
You always did this, getting men all flustered over you with your little tricks, pauses, and looks. Never with Sherlock, though, and he wasn’t sure if he was thankful or regretful of that. He had long wondered how it would feel to have you look at him that way, the way his eyes would try their best to stay away from your lips. Yet he was glad you had never done it, unsure how much he could have dealt with before breaking his stoic image.
“Merry Christmas,” Sherlock shouted brutishly in your direction, causing you to look his way finally. You smiled at him, entertained as the eyes of everyone in the room settled on him.
“Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” you raised your glass to him without breaking eye contact, a shit-eating grin stamped on your lips. Just as he had gained your attention, Sherlock lost it, your eyes moving back to Lestrade, who started to talk again.
Sherlock’s eyes didn’t leave your face, eager to see something, anything, any hesitation, the curiosity of meeting his gaze again, but he was met with nothing, as always. John noticed the shift of mood of his friend, instantly coming to his side, hoping to help, “why don’t you talk to her?”
Sherlock turned dramatically, looking down at his friend as if he had just proposed the most ridiculous idea, “talk? To her? What would we have even to talk about?”
John pressed his lips together before shaking his head and walking away, “never mind.”
…
The night went on smoothly, the party progressing even with Sherlock’s bad mood. Everyone had gotten used to it. Sherlock was never in a good mood when you were around. Presents-time finally arrived, and just as you distributed the boxes, Sherlock feigned being busy on his violin. You called out his name, “Sherlock.” The detective turned around disrespectfully slowly, meeting your eyes. “This is for you.” You extended the blue box towards him, making his eyes drop to the object.
He grabbed it reluctantly, something like a thank you escaping his lips. His eyes analysed the box for a bit before moving back to your face. You, however, were already gone, back to the pile of gifts, distributing them.
Everyone opened their presents, letting a string of thank yous fill the room just as you smiled at them all. Sherlock sat on his armchair, running his fingers on the box, immediately guessing by the weight and feel of the object that it contained a sweater.
He was so focused on it that he barely noticed when you stood by his side, “aren’t you gonna open it?” You asked, offering him a kind but standard smile.
“I know what it is already, don’t need to open it,” Sherlock answered, looking straight ahead.
“Don’t you wanna see the colour?” You asked, sitting on the arm of the armchair. Sherlock held his breath, not used to the proximity, immediately aware of your sweet perfume.
“I can probably deduct that too,” he exhaled, cocky. You laughed, unimpressed.
“Wanna bet that you won’t?” You matched his energy, watching as he nervously tightened his grip on his thigh. You were making him nervous, and you loved it.
“Sure,” he looked up at you, trying to read you. "If I get it right, you will never spend Christmas with us again.” He didn’t really mean it. He was hoping to get a reaction from you but was met with no facial response.
“And if you get it wrong?” A smile pulled the corner of your lips as you watched his true desires run through his head.
“I won’t.” He finally replied, blinking the thoughts away.
“But if you do?” You teased him.
“You choose. It is your hypothetical prize,” he rolled his eyes, trying to seem already bored by the interaction.
You lowered yourself to his ear, catching him by surprise and whispering, “a kiss.” Sherlock cleared his throat in shock as you moved away and grabbed the present from his lap. “You have until the end of the night. I will hold onto this to avoid any cheating.” You added before walking away.
…
The night went on, and Sherlock didn’t move again from his seat, lost in his own thoughts. You seemed not to have given the bet any thought, going back to chatting with John and Mrs Hudson as if you hadn’t just asked him for a kiss. It made Sherlock’s blood boil in more than one way.
The party came to an end. Lestrade and Mrs Hudson were the first ones to call it a night, forcing Sherlock to become more and more aware of your presence. You helped John clean up as the detective had turned into a statue on his chair. Once everything was back to normal, John and you exchanged a look.
“I will go to bed. Merry Christmas to both of you,” John spoke loudly, making sure his friend would hear him just as well. You gave him a knowing smile before placing the last dish on the drying rack.
The room filled with a tense silence as the sound of John’s steps became quieter. You dried your hands before walking back into the living, paying no attention to the man whose eyes were on you once again.
You put on your jacket and your hat, ready to leave as if the bet had never been made, causing a disdained look to run across the man who had not stopped thinking about it since you had proposed it. He stood up and walked towards you, feeling his heart beat loudly in his ears, ready to give his answer.
You turned back to him and were met with his body just a step or two away from you. You looked up at him with a smile, cocking an eyebrow and finally breaking the silence, “so?”
Sherlock stepped forward and lowered his head towards your ear as you tried your best to stay as still as possible. “Yellow,” he whispered. You bit the inside of your lip to stop yourself from smiling.
“Wrong,” you responded as he moved his head back, still just a few centimetres away from you. You could feel his warm breath on your skin as the two of you looked at each other.
Sherlock watched as your facade finally melted, and you looked at him with a new expression, not quite the flirty prepared one you had for others but one full of honest desire. His hand reached for your cheek as he moved slowly closer, enjoying feeling your heart racing against his fingers. “I know,” he replied, breaking into a soft grin before his lips connected with yours.
Later that night, as you laid in his bed, deep asleep, Sherlock opened the box and found a beautiful handmade checkered Christmas sweater with every colour but yellow on it. After all, it seemed like he may have known you better than he thought and that you cared a lot more about him than he had previously speculated.
..................
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays my loves! I leave you here a little work to celebrate with you all. Sending you all my love ❤️
Warnings: Assignation attempts, gun violence, poison, technically infidelity, divorces, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, breath play, squirting, death ***Not all warnings are listed to prevent spoilers***
Comments: Your new landscaper is hiding a secret: that your soon-to-be ex husband has hired him to kill you. Wanting the inheritance he can’t touch and being divorced for infidelity, he hires Pero Tovar to kill you. Pero finds it harder to kill you than he anticipated, especially when he falls into your bed, and you manage to get under his skin right before the Halloween festival your resort puts on every year.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
|| MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
“Jerry. Have those pumpkins been delivered?” You call out to your resort manager who walks past your office. “Yes ma’am. They came in this morning. We are working on the maze for the festival and we need you to finalize the menu for the snacks for the kids.” Jerry tells you and you grin, “you know how much I love Oreo pudding and gummy worms.” You wink, knowing the chef will go out of his way to make the snacks Halloween themed.
“Oh and the new landscaper will be arriving today. Pero Tovar.” Jerry tells you and you turn back to your computer for a moment.
Hopes, Dreams, and Everything In Between (Morpheus x Reader)
Summary: Just when Morpheus finally escapes capture at the hands of the Burgess lineage and begins to make his way back to his realm, his weak connection to his power disappears completely. Left stranded in a world with no knowledge of what has transpired for over a century, no powers, and no clothes, Dream of the Endless must let down his guard and place his trust in a human whose path he was quite literally dropped in the middle of.
Word count: 10.7k
A/N: So! Here we are, with what is arguably the longest oneshot I've ever written. @glitchmeharder had left a comment on a post I made, pointing out that they wanted more fics of Morpheus getting stuck in the Waking World and needing to live with Reader for a little bit.
My mind took this sentence and RAN with it. Like, I apologize in advance for how long this is. I'm pretty pleased with it though, especially for my first Morpheus fic. I hope you're pleased with it too.
(Also, the POV jumps back and forth between Morpheus and Reader, but it alternates every other section and is pretty clear which POV is which)
(Also-also I've been staring at this fic for so long now I don't even know if it makes sense anymore)
Let me know your thoughts! Likes are appreciated, comments, asks, and reblogs make my world go round! My inbox is always open for you guys :)
*This fic uses she/her pronouns and includes the use of Y/n*
Freedom.
After being held captive for 106 long, painful years, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares, is on the precipice of securing his freedom. The younger Burgess’s lover had erased a small part of the runes encircling his glass cage with the wheel of the old man’s wheelchair, sending little more than a sorrowful glance back towards the prisoner. So this was how he would attempt to secure his safety, by breaking the circle of runes surrounding him. Barely a scuff, really, but it’s enough.
It’s enough for Morpheus to feel the faintest bit of his power return to him.
It’s enough that it’s all too easy for him to influence one of the security guards, waxing poetically about his upcoming beach vacation, to close his eyes for just a moment.
It’s enough for a dream to form, one of sun and sea and sand. Sand that Morpheus is able to gather a handful of, right in front of the horrified guard’s dreaming eyes.
The guard, lost in his dream nightmare, shoots at what he thinks is Morpheus. In the Waking World, he’s shooting at the orb that he’s meant to be diligently watching. A bullet hits, and a crack forms. Another, and another, and another, even as the other guard screams at her colleague to stop.
The glass explodes, and Morpheus fills his lungs with his first huff of fresh air in over a century. He can’t get lost in the joy that threatens to burst like a dam at finally seeing and feeling freedom. Not when he has a job to do, not when he has a kingdom to return home to.
He steps past the broken runes, now useless at keeping him trapped, and towards the two that are commanding him to stop where he is. He does as they ask, standing still in front of them. When the female orders him to open his closed fist, he is nice enough to listen to that command as well, lifting it to his mouth and blowing the sand in their faces.
A portal forms above him, and all Morpheus can think of is home. The Dreaming. He can feel it calling to him, a kingdom beckoning its ruler back. His power lifts him, and Morpheus welcomes the sensation of traveling through realms.
Then, just as quickly as he had his power, he loses it again.
Like a spelunker who’s just had their trusty rope give out on them, Dream finds himself free-falling with no way of stopping or controlling where he’s going. He tries desperately to clutch onto the tendrils of power that have abandoned him, but they refuse to obey.
