#Do you think they kiss like Wall-e and Eve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eupheme · 11 months ago

Text

— i’ll be seeing you | part iii

[masterlist] | [playlist] | [part ii]

invisible man!alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 6k

tags: invisible man!au, age gap, holiday fluff, light angst, alfred is fully invisible/silent to reader, shared spaces, mutual pining, magical elements, holidays and christmas, kissing, FEELINGS, the Smut Chapter, masturbation, being walked in on, oral sex, brief free-use thoughts, unprotected PiV, invisible sex, mirror sex

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you'll crack yourself open, tell him everything. For now, you're content with the memory of his mouth on yours, the quiet confession he loosed over text. Even if he couldn't be more wrong.

Your fingers run across your lower lip, where you can still taste him.

The slight swelling of your flesh from the stolen moment in the hallway, a pounding that lingers in your chest even as you make it back to your room - the bags clutched in a fist as you wander, distractedly.

He hadn't returned when you called after him, a breathless gasp of his name. If it had been anyone else, you might have been offended. But this was Alfred, and you couldn't blame him. These weeks have been a slow circle of careful touches, a slow exchange of words.

Rarely impulsive. It makes your heart stutter, to think about it.

How he had moved, the hungry slant of his lips, the slip of his tongue.

It surely meant something.

If he hadn't stopped, you would have wanted more. Craved it. Content to stay in that hallway even, with how desperate his mouth made you. Socked feet soaked from the slush of your boots, frostbitten cheeks that now burn with the memory.

You hope he'll come to you.

Not tonight, you’re sure. Tomorrow, when the simmering warmth in your belly fades. In the morning, perhaps. The day will begin like all the others, and you’ll do your best to wait until he’s ready.

Already resisting the urge to seek him out, holding yourself back as you arrange your parcels. Writing a careful message, putting as much of your heart as you could into the gift. Simple, perhaps, but you had taken his request to heart.

It's left where he'll see it tomorrow. You're early - the day before Christmas Eve. But if he doubts your intentions, you hope that he'll find some comfort in the way you've been thinking about him.

There's only a little over a week left in your stay, but lately, it's felt less like a deadline. You care too much now, to let this be the end. Not knowing yet how you'll tell him - how you wish for more visits, how your heart refuses to let this be The End - but there, at least, you have time to drum up the courage.

You've always tried to look on the bright side, but you are a realist, after all. Even if his curse does not break, you don't think you'll mind.

Being with him feels like enough, in these moments together in the Tower. His touch has a weight, even if you can't see it. The messages shared have just as much meaning as a spoken voice.

It hasn't prevented you from knowing him.

And maybe.. maybe more than that.

Much more.

Your teeth grit, biting back your moan. The sound still sliding from your throat, as you push the blankets down further.

Fingers teasing past nipples peaked with the chill of the room and your thudding arousal. Making you shiver as they drift down, dipping between your thighs.

The kiss is still firmly rooted in your mind.

Just how he felt against you, the soft press of his mouth that turned passionate. An ache in your shoulder from where you had knocked against the coat rack, before he caged you against the wall. Stealing your breath.

It’s a welcome reminder.

You had holed yourself up, after the present had been placed. Snagging a photo for yourself as a reminder for later, for when you are gone. Liking the pretty splash of gold and red against the dark wood tones of the kitchen.

Surprise coming from the buzz of your phone some time later. His message - how dense he was for a man so clever. As if you hadn’t wished for him to do that very thing a hundred times over since you’ve discovered him.

Your own reply keyed quickly. A breathed out confession, sent with the photo you had taken.

Phone clutched to your chest, with another small smile at the thought of him seeing it.

You hoped tomorrow would come soon.

It had been impossible to not let your hands wander, when you replayed the moment for the umpteenth time. Skin bare after a shower, slipping beneath the covers to help speed up time.

You’ve wanted him for a long while. But now that you’ve had a piece - the memory of his body, his face beneath your fingers. The taste of his mouth, the soft groan you felt as your hands cupped the back of his neck - just desire was no longer enough.

There had been an ache, since. Insatiable, leaving you in a daze. You can feel it now, your need - as your fingers circle your clit, hips canting into the teasing pressure.

Slipping over slick skin, how even the thought of him has you wet and squirming. It’s not the first time he’s crossed your thoughts at night, but it’s the first time you’ve had something so vivid to imagine.

That old picture hazy behind your closed eyes, as you try to imagine his voice. Low, you think. Rough and accented and you’re certain he’d call you the prettiest names.

Darling. Gorgeous. My love.

His own slips free, sounding hushed in your empty room.

“Alfred.”

It’s a plea. Warmth pooling deep in your belly, a spark in your veins. Your breathing loud enough between your panting, parted lips that you almost miss the slow creak of a door opening.

Your door.

The watery light of the sconce outside creeps across the wooden floor. Your breath caught in your throat as you tear your hand away, reaching for the blanket to cover yourself.

Not knowing where to look, what to say until the mattress dips, an indent appearing in the thick duvet. The slightest brush at your wrist where the fabric is clutched to your chest.

Your heart racing, torn and twisted and so afraid you just ruined everything. That you’ve jumped too far ahead, that this would be too much for him.

“I’m sorry.” It’s weak, almost a whimper, “I didn’t think you’d hear, I-”

But you should have known.

He always comes when you call.

You had thought it was magic, another part of his curse. But maybe… it wasn’t. Maybe it’s been him all along.

Alfred’s thumb strokes your skin, before his other hand cups your cheek. So soft and tender that the fear starts to fade, a little shivering hitch of your chest as wished more than anything that you could see him.

And you try to find your words, once more.

“Is… is this okay?” It’s barely a whisper, a heat burning brightly as your face grows warm.

But his answer comes within seconds. Two quick presses at your wrist, almost pinching.

Yes.

And then his mouth is on yours. Index finger and thumb anchoring your chin in place as his lips brush, and then press.

You forget your grip on the blanket then, palms sliding over his chest, a hand splaying over the back of his neck.

Taking him with you into your nest of pillows, as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. As they open for him, the bed shifting as he settles closer - his hand leaving your wrist, brushing against your shoulder as it plants against the mattress for balance.

Your breath is caught in your throat, as he licks into your mouth. Even more hurried than beneath the mistletoe, soft moans in your throat as you try to pull him closer.

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” You sigh, between kisses. Between the mouthful of air you wish you didn’t need, “Tomorrow though, okay? Just this, you, tonight-”

His answer comes instantly. Yes.

Meeting you, closing that last bit of gap.

The flutter of his pulse beats against your palm, where the meat of his thumb presses against your neck. Racing like yours is, so eager and so alive, that you’re pulling his hand down to your own heart.

Letting him cup your bare flesh, soft and supple. You think he must know what you mean, as his hand flattens. As you feel his moan in his throat, silent but there - buzzing against your lips.

Warm against yours, the wet soft press. How he opens for you as your hands slide to fist in his shirt. That black vest long shed as the hours turned late, buttons popped at his throat.

With your eyes closed like they are now, he’s never been more real to you. In this dark room he melds with the shadows, nose brushing yours as you sigh his name.

Solid and steady and warm, under your touch.

Coming with the greedy pull of your hands, fitting his body closer to yours. Fingers tracing over your bare skin, the softest pinch to the peak of your breast as his lips part from yours.

Pressing instead to your chin, your throat. Your own hands greedy, pulling and tugging. He comes willingly, settling against you as he shifts between legs that spread so readily, biting into his ribs.

You’ve touched him before. Weeks of light brushes - of getting his attention, of asking questions.

None of it compares to now - the very real weight of him. Pinning you as your hips lift, pressing into his stomach just as something warm and wet swirls against your breast.

Leaving behind glossy skin, your skin molding to his invisible touch as you gasp. You can feel the scrape of his beard against your skin as he moves to the other side. A gentle press of teeth that has you crying out, a leg hooking over his waist.

Fingers grasping at broad shoulders, slipping over velvet-short hair to twist in tamed curls. Anchoring yourself to him as you moan - wet before, now soaked through.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging, arching into the soft suction of his mouth. An ache in your belly - the knowing of something within your grasp, but being unable to reach it.

He lifts off you, then. Your hands slide over his chest, seemingly suspended in the air. A wrist caught with one of his own, your hand guided down to your center.

A pressure against your fingertips, lined carefully up against your clit.

Your breath is ragged, trying desperately to picture him. Feeling wonderfully exposed, as his fingers dent your skin. As yours slowly start to circle, wet and slick, as broken sigh slips from you.

It’s like your senses are heightened to his touch. Your thigh flexing when he lets go, a trailing touch against your skin again. Pleasure sparking at the swirl of your fingers, a little gasp when something ghosts over your slit.

Softly stroking, dragging. Over swollen, soaked flesh - his other hand sliding down to tap twice against your hip.

Teasing you - fingers just pressing against your opening, retreating - before those taps come again.

Your mind is hazy. As soft as the city lights that slip through the cracks in the curtains, bathing your skin. Taking you longer than usual to process that he’s asking you something - your answer coming in a rush.

“Yes.” You whine, “I need more. Please-”

The hand on your hip squeezes, as he fits his middle finger into you. Nudging the thick digit in slowly, stopping at each knuckle before drawing back, only to sink deeper next time.

It’s so different with him inside you. Already a fullness with just the slick pump, mimicking the circle of your fingers.

A noise ripping from your throat as he strokes deep and then curls. The pad of his finger brushing against a spot that has you clenching down around him.

“Oh my god,” Your fingers bite into his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, “Feels so good-”

The hand on your thigh soothes, as he works his ring finger in as well. A stretch now, with how thick they are. Your toes curling when both flex inside you, hips bucking into his touch.

Your fingers seem to move on their own - quick familiar flicks with one, the other hand wrapping in the cool sheets. Enough to make your fingers ache, as his own work deeper.

Loud, in the quiet room. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed at how wet he’s made you, the slick plunge of his fingers. Working you open, petting and stroking and you’re left trying to catch your breath, with the way he has you panting.

