The Greatest Story Ever Told .:Dave/Reader:.

You jerk awake in a cold sweat, stare at the ceiling. You're breathing like you just ran a fucking marathon, and your clothes are sticking to you. You feel exposed; then you remember your shades are on the nightstand. Did that really just happen?

There's a sleepy little sigh and the person next to you wriggles a little closer. Fuck, okay, it was all a dream. But it all felt so real...



You roll onto your side, tug her closer to you. She doesn't wake up, thank God – you would never be able to let her see you like this. She squirms a bit, tucks her head under your chin and readjusts to mold her body against yours. You sigh, close your eyes, bury your face in her hair. Maybe her scent will help drive away the last remnants of your nightmare.



When you close your eyes, it doesn't go away as you'd hoped – if anything, her scent just makes it worse. You don't know how you know, but you know your dominion over the fabric of Time is a thing that doesn't exist here. Maybe it's the way you keep trying to will yourself back in time to prevent all this, and fail miserably. There she is, the girl you love, lying on the side of the street, perfectly mutilated. There's a dark pool beneath her. You run over. You find yourself checking for a pulse before you can even register no, there's no way someone in this state can still be alive. No fucking way.

You barely register the police sirens and the flashing lights.



If you try really hard, you think you can see his face – the guy who did it. The guy she'd chosen over you in this horrid alternate universe – thank God that part of you that knows it's a dream is still doing his fucking job, because you'd have murdered the guy already. But his face cycles amongst many, and it's difficult to tell which one is real. Gamzee, Lord English, Jack... You can't tell. Hell, for all you know it could be some twisted warped future you. But whoever it is, you suddenly have the desire to strangle with his own intestines.



You open your eyes again. You're no better than you were when you first woke up. You feel her wriggle again, then she yawns and blinks her eyes open and the nightmare is damned to hell because this is reality, she's still alive, and your Time powers haven't gone kaput on you like in your dream.

"Dave...?" she asks sleepily, and yawns again. It'd be fucking adorable as hell if you hadn't just woken up from a nightmare crisis. "Sumpthin' wrong...?"

"No. Had a nightmare, but it's over now. It's okay." I'm okay. You're okay. Everything's cool. It's fuckin' reality. You know she knows it's not okay, because she knows you better than that – and fuck, you think she can smell your fear – but thank God she doesn't pry into it.

She yawns again, and she squirms close enough that if she wasn't already as close to you as the fucking weird laws of Being Mostly Made Up of Empty Space But Somehow There's Still Such a Thing as Physical Contact would allow you'd be occupying the same space. You kiss the top of her head and she gives this little sigh that does weird shit to your heart – and apparently your cock as well. That, or someone around here has a goddamn ferret that has crawled into your pants and made a nest in your crotch. This isn't something that goes unnoticed by either of you.



She blinks up at you and kisses you as her hand slips down. She's palming you through your pants and you're French kissing her like no tomorrow and moaning into her mouth as she eases your cock out and strokes it. Yes, this is perfect. This'll help you forget, maybe. You want to fuck that nightmare over a pool table with something really fucking uncomfortable now, because she's here and not dead and touching you and you're here and not an inmate set on revenge and touching her and fuck, this reality is perfect.



It isn't long before your clothes are off – all except your cape because fuck if you both don't love it when you're wearing the cape and doing the do – and hers are off and she's sitting on your face and grasping your hips and her warm breath on your cock feels fucking great. Then her mouth is around you, and you buck your hips and return the favor by servicing her Chez Strider style, kissing and licking and sucking as she moans around your dick and sucks you harder. Her fingers are chilly around your balls but fuck if it doesn't feel amazing.



She removes her mouth from your cock – no, hot wet deliciousness come back – and flips herself around to face you, crotch rubbing against yours as she leans down and peppers your face and neck with little butterfly kisses. You moan when she sucks at the hollow of your throat and reach up to palm her breasts. She lifts her head from the mark she just left and kisses you full on the mouth as she slides down onto you. She's tight and hot and wet and you can taste yourself on her lips and it's just so fucking great.



She rocks her hips as she starts moving and you're moaning into her mouth again and squeezing her breasts. She bucks her hips as you move one hand down between her legs, rubbing and gently pinching at her clitoris and she responds with a particularly hard thrust of her pelvis. Your mouth moves to her chest and you begin licking and sucking at a pert pink nipple, making her moan by rolling it between your teeth. She clenches around you and curls her fingers into your hair and you know she's at the edge and ready to go over it, but you also know she's holding herself back. She wants you to go over with her. Who are you to deny something like that? You're getting close yourself anyway.



You help her along, bucking your hips into hers as she bounces on your cock and you rub her clitoris and suck on her breast. She finally constricts around you in release with a gasp and moan that would make a porn star jealous, and that's all that's needed to bring you with her. She slumps against you when you're both finally done and you're both panting like dogs in Texan summer heat but you feel great and you're pretty sure she does too.



She rolls off you back onto the bed and curls close to your side. "Better?"

"Much." You wrap your arm around her and kiss the top of her head. "Thanks."

She smiles up at you in the dark, sleepy and sated on sex and knowing she's helped you in erasing that awful thing from your mind. There are still faint ghosts of your dream remaining, but it's nothing you can't sleep peacefully with.



She yawns and snuggles into you and returns to sleep, and you wrap her in your cape because the sheets are a mess and somehow your cape managed to escape being drenched in sex. The room smells like sweat and sex but that's okay because it actually kind of smells good.



You stay awake a bit longer, pondering your nightmare. What can it possibly mean? Are you afraid of losing her? Are you afraid your powers will donk on you at the most inopportune moment and you won't be able to prevent her death?

According to the books scattered around the meteor that Rose has read, that second thing is a thing that can totally happen.

Maybe that's what it is.



You yawn, snuggle close to your girl. Ya know what? Fuck that nightmare with a balloon poodle if it returns.



Because this is fucking reality, and as long as you have her reality beats dreams any day.



That's not to say that your dreams aren't full of dirty little fantasies that you are going to have to fucking make reality.