He lands harshly on cold pavement, weak and disoriented with no idea of where he is. There’s a flash of blinding lights, the sound of rubber squealing, and then…
Darkness.
•••
It’s late at night, late enough that the few traffic lights that you pass are continuously blinking red and yellow. You hadn’t intended to be out so late, but catching up with friends at a restaurant had led to all of you losing track of time, talking and laughing and reminiscing until a manager politely informed your table that the restaurant had closed ten minutes prior.
Large tips had been left as apologies and your group hustled out of the door, leaving one another with hugs and goodbyes and promises to do this again, sooner than the months it had taken to get together in the first place. You got into your car, locking the doors immediately after, and you were happy.
Still, as you watched those you know and cherish depart with their significant others, you can’t help the pang of melancholy that taints an otherwise-wonderful evening. You’re at the age now where everybody that you know is in relationships, getting engaged and married and settling down and coupling up. You, however…are not. And you’re happy with being single, truly; the best company you can have is yourself. But knowing that you’re going to return home to your quiet apartment, where you’ll go to sleep in your empty bed and wake up to eat breakfast alone before repeating the monotonous cycle that is working a full time job and being an adult in general is making you just a little bitter.
You dwell on this as you drive the deserted roads home, even though you shouldn’t be. Shaking your head at your tendency to mope, you decide to do something about it and turn your radio up with the hopes that something good is playing on the random playlist that had begun when your phone automatically connected to the car’s sound system. Hell, maybe even something bad. Anything to get you out of this thought pattern that is quickly attempting to derail your mood.
“Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision
I keep my visions to myself
But it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell, dreams of loneliness?”
Ironic, considering you were just lamenting your own loneliness, but you’ll forgive Stevie Nicks for almost anything, so you let it slide. Tapping your thumbs on the steering wheel, you hum along to the song and stare out at the empty, rainy landscape ahead.
Empty, until it’s suddenly not.
You don’t look away from the road, you know that you don’t. But in the literal blink of an eye, a white figure appears right in front of your car. Slamming on the brakes with a scream, you watch as the figure collapses ahead of you. You don’t hit whatever it is, thankfully, and after lurching to a harsh stop, you peer through the windshield at what your headlights illuminate.
It’s a person, or at least you think it is. They’re pale, paler than any person you’ve seen before. They’re also stark naked, which, for a number of reasons, can’t be comfortable. Should you get out and help?
You bite your lip as you consider this, stories of human trafficking ploys and hitchhiking serial killers appearing at the forefront of your mind. It’s dangerous, and probably stupid, but something in you knows that this isn’t a scheme to kidnap you. Your eyes were on the road the entire time, and this being was literally dropped down right in front of your car. Grabbing your phone, throwing your hazards on, and unhooking the pepper spray from your keys, you cautiously open your car door and walk to the front of your car.
“Are you okay?” you ask, looking down at the man.
He’s laying on his side, his face tucked into the crook of his arm. A mop of unruly, jet-black hair covers any other facial features that might have made him distinguishable to you.
He doesn’t answer, and you swallow harshly. Oh God, is he dead? You thought you didn’t hit him, and your car doesn’t have any damage, but maybe you did.
Crouching down next to him, you take note of just how skinny he is when you lay a hand on his wrist to check his pulse (which is thankfully thrumming steadily beneath his near-translucent skin). No, not skinny. The man in front of you looks emaciated. What happened to him?, you wonder as you move your hand to his bony shoulder and begin to shake him.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
This time, a muffled groan answers you. Okay, that’s better than before. At least he’s semi-conscious. Still, he doesn’t look well at all, and you should probably get him to a hospital to be checked out. When you voice this thought, you finally elicit a reaction from him. Long, ice-cold fingers grip your wrist weakly, and you stare at him in shock as he mumbles something unintelligible.
“What?” You lean down next to his covered face, trying to hear what he’s saying.
“No…” he mutters. “Please…no…hospital.”
He’s delirious, that much is obvious. Still, you find yourself mulling over his request. He really does need some sort of medical attention, but he managed to muster up enough strength to specifically tell you that he didn’t want to go to a hospital. As you think about it, you also start to come around to the “no hospital” idea.
After all, what are you going to do? Show up at the hospital and dump a naked, starving man on their doorstep while claiming that you have no idea how he got like this? At best, the authorities would probably be called and you’d be questioned for kidnapping. No, it’s probably for the best to keep away from the hospital.
Logically, you know that you’re so stupid for even considering the idea that you’ve had. But really, what is this man going to be able to do to you? Even if he weren’t in and out of consciousness, he’s so frail that you could easily take him down were he to try and attack you. Against your better judgment, you decide what you’re going to do.
“I’ll be right back,” you assure the man, who you’re not even sure can hear you, before you stand up. “I think I have a blanket in the trunk of my car.”
A quick search through your mess of a trunk does reveal a blanket, hauled around at the insistence of your mother who preached needing an “emergency kit” in your car at all times. Now, you silently thank her as you grab it and hurry back to the man, though you definitely will not mention to her what the emergency kit was finally used for.
You haul him to a sitting position, his head falling back limply as you fix the blanket over his shoulders. “Do you think you can stand? I’ll get you to the car, I just need to get you on your feet.”
He makes a slight movement that looks like a nod, so you move his arm around your shoulder and wait until you feel his light grasp on your shirt before slowly bringing both of you to stand. Once you’re sure that you’re not going to drop him, you struggle with him towards your car. He’s lighter than most adult men, but considering he’s dead weight, it’s still tough to walk with him. You fumble with the handle of the car door, nearly throwing it open so that you only have to let go of him for a brief moment.
You cringe when he falls backwards onto the seats, landing harshly across them. It doesn’t seem to hurt him at all, the only sign that he even felt anything is a groan in the back of his throat. Whispering out a “sorry,” you cover his body with the blanket and make sure all of him is in the car before closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat.
Sighing heavily, you think about your life choices as you glance into the rearview mirror to look at the unconscious man in the back of your car. You’re really going to do this, aren’t you? Taking home a naked man that passed out on the road in front of your car so that you can hopefully wake him up and get him well enough to be on his way without killing you?
Yes, you are.
•••
The first thought that crosses Dream’s mind when consciousness finally returns to him is that his limbs ache. They really, truly ache. It’s not often that an Endless has lingering pains, but it does happen. He stretches his legs out in front of him, feeling his muscles twinge as he attempts to loosen them.
The next thought that crosses Dream’s mind is that he shouldn’t be able to stretch any of his limbs, considering he’s meant to be curled up in a glass ball.
His eyes snap open when he realizes this, and he’s bewildered to find that he’s not staring at guards looking at him disdainfully from the table they’re always perched at, nor is he looking at the wrought-iron bars separating the large, underground room from the staircase upstairs. No, instead, he’s looking up at what looks to be a ceiling fan, spinning lazily around and around.
The events of what happened before he ended up here (wherever “here” is) begin to come back to him in fragments. First the runes being erased, then securing the sand from the guard’s dream. The orb shattering, sand being blown, and beginning to make his way home. That’s where his memory becomes muddled.
There were lights, and a voice. He thinks he remembers the vague sensation of being moved, but he’s not too sure. Whatever happened, he ended up here…on a couch, under a number of blankets. Certainly not in the same basement that he had been in for over a century, with its familiar cold seeping through the very glass he found himself trapped in. No, this room is warm and inviting. Comforting, almost.
Wherever he is, it’s not in the Dreaming. More alarmingly still is that he can’t sense the Dreaming at all. After that small glimpse of his power that got him out of the Burgess basement, his power has completely abandoned him. A not-unusual feeling, considering he spent the last 106 years without it, but being “free” and powerless is not something that he’s used to.
He has had a lot of time to think about what his lack of power feels like. After a few decades, the best he could liken it to is missing a sense or losing a limb. It’s something functional, something that he should have, but that he doesn’t. Cruelly, he was granted a taste of what he should have for a mere second before fate or karma or the universe itself decided to play yet another cruel joke on him.
Dream slowly takes in his surroundings, his thoughts sluggish and confused. There’s a table next to the couch he’s laid on, a glass of water placed on it. A black screen sits on a stand across the room, and he stares at his reflection in it for a moment before the sound of humming draws his attention away.
A figure – the person humming, he assumes – comes through a doorway, eyes immediately meeting his own. Curiously, she smiles at him when she notices this. Dream’s muscles tense, on guard in the presence of an unknown being so soon after escaping Burgess. Has he escaped one prison, only to land in another?
“You’re awake!” she exclaims, as though she’s happy to see this. “How are you feeling?”
He ignores the human’s question. “This is not the Dreaming.”
“No, this is my apartment.”
“I must go.” Dream attempts to stand up, but finds that he struggles to just barely sit up. “I need to return to my realm.”
“You’re not going anywhere, look at you! You’re too weak to even move.”
She begins to approach him, but the glower he sends her way is enough to stop her in her tracks. It does not matter that she was stating the obvious when she said what she did, referencing his physicality. He will not be told what he can and cannot do, where he is allowed to exist. Not anymore. “Do not come any closer, mortal.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
She puts her hands up in the air, presumably to show him that she means no harm. The move reminds him of what one might do in the presence of a frightened animal. In her mind, he is a frightened animal.
“Have you drank any of that water? I don’t know where you were before I found you, but you look like you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in a while.”
He looks at her warily, but slowly takes the glass that is apparently designated for him. After over a century, he’s more than a little parched. Though he will not show any gratitude before it is earned, he is thankful that at least one of his needs is being met.