Something - his hand, you think - nudges at your fingers, then. Your release so close that you’re slow to move, a little cry that breaks on a moan as something warm flattens against your cunt.

A soft, wet drag. Your hand leaves the sheets to brace on the shoulder that nudge your thighs wider, opening you up to him.

As he eats you, pointed licks against your clit. Your hand curling around the spot where shoulder meets neck, feeling the low buzz of his moan.

Fingers curling in time with his tongue. With his lips, as he places a kiss between your thighs.

Ones that fall fully open, with the soft suck of his mouth. A heavy pressure in your belly, a tightening in your abdomen as you fight back the urge to grind yourself against his tongue.

Perhaps a month ago - before you knew about the curse, about him - you would have been content with this. The emptiness between your thighs, the searing pleasure.

Imaging, with the way your brain tends to spin tales, other illicit encounters. Playing on the way he moves so soundlessly. Sneaking up behind you to bend you willingly over the counter. Submitting to an invisible force, that could take you whenever he desires.

But, for a while now - your mind has changed. A brief fantasy, compared to your current desires.

More than ever you wish to see him. Each little expression, how you could see the burn that you can only wish matches your own.

Neat hair now tousled from your fingers, how his mouth would shine with you.

The way you could look into his eyes, so that you could tell him how much you want him.

Need him.

Not just here, but always.

You choke on his name. Butterflies in your stomach, that winding tightness feeling like it’s fraying - about to snap.

“God, just like that.” Your head tilts back against the pillows, stars glittering across the ceiling overhead, “Fuck, please don’t stop Alfred. I’m gonna-”

The rest is bitten off. The soft, echoing “oh” held - as your eyes open. As you look down, just as that pleasure starts to crest.

There’s a shimmer. Like gold caught in the sunlight, the twinkle of stars in the sky far outside the city limits. A deepening of shadows at the crux of your thighs, hinting at a form between them.

Twin grey-blue reflections caught in the light - sliding shut, just as you snap. The sight disappearing as your vision goes hazy. An ache of release as all that tightness within you ebbs, thudding with the flutter of your heart.

Bliss shudders through you, freeing your gasping cries. Fingers coaxing as you pulse around them, prolonging your pleasure with the soft press and swipe of his tongue.

It’s been ages since anyone but yourself has brought you to orgasm. You’ve forgotten what it’s like, to place yourself in the hands of another.

Even ones you can’t see.

Or, could you?

No. Surely nothing had changed, in the time between the hallway and now. You’ve spent weeks looking at him, and never once have you seen him like this.

You must be dreaming.

The thought settles over you, as you stare unseeing at the ceiling, still dazed. As a broad hand strokes your thigh, the stretch of the two fingers still buried in you.

Yes, that must be it. Trapped in a dream, while your mind tries to fill in the blanks, melding how you know him with the picture in your head. The soft suggestion of his face - the curve of his nose and his beard as a hand passes over his mouth.

Disappointment lances through you. But… if it’s not real, you’ll make the most of it. Allow you to experience this moment that may never come again.

Even in a dream, you want to give him everything.

“Come here.” Your voice is low, soft - as you roll to your side, after he eases from you. Patting the mattress where you just lay, letting your fingers trail and trace as he moves.

Waiting until his head indents the pillow before you swing your hips over his. His hands biting into your thighs as you straddle him, the wool of his pants soft against your bare skin.

It’s almost familiar, the way your hands slide up his chest. A much more pointed movement than your earlier explorations. Carefully finding the collar of his shirt. Dipping down to where his shirt splits, fingers tracing over skin and a coarse smattering of hair.

Tugging the buttons free, one by one.

Slowly opening him up, over a chest - muscle and flesh covering the racing of his heart. Down past his belly, just at your head dips.

Something like a sigh, hanging in the air, as your mouth follows. Pressing down against heated skin, as his own fingers pinch harder.

And there’s that shimmer again, as you scoot back. Illuminating the semblance of a face - panting, parted lips and a pinched brow. Settling yourself between strong thighs - fingers splaying across his abdomen while the other finds his hand.

“Can I touch you?”

It’s the second time you’ve asked. The first time through a hazy mind, not even sure what you were wanting. You have intent this time, as your fingers slip to wrap around his belt buckle, feeling the upward shift of his hips beneath you.

Yes.

The two squeezes come quickly from his entwined fingers, but with it comes something else. Another sigh of words, as if caught on a breeze in the still room.

Muted - as if said behind glass, a closed door.

“Yes, darling.”

It’s the dream, you think. Your mind unable to fully translate, caught between what you knew before and what you know now.

And still, it makes your heart ache. How pretty it sounds, those words. It has you tugging on the leather strap of his belt. Loosening, unbuttoning, hands eager to touch warm skin.

Alfred’s hips lift. The hand in yours grasping tighter when you try to slip yours away, and so you keep it there. Managing to tug the layers down with just one, sliding it over skin afterwards. Letting them drop down to the floor below.

You find him, wrapping your hand around. Hard and velvet soft beneath your palm, finger and thumb not quite meeting with the slow stroke of your hand.

He sighs - the sound rough, low. Thighs tense where they close around you, biting into where you kneel.

Lips brushing his stomach, the curve of his hip. Muscles tensing beneath your mouth, cock twitching in your careful grip.

You can’t help but smile. Pleased at how undone he’s become under your touch already. That desperate wish that this wasn’t so one-sided ebbing with the way the kiss in the doorway became so heated.

Emboldening you, even if this isn’t truly real.

“You’re beautiful,” You tell him, with another press of your lips. Looking up where you know he lies, watching. “I don’t need to see you to know that.”

Perhaps another work would have been better. Handsome, maybe. Or striking, but it doesn’t quite capture the puzzle you’ve fit together. The rough, muffled groan - how you’re sure you’ve rumpled that crisp white shirt, with how he lounges in your bed.

There’s an opalescent shine left behind when your tongue peeks out to lick a stripe up his cock. His hips do jerk then, fingers squeezing tightly.

Not a word, though. Not a “No” with his single grasp of his fingers. Just the still holding back of desire. Something you hope he will let go of, before you’re ripped awake.

And so, you taste him. Take him into your mouth, letting spit pool on your tongue as your lips open wider.

Bobbing your head, your hand following. Smearing spit across his skin, each jerk of your fist getting slicker.

Letting your fingers drift down until you can cup him, heavy in your hand. It’s then, with the soft suck of your mouth, that his fingers leave you.

Coming to stroke along your cheeks, where they hollow. A steady exhale of breath that quickens with the way your eyes roll shut, your tongue tracing along veins, trying to take him as deep as you can.

You were wet before, from the thought of him. From the orgasm he pulled from you - but the feel of him in your mouth sends another heady ache to rest between your thighs, slick as you press them together.

It’s when you’re almost gagging on his length that there’s a pressure, a sharp curse that is hissed through teeth as he grasps at you.

Easing you off, as you blink up at him. Waiting for him to guide you, eyes catching where the weight shifts on your bed. The shimmer of hands as they touch at your waist, guiding you to face the side of the bed.

Angling you towards the windows that run parallel. Your eyes meeting your own, in the ornate mirror that stands between them.

Not quite a straight-on angle, but it’s enough. A peek at your own heavy-lidded expression. His hips pressing to yours as he fits himself behind you, hand sliding across the curves of your hips.

Pulling you back, as he kneels. Inching your thighs wider, matching his. The hard curve of his cock nudging against the swell of your ass, as he shows you how beautiful he thinks you are.

With a hand that rises, across your belly, between your breasts. Up to your throat, where his hand spans - thumb and forefinger cradling the hinge of your jaw.

Keeping you facing forward, as his lips press against the back of your neck. His other hand drifting down, to dip between your thighs again.

“Oh, look at you.” It’s a rough sigh against your skin, as his fingers reach soaked flesh, “I’ve dreamed of this.”

A dream within a dream, you think dizzily - as he touches where you drip, where it clings to your thigh - before the fingertips catch and drag it over your center.

Down to where he’s already been, where you’re warm and wet and ready. The tease of two thick fingers before they’re coming back to circle your clit again.

You wonder if he had been watching, before. The way your own had pressed and circled, messy and eager. Learning what you like. Eyes finding your own again in that mirror.

Seeing only yourself, though you’ve slumped against him. You wonder what he sees now - never thinking to ask.

If he sees himself as solid as he feels against you, just invisible to the world. Or if he only sees the iridescent shape, the shine of his fingers in the dim, broken light.

Despite your wishes to see him, it is a sight. The pleasure that begins to build, though you seem untouched. Just the shallow grind of your hips into the air, in spite of the way he cradles you to him.

And the more you watch, it feels almost as if… as if that shadow becomes a little more solid. Bridging that liminal space between transparent and translucent.

It has your hand moving. Slipping between the curve at the small of your back. Catching where he’s hard against you, a wet smear left against your skin. All it takes is a shift of your hips to fit him beneath you, as you relax back against him.

Feeling where he juts out between your soft thighs, achingly stiff. An unconscious grind of his hips, that sends his cock gliding against your seam. Slicking up his shaft with you, as his fingers still press. That throb of pleasure slowly building with his touch.

“Christ, sweetheart-” Another soft, choked out sound. Again, no more than a whisper. Slipped out of lips unused to speaking out loud, but cannot help it.

“I need you.” Your voice is much louder, “It’s not enough, I need you inside me-”

Ready to lift, to press him into you if he’ll let you. It would be easy, with the way his hips already move, the shallow thrust that sends him skimming against swollen flesh.

He catches you as you rise - broad hands at your hips. This peek in the mirror only a brief interlude to where he really wants you, pressed into the mattress beneath him.

Much more familiar, hurried, with the way you fit together now. His fingers entwining again to answer with those squeezes, though he murmurs it as well.

“Yes,” He groans, with the rock of his hips. “Yes, my darling. I need you too, I wish I could tell you-”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to answer, that you can, when his hand slides from to wrap around his cock. Angling himself down to press against your opening.

He holds himself there, until you’re wiggling against him. A downward shift until the head is nudging inside you, until you’re already clenching in anticipation.