The woman waits patiently for him to make the next move, choosing to sit on a large chair near the couch and tap at a rectangle she holds in her hands. Morpheus appreciates not being watched as he greedily drains the water that he’s been offered. Only after he places the now-empty glass back on the table does she look up at him and wait for him to make the first move.
“How did I end up here?” Morpheus asks slowly.
“When I found you, you basically appeared in the middle of the road from out of nowhere. You were passed out, and you only really came around so that you could tell me not to take you to a hospital.” She nervously plays with her hands, which rest in her lap. “I wasn’t about to leave you out there, so I brought you here.”
“Why?”
It comes out harsher than he intended, but considering the only interaction he’s had for so long with other beings involved threats and pleas for immortality, riches, and power, he isn’t expecting much. In fact, Morpheus is preparing himself to listen to her list of demands before acting. Though he’s powerless right now and unable to manipulate her dreams the way that he did the guards at Fawney Rig, he still has millenia of experience to draw on when it comes to escaping a captor.
Contrary to his belief, she looks at him in surprise. “Why?” When he nods, she shrugs. “I guess…because if I were naked and unconscious in the middle of the road on a rainy night, I’d want somebody to help me to relative safety.”
Ah. It’s at this point that Dream realizes that he is, in fact, very much still naked. Though he’s hardly shy about his form, he is aware that most humans have a more puritanical point of view when it comes to the covering of bodies.
“Are you hungry? You look like you’ve been starved, so I’m guessing it’s been a while since you’ve had something to eat.” The woman stands and takes the glass off of the table, musing to herself as she walks to another room. “We’ll probably have to start you on something light so that you can get used to eating again. Maybe toast?”
She doesn’t stop rambling even as she returns and hands Morpheus another glass of water. Though, even if she were to stop long enough to take a breath, Morpheus doesn’t know what he would say. He’s so bewildered at this entire situation that the Prince of Stories himself is at a loss for words.
He’s been left completely powerless in the Waking World, and he would have to fend for himself were it not for this random human whose path he’s been literally dropped in the middle of. A human who, apparently, has no devious intentions towards him, though he finds it hard to believe that all humans aren’t evil and heartless like Roderick Burgess and those complicit in his captivity. He finds it especially hard to believe that the first human he comes across after the Burgess affair would be the exact opposite of those he’s been around for so long.
Destiny himself must surely be breaking his stoic demeanor to laugh at his younger brother’s misfortunes.
“Seriously, when was the last time you ate something?” After a moment of silence, Morpheus realizes she’s asking him a question.
His attention is brought back to the woman, who’s reclaimed her seat in the chair across the room. Lifting his chin, and with what he hopes is a voice befitting the ruler he once was, he says, “One hundred and six years ago.”
She laughs at what she assumes is a joke, until she realizes that the expression on his face doesn’t change. He can see this mortal begin to make the connections in her mind. His mention of his beloved realm, the fact that he called her “mortal” to begin with, the century plus of imprisonment. The Waking World is so quick to dismiss magic and the supernatural as “fairy tales;” if it is beyond their comprehension, then it therefore doesn’t exist.
Yet, even with what they believe to be sound logic, humans just know when they encounter something that they can’t quite explain. Morpheus has always seen it in the way that people back up when he or his siblings or any of the many other preternatural beings that wander this plane walk past. The fear in their eyes as something primal activates within them, something telling them that they are no longer the apex predator.
Even with his lack of powers, he still carries his innate abilities that are woven into his very being. He can hear the woman’s heart beat faster, see her pupils dilate in apprehension. She knows, even if she does not want to admit it.
Quietly, she asks, “Who are you? What are you?”
“I am Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares.”
A long minute passes as she takes in the information he’s given her. She does not run away from him in fright (which has happened to him a couple of times), nor does she call for someone who will attempt to capture Morpheus and use his powers to their own advantage. Instead, she thinks over what she’s heard and nods.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares,” she smiles after saying all of his titles, apparently finding it amusing to be in the presence of a king, “I’m Y/n.”
Morpheus is not used to thanking others, especially mortals. However, this woman’s helpfulness seems to warrant that he learns how to do so, so he nods. “I thank you for offering me aid in my time of need, Y/n.”
“I’m going to get you some food.” He hardly opens his mouth to make a rebuttal before she’s pointing at him accusingly. “Don’t argue with me, you need food. Then after that, we’ll get you some clothes. Sound good?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s back through the door, presumably towards the kitchen. Though Morpheus is still wary of relying on anybody, let alone a human, he doesn’t exactly have a choice. Not when he’s this weak, and certainly not when he’s powerless. No, he has no choice but to place his trust in this strong-willed woman who was crazy enough to rescue a stranger in the rain.
Fates help him.
•••
So, the random, naked stranger you saved out of the middle of the road turns out to rule the collective unconscious of all of humanity. And he now lives on your couch for the time being (with clothes, thankfully; you had procured a shirt and a pair of sweatpants for him when he had finally agreed to let you help him), because he’s apparently lost the powers that connect him to said collective unconscious. No big deal.
You didn’t want to believe Morpheus at first. After all, just the mere idea of some being who is eons old and is, in his words, “the anthropomorphic personification of the concept of dreams” sounds insane. But the same sense that told you that it was safe to take him home tells you that he’s telling the truth. And as you get to know him more, you find that that sense was right.
From the way that he talks to the memories of empires long gone and the recollections of those great figures of history that he’s met and inspired, all of which he shares with you as the days go by and it becomes obvious that he can’t just ignore you and hope that you go away, you find it very easy to believe him. He hasn’t given you a reason to not believe him, and until he does, you’ll continue to trust what he tells you.
It’s at least a week before your new roommate is strong enough to move easily around your apartment, though he still looks half-starved. On his second day of staying at your apartment, you had offered to help him to the shower. After all, if you had been deprived of showering for 106 years, it would be one of the first things that you wanted to do. After thinking it over for a long couple of minutes, Morpheus had begrudgingly agreed. The moment he attempted to stand, he had been unable to support himself and had fallen to his knees. This left him no choice but to take your outstretched hand.
It was very obvious that the proud king felt humiliated at needing to use you to support most of his weight as you maneuvered him through your apartment and to the bathroom. You couldn’t exactly blame him, because you’re sure that it is humiliating, especially when you’re a being that’s normally more powerful than a literal god who has to rely on a mere human for help walking a few feet.
According to Morpheus, if he had his powers, he would have recovered at a much faster rate. Since he doesn’t, though, and he’s effectively human for the time being, he has to recover as a human would. When you come home from running a couple of errands one day to find him sitting up on the couch without needing to lean on anything for support, reading a book from your collection, you’re extremely glad to see that his “human” recovery is progressing nicely.
As time passes, though, you’ve found an odd companionship with him. He’s slowly become less wary of you, and you of he, which has allowed you both to trust the other and actually, dare you say it, form a tenuous friendship.
It seems like he’d been expecting you to basically tiptoe around him and ignore him throughout the duration of his stay with you. Considering you don’t want to wake up to a corpse on your couch because you abandoned him in his time of need, and because you’re a person with a conscience, you’ve done the exact opposite, much to his chagrin and bewilderment.
You’re in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a soup, still working on building Morpheus up towards being able to eat actual meals, when he actually comes to you seeking companionship. He hovers at the edge of the kitchen, watching silently as you go through the familiar motions. Finally, he moves just a couple of steps closer, like a feral cat being enticed by food from a human who’s determined not to look at them. It’s not that far off from reality, you realize.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Though it’s pretty damn obvious what you’re doing, you decide not to be sarcastic with him. “Making soup.”
He nods, leaning against the counter to watch. You feel a bit like you’re on a cooking show with the way that he’s viewing your actions so intently.
“What’s so interesting?” you ask after another moment of unwillingly being on Iron Chef.
“I suppose I’ve never really watched someone cook before.”
The knife pauses in midair, and you turn to look at him. “I’m sorry, what? You’ve been alive for as long as beings have had consciousness, but you’ve never watched someone cook?”
“It’s not often that I have to eat. If I choose to enjoy food, the palace staff typically prepares it for me.”
Oh yeah. It’s easy to forget that Morpheus literally has a castle when he’s standing in your kitchen with bedhead. You would make a joke about him being spoiled, but you suppose that if you were in his position, you also never would have taken the time to actually step inside a kitchen.
“Do you want to learn?”
“How to cook?” You nod. “Are you sure that you want to teach me?”
“I’m literally just going to have you cutting vegetables,” you say with a laugh. “It’s a pretty easy task, even for you, your highness.”
His lips just barely move upwards, and you stare at him, stunned. Did he just smile at you? You didn’t even know that he knew how to do that. You’re about to try and convince yourself that it was just a trick of the light when he says, “Being that I am a king, it’s ‘your majesty,’ not ‘your highness.’”
He did smile! And he made a joke! It’s such a small accomplishment, yet you can’t help but to feel immensely proud of yourself. Hiding your own pleased grin, you step back from the cutting board. “Okay your majesty, come over here so I can teach you to cut vegetables.”
Morpheus definitely isn’t going to be on any cooking shows of his own anytime soon. Actually, you don’t know that you’d even trust him to be in the kitchen by himself anytime soon. He nearly cuts off a finger a couple of times, and he struggles to figure out how to hold whatever he’s cutting so that it can actually be cut. The vegetables he’s been in charge of cutting are uneven, but you can see how proud he is of having completed this task himself. You’re proud of him too; though you can tease him for having never done something like cooking before, it must be hard to learn a new skill after so long.