“Alfred,” You all but whine, “Fuck me, please, I want you to-”

Part of you is certain he’s confirming you want this, and you want to tell him he could do anything. That you’ll beg, if he wants. That you’ve been his, that you’ve needed him for ages.

Those sentiments choking you with the steady thrust of his hips, the rough sound in his throat. Your own moan high as your arms wrap around him, as he presses himself deep inside you.

Shallow rolls of his hips, easing himself out and then back in - your fingers biting into his shoulders as he seats himself fully, hips pressed flush with yours.

He fills you so perfectly. That dull, pleasurable ache of being stretched open, your legs opening wider so he can go just that much deeper.

Your eyes close as he begins to move, finding his jaw with your mouth. Kissing blindly across his cheek as you moan, until his own low grunts and gasps meet yours.

Murmuring another low curse against your mouth, as his hip saw. The rolling stroke bumping something inside you that makes your muscles tense, that warm heat to spread.

“S’good. Feels so good-” It’s a messy mumble, as you chase the pleasure that swells inside you.

Trying to cling to him as he slowly pulls back. Hands that ghost over the soft bounce of your breasts, past your hips. Tugging your thighs up over his, his fingers pressing into your skin as he finds that spot again.

Your eyes open, seeing the shadows cast as he curves over you. The downward tilt of his head, and again - you wonder.

If he can see the way he splits you open. The shine of your arousal on his cock with each snap of his hips, the way he has you clenching around him.

It has you reaching. Tracing over stomach and hips, the way he leans into your touch. His grip loosening so his hand can press over yours, molding to his form.

It’s been ages since he’s been known this way. Perhaps never quite like this. Opening himself up for examination. Pinned under your own gaze, dissected by your touch, after all those years alone.

You’re struck by him. The way he touches you so gently. How you’ve talked for so long translated so carefully here. Little squeezes and soothing strokes of his hand.

So much said silently.

It sends something flipping in your chest. An urge to never be parted, to stay just like this - with him, in this room, forever. Something you think just might be….

Might be-

Well, that sentiment is another thing to wrap up carefully, all neat folded corners and tied with a golden bow. Perhaps to be delivered tomorrow, something you can tell him yourself and not this dream-Alfred that’s been spun from your deepest desires.

A hope that you can say what been slowly blooming, swelling in your heart. That just maybe - he will write down the same sentiments for you.

Because surely, you’re not alone. Even if his feelings are half as real as this - with those soft words and even softer touches - it would be enough.

You’ll hold that back for now, but there’s others that manage to slip free from you, under his gaze.

“I want to stay,” You breathe, as his hips slow. As his fingers grip even tighter, “I want you. Just as you are.”

He folds, with your words. Strong back curving as his hips drop to press flush with yours - your own thighs wrapping around his waist.

Lips brushing your cheek to let you know he’s there, before they ghost against your mouth. So much said in the soft groan, the way his hand cradles your face.

“Oh darling,” You hear him say, in the moments your lips part, “My perfect girl. Anything you want, it’s yours. I’m yours-”

His confession makes you ache - it’s there in the roll of his hips, the way his other hand slips between you. Sliding over sweat-dewed skin to pet at you again, stroke between your thighs.

Sending you higher, twisting and curling. Until you’re panting against his mouth, until you’re swallowing his own sounds that slowly grow shorter, rougher. Louder.

His thrusts losing his careful, steady rhythm, fingers pressing just a little harder. Circling faster as your muscles start to tense, as your hips roll and grind as you meet him.

You can’t believe you’re so close again, your vision going soft and hazy.

And he’s there with you, a warning in the gentle taps against your arm. His voice rough in your ear, though he thinks you cannot hear him.

“Please gorgeous, I need you to come. Want to feel you on my cock, first-”

There’s the scrape of his beard against your cheek, the press of his mouth against your throat. Another wet press of his fingers and you’re there - clinging to him as your cunt clenches down around him.

Your moan high as you orgasm pulses through you, starting from where you grip his cock, slipping up your spine and tingling down your limbs.

He’s gone still, keeping you full with him. Keeping that weight inside as he helps you ride out the pleasure with his fingers, his touch almost sloppy with the way he staves off his own orgasm.

A soft cry from your throat when he pulls himself from you a moment later, lifting his hips just enough to twist his wrist. To wrap his fist around his cock, slick with your release. It’s only a few jerks before he’s spilling across your skin - the curve of your mound, against your belly.

Dripping down to sticky thighs, and when he’s worked himself empty, you can see the white streaks against your skin. As pretty and shining as he is in the silver streams of moonlight, and from this angle you feel like you can see the hand you’ve come to know so well. How it unfurls to stroke against your thigh.

As gentle as ever, contented in the lazy path his fingers take.

Leaving you cozy, when he tucks you against him. A cool cloth from the bathroom smoothed against your thighs, as he wipes himself carefully from your skin.

A soft plead mumbled against his neck, as your arms wrap around.

“Stay.”

You can hear the rumble of a soft hum of amusement, as if there was anywhere else he would wish to be.

Cheek pressing to your head, as you both get comfortable. It feels like a perfect fit, the way your body curves against his, the way his arm fits around you. Fingers finding yours to squeeze.

Yes.

But he says it too, in a voice so low you only just catch it.

“Of course, love. Always.”

There’s a golden glow, in the room. You think perhaps it’s dawn, come early. Warm and glittering as you curl in your bed, fingers tracing over bare skin.

Drifting in and out. Blissful in this soft embrace, as your mind slips from you, hazy in this soft afterglow. Leaving you to clutch at the thought that if it is a dream…

Then it’s a very good one.

And you desperately hope you’ll remember it.

The dull, repeated buzz pulls you from a deep sleep. You don't know the last time you've felt this content - curled on your side, loose-limbed and warm.

Fingers fumble beneath the pillow. Finding your phone beneath, as you peer at the message with bleary eyes.

Change of plans. Boarding flight now, be home tonight.

You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like.

The message makes you smile, wonder if Bruce as told Alfred yet. Thinking about how relieved and happy he will be, as you open a next text to send to him.

Did Bruce text you? It looks like your Christmas wish came true! 💕

You send it before you can overthink the heart you tacked on at the end.

Frowning then, as a matching buzz rattles against the wooden floor below.

A sleepy shift as you glance down, to see the bright edge of a screen. A sliver exposed from where it sits deep in a dark pocket, from a pair of trousers half-hidden under your bed.

Your frown deepens.

Eyes rising - seeing where the door stands open and silent. Still, as the sun weaves its way to spill in golden stripes against your floor.

It's then, that you feel the tension at your waist.

The press of something solid, as you had leaned, now pulling you back into the warmth of the bed. Too tired to notice how you were crowded closer to the edge, than your usual spot in the middle.

To notice that you're not alone.

Something warm and sturdy and strong behind you. The bristle of something coarse against your shoulder, as your blankets shift.

A low sound, a hum, as it moves - sliding from your hip, splaying under your chest with another backward tug. Holding you close.

An arm comes into view. A hand.

A proper, solid one.

Dimples of skin at strong knuckles, calloused fingertips dragging across your curves.

Those last dregs of sleepiness are snatched from you.

He makes a low sound as you push yourself upward, and turn. Not caring how the blanket pools around your waist now, the chilly air hitting bare skin.

Definitely not alone.

And you’re not afraid - not when your eyes drop down. Because you know this face, this steely gaze that is softened with sleep.

Hair that has long gone silver, tousled from the brush and grip your fingers.

Breathless at the two realizations that crash over you at the same time. Fighting each other in your mind, as his eyes crack open.

That the curse has been broken.

That it hadn’t been a dream.

His name is a broken sound, a pricking in the corners your eyes as your hands cradle his face. That contented look turning sharp - alert from your expression, as he pushes himself up on his elbows.

Reaching for you, that familiar space between your wrist and forearm. The words still sliding from him as they often did when you spoke - liking to imagine that you could hear them.

“What is it, darling?”

And it’s not the soft whisper from the night before. It’s a rough, sleepy sound. Beautifully low and rasping, and it only makes your heart lurch even more.

“I can-” You have to take a breath, to stop the tremble, “It’s broken, Alfred. You’re-”

And he seems to understand - an arm curling around your waist. Holding you against him as you yelp, as he pushes himself fully upward.

Putting you both in view of the mirror where he had held you, the night before. Where you both now gaze into the reflection, watching the way you curl around each other.

Beautifully ruffled and bare-skinned from your shared evening and contented sleep.

Watching his expression change - confusion, and wonder, and then - relief. Fingers stroking the grey of his beard, before his eyes are tearing away.

And to look at him fully, to have that gaze returned - it has your heart twisting tight, stomach tying into knots.

Your voice is soft, still trembling, “What broke it?”

His touch transfers to you, his hand coming to cup your cheek. Watching the way you lean into it, the concerned pull of your brow.

“You did, love.”

And how you wish it was true. That you had helped him, somehow. Like you had wanted to, so badly, for all these weeks now.

But instead, your head shakes, “But I don’t understand. What did you want?”

His smile is soft. Those stormy eyes clearing with a lifted weight, as he pulls you closer. Knuckles stroking across your cheek, affection woven into every facet of his touch.

It’s a look that you hope you’ll see every day, for the rest of your life.

“I wanted to be seen.”

"to be loved is to be seen."

and they lived happily ever after - the end! ✨ this has been so fun to write and such a comfort during this holiday time. thank you so much for reading this! it means so much 💖 and hope you all have a very happy holidays! 🎄

#this is the last part!#thank you so much to everyone who's read this #or left a nice note they made me so happy #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth fan fic

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estrellami-1 · 2 years ago

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Forgotten Valentine’s

Robin walks into the break room, where Steve’s trying to get through an article in a magazine he picked up because even on break he’s bored. “Steve? Eddie came to drop this off for you.”

Steve perks up. “Eddie’s here?”

Robin snorts. “No, he popped in for literally like eight seconds, threw this at me with instructions to give it to you, and ran out again.”

Steve grins. “Did he run into the door?”

Robin grins back. “And cursed at it on his way out.”

Steve sighs happily as he takes the note.

Stevie,

Wear something nice tomorrow, big boy. I’m picking you up at 11am sharp.

Robin judges him with her eyebrows. “You two are the bane of my existence.”

“Uh-huh. And Nancy?”

“An angel and the light of my life and can do no wrong, shut up, Steve.” She sighs happily, the exact sound Steve had made less than a minute earlier.

He decides not to point it out.

———————

He does, actually, wear something nice the next day. Eddie does pick him up at 11am, Springsteen playing on the radio, which makes Steve grin at Eddie and lean in for a quick kiss.

“Okay, yes, I love you too, but I’ve got plans, sweetheart, and those plans do not involve getting sidetracked by those lips of yours. Which should be legally classified as a weapon, ‘cause damn, baby.”

Steve just laughs, so in love. “You’re so weird.” He means I love you, and they both know it, so Eddie just shoots him a toothy grin in response.

He takes Steve to a wildflower field. “I considered just getting you flowers, but then I figured this would mean even more, right? So. Tell me what you want. Or pick them yourself, even.” He grins and stretches to grab actual gardening shears and twine from the backseat.

“I’m in love with you,” Steve informs him. Eddie does the thing with his eyebrows where his expression gets all melty.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he says softly, then grins again and shoves the shears into Steve’s hands. “Start pickin’, sweetheart.”

Steve laughs, grabs the shears, and runs out of the car.

After they’ve collected almost a full bouquet—and run for their lives from a bee from an ill-picked flower—they tumble back into the car, love-drunk and giggly, before Eddie manages to collect himself.

“Okay, wow, I’m starting to think buying the flowers would’ve been worth it,” he teases, and Steve just laughs at him. “Anyways. Um. How does a movie sound? I know it’s not necessarily super romantic or whatever but I feel like we could use some down time.”

“Sure,” Steve laughs. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine work for you?”

“Always,” Steve promises, and Eddie’s eyebrows do the thing again, so he reaches to grab Eddie’s right hand and run his thumb over the knuckles.

They head back to the trailer, find a vase for the flowers, and cuddle in closer than absolutely necessary for the movie.

Eddie sneaks away halfway through, citing bathroom. Steve catches on the first time he drops something in the kitchen, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, just keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the TV.

Dinner is delicious, and romantic as hell, because Eddie somehow found candles somewhere, and they don’t match but that isn’t the point, not when he’s looking at Steve with his heart in his eyes and on his sleeve.

They have spaghetti, and Eddie references that one scene from The Lady and the Tramp, and now Steve’s got his heart in his eyes, and on his sleeve, and they laugh like kids as they try—and fail miserably—to recreate the scene.

It ends with spaghetti sauce splattered on their faces and shirts and the table and somehow the wall. Steve immediately blames Eddie. Eddie just kisses him, which works really well to shut him up.

“Not that I don’t love all this,” Steve starts, surveying the table with a grin, “but is there an occasion or is this just ‘cause? Because this feels like an occasion type of thing.”

An expression flickers across Eddie’s face, there and gone before Steve has time to study it, to figure out what it means. “Just ‘cause, sweetheart, what, I can’t dote on my boy every now and again?”

Steve laughs, pulling him in by the neck to place a sweet kiss to Eddie’s lips. “I’ll never say no to that.”

———————

“Oh my god, Steve,” Robin says the next day. “You’re not gonna believe what Nancy did for me yesterday.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised that they’d both gone on dates, then immediately thinks weirder has happened and puts it out of his mind. “Tell me.”

“Okay, so I get home and there’s a note, and oh my god why are she and Eddie the same, or maybe we’re the same, which we are, but anyways. There’s just a place and time. So I get ready, because I might not know what she’s planning but I know she’s planning something, and I drive over, and it’s the Quarry, and she made me an entire fucking picnic.” She stares at him, wide-eyed, palms flat on the counter as she leans forward. “So we eat, and she has flowers, of course, it’s Valentine’s, and she was so fucking sweet, and then-”

Steve feels like an entire bucket of ice water has been poured on his head. “Wait,” he says, and oh, God, how could he forget, and that’s what the face was about yesterday- “Robs, oh my God, I’m the worst boyfriend in the history of the world, fuck.” He grips his hair with both hands, feels hot tears pricking in his eyes. Shuts them and hisses out again, “fuck.”

“Whoa,” Robin says, “okay, that’s… quite the generalization, bud, and also if it has to do with Eddie, he’s, like, ass over tits for you, I seriously doubt you could fuck up that bad-”

“I forgot,” he whispers, and she shuts up. “I forgot yesterday was Valentine’s. I- fuck, Robs, I gotta go, I gotta-”

“Steve,” Robin says, stopping his spiraling with two firm hands on his shoulders. “Calm down, or I’m stealing your keys. You can’t drive like this. Take a breath. Eddie’s not gonna hate you, okay?”

Steve takes a breath. Another. “But I forgot-”

“I know. And I’m willing to bet Eddie knows. Did he act at all different yesterday?”

“No… no, I mean, he made a face when I asked what everything was for, but then it was gone so quickly I thought I imagined it, and Robs, holy fuck, I don’t deserve him.”

Robin chuckles. “I think you two dinguses exactly deserve each other, actually. Take a breath and go talk to him. If Keith asks I’ll make something up, you know I’m good at that. Clock out, actually, don’t come back, I’ll tell him food poisoning or something. Take your boy on a date, Steve.”

“Okay,” he breathes, then nods. “Okay. I will. Thanks, Robbie.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and runs out.

———————

“You fucker,” Steve says loudly as soon as he’s in the trailer, accusing finger pointing at Eddie, who raises his hands like a kid with a cookie jar and crumbs on their face.

“I don’t know what I did, but I apologize.”

“No, shut up, you don’t get to do that, you don’t get to plan a Valentine’s date for me and then not tell me! Fuck! Eds, I’m so sorry.” He deflates, hand coming down and shoulders slumping. “I wish I could tell you I had something planned, but I didn’t. And I know there’s ways for me to remember, there’s calendars and sticky notes and shit, and I didn’t do any of that and I have no one to blame but myself and I’m sorry.”

Eddie stands, walking over to Steve to pull him into a hug. “Darling, I need you to listen to me on this, okay?” He asks seriously, pushing Steve’s head back to drop a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t care.” He waits until Steve’s brow begins to furrow before continuing. “I don’t care that you forgot. I don’t care that there might be ways to help you remember. I like you for you, not for whatever mask you wore in high school, even if I did have an embarrassing crush on you back then. Point is I’m here for you now, and the you that I’m in love with sometimes forgets some things. Who cares? Not me. I’ll never care. Every day with you is an adventure, Stevie. All the big dramatic love confessions in those romance movies you like so much are basically wedding vows, I know you know this, and there’s a reason sickness and health are in there. Sickness is as low as a person can get. Once you’ve seen them sick, you’ve seen them hurt and upset. If you can love them then, you can love them. And I’ve seen you in sickness, sweets. There’s nothing you can do to make me love you any less. There’s nothing you can do to make me regret going all out for something that made you happy, even if the reason behind it has to shift.”

Steve blinks back tears. “I hate you.”

“Mhm. Love you too. Give me a kiss, sweetheart.”

He does, pressing in close, keeping it closed-mouth but pouring in all his devotion until Eddie feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Whoa,” he murmurs when they pull back, then grins at Steve, keeping him close. “What’d I tell you, about your lips, they’re dangerous, sweets.”

“Shuddup,” Steve says, and buries his face in Eddie’s chest. “I love you so much.” He pulls back suddenly. “Robin gave me the rest of the day off, because she’s the best platonic soulmate ever, and if you’re not busy, can I take you on a date?”

“Steve,” Eddie starts, and Steve will never get over the way that Eddie just says his name. He’s so whooped. “Is this to make up for yesterday?”

Steve shakes his head. Eddie gives him a look. Steve hesitantly nods.

Eddie sighs and rests their foreheads together. “You don’t need to do that, baby.” At one point they started swaying together, and now they’re dancing in the kitchen to no music, and Steve could cry with how in love he is.

“But… you did all that, and didn’t even mention it when I forgot, and Robin says we deserve each other but I kinda feel like you’re a better man than I will ever be-”

“Steve,” Eddie says again, punctuating it with a kiss. “I’m serious. I don’t need it. You don’t need it. C’mon, c’mere, we can have a date right here, there’s a pizza in the freezer and I have movies, c’mon, just come sit with me. This is date enough for me.”

“Eds, c’mon, it’s not just a date-”

“Says who?” Eddie asks. He’s grinning like he knows Steve doesn’t have an answer. He’s right, but still.

“Eddie. It’s Valentine’s.”

“Yup. I know you love it, sweetheart, but it kinda goes against the Munson Doctrine.”

“I thought you did away with that when you kissed me.”

“Pretty sure you kissed me,” Eddie says on reflex, like he does every time. “But my point still stands. It’s nothing but a ploy to make people buy overpriced shit to make themselves feel better about themselves and their love life or lack thereof. I refuse to participate.”

Steve pauses. Grins. “Today’s the fifteenth.”

“That’s correct.”

“Candy’s discounted right now.”

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers, then starts laughing. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s go buy me candy. But that’s it. Then we’re coming back and watching a movie, deal?”

Steve grins, bright and happy and in love, as he leans in for a kiss. “Deal.”

#stranger things #Steddie #Steddie Valentine’s #valentine’s day #steddie fic #steddie kiss #Steve has head trauma and Eddie understands #Robin isn’t paid enough for this #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #mentions of #nancy wheeler #ronance #but on the side #I don’t know what this is #but I hope y’all like it!#I felt that it was fitting I’d post it the day after #starambles

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hlficlibrary · 11 months ago

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✤ New Year's Eve Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey / @harryrainbows {E, 95k}

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

2️⃣ baby we could be enough (i'll make this feel like home) by orphan_account {M. 52k}

“Did you clean the table?” Harry asks Louis once Rose is done speaking, now occupied with trying to see if she can reach over and touch Harry’s hair from where she’s sat. At Louis’ nod, Harry frowns. “You didn’t have to do that. You’re my guests here, I could’ve dealt with it later.”