After this, Morpheus becomes less of an unwilling house guest who’s only putting up with you because he physically can’t leave and more of a friend. It became inevitable that you would have to spend time together, since he’s living on your couch until he can figure out how to get back to the Dreaming, but it’s become actually enjoyable to be in his presence, and vice versa. Though he can still be cold, distant, and haughty, that’s to be expected. Your relationship has changed, and he’s changed.
It takes a couple of weeks, but Morpheus finally starts to feel well enough to re-enter the land of the living. At least, he’s well enough to insist that he can start researching how to regain his powers or go home. Naturally, you join him. Morpheus has long-since given up on asking you why you help him, finally realizing that this is just how you are. If he wanted to be left alone, he should have landed in front of the car of someone who didn’t care about his well-being.
You’re sitting in your local public library with him, one of your now-regular visits as you search through book after book to try and find answers. The both of you are tucked in a corner near a set of windows, enjoying the way that the sun warms your skin. Books from a variety of subjects are scattered all around you; religion and history, mythology and occult. Anything that could potentially give you an idea of how to help an Endless regain the powers that they were created with. Needless to say, there’s not a lot of material written on this topic.
Yet another book with no answers is tossed to the side in frustration, and you begin to just fire off random ideas off the top of your head. Most of them involve seeking the help of any magic contacts that Morpheus has here in the Waking World, which is made difficult by the fact that Morpheus has no way of contacting these beings. Both because of his lack of powers, as well as the fact that he’s not the most open person for one to make a contact with.
(“You? Not friendly? I’m shocked, truly,” you had said with obvious sarcasm coloring your tone. Morpheus simply sighed, turning the page of the book he’s reading harsher than needed.
“Yes, have your laughs at my expense.”)
It’s more than a little discouraging to have absolutely no answers, and you’re starting to get desperate. You tap your fingers against a book you’ve already looked through, hoping that maybe you’ll learn something through osmosis.
“You could…”
You pause, trying to think of a good idea. Your mind is racing as you turn from logical plans that could actually work to the illogical. After all, if you can’t find something that works, you’re at least going to have some fun.
“Throw me off a bridge, maybe? That’d surely get your sister to show up.”
Morpheus only looks at you. “That is not funny, Y/n.”
“I didn’t say it was!”
“I know your sense of humor well enough by now to know that you find this suggestion of yours at least slightly amusing.”
Your lips twitch, because he’s right. The mental image of Morpheus chucking you off a bridge and then eagerly waiting for his sister, literal Death, to appear while you’re screaming and falling to your end does make you want to laugh.
“Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got,” you say with a shrug.
“A terrible idea, truly.”
You roll your eyes jokingly and mutter, “Jerk.”
When you first met Morpheus, he would have taken your words and actions quite seriously and been offended at the perceived insults. Now, he simply rolls his eyes right back at you and smirks. Just one of the many things that have changed between you.
It’s here, on the floor of the library, that things majorly change between you. It’s here that Morpheus kisses you for the first time.
You had taken a solo walk around a few of the shelves under the guise of seeing if you had missed any research, but really you needed to get away from the corner of no answers before you started shredding books out of anger. It helped enough that you were able to return to the research with fresh eyes, and it seems like it’s paying off.
In a book about pagan rituals, you find the first promising information that you’ve seen in the last three library trips. You lay your hand on Morpheus’s shoulder to get his attention. “Wait, listen to this! This book talks about summoning the Fates.”
You point down to the passage.
“‘It is fitting to begin December with an offering to the Three Fates, the weavers of destiny. Put out three small cups of red wine, fruit and bread, along with three knives. This is a way of honoring the powers that will bring more provisions during the coming year. Have ready three candles, red, black and white.’ It’s not December, but I would think this could potentially be done year-round? We give them an offering, they recognize who it’s coming from, and they give us some answers. What do you think?”
When you look up at Morpheus, you find him already looking at you with his beautiful blue eyes. He’s told you that, when he has his powers, his eyes resemble two stars. With the way that they always twinkle when they catch the light just right, you’d argue that they already do. You smile at him, unable to stop the awkward giggle that escapes you as he continues to look at you with something you can’t quite name.
“What?”
His eyes look from your eyes to your lips and back again. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s about to do, a mere moment before he leans in and presses his lips to yours.
Morpheus is a really good kisser, which is to be expected since he’s been alive for longer than you can fathom. He kisses you softly and sweetly, and the butterflies that flutter in your stomach make you feel a bit like a teenager receiving her first kiss from a beau. You sigh against his lips, bringing a hand to his cheek while he places one of his on the back of your neck.
Then, it actually hits you what you’re doing. Though you don’t want to (like, you really don’t want to), you need to put a stop to this. What if the only reason he’s doing this is because he feels some sense of gratitude towards you for saving him in the first place? You can’t take advantage of him like that, even if he is a very attractive man that is currently kissing you.
“Wait.” You put a hand on his chest to put some space between you, though you still rest your forehead against his. “I don’t want you to kiss me just because I’m letting you crash on my couch.”
“Do you think that I am incapable of making my own decisions?”
“No, of course not! I just–I worry that you feel like you owe me, or something. You don’t.”
You can feel Morpheus smile under your touch. “It is chivalrous of you to refuse me because you believe that you are taking advantage of me. However, I can assure you that you need not worry.”
“Are you sure? What about, like, power dynamics?”
“Y/n, I’m eons old. If anything, I have all of the power here based solely on that.” Oh, yeah. Before you can actually beat yourself up over the stupidity of that statement, he continues. “I can promise you that I have my wits about me, and there is nothing clouding my decision-making. I care for you, and I would very much like to continue kissing you.”
“Okay,” you whisper, unable to believe that this is actually happening.
He laughs lightly. “Now, may I kiss you again?”
You nod. “Yeah, you can definitely kiss me again.”
Morpheus is more than happy to reclaim your lips with his.
It would almost be embarrassing, how quickly you’ve fallen in love with Morpheus, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s fallen just as fast. You’ve lived blissfully in your own little corner of heaven with him for almost four months now. Though getting him home is still important to both of you, it’s also become less of a priority as you’ve fallen more in love with each other.
(He’s also very happy to be sleeping in bed with you instead of on the couch.)
Laying in bed with him one night, you’re transfixed with mapping out every inch of his skin that you can touch with your fingers and watching goosebumps form in their wake. You don’t think you’ll ever get over just how unreal Morpheus seems to be. You understand, of course, that this is due to the fact that he’s an Endless, that he is physically more than a human, and thus a human form can not truly contain all of him. But to be up close and personal to such a phenomenon really drives home just how ethereal he really is. You can easily see why he’s been mistaken as a god so many times throughout history.
“What’s it like?” you whisper to him, unwilling to fully break the tranquility you’re experiencing.
In the dim light, Morpheus looks at you. “What is what like, beloved?”
Your heart jumps at the pet name, so sweet and unexpected. Fighting to keep your wits about you, you ask, “Your kingdom. The Dreaming.”
“I don't even know where to begin when I tell you that it is the most wondrous place you will ever lay eyes upon.” He closes his eyes briefly and sighs wistfully. “It has been over a century since I have been home, and yet I can still see it as if I were merely there yesterday.”
“If it’s hard to talk about, you don’t have to.” You should have realized that asking him about the home he currently has no way of getting back to would make him upset.
“It does not make me sad to talk about it. Rather, I love the Dreaming so much that it overwhelms me sometimes. I am the Dreaming, you see. It is a part of me.”
“So it’s perfect, then.” You don’t mean to say that out loud, but the way that Morpheus looks away bashfully makes you glad that you did.
“That is what some believe, yes. It’s a vast plane, considering all the universe’s dreamers use it when they close their eyes at night. The area around the palace, my direct kingdom, is stunning. Imagine the most beautiful landscape you can. That beauty would pale in comparison to Fiddler’s Green, with its orchards and valleys and rivers and mountains.”
“Really?”
“Mm. My personal favorite is a small clearing ringed by trees that make it seem as though you’re completely blocked off from the rest of existence. There’s a waterfall there, too, and I believe you’d quite enjoy the mermaids.”
All of it sounds wonderful, but that last word has your mind sparking with excitement. “Mermaids? Like…actual mermaids?”
“Of course. Mermaids are creatures of dreams. And nightmares. They are subjects in my realm.”
“That’s amazing.” You pause for a moment. “Would I be able to meet them?”
“You will be able to do anything you wish when I finally get to bring you to my realm. Though, it may be difficult to get you out of the library once you’re there.”
“I should have assumed you’d have a library.”
“Yes, and it is my sanctuary in the Dreaming. The library holds every book that has ever been written, every book that will be written, and even books that have merely been ideas in the minds of authors. It is overseen by Lucienne, without whom I fear the library would fall into permanent disrepair.”
“That sounds wonderful.” You yawn, your eyes too heavy to keep open for much longer. Morpheus notices this and pulls you closer to him. “Tell me more about it. Then maybe I’ll get lucky and be able to catch a glimpse of it while I sleep.”
It’s merely wishful thinking, considering dreams since the night that Roderick Burgess trapped Morpheus in his basement have been nothing more than fragments of scenarios. But his voice is so deep and calming, and you can tell that it makes him happy to talk of his home. Maybe tonight will be the night that the Dreaming decides to welcome its king back home. And even if it doesn’t, you’ll enjoy falling asleep in your lover’s arms.
•••
When Morpheus first woke up after his captivity, alone and confused and without his powers, he thought that he would never be able to feel anything except anger. Anger at his situation, anger towards those that had captured them. And for a few days, anger was all that he felt. But slowly and surely, Y/n had managed to chip away at the anger that had threatened to harden around his heart. Though he was not looking for love, nor did he expect to ever deserve love again after everything he had done to ruin every relationship he had been in, he had found it with her. The anger became replaced with an incandescent happiness, happiness that threatened to swallow Morpheus whole if he allowed it.
And he was certainly tempted.
It’s been approximately four months since the night he was freed, but it certainly hadn’t felt that way. Where he had spent the past 106 years counting day after agonizing day, four months with his beloved seemed to pass in the blink of an eye; an impressive feat for an Endless. Morpheus has, dare he say it, enjoyed getting to be a human, learning more about humanity and all that he had missed. Though he still lamented the loss of something so integral to his very being as his powers, his realm, he was able to recognize the gift that he had been given in spending the last four months with Y/n.
He’s sitting with her on the couch where it seems as though everything began, reading yet another book in the hopes that he might find a way to regain his powers, while she watches a movie on the television about some sort of battle in space (yet another aspect of humanity that she enjoyed teaching him, modern technology and everything along with it). She had meant to show him this movie, claiming that it was one of her favorites and that she believed every being needed to see this. Of course, it took a total of five minutes before he found himself hopelessly lost among the plot and had turned to the book next to him.
She had pouted for a moment, more to try and make him feel bad than from actually being upset. He had simply smirked in her direction, kissing her forehead before laying his arm around her and drawing her closer to him. Yet another thing that he loves about her, among many things, is that he can just exist in companionable silence with her. It’s rare, at least in his experience, when one finds another where this is possible.
Her head falls against his shoulder, and he smiles down at her when he sees she’s fallen asleep. In moments like these, he wishes more than anything that he was connected to the Dreaming once more. What he wouldn’t give to be able slip into her mind and give her the sweetest dreams that she deserves. As he closes his eyes and leans his head against hers, he imagines that he can feel that link to his realm.
After a moment, Morpheus opens his eyes and jarringly realizes that he can feel it. Her dreams, and the Dreaming itself. After 106 long years, the Dreaming returns to him as naturally as if he had simply blinked. His power suddenly twining through his veins again, something which he had taken for granted nearly his entire existence, has tears pricking at his eyes. Oh, how he has missed this.
Morpheus can return home now to reclaim his mantle and rule the Dreaming once more. He should be thrilled about this. He is thrilled about it. Thrilled, until he looks at the sleeping woman leaning against him and realizes that a decision must be made, and soon.
His power has returned, yet it’s still incredibly weak. Weak from not using them so long, and weak due to his not having his tools–his sand, his helm, and his ruby. Thus, he cannot be at his full strength until he recovers them. Will his power disappear yet again if he waits too long? If he wakes her to relay the good news, to take a moment to say goodbye, will the Dreaming escape from him? If his power does leave again, will he ever have another chance such as this?
It’s something that he cannot risk. And yet, he finds himself unsure, even though he knows what he has to do. This woman, this mortal, has managed to ensnare his heart so completely that Morpheus considers potentially forsaking his kingdom just for the chance to properly part with her in the way that he wants to, in the way that she deserves.
Morpheus takes great care not to wake her up when he moves her off of him to lay down on the couch. His fingers trace the slope of her nose, down to her lips and across her cheeks, mapping out her face. If this is to be the last time he sees her, he wants to remember everything about her. Knowing that he will have to depart without telling her where he is going or knowing if they will be together again grieves him. He has not felt pain of this kind since he helplessly watched Jessamy be murdered in front of him.
He lingers when he kisses his beloved’s forehead, not sure when, or if, he will have the pleasure of seeing her again. If she’ll forgive him for what he has to do, how he has to leave her. He whispers this in her ear, a simple, “I love you. Forgive me.”
Then, he closes his eyes and feels that tug that has always connected him to the Dreaming. He envisions the sandy dunes outside of the Gates of Horn and Ivory, the way they melt into the rolling hills of Fiddler’s Green in the distance. He sees his castle and his library, Lucienne and Mervyn, Cain and Abel, the seas of dreams and nightmares. He places himself there, and when he opens his eyes to see Lucienne leaning over him, when he feels the sands of his realm against his back, he knows…
He’s home.
•••
Waking up on your couch that day with no sign of Morpheus anywhere had confirmed your worst fears. Just as suddenly as he had appeared in your life, he was now gone without a trace. And as the hours eventually turned into days without him, you had to come to terms with the fact that he was really, truly gone.
Life without Morpheus, after having had him as yours for a few glorious months, just felt dull. Literally, it felt as though your senses were dulled now. Colors weren’t as bright, songs weren’t as beautiful, things didn’t taste as good, flowers didn’t smell right, and things that were once soft now felt harsh against your skin. He was gone, and you were alone. Things were as they were before that fateful night when he landed in front of your car.
It’s not even that he left you. Rather, it’s how he left you. Never would you have expected him to just completely abandon you, with no note left behind or anything to explain where he had gone. You assumed he had gotten his powers back, which was wonderful, truly. After all, that was the end game, wasn’t it? But for him to just…leave, after everything you had been through and shared with each other, hurt worse than you could have imagined.
You became intimately familiar with the five stages of grief in those first few days after his departure, cycling through each stage until you would come back around to the beginning and do it all over again. It felt pathetic that you were this heartbroken, but how could you not be? Morpheus had held your heart in his very hands, only to discard it as if the gift you gave him, of your love, meant nothing. You couldn’t even mope for as long as you wanted to, because you just reminded yourself of fucking Bella Swan in New Moon, and god forbid you share any similarities with her.
Eventually, you settled on feeling angry. Angry at him, angry at the circumstances, angry at yourself, angry at the world. You’re so mad, but then you feel like you have no right to be mad, because he got what he wanted! He has his powers and his realm back, which was the only reason he was with you for as long as he was. You both knew that, and still…
You really wish that you could hate Morpheus.
He hadn’t even come to visit you in your dreams, which had really sealed the deal for how little you meant to him. If he had gotten his powers back and returned to his realm, surely he would have spoken to you while you were asleep to at least let you know that he was alright? But no, you didn’t even receive that from him. And so you were left without closure, which made getting over him really difficult.
Still, you try your best to get over him, even though you really don’t want to do so. Two months after Morpheus vanished without a trace, you’re finally returning the last library book from your research sessions with him. You felt silly, holding onto it for as long as you did, but it proved that he had been here, and that what you had experienced was real. It was a tangible link to him; it was your only tangible link to him. Unfortunately, the library has only let you renew the book so many times before needing it back, and today is that day.
You stand in front of the book deposit box in the library, holding onto the book and feeling the cover that you’ve mapped out time after time as you attempt to work up the courage to let go. Let go of both the book itself, as well as the hope that Morpheus will come back to you. It’s obvious that it’s not going to happen, and you’re doing nothing but hurting yourself by continuing to hold out hope that it will. You need to live your life again, even if it means letting go of the best thing to ever happen to you.
Somebody clears their voice behind you to draw you out of your inner monologue, and you realize that a line has started to form. Smiling sheepishly at the grandma waiting for her turn, you whisper “sorry” to her before taking a breath and finally dropping the book inside. The flap of the box closes with a finality that signifies that you aren’t getting that book back. Stepping away from the deposit box to allow the line to progress, you take a deep breath as the finality of the situation hits you.
That’s it. All that you’re left with from your four months with Morpheus now is memories. You were hoping that this would feel more freeing, that you’d feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders and go waltzing out of the library like the main character in a coming-of-age movie as the end credits played to signify that you were turning a corner in your life. Instead, you just feel a pit in the bottom of your stomach, a sickness that this is really it. Now, you have to figure out what to do next.
Even as you turn to leave, you can’t help but think of Morpheus. You glance into the corner of the library that you spent many days with him in, the corner of the library where he kissed you, and you just want to cry. You miss him. You really, truly miss him, and it seems like it’s going to take more than returning a library book to get over that.
You wish you had pictures that you could burn, like every other normal relationship.
As you exit the library, you find yourself making eye contact with the fucking crow sitting in the tree across the street that seems to follow you around now. You’re probably just paranoid, because you don’t even really like birds, but it feels like you see that giant black bird everywhere you go. At first, for a hopeful second, you had allowed yourself to believe that maybe it was a sign from Morpheus. But when you had quietly said hello to it and it just did crow things, you realized that you were being stupid. Of course a random bird isn’t going to be a messenger from the lover that had left you.
Because this is already a terrible day, it gets worse when you harshly knock against someone when you’re walking in the parking lot to find your car. You stumble backwards, nearly falling from the force of it. The only reason that you don’t fall is because the person who you’ve just inadvertently assaulted grabs onto your forearm to steady you.
“Shoot, I’m sorry,” you mumble, squinting against the sun.
“I believe I’m the one that should be apologizing.”
That voice. You know that voice. Could it really be, or have you just finally lost your mind and are imagining what you want to happen?
But then your vision clears, and you look at him, and no. It’s real. He stands in front of you two months after you last saw him, looking down at you like you’re the one that left him suddenly.
Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. There are so many things that you want to say to him. After all, how many times have you imagined this exact scenario and all of the things that you would say to him in said scenario? Now you’re here, with his hand around your arm, and all you can think to say is, “Morpheus?”
He looks better than he did even at his healthiest when staying with you, which goes to show just how drained he was without his powers. His lips are lifted just slightly, his version of a smile, and he looks good. His coat fits him perfectly, as though it were made just for him (it probably was). He’s dressed in all black, of course, from the coat down to the black boots he wears. You finally meet his eyes, and you gasp when, for a split second, you see the stars that make up his eyes before you blink and they’re back to the blue you’ve known.