Louis just smiles easily, though, adjusting Rose on his lap so that she’s facing Harry better. She manages to tug on a loose wave of hair, and she makes a noise of triumph that both Louis and Harry smile at.

“I don’t mind,” Louis murmurs to Harry, even though he’s looking at Rose. “This one here seemed very excited to talk to you.”

And, okay. Harry can’t help but think of how domestic this feels, all of a sudden.

[harry is a photographer who's trying to find his place. louis is a single father with a smile that feels like home.]

3️⃣ Can’t Hide It, You Might As Well Embrace It by supernope {E, 67k}

Together since they were teenagers, Harry and Louis are professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They may also secretly be married.

4️⃣ And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train / @runaway-train-works {E, 35k}

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Or The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

5️⃣ six feet beneath the moon by @starseas {NR, 25k}

AU. takes place over one night. harry and louis meet at a going away party.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 like cranberries on a winter evening by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou {G, 57k}

Louis hates Christmas. With good reason, too. And no, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

When research for his next novel leads Louis to the website of a quirky little hotel in Northumberland, there is exactly one room available for the two weeks that Louis really wants to get away from his family.

Will the fairy lights, kind smiles, homemade pastries, and genuine friendships awaiting him in Harry Styles’ hotel be enough to cause Louis a change of heart?

💎 Never Walk Away (A Man Can Be Kind) by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove {T, 8k}

Louis and Harry have recently ended their three year relationship. But maybe a little holiday magic can bring them back together.

“I don’t know why you’re so nice to that louse,” Oli says as the taxi pulls away from the curb.Louis glances back through the window. Harry is still standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching them go. “He’s not a louse,” he says absently.“He hurt you.”“I hurt him,” Louis replies. “And he didn’t mean to. It was inevitable. It’s not his fault. It is what it is.”Oli is silent for a long moment. At last, he sighs. “Someday you’re going to have to stop being afraid.”

💎 Rapture by @allwaswell16 {E, 3k}

It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.

Or, a vampire Harry fic because what says the holidays like Victorian vampires?

💎 so c'mon c'mon (and dance with me baby) by theweightofmywords / @lil0 {NR, 3k}

Determinedly, he rushes back to where the DJ’s loud music can drown out his loud and racing thoughts, where there is free champagne, and where there is a kind man, hopefully, still waiting for him.

His chest unfurls with relief as he spots Harry, now with a martini in hand. He is standing steadfastly at their cocktail table, and Louis feels an odd sort of kinship when he sees his new friend. Harry straightens up as he sees Louis approaching.

“Did you find-”

“Let’s dance,” Louis cuts him off. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t ask questions.

Louis and Harry meet at a corporate holiday party, drink copious amounts of champagne, dance like fools, steal rich people's food, and possibly, just maybe, fall in love.

💎 Know What You Need by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {E, 3k}

Harry always thinks he knows what he needs, but Louis knows better.

#ficrec #newyearseve #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #nonsensedarling #theweightofmywords #allwaswell16 #livelaughlovelarry #supernope #4ureyesonly28 #starseas #runawaytrain #lucythegoosey

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sitp-recs · 2 years ago

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Hi!! Do you know any fics with sex scenes that seem more comfortable and routine ig? I'm thinking of ones similar to the scene in Wild that you talked about recently, where they are obviously attracted to each other but it's not super intense or anything, it's more like they're taking their time and having fun? Idk if that makes sense😂

Hi there! That makes total sense, love myself some organic and fun smut 🤌🏼 I guess that’s something a bit personal but I really like the easy intimacy from these fics:

Tense by Faith Wood (E, 3k)

Harry and Draco have sex. Very, very slowly. Seriously, this is, like, 3K of penetration.

Student Digs by Lokifan (E, 4k)

Harry’s living in *student accommodation*. Just the phrase makes Draco shudder.

Lucid by dracoladon (E, 4.4k)

Harry's not sure what makes him harder; listening to Draco talk about astronomy, or shagging Draco so thoroughly that he can't talk at all. Both, probably.

Matched Set by astolat (E, 5.7k)

“No one asked you to look, did they?” Draco said, eyes glittering and intent on Harry’s face—like he’d just wiped off the years and turned back in time to when their greatest ambition in life had been to knock the other off his broom in front of the school and grab the Snitch first, before they’d both gone to war and come back with scars.

Up The by @shiftylinguini (E, 7.5k)

“I feel I need to point out,” Draco kissed gently over Harry’s Adam’s apple, “that this is the most Gryffindor approach to conception that could possibly exist.” Or: Harry's had madder ideas.

Born Slippy by dracoladon (E, 8k)

Harry finds that it's less 'one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor' and more 'one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, decide Malfoy's quite fit, actually, and decent company after your friends traitorous abandonment, floor.' With Malfoy lying next to you.

break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 11k)

Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (E, 15k)

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had.

Waiting By An Open Door by Femme and noeon (E, 29k)

Draco starts following Potterwatch secretly during the War. He wishes Potter would come save him too. But that sort of thing only happens in fairy tales, and Malfoys don't get fairy tale endings, do they?

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #organic sex scenes

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phanfictioncatalogue · 3 months ago

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Long Fic Titles (8+ Words) (5) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four

a universe without you (would be thoroughly mundane) (ao3) - chaeriloidea

Summary: Too much time on Twitter makes Dan reflect on how far he's come in his relationship with Phil and his audience.

Dan and Phil Take Each Other's Clothes Off (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!) (ao3) - BREAD2000yeet

Summary: Dan and Phil play dress-up based off Dan's one dailybooth

Dan stops and stares at him, “You did not just tell me a red panda fact while we are having sex.”

“They can also glow in the dark.”

don't wanna walk alone (so let's get married) (ao3) - lesbaurinkos (pluginbaby)

Summary: Phil’s always been a little wistful about the idea, some part of him a bit hopelessly romantic, perhaps, but his mind always catches on the thought of marrying Dan.

(or: marriage chats on a saturday night)

every city was a gift (and every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips) (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: “Do you think we could get a proper American desert cactus for our house?”

“Phil, no.”

“I missed the train, can I stay with you?” Redux (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Phil can’t believe he let Ian convince him to go out to a nightclub. How he got from there, to sending a text to Ian that he’s actually heading back to his flat with somebody holy shit don’t be worried he won’t get ax murdered probably, Phil really can’t be sure.

A ficlet about senses and surprises.

I missed you so much I dyed the towels green (ao3) - chuuyaswife

Summary: A few of Dan’s shows get cancelled while he’s on the WAD tour so he decides to surprise his boyfriend back home for a few days. Fluffy reunion ensues.

i wanna throw the fight (and kiss away your pain tonight) (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: when feelings are too much for words

i will never know a sunday (how slow the moments go) (ao3) - beaniebopbaby

Summary: The man hunched over the piano, and Phil felt like he couldn’t breath. He looked around the room, to see if anyone else noticed this shift, when he finally realized they were alone. The notes grew slower and slower as Phil stood, drifting closer to the man playing the piano. The pianist looked as mesmerized as Phil, absorbed in his playing.

I'd like to hang out with you (for my whole life) (ao3) - bunnyslipper

Summary: Mornings in the forever home (featuring the golden pig)

If we were two sunflowers, I would have faced you instead of the sun (ao3) - twinphantasy

Summary: It didn’t really matter where they were or what they were looking at because Dan would always be looking at Phil.

i’m electric, a romantic cliché (me and you were meant to be in love) (ao3) - nardfx

Summary: “i really don’t know if i can do this.”

“you can do this.”

“okay, but what happens when everyone’s eyes are on me and they all know all of my secrets?”

dan and phil go to prom

in this falling rain (i fill the scattered you) (ao3) - ivylakes

Summary: “I’m not,” Dan finally says, voice cracking. He still doesn’t look over at the older boy. “I’m not okay, Phil.”

Phil stays where he is. He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t come closer, either. He simply waits.

He always waits for Dan.

Or, Dan is weighed down by his mind, and Phil holds him anyway.

It Only Takes a Moment: A Dan and Phil WALL-E AU (ao3) - trancelover99

Summary: So, I've been thinking about this WALL-E AU where Dan and Phil replace Wall-E and Eve for a while, and I thought I should get around to making it! I hope you all enjoy it!

Origins of the Phass Inflation Post (Dan and Phil in Greece) (ao3) - EverythingIsAsItWas

Summary: Dan and Phil rarely take vacations just for themselves, vacations in which they make no content, do not work, and simply enjoy each other's company. Going to Greece feels like the perfect opportunity for this, but Phil also thinks it's the perfect opportunity for a video... and Dan likes being a little shit.

The three times it was a one off and the one time it was forever (ao3) - KirstieVic

Summary: 2014, 2016 and 2018 it's a one off.

Then 2020 during lockdown, it's forever.

we were never in the park (ignoring tornado warnings) (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: After Phil leaves Dan, Dan starts seeing a therapist. Then, Phil comes back, and Dan starts lying to his therapist about him.

without saying a word (you had all of me) (ao3) - rainbowroshenpower

Summary: I trace it all back, three-thirty AM

That night, something turned in my heart

While you were sleeping, I fell in love

you're never gonna get by on three hours sleep a night (unless you absolutely have to) (ao3) - Mildredo

Summary: phil has a migraine on tour.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfic #phanfiction #masterlists #dan and phil #longfictitles #longfictitles masterlist

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shyanshippingsociety · 10 months ago

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Shyan Shipping Society - NY Fic Exchange 2024

hi everyone!

can you believe it's our fourth annual new years exchange? we had some amazing fics and art (hosted in our server!) and i can't wait to bring them all to you here! let's go!

CHECK OUT THE AO3 COLLECTION!

doll island by idkspookystuff | E, 3K, complete

So Shane clearly picked up something on the Island. Something that made him hot and sweaty and horny, apparently. It doesn’t sound like any spider venom Ryan’s ever heard of, or the signs of a demonic curse. Although, a curse- “Oh, fuck,” Ryan swears. it's 2016, shane & ryan are on the island of the dolls, and a demonic doll plays matchmaker

satan, you're a nerve-y one by icantturnthisthingoff | E, 1K, complete

After a series of unfortunate events, Ryan finds himself alone on New Years Eve wishing he had someone to keep him company Enter, Incubus Shane

The Sky In The Snow by Charmingwolf | T, 1K, complete

A group of backpackers stayed the night in an abandoned shed deep in the forest. In the dark, one was journaled their adventures until they felt the rumble of a massive creature just outside the thin walls. They looked out the window and saw a huge black thing with scales that twinkled like stars and huge fangs that dripped puddles of dark goo as it walked. That was all they got down before the creature attacked. It tore down the walls of the shed before killing the backpackers and dragging them into the crunchy frostbitten grass. That was 20 years ago. No one has seen the creature since. Ryan and the producers think it would make a great video to go hunting for the creature dubbed The Forest Hill Lizard.

one random night when everything changes by Artemis | E, 1K, complete

Ryan looks for Shane on New Year's Eve and finds more than just the person he was looking for that night. AKA Shane confesses his love for Ryan, they smooch, then they do something about it.

all in! by anonymous | T, 4K, complete

“I bet…," he starts, flashing a grin at Shane's flushed face. "you won’t kiss me on New Year’s Eve.” Ryan watches as Shane instantly runs the numbers on this, through whatever mental calculator he has in his brain. He imagines beeps and whirs, gears turning words into numbers. “Alright, Bergara,” he says, after a moment. Then, he slides his whole stack of chips sitting on the pool table and nods, slow and considering. “I’m all in.” OR: Ryan makes a bet. It escalates from there.

They Got Subway at 2 am by Charmingwolf | M, 1K, complete

After a very silly and kind of sexually charged shoot, Shane and Ryan explore each other's bodies like they have done many times before.

Given the Chance by PlatinumPussycat208 | E, 3K, complete

“It’s…I built a time machine.” Ryan and Shane blinked at each other. The other Shane and Ryan looked at one another, but stayed in the doorway quietly. “Fuck off, Steven. That’s not funny.” Shane’s voice was serious now. “No! I mean it!” Steven cried. “It’s how I’ve been keeping on top of everything here! It only goes back a little! It just gives me more time in the day!” Ryan barked out a laugh. “Oh my god…trust Steven to build a time machine to do more work.” - a fun, smutty fic for the SSS NY Exchange!

Scheming for a Smooch by Impala_Chick | T, 2K, complete

The boys both decide to make a move on each other with a New Year's kiss at midnight. Only problem is, they're both plotting to get a smooch and the other doesn't know it yet.

Their dynamic is... by tasty_littl_snack | G, 1K, complete

Food files from the cameraman's perspective.

With A Little Help From Our Friends by quackers | M, 3K, complete

Everyone thinks they know Ryan and Shane's secret. Everyone. They might be wrong.

thank you so much to all of the incredible creators who joined this event! happy 2024 from the sss mods! we have so many fun things planned so make sure you follow us here on tumblr or join the server so you don't miss out! we hope you had a great 2023 in our server/on our blog and we can't wait for you to continue having a great time in our server in 2024!

love you!

the mods

#shyan shipping society new years exchange 2024 #shyan shipping society #shyan #skeptic believer #watcher after dark #buzzfeed unclean #buzzfeed after dark #mod ve

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nobody-is-evil · 2 years ago

Text

Hob Gadling and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

but cheer up, Hob. You get a Dream out of it!

Alternative Title: In Which Destiny Gets Tired Of Two Idiots Dancing Around Each Other And Does Something

This is for the Jan prompt Fake Dating for @yearoftheotpevent. Also fulfills another prompt, but I’ll leave that a mystery :D.

Thanks to @wolfe-marvin (hope I got the right person) for being my beta!

I’ll crosspost this on Ao3…soon. Before the end of January. Would love it if I got constructive criticism in the meantime!

Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

Mary’s party was okay.

Hob probably should’ve had nicer things to say about his friend’s party, especially a friend he’d known for years now, but the truth was that he wasn’t feeling it. He wasn’t feeling the board game room, or the table tennis tournament, or even the room where everyone was watching the news, waiting for the countdown to start. He wasn’t really feeling...

People. Hob laughed at himself as he headed for an unoccupied balcony. He was socially exhausted. Probably should’ve realized earlier, what with over six hundred years of experience. What he wanted was to be alone.

Well. Not alone, per se. He’d be fine with the company of one other, as long as that one other was his oldest Friend. They’d increased the frequency of their meetings, but even so, Hob hadn’t been able to get a meeting to land on New Year’s Eve. Instead, they were meeting tomorrow, so it was all he could think about (not that he wouldn’t be paying full attention to his Friend if he was here).

The new year likely didn’t have any significance to his Friend. Hob had been around for many, many years, his Friend likely even longer, and today’s party was just minuscule compared to the gigantic parties he’d been to for each turn of the century, especially 2000.

That didn’t mean this year couldn’t be significant. He’d seen his Friend several times in the past year, and they planned to meet many more times this year—that was pretty significant already to Hob. He should make a New Year’s resolution about his Friend.

I will confess to my Friend.

But was that too fast? It took him centuries to get his Friend to admit they were friends, and Hob still didn’t know his name.

At the same time, with only one day of meeting over the centuries, it technically only took him seven days to achieve it.

The fact that Hob was in love with his Friend was kind of pathetic either way, but he could probably pretend it only happened after their more frequent meetings started, and then, once he knew his Friend wasn’t going to run away, he could tell him.

Besides, it was a resolution for the whole year. He didn’t have to do it the next time he saw his Friend. He could wait a month. Or two. Or several. It wasn’t like he didn’t have time.

“Robby! What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” Mary sounded genuinely confused, and Hob didn’t blame her. Without any context, he’d think his behavior was strange, too. “It’s almost time!”

“Oh, is it? Can’t miss that!” With a bright grin, Hob slung an arm around her shoulder and led her inside as if he’d been the one retrieving her.

As she said, the countdown was in the final stretch. Everyone had packed into the biggest room, leaving barely enough room to breathe, let alone add two more people, but Hob powered through to reunite Mary with her best girl friend. Once he’d done that, he backed out to the nearest wall, taking whatever bit of space he could.

The countdown hit zero. While everyone was cheering and kissing their partners, Hob imagined kissing his Friend.

———

Hob woke to the disorientating feeling of split-second freefall before landing heavily on a hard surface with a thump. He groaned. Where did the meadow go—oh, wait.

Now, he was awake and remembered what happened. Parts of it, at least. He distinctly remembered the feeling of annoyance that came with having to flee from a woman (a friend of a friend of a friend?) who wouldn’t leave him alone. That had been at a party, Mary’s party for the new year. Everything else was just flashes.

He was hungover, he knew that much, though he didn’t feel as bad as he would expect after blacking out for most of the night, falling asleep on the couch, and then falling off the couch.

Hob narrowed his eyes at a familiar presence. “Friend?” he asked as he pushed himself up off the ground.

Those gorgeous eyes—

His Friend was, indeed, there, looking down at him. At his silence, Hob got the impression that his Friend had said something that Hob somehow missed. When asked to repeat himself, his Friend said, “I have a request.”

“And I’d love to hear it, if you give me some time to freshen up.” He started to head to his bedroom before pausing. “How long have you been here?”

His Friend replied in monotone, “I was here when you arrived.”

“Since I came home?” Hob repeated with no small amount of surprise. At his Friend’s nod, he asked, “Why?”

“It is...an important request. Important enough to wait for you to be sober.”

“Okay...” His Friend had never asked anything of him beyond their deal for him to tell his experiences. Hob was unsure as to what else he could do. “I’ll be quick, then.”

True to his word, Hob showered, changed, and did everything else to freshen up within the next fifteen minutes. “Okay!” he called as he went in search of his Friend, “What did you need?”

He found his Friend sitting on the couch Hob had been sleeping on, inspecting the tv remote. His Friend quickly set it down and stared at Hob as he sat down in a chair across from him.

I’ve been the subject of my Friend’s gaze before, but that wasn’t after he showed up unexpectedly, after he apparently took care of me while I was blackout drunk, after he watched over me in my sleep for I don’t even know how long, or after he was in my home while I was naked—

“...’re supposed to have...guests...and Destiny has told me that I shall bring one...”

Having spaced back in, somehow, Hob got the feeling that that wasn’t just a name like it was for most people, but that wasn’t as important as the fact that his Friend needed him. “So you want me to come to a party with you?”

His Friend narrowed his eyes at Hob, and, as if repeating himself, said, “A family dinner, yes.”

Hob didn’t say anything for a moment. He got the feeling...but no, surely his Friend wouldn’t hide something from him if he truly needed to know it. “Of course. So, who should I expect to see?”

“Five of my siblings shall be present. Destiny is the oldest...I believe he is bringing a man named Tobias Indiana. Death is als—”

“Death?” Hob interrupted with no small amount of disbelief. “I thought, well, I thought you’d have some sort of power over death. Given,” he gestured to his Friend’s entire vibe. Not that he isn’t attractive—

“...my older sister is...much better with humans than I. She is also bringing a human. Jonathan Geiger impressed her when...he won a contest against Lucifer.”

Was that a joke? Was his Friend taking the piss? Either he was (unbelievable) or Lucifer was real (equally unbelievable).

“Of my younger siblings...Desire is bringing a deity named Ekeko. Their twin sister...Despair...is bringing...I think it was...a ghost.”

A ghost? As in, an intangible dead person who could make things float and possess people? They were real?

As though he could read Hob’s mind, his Friend continued, “Perhaps...they shall not be as you expect. Ghost is simply...the closest term for them...in English.” His Friend didn’t elaborate beyond that.

“My youngest sibling...Delirium is bringing...” His Friend let out a sigh, suddenly looking much older as he stared at the floor. “A Knocker.”