“Hello, beloved,” Morpheus says. The deep timbre of his voice sends shivers down your spine, a side effect of not hearing it every day like you used to.
You want to be mad at him. You are mad at him. He left you with no warning and disappeared from your life without a trace. He had left you so suddenly, in fact, that sometimes in the middle of the night when you were out of tears and hadn’t yet cried yourself to sleep, you wondered if you had simply imagined everything about him. Yet, seeing him again, all you want to do is fall into his arms and tell him how much you missed him.
When you lunge forward, it’s not to hug him, which is what you always expected you would do if you were to be reunited with him. Instead, you say, “I can’t believe you fucking left me!” and shove at his chest in anger, which, if the look on his face is anything to go off of, he hadn’t been expecting either.
The shove hardly moves him, but it fills you with satisfaction to be able to physically assert just how upset you are, so you shove and hit his chest again and again. Morpheus, to his credit, just stands there and takes it, hopefully because he knows he deserves it.
Even the patience of an Endless, however, is not endless. Morpheus grabs your wrists with one of his large hands and stops the physical manifestation of your rage in its tracks. You fight him for a moment longer, but eventually the hot tears building in your eyes spill over, and you look up to face him defiantly. If he’s going to make you cry, he’s going to have to see it.
“You couldn’t have left, I don’t know, a note or something? Just to let me know that you were going to disappear without a trace?”
Morpheus looks pained at this, and a sick part of you whispers ‘good, he deserves to feel bad.’ “When I realized that I could feel the Dreaming after you fell asleep that night, I was not sure if that would be my one and only chance to reclaim my throne. I had to make a choice, however difficult it was, to return to my realm through your dreams.”
“But you didn’t think to let me know that you were okay after you made it back?”
“You remember my tools? My helm, my sand, my ruby?” He waits for you to nod. “I had to retrieve those before I could return to you.”
“Don’t forget about the whole ‘dream vortex’ thing after that! Ugh, that was a mess.” You look up when another voice chimes in, only to find yourself looking at the crow that you had been mentally cursing minutes ago.
“Did–did that crow just talk?”
“Raven, and yes.” Said raven flutters down to land on Morpheus’s shoulder, who glances at his corvid companion like he’s a nuisance.
“This is Matthew, my emissary,” Morpheus introduces.
“Uh, it’s nice to meet you, Matthew.” You feel a bit stupid saying hello to a raven, but it’d be rude not to. “I’m Y/n.”
“I know!” Matthew says cheerfully.
“You may return to the Dreaming, Matthew. I no longer require your assistance.” You stifle a laugh at how obviously Morpheus wants his raven, who is apparently enjoying being a third wheel, to hit the road.
“Right, right, you don’t have to say another word. I’m off!” Matthew flies from Morpheus’s shoulder and presumably back to the Dreaming, though you’re not quite sure how the logistics of traveling between dimensions work.
Left alone now, Morpheus stares at you, and you he, for a long moment. He seems to be waiting for you to make the first move, to see if you’re going to react with anger again. Finally, you rip your hands from his grasp and throw your arms around him. “Fuck, I missed you.”
Though slowly, Morpheus returns your hug, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his chin on your head. “I missed you as well. I have ached for you and your presence since the moment I had to leave. Believe me, if I could have taken you with me, I would have.”
You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of actually having Morpheus here and being in his arms. It’s all you’ve dreamed of, for lack of a better term, since he left, and it feels just as good as you imagined it would. You could stay like this forever, and you almost do…until a car honks at you and you remember that you’re standing in the middle of the parking lot.
Sheepishly, you wave at the car and mouth “sorry!” as you grab Morpheus’s hand and pull him towards the actual parked cars. The driver that you’ve now royally pissed off glares at you the entire time that they slowly drive past you, making you giggle nervously. When you look over and see the bewildered look on Morpheus’s face (you would love to know how he would have reacted had you been flipped off), your laughter increases.
Your laughter is cut off when Morpheus leans down and kisses you. Whether that be because he’s trying to get you to shut up or because he actually wanted to kiss you, you’re not sure. Either way, you enjoy finally getting to kiss Morpheus once more.
When you pull away, you look him in his piercing eyes and say, “I’m still mad at you, y’know.”
“You have the right to be so. However, if you are amenable to spending more time with me as I attempt to win back your affections, I would like to show you my kingdom.”
“You wanna take me to the Dreaming?” Morpheus nods, smirking at the way you try to act nonchalant and not excited. “...Can I meet the mermaids?”
This makes him chuckle, a rarity for him. “Yes, you can meet the mermaids.”
The excitement at this prospect wins out, and you grin. “Okay then. Woo me, your majesty.”
•••
Morpheus had feared the worst when he had decided that the Dreaming was rebuilt well enough to receive its (hopefully) future Queen. He worried that Y/n would have taken another lover, or that she would not love him at all anymore. A frequent criticism by his siblings is that he gives too much of himself to romantic relationships, and that very well may be true. But Morpheus knew for certain that, were Y/n to turn him down when he finally reappeared in her life (and he would not even blame her for doing so; not with the way that he left and remained away for so long), it would crush him in a way that no other rejection ever had.
He thinks it would hurt even worse than the Nada affair.
When he finally coaxed his beloved to smile in response to something that he said–a sight which he will never take for granted again–those fears were assuaged. When she agreed to accompany him to the Dreaming, Morpheus allowed himself to hope.
Hope. A word so simple, yet a word that carried so much within it that it could defeat Lucifer themself.
Hope blossoms within Morpheus as he holds out his arm for Y/n to grasp onto so that they can travel safely to the Dreaming, and it turns into a flame when she instead grabs onto the lapels of his jacket and allows him to wrap his arm around her waist.
— Story Playlist (open for everyone to add songs 👀)
— Join the taglist
please take the time to reblog the chapter ♥️♥️
Your coffee date proceeded with no further issues as Tom took a picture of you sipping your cappuccino and smiled, “perfect screen background!” You couldn’t help but blush. It was the first time anyone put you as their background.
“Should I do the same?” You asked, lifting your phone.
“Wait, I have a better idea,” he gave you a cheeky smile before pushing his chair towards you. “We can both be in yours, mix it up, you know.” He smiled at you, grabbed your phone and opened the camera app. Tom placed his free arm around you, and you turned to kiss his cheek, taking him by surprise. Your hand cupped his strong jaw as you closed your eyes, dramatically pressing your lips against him. He smiled big and took a couple of pictures before a squeal coming from across the yard startled the two of you.
Your eyes moved towards the sound, meeting Matilda’s and Mary’s wide-eyed expressions as they exchanged confused looks and hesitated on whether to approach you or walk away. You waved their way, causing them to walk to you quickly. “Hi, girls,” you smiled at them, moving your chair away from Tom’s.
“Wh-" Matilda tried to speak up, moving her eyes from Tom, who sipped his coffee, looking into the distance to you.
“I am sorry, I meant to tell you. I-" you looked for an excuse as a mix of rage, excitement, and disbelief crossed your friends’ faces.
“It is my fault. I wanted us to wait until all the paperwork was completed before we told anyone. I actually should thank you both, girls. You introduced me to Sofia, and I’ll be forever grateful for that.” Tom interrupted you as you looked at him. God, he could have been an actor. Everything he said sounded so incredibly genuine.
“Of course, professor. We understand. We are surprised but happy,” Mati blurted out, trying to contain the high-pitched excitement in her tone. She was going to tell the entire university that her friend was dating the hottest professor in the world. Tom grabbed his phone for a second, playing with it as the two girls stood before you, frozen in place.
“Please sit down! I need to go anyway. I have a meeting to attend,” the professor added, placing his phone on the table making the screen light up and show the picture he had just taken a couple of minutes before. You blushed at the sight, lowering your gaze as Mary barely contained a groan, searching your eyes as a gigantic grin took over her features. Tom stood up and put his chair back in its place before moving his hand to your cheek and lifting your gaze to him. “I will see you later, love. Have a nice day.”
“See you later….” you bit your lip, looking for a pet name. Tom noticed your hesitation, simply lowering his head and placing a kiss on your cheek before walking away.
Mati’s and Mary’s eyes followed the man as he walked away, entering his faculty. The moment the door shut completely, their eyes shot back to you, and a loud squeal caused half of the student body to turn to look your way. You giggled uncomfortably as they sat down.
“You need to tell us absolutely everything!!” Mati shouted, grabbing your hands.
…
You managed to escape your friends after a two-hour questioning and multiple promises of double and triple dates. Once you arrived home, you dropped dramatically on your bed, sighing in relief at the silence, closing your eyes until your phone vibrated by your side.
“Hope you are still alive. Sorry for leaving like that. I did have a meeting to attend. I’ve sent you some other documents you need to sign so that I can send them to HR. I am very sorry to tell you that you won’t ever be able to attend one of my extremely interesting and life-changing modules. This is the enormous price you pay to be able to parade me around as your boy toy. “
You laughed at the message, shaking your head. Tom was funny, he was really funny. Your smile came to a sudden halt as your phone rang. You didn’t have the number saved anymore, but you knew whose it was.
“Hi,” you answered after breathing in and out.
“Hello, Miss Angel,” Benedict replied from the other side of the line, sitting on his armchair in his library, thinking of you.
“How are you?” You asked, uncomfortable with the silence that covered the static.
“I am extremely annoyed at you,” his tone was serious, but you could hear he didn’t mean it. You could read right through it.