If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was good big brothers being protective over their younger sisters. “You don’t approve?”

“Delirium has one requirement for her guests...that they amuse her. Death informed me that she attended the last family dinner with a demon whose goal was to take vengeance against us Endless.”

That sounded like Hob had stumbled upon another can of worms they did not need to open at the moment. He quickly redirected onto the most harmless-sounding and most curious part of that, the last word, endless. “Is that another word for immortal?”

“That is the word for my siblings and I.”

This was probably the best opportunity he was gonna get. His Friend couldn’t misunderstand this. “So it is some sort of requirement that your name start with De-?”

His Friend took a deep breath.

Hob leaned in. What was it? Delicious? Deception? No. Destraction? Uh, Deal? No. Dear? Hmm. Deer? Definitely not. None of them fit his Friend.

“My name is Dream.”

Nothing could have fit his Friend, Dream, better. It’s perfect. Dream’s perfect. I wanna just say his name over and over— “So you know things about people because you know their dreams?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, but is it like asleep dreams, or aspiration dreams?

“Yes.”

Okay, so this was just one of those things Hob was going to give up on and stay confused about.

Like how throughout this conversation he seemed to be missing snatches of time here and there, as if he was a computer with files getting corrupted.

Hob cracked another joke to get his mind off of that, “I don’t have to worry about Death being mad at us for helping me avoid her, right?”

Dream (!) gave him an incredulous look. “Of course not. You would not be able to escape Death if she did not allow you to live. No...you should be more concerned about the rest...of my siblings.”

His Friend suddenly turned the full force of his stare on Hob. It’s still overwhelming, even more so because Dream’s so fucking concerned for Hob—

“...able?” Dream was saying, his gaze now expectant.

Hob blinked at him. “What?”

“I merely asked that you inform me if any of my siblings...threaten you. Is that agreeable?”

“Well, you’d know your siblings better than I would,” Hob decided, then teased, “You’re the reason I’m coming, so naturally it falls to you to protect me, my lord.”

Dream’s eyes widened, and he raised his voice, “You must not call me that—my siblings expect us to be close!”

Hob had jerked away from him, staring frozen with shock. I’ve never seen Dream like that before—

When he had zoned back in, his Friend had averted his eyes. There was a pause, and then, “Perhaps...I should be...truthful.”

“During my meeting with Destiny yesterday, he told me that I would visit you. I would...begin a romance with you...that was why I would bring you to our dinner.”

That was a possibility? That could’ve happened?? Or maybe that can still happen??? What do I have to do to make that happen?!?!? Even just one kiss—

Dream had moved closer, expression and tone full of concern. “Hob?”

When he’d recovered, hesitant and more than a bit bewildered, Hob tried, “I’m sorry, mate, but I don’t—”

“I did not expect you to.” Dream sighed. “His methods are incomprehensible to all but himself. You are under no obligation to be...romantically involved...with me.”

“Nevertheless, I ask that you appear to be. That is the nature of your status as my plus one...that is what my siblings shall expect.”

Okay, so his Friend would hide something that he truly needed to know from him.

Well, at least Dream told him. Hob wasn’t exactly volunteering the fact that he kept missing bits here and there. Beyond that, he also got the feeling he himself was hiding something else, and had been for a while, that he was forgetting about...but that had to be the guilt.

“That’s fine with me.”

(This was still, after all, the first thing Dream had asked of him. Hob really, really, really didn’t want to lose this friendship. And hey, it wasn’t like this was a fanfiction—there was no way Hob would fall in love with his Friend.)

———

They hashed out the details. He found out when (at night in a few days) and where (Destiny’s castle), how he would get there (when he went to sleep, Dream would find him and bring him out of his dream into the Collective Unconscious). He learned exactly how wary he should be of each person and why.

Hob went about his days as normal between then and the dinner. He had the rest of the day and the next off, but on the 3rd of January, it was back to business as usual for his job. Good thing this was dinner, and not breakfast or luncheon.

There was also the New Inn to consider—though he’d hired someone else to run it and never, ever ask who he was or let anyone know they weren’t actually the owner, there were still decisions for Hob to make. Decisions that, as someone living above the New Inn, he had a stake in.

Then, the day of the dinner was upon them.

Dream’s realm, the Dreaming, was amazing. He’d had to go to sleep shortly before 6 pm, not a challenge after living for so long and being in so many wars. The problem with using his techniques for falling asleep quickly was that usually, it gave him bad dreams.

“Where are they?” Hob was naked, opening every drawer in his apartment, but he’d forgotten where he put his shirts. Not a single drawer had shirts or anything to wear on his upper half. “Come on, come on, they’ve gotta be around here somewhere!”

Then he was at his high school. He’d forgotten where everything was, and he was late for his class. “Excuse me, can you give me direction?” Nobody could help him. A clock ticked ominously.

When he finally made it to his room and started class, he realized he’d forgotten what he was teaching. Nothing on his notes made any sense—he’d forgotten how to read his own handwriting. One of his students raised their hand. He couldn’t remember their name.

“There you are.” Dream raised his arm gracefully, and their surroundings changed in a whirlwind of power that buffeted Hob even though it didn’t touch him. When it settled, they were in a throne room.

His jaw hit the floor. He had to turn in a circle, and then do it again, to be sure he saw every inch of the gorgeous place he found himself in. The statues, the arches, the stairs, the stained glass windows, the throne, the King himself—

Ugh. This was happening again. He’d gone hours without missing time, and it had to start happening again right before the important dinner?

Dream was smirking at him. “Is it to your liking?”

“Yeah,” Hob breathed out. “This might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in.”

His Friend’s smile widened into a more genuine one. “Is that what you intend to wear?”

“Ah...” Hob looked down at himself. He was clad only in nice pants and shoes. Why—oh, right, his dream. How had he not noticed? Dream had been looking, was looking, at him shirtless—

He cleared his throat and looked up (not at Dream; he couldn’t just let his Friend see his embarrassed smile), “Do you have any—”

“You are in the Dreaming. Anything is possible.”

Oh. Neat. Hob lowered his head again in thought. The first outfit he could think of was one of Harry Osborn’s outfits in Spider-Man 3, where he had on a white vertically striped button-up, then a blue shirt, then a dark brown overcoat. In an instant, he was in them.

He looked up and found Dream giving him a contemplative look. “What?”

“It is no matter. If you are ready, come; we shall go to my brother’s castle.”

———

Destiny towered over everyone else in a long, light-colored hooded cloak. He had a book chained to his right wrist, and his left hand was another person’s hand. “Brother, this is Tobias Indiana. Tobias, this is my brother, Dream, and his partner, Robert Gadling.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Indiana said, extending his hand. He appeared...normal. There was nothing that differentiated him from any other middle-aged man.

Hob shook it with a similar greeting. Dream simply glared at it.

Indiana, for his part, didn’t let it get to him. “Oh, you are a prickly one.”

“Tobias is very eager to show you his art. Won’t you come with us and see?”

Dream glanced at Hob.

“Oh, and your beloved can’t come. Tobias is very shy.” Indiana looked, in no way, shy. In fact, he seemed like a confident, unbothered person. “He wouldn’t be able to bear it if anybody else saw his work.”

It said something about how blatantly Destiny lied that he still managed to get Dream to do what he wanted.

Hob watched their backs as they headed for a hallway before realizing that, without Dream, he was a sitting duck. Sure, he didn’t have to pretend to be infatuated with his Friend anymore, but anybody could walk up to him and trap him in a conversation.

A woman’s voice said, “Robert Gadling.”

Fuck, he was too late.

Hob turned around with resignation to face the woman, only to find that she actually...didn��t seem so bad. She seemed distinctly maternal, despite the fact that most people seemed young to Hob.

The boy that was with her, on the other hand, had no hidden depths. He looked like any other overconfident teenage son of a farmer.

“That would be me, and you are—no, let me guess,” Hob cut himself off when he saw her ankh necklace against her all-black clothing, “Death?”

She beamed and nodded.

“And that would make you Jonathan Geiger.” Wait, Dream said his siblings were romantically involved with their plus-ones. This was a little concerning.

“It’s Johnny,” the kid corrected in a Southern American drawl. “An Ah’m 63.”

Well, that made Hob feel a lot better, but there was an unspoken ‘I’m older than you’ that he couldn't let stand. “I’m over 10 times that.” He shrugged, “When you're as old as I am, there’s no way to know your exact age.”

“Who ya with? Mah gal’s the embodimin’ ‘a Death,” Johnny challenged.

“My boyfriend is all Dreams and Nightmares. He’s basically everything you can imagine.”

“How’d ya get yer immortality? Ah beat the devil in a fiddle-playin’ contest.”

“I just didn’t die.”

“It’s actually because you called me stupid right in front of me.”

Both of them turned to Death, Johnny furious and Hob with the blood drained from his face. “I did?” he asked, in disbelief—not that he’d done it, but that she’d apparently granted him immortality rather than killing him on the spot.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I don’t get mad at words said in grief. It’s human nature to fear my realm. Despite the fact that my siblings’ are much scarier than mine,” she muttered. “I only get mad when my siblings are hurt.”

Death looked at him.

It took a moment for it to click for Hob that he was dating Dream, so this was a shovel talk. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered weakly.

“But—hey, listen to me—that goes for you, too.” She poked him in the chest. “My brother has proven himself to be an idiot on multiple occasions, as I’m sure you know.” Somehow, she said it without even a drop of malice. “If he hurts you, you can always call me.”

Hob agreed, “I’ll do that.”

There was a pause.

“Well, we ain’t gonna take up anymore ‘a yer time,” Johnny, the scoundrel, smirked. “I know that gal Delirium’s bin dyin’ to meet ya.”

———

“Hello, Hob! Hobsie! Hobby! Hobert!”

Delirium was a short, thin girl with a high-pitched voice on the cusp of her teenage years. She had untamable hair in a rainbow of bright colors, and her clothes looked like they’d been chosen independently of each other. Those were the only immediate constants Hob could find about her appearance—everything else changed multiple times a minute.