“Mmmh… what have I done now?” You asked, biting your lip to cover your chuckle.
“Even without attending my classes, you still distract my students. Today I could barely get anyone to pay attention as the news of a law student making out with Professor Hiddleston went around the room.” The end of his sentence lost some of its subtle sweetness, almost as if the mere thought bothered him.
“Well, that’s just fake news. We barely kissed,” you wanted to tease him. After all, he had disappeared for two days after leaving your house mid-discussion.
“I am sure the specifics were sensationalised. A certain student argued that she was already aware of your relationship as she had caught the two of you fucking in the library during the winter break. I am sure that is just gossip, am I right?” He cleared his throat, trying to cover his smile while maintaining the serious tone of his voice.
“Well… that is simply untrue, professor. I was too busy spending every minute of my break in your bed. I doubt I would have had the time to escape your sight to go sleep with your best friend. Also, I would never have sex in the library.”
“Shame, I was looking forward to that,” the comment slipped out of his lips.
“Before you get to even think about that. We have a lot to talk about,” you tried to keep your composure, holding your ground and not simply falling back into your comfortable back and forth.
“I know… can I tempt you with dinner tonight?” He asked.
“Yours or mine?” You groaned lazily, sitting up on your bed.
“Mine, I’ll make you pasta with lobster sauce,” he reminisced of the first time he had cooked that for you, putting a bittersweet smile on his face.
“I’ll bring the wine.”
“See you at seven?”
“Seven it is.”
…
You pulled your dress down from under your coat and exhaled, holding tightly to the bottle of wine in your hands. Your hand reached for the bell and pressed it, hearing footsteps move towards you right away.
“Hello there,” Benedict opened the door, looking dashing with his apron on a blue button-up that brought out the colour of his eyes. His eyes softened as soon as they met yours, a little incredulous that you were really standing in front of him.
“Hi, Professor,” you tried to keep your emotional distance, stepping into the house, removing your coat, and pulling your dress again.
“Food should be ready any minute,” he cleared his throat, grabbing the bottle of wine from your hands and taking it to the fridge. You walked further into the hallway, catching a glimpse of the living room, which looked exactly as it did before you had practically moved in during the winter break. You frowned slightly at the sight, realising that maybe he hadn’t liked your decorative choices as much as you thought.
Benedict called you into the kitchen, and you followed right in, leaning against the counter as you watched him mix the sauce. It felt like a lifetime ago that you two had stood in this same room making the same recipe. “You can go sit down. I am almost done here.”
You nodded silently, moving to the dining room.
…
You ate dinner in silence, mostly exchanging courtesies and meaningless questions about the new semester. He had asked if you had read any new books, and you simply answered, “nothing you would like. I’ve been reading romances lately.”
He didn’t push further, simply finishing his food and picking up the dishes. The two of you did not touch your glasses of wine, needing full mental capacity for the conversation ahead.
You helped clean up the table and moved to the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch as he tried his best to read your blank expression. “So…” he broke the silence, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Where should we start?”
“Is your family okay?” You blurted out, letting the words that had been pressing down your chest for the past couple of days escape.
“Yes… ever-“
“Because of the call from the other night. I was just wondering,” you interrupted him before he could answer, and he instantly noticed your discomfort with the topic.
“About that…” he cleared his throat, turning his knees towards you. “It was nothing bad, Sof. There was just a misunderstanding with my mother that caused a big fuzz.”
“Tell me about it….” you pushed on the topic, not fully believing him.
“It is nothin-“ he exhaled the words as you interrupted him again.
“Tell me.”
“My parents are moving out of their house in the city. They are tired of the chaos. The house is also too big for them. They’ve been planning to do it for a while… but they were waiting for me,” his eyes moved to the ground, brows furrowed and a slight frown covering his lips.
“Waiting for you?” You pushed, moving a bit towards the middle of the couch.
“They had decided to sell the house but secretly hoped I would want it. I had completely discarded the idea a couple of years back as there was nothing for me to do with such a big house but then,” he cleared his throat again, almost as if he had to force the words out of his throat, “my priorities changed slightly.” You cocked your head as he looked straight ahead, moving his knees forward and mindlessly holding onto the material of his trousers. “Remember that day I left for a couple of hours because I needed to deal with some work stuff while you were staying here?”
You nodded, remembering how he had kissed your entire face before getting up from bed, leaving his smell on the sheets to keep you company for the next couple of hours.
“Well… I went to meet with my parents. I told them I had changed my mind and would take over the house, and we could sell mine instead. They were pleasantly surprised by the news and asked me if it had anything to do with somebody entering my life, which I refused to comment on.” You were sitting there completely still, leaning forward, hoping he would continue speaking but afraid of moving a single muscle and scaring him away.
“Obviously… my plans changed once again. In the beginning, I was hoping… I was hoping we would fix things. I know it is idiotic, given that I refused to proactively do anything to make that happen, but as time passed, I lost hope. I was not answering the phone on Monday morning because I was meeting with my parents and telling them I had changed my mind and had no use for such a big place. They looked disappointed and confused at best and sent my sister to talk to me about it.” A soft exhale escaped his lips as he stopped, looking for the right words to continue.
“I shared with her my initial reasons for taking over the property and how these reasons had changed and asked her not to share this information with our mother. She obviously decided not to respect my wishes and shared all of it with her over supper and, apparently, multiple glasses of wine. This is why they called me on Monday night, going on about how they would find you and beg you to take me back and call the rest of my family for help. So I had to leave and talk to them before they managed to finish ruining your career by telling the entirety of West London that I am in love with you.”
You sat back as Benedict’s eyes finally looked for yours, trying to take in all the information he had just shared. “You were going to move houses because of me?”
“N-not exactly. I just thought we would need more space if you moved in.” He shook his head, looking away, embarrassed.
“I would have been happy to continue living in my old flat if you had changed your mind about living together. I understand everyone needs their own place. You didn’t need to go and take your parent’s house,” you chuckled, incredulous, unsure this story was even true.
“What?” Benedict looked at you with a mix of confusion and disgust. “I wasn’t moving houses because I wanted to vanish you to the other side of our house. I wanted to move houses so we could get a bigger library. So you could get your own space to work and study, so we wouldn’t need to worry about it if….” You felt your heart skip a beat as you realised what he was trying to say, biting the inside of your lip to keep yourself from gasping. God, you couldn’t love this man with any more fervour even if you tried.
“If?” You pushed him, wanting him to confirm your thoughts.
“If we had a family in the future. Obviously, much later on. I just thought it would be a good idea. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway,” he got up, shaking the tension out of his shoulders and running his hand through his hair.
You stood up and walked after him, stopping just behind him. “You were going to buy a house for me?” You chuckled, shaking your hand.
“I was not going to buy it. Simply take over it. It is stupid. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He refused to turn around until you pulled him by his sleeve, leaving barely any distance between your bodies.
“You were willing to move into a new house with the hopes of someday having children with me, but you weren’t willing to apologise to me.” You smiled at him incredulously, watching as his face contorted in shame at your words. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met, Professor Cumberbatch.” A soft chuckle left your lips as you shook your head.
“I had missed that sound,” he started laughing softly, too, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. His arms suddenly extended and reached for you, wrapping around your body and holding you tight as the two of you could not stop giggling.
“I had missed it too….”
…
The two of you eventually moved to the couch again, talking through everything that had happened. Although Benedict knew he was in the wrong, he still struggled to fully let go of his perception of the situation, which caused tensions to rise slightly at times. Eventually, however, you managed to talk it all out, to set some boundaries and vanish Daniel into oblivion for good.
It was almost midnight by the time you were done talking. You had kept to your corner of the sofa, only touching Ben when he had reached for your hand to reassure you that he would never let go of you like this again. As the conversation slowed, you couldn’t help but yawn, feeling the tiredness of the eventful day hit you all at once.
“Tired?” Benedict has asked you, giving you a soft smile.
“Mmh mmh,” you had hummed in agreement, laying your head on the back of the couch. “I should get going. I am sure you have a busy day tomorrow,” you sighed, starting to stand up.
Benedict reached for your hand, pulling you to him. “Would you like to stay? You don’t have to sleep in my room, but… I’d love for us to have breakfast together.” You could see his cheeks blushing, forcing you to smile; his pull on your hand was soft. He wanted you to choose how close you got. The mere thought of sleeping in his guest room seemed ridiculous, not when he was in the other room, not when every single particle of your body continuously desired his proximity.
“Would you like me to sleep with you?” You asked tentatively, not wanting to assume anything.
“I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you left, my love.”
liv's note
Posting this with my phone data because I love you all so much. So please reblog the story and let me know what you think if you'd like! I think we were all waiting for this chapter and I am actually very happy with how it came out. I really hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and I look forward to hearing your opinion. I think we all know what is coming next chapter and I am soooo excited hehe it has been wayyy too long. Please take the time to support my work by reblogging it ♥️ thank you all!
Warnings: Mentions of sex, masturbation, dub-con due to drug usage, planned drug usage and prior sexual consent, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, ass slapping, body image issues, anal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), sex toys, anal sex, double penetration, cream pie
Comments: SEX POLLEN!!! Dieter is whining that no one wants to have sex with him and you haven’t ever had an orgasm with a partner. Dieter suggests that you get high to relax, ecstasy to help you loosen up and allow yourself to get out of your own head. You agree to that and ask your boss to help you out with this. His normal dealer is out of the drug he asked for, but promises what he’s delivering is exactly what you need.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
Dieter flips down on the sofa and scowls dramatically, a pout on his handsome face. Even when he is unkept, which is 98% of the time when he’s not on set, he’s handsome. Even with the stupid earring he wears and the ratty bathrobe he loves. “No one wants to have sex with me.” He whines, rolling his eyes over at you in an almost pleading way. “Find someone for me?” He begs. “I’m bored and horny.”