“They should call you David. Or Patrick. Or Nick. Or Charlie. Or Connor. Or Oliver. Or Ian. Or Mickey. Or Yusuf. Or Nicoló.”

What.

“Oh, uh, I’ve stuck close to Robert for way too long to consider changing it,” Hob tried.

Delirium nodded sagely like a little kid.

She was with a Knocker, if he remembered correctly, a little shorter than half her height. He had a copious amount of wrinkles, a somewhat large head compared to the rest of him, a long white beard, and he looked like he hadn’t bothered to change since leaving the mine, complete with a pickaxe in hand.

“What about you?” Hob asked him.

“I’m Pasco,” the Knocker said in a voice just as high as Delirium’s.

Delirium grabbed Pasco’s surprisingly long arm and bounced up and down. “You’re such a Deary,” she told Hob before scrunching up her face and varying her appearance. “No, a dory. A ducky. A bucky!”

“Thank you.” Hob hoped that was a compliment.

She giggled. “You’ve got something on your back.”

“Oh.” Hob looked over each shoulder once. “Not, like, the Trickster Beetle from Doctor Who?”

What? He was British. It was practically instinct.

Her eyes widened and her clothes shifted again. “No! No, don’t worry, that’s already dead for you.”

Well, that was a relief.

“No, smaller. They’re circles.”

He leaned forward, laser-focused on her words. “Uh, moles?”

She shook her head.

“Hives? A rash?” Hob asked desperately.

Tears filled her eyes. “They’re gonna get you.” But then she looked behind her, where a short mustached man in a poncho and an Asian woman covered in blood were dancing. When she looked back at him, her face was blank. “It’s gonna hurt.”

It was only when she and Pasco were walking away that his mind cleared. That...had all been gibberish. Of course, he was sure it made sense to her, but there was no need to get worked up about it. Even if he would get hurt in the future, he was over 650. Hob could handle it.

———

“You’ve been in my realm a lot recently.”

She was a large woman in comfortable clothes with limp, unwashed hair and a large hook on a ring that she was toying with.

Hob had met Dream, Destiny, Death, and Delirium. He didn’t think it was much of an assumption to think he was talking to Despair. “Have I?”

Her quiet voice cut at him, “You shouldn’t be.”

He stared, taken aback.

“If you’re suffering, then so is my brother. He’s suffered enough.” She turned and walked away.

———

Hob watched the door Destiny, Indiana, and Dream had left through. They still weren’t back yet. How long could Destiny’s contrived excuse take?

“Oh, you’re good,” Desire purred from behind him.

Hob whirled around and came face to face with them. His expression hardened. Coming from the one that Dream had warned him the most about, it was basically an insult. “And why’s that?”

They elaborated, “The trick you’re playing on my siblings. You’ve really got all of them fooled. Not even I could manage to fool Destiny.” Desire’s seemingly-permanent smile sharpened as they cornered him, “How are you doing it? Right now, my brother is filled with the most sickening yearning for you, yet you don’t want him in the slightest.”

Well, that was unfair. Of course Hob wanted Dream. To, y’know, be his friend. To do things with him, to open up to him, maybe even give him some physical touch in the form of a shoulder bump or something.

“Not even a kiss,” Desire scoffed. “Nothing about his appearance, while he desperately wishes he was with you. He wants to hold you, kiss you, make ‘love’ to you.”

Hob choked. Dream felt that way about him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He’d been determined to listen to Dream about Desire’s manipulations, but...

Dream feels the same way! Yes! Yes! If we were alone—

“...esting.”

Hob felt the dizziest then out of any time he’d forgotten the past few seconds.

His surroundings had changed. He was alone with Desire, who’d completely invaded his personal space. Their arms were wrapped around his shoulders, face inches from his. When they spoke, and their breath hit his face, his stomach turned.

“Seems I wasn’t quite right,” they hissed. “It isn’t that you don’t desire him. You’ve just been made to forget. Someone’s hidden it from you, and done a very good job of it, but it’s been leaking out.”

Their expression and tone softened. “The spell’s had to do a patch job; it’s been snipping away bits of your memory, hasn’t it?”

Hob narrowed his eyes. He got the impression that they were...trying to comfort him.

It was more than a little disturbing.

He ducked out of their loose hold and stepped back. They’d guessed his recent memory problems—so what? That didn’t mean they were telling the truth (even if his instances of forgetting did, in hindsight, have a clear correlation with Dream) and it definitely didn’t mean they weren’t trying to manipulate him. He was done putting up with the Endless. All of this, he decided, counted as a threat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my boyfriend,” he snapped, and turned (apprehensively) to head for the door.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Hob had half-expected and prepared for this. He tried to move to take them down only to find that instead...he really wanted to stay still. Why had he ever wanted to move from this spot?

In the background, somebody spat, “I’m trying to help you, foolish human. As if I was just going to let you keep walking around with all that repressed desire.”

They cupped his chin with their hands and made direct eye contact. “Now, hold still,” they teased, “You’ll feel a lot better when I’m done.”

His ears popped. His senses whited out for a long moment from the pain of a gaping wound in his chest being healed, but not without being reopened first. Hob squeezed his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling as his memories returned to him—he could remember everything, all of his love for Dream.

He wrinkled his nose at an awfully strong smell of something—like a lightning strike?—as he came back to his senses. Then he heard Dream calling his name urgently from far away and opened his eyes to see Dream’s legs. Dream was bigger? No, Hob was kneeling—at some point, he’d fallen to his knees.

He looked up at Dream. He could stay like this all day, just looking up at Dream. (And trying not to wince every time he breathed.)

But Dream was saying something to the person next to him, Desire (they looked pleased). Hob let himself hear his surroundings.

“...you do to him!” Dream was demanding.

“Dream, love, I’m fine,” Hob cut in (only belatedly realizing that the endearment had slipped out). “Desire was helping me.”

Dream’s face could’ve been carved from stone as he turned to Hob. He didn’t say anything, but Hob’s heart sank as he realized Dream didn’t believe him.

He had to fix this. Now that he remembered he loved Dream and he knew Dream felt the same way, the plan was to confess, but he couldn’t do that if Dream thought it was all manufactured by Desire.

Hob clarified quickly, “Okay, it bloody hurt, and I definitely told them not to do it, but I’m glad they did it, really.”

The answer was thunderously directed at Desire, “What did you do?!”

Yeah, so that hadn’t helped. He wasn’t sure why he thought it would. What could he say that Dream would believe?

Desire decided to answer, “Your little pet is telling the truth. His heart was crying out to me...I couldn’t leave him chained up like that.” Their voice took on the evident quality of someone quoting, “You’re the one who told me to serve humanity.”

Dream and Desire started arguing in earnest. Desire maintained a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat the whole time. Hob wanted to believe them, but could this be their plot? To do something that, technically, was altruistic, no catch, while being so out of line with Dream’s impression of them that Dream would never believe it?

Or, was there pain hidden behind that smile, that their brother was in such disbelief?

Or, was Hob futilely trying to assign human motivations to inhuman beings?

Whatever the case, he wouldn’t let this stand. He would find proof.

Now that he had his memories back, he knew around when it had started. It wasn’t before Mary’s New Year’s party. He even, vaguely, remembered making his resolution (to confess to Dream) before the countdown ended. So, it happened before he got home if he had been supposed to follow through on his resolution when he saw Dream. He’d definitely started forgetting after he woke up.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell when exactly it started on account of him being blackout drunk.

By now the commotion was attracting everyone’s attention (except for Destiny and Indiana, who probably already knew what was going on, those bastards). Well, fuck them. This wasn’t a spectator sport.

“Dream,” he cut into their argument, “please take me home.”

“But you haven’t even had dinner yet,” Desire pointed out.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Dream. “Please.”

“If that is your wish,” Dream acquiesced, fury still audible in their voice. The world disappeared in a flurry of sand.

———

When his vision stopped turning, he was in the gallery they left from, still kneeling from chest pain.

Dream stood a foot or two away from Hob, arms hanging at his sides, visibly concerned. “Shall you answer me now?”

Hob thought about telling Dream the truth. No, not yet.

“I will, my Friend,” Hob said as the pain diminished and he pushed himself up with the wall, “but there’s something I have to do, first. Something I have to find out.”

“And what might that be?”

Uh oh. Dream looked even more concerned. It was a good thing Hob was going to ask for something harmless and not, say, something that would be guaranteed to end in a lethal injury on anyone else. “I have to know how far your knowledge of everyone extends. How do you do it? How does it work?”

“I am Dreams,” his Friend started, mildly confused, “and Nightmares. I am all Dreams dreamt...by everything that can Dream; I am the Collective Unconscious.”

Apparently, he thought that was a sufficient answer. Hob disagreed—wait. “I thought the Dreaming was the Collective Unconscious?”

Dream looked more awkward than normal. “Perhaps.”

Fuck kind of answer was that?

Wait. If he was right, then earlier...Hob stood by it, of course, but maybe his Friend thought Hob wouldn’t’ve said it if he knew he was actually talking about Dream.

He could fix that later when he fixed everything else. What was important was that, “If this whole world is you, then—I mean, you’re not messy,” Hob reasoned. “There’s gotta be a place where you keep all the information.”

Dream conceded, “There is.”

———

The library was just as amazing as the throne room. It stretched on further than he could see in all three dimensions, lined with books all the way.

What he could not see were signs or maps or labels of any kind.

“How do you find anything?” Hob asked with a vague gesture to the whole library.

He couldn’t tell whether Dream was answering him or calling for something when he answered, “Lucienne.”

A woman’s voice responded before Hob could even comprehend it. “Yes, sir?”

“This is Hob Gadling. You shall assist him in his use of the library’s facilities while I resume my work.”

Prior to Dream‘s words, Lucienne had seemed like a stern, hardworking woman, what with the suit and her hands behind her back. But when he introduced Hob, her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates—though only for a brief second before she regained her composure. She nodded at Hob as Dream left (probably for the best) and asked, “What are you looking for? We have every book ever