You roll your eyes at him as you sit on the other side of the sofa. Your laptop on your lap as you finalize his schedule for the month. You have to plan everything, even his meals, otherwise Dieter will go off the tracks and do whatever he wants. He went missing for six days last year during a movie shoot and was found in some brothel in Barcelona. Drugged and sexed up to his eyeballs. “Just smoke some weed and jerk off. You’ll be fine.” You tell him. Your working relationship with him has always been very direct. He hates fake, so he wants you to say what you think, even if he doesn’t always like it.
AN: Welp here we are again. Let me know what y’all think!
part 1:
part 2:
Jack is 6 at the beginning of this and Haley is dead. rip to her. Hotch is around 40ish, reader is 25-26ish.
Summary: Aaron Hotchner hires Jack’s nanny, knowing she is practically perfect in every way. A perfect nanny for Jack, and as he comes to find, a perfect match for him.
CW: bloody nose?? think that’s it??
/ / /
The Florida case had gone well.
Well, as well as could be expected. A family annihilator from a broken home wreaking havoc in Tallahassee was quickly managed by Aaron and his team, and he found himself on his way home on Wednesday evening, just a few short days after promising y/n he would come home as quick as he could.
He smiled to himself, looking out the window of the jet. Looks like he would get to keep his promise.
“What are you smiling about, Hotch? Got a hot date lined up when we land?” Morgan asked, grin on his face and eyebrows raised.
hi all! This is just a little something based off of Play it Again by Luke Bryan. Hope you enjoy!
contains: alcohol consumption
wordcount: 1.6k
It was one of those perfect early-spring nights that reminded you that the winter was worth suffering through. You were gathered in Rossi’s backyard celebrating the unseasonably warm weather and a rare Saturday night off with everyone free. JJ and Morgan were helping Jack and Henry roast marshmallows, Spencer and Penelope were tossing tiny piles of uprooted grass at each other, and Emily and Rossi were in the kitchen putting together another pitcher of sangria. There was an early spring breeze carrying the music coming from the radio of Morgan’s truck, and you were sitting in the bed, your legs stretched out. Hotch ambled over to you, a fresh beer in one hand and a White Claw from the cooler in the other for you.
“You looked like you could use a cold one,” he said, handling the can over and settling into the side of the truck, resting his arm on the edge of the bed.
“Thanks. And you picked the best flavor,” you smile at him, cracking open the mango seltzer.
“It was mostly lime left in the cooler, I had to go digging,” he smirks.
You pull a face. “Nobody likes lime.”
“I imagine that’s why they’re all still in the cooler.”
You chuckle a little at his dry humor. You know that most people wouldn’t really call that a joke, just an observation, but those people… they didn’t get Hotch.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” you say genuinely, and you’re surprised to see how touched he is when he turns to look at you. “I know it’s not always easy to get to team stuff with Jack. It means a lot that you make the effort.”
“Despite the hardass exterior, I do truly enjoy your company. You’re right, it’s not always easy, but I want to be here with you,” he says. “With all of you,” he adds after a second, instantly regretting it. Why is it so hard to be honest with you? “Actually, I should say—” he starts, but he’s cut off by your gasp.
“I’m sorry, Hotch, but hold that thought. I’ve been waiting for this song to come on all night,” you say, hopping out of the truck and turning towards him. “Dance with me, please.”
He rolls his eyes. If it were anyone else, he’d say no, and he knows it. But he’s helpless.
“You’re totally going to kill my hardass act,” he says as he takes your hand.
The song you’ve been waiting all night for is some country-pop song, and Hotch can help but grin as you throw your head back in a laugh when he spins you. He pulls you back into his chest and you stumble a bit, giggling all the while. You make contact with his chest– it wasn’t on purpose, necessarily, but it wasn’t quite an accident, either. He catches you. You knew he would.
“Sorry. One too many White Claws, I guess,” you chuckle at your own self-deprecating joke as you take another sip.
“You okay?” He asks, looking you over and quirking a brow. You can practically see the gears of his brain turning as he attempts to mentally catalogue each drink you had this evening.
“I’m good, Hotch. Only 20% clumsier than I normally am. Just not really a dancer,” you assured him.
“You could’ve fooled me,” he tells you with a sly grin.
“Good partner. Good song. There’s a saying about broken clocks that might apply.”
“Nothing broken about you,” he says.
“What were you saying? Before the dancing,” you asked.
Aaron draws in a breath. He’d halfway hoped that you’d forgotten in the admittedly short period of time. But, you hadn’t, so it was time to pay the piper. “I was going to say— I’ve been meaning to tell you, it’s only fair—” he starts to stumble over his words, but Jack comes over in a rush.
“Dad! Can I sleep over at Henry’s? Ms. Jareau said it’s okay,” he asks breathlessly.
Hotch gives his son a discerning look. “Did she offer to have you come over, or did you or Henry pester her until she said yes?” He asks.
For Jack’s sake, you hold in your chuckle. The profiling never stops, it seems.
“She really offered. You can ask her yourself,” Jack insists.
Aaron turns to look at you apologetically. “I should probably go talk to JJ,” he says.
“Go ahead– I need a s’more. We’ll catch up later,” you tell him.
JJ is wiping Henry’s sticky hands when Hotch and Jack make their way over. “I just wanted to make sure the kids didn’t put you up to anything,” He says.
“We go head-to-head with serial killers, Hotch. I think I can handle a couple of ten year olds in the throes of a sugar rush,” she teases him.
“Still. You don’t have to. We could get the boys together tomorrow, or some other weekend,” he tries to give her an out, but she refuses.
“I really did offer, Hotch. It’s no big deal. You should offer Y/N a ride home. She came in with me— and you should ask for a permanent spot on her dance card before somebody else does.”
“Jayje,” Aaron sighs, feeling not unlike a sibling being called out for their schoolyard crush. He’d been so caught up in dancing with you that he hadn’t stopped to think that the team might be watching– he felt a blush grow up his cheeks just thinking about it.
“I’m just saying” JJ raises her hands in surrender. “You make each other happy, and you both deserve that.”
“I’ll drive her home,” Aaron agrees to the first request pointedly. “You can just text me in the morning when the boys are up.”
“Okay. But if things go really well and you need more time—” she starts suggestively.
“JJ!” He admonishes with nothing behind it.
When Aaron finds you after sending Jack off, you’re finishing off a glass of sangria with Prentiss while Morgan and Rossi are working on putting out the campfire. Garcia and Reid are nearby clearing off the picnic table where the snacks had been set up.
“Turns out JJ really did offer to take the boys,” he explains to you. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”
“Hotch, you didn’t have to do that. I could have taken an Uber,” you tell him.
“Well, I told JJ I’d take you, and I’m a man of my word,” he sighs in mock consternation.
The two of you bid the team goodnight, and he leads you out to the car with a supportive hand on the small of your back. You’re not really all that drunk— just a little buzzed, and sated with the pleasure of your friends’ company, but you appreciate the warm, steady pressure of it all the same. It’s been a long night, and you’re fading fast by the time you make it to the driveway, practically melting into the leather interior of Hotch’s SUV. You don’t fall asleep, but you’re too tired to break the comfortable silence that lingers between you.
The words JJ had said float through Hotch’s brain as he drives. He should just tell you, he thinks. It can’t be selfish if it’s honest, can it? And so what if it is selfish? Hasn’t he earned the right? He glances over at you, catches a glimpse of your soft, lazy smile as you watch the lights of the city pass by. The tableau is almost too perfect. He couldn’t dare to disturb it with a confession like the one he was harboring. He turns up the radio, just a hair.
He pulls into your driveway, and you stir, getting your bearings and stretching a bit before turning to face him.
“I’ll walk you up,” Hotch says, and you smile.
“I’m okay,” you tell him.” You’ve already gone far enough out of your way,” you tell him.
“It wasn’t a problem. Really, I’d do a—”
He starts to say more than he knows that he should when you draw in a quick breath, reaching for the radio dial. “It’s my song again,” You smile. “One more dance?”
He should say no. He doesn’t know how much longer he can straddle this line before he’s too far gone to be helped. But he can’t bring himself to do it. He chuckles a little at his own lack of willpower before turning the radio up and rolling down the windows, coming around to the other side of the car and opening the door for you.
You take the hand he offers to help you out of the car and let him lead you in a dance. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time, and you can’t look away from him either. You know him— know he doesn’t let the light in like this for just anybody. You’re thankful that he does it for you, and you want more. He spins you out and pulls you back in as the song ends, and you’re helpless. You rise to your tiptoes, and watch Aaron’s eyebrows hit his hairline as you drape your arms around his neck. Before you can think any better of it, you press your lips to his. He’s surprised, you can feel it in the way the muscles of his back tense under your arms, but he relaxes after a moment, bringing his hands around your waist and kissing you back soundly.
You pull away after a moment, feeling something between shock and elation. “I can’t believe that song came on again,” you say dumbly.
Aaron, for his part, seems to find your non sequitur charming. He treats you to a rare, two-dimpled smile. “Play it again,” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you a second time.
note: I tagged everyone who was on my taglist from YMP and everyone who interacted with the post requesting a tag. If anyone is on here mistakenly please let me know! I will remove you and I won't be offended at all. Additionally, just a reminder that I ask folks on the taglist to reblog and/or comment on each update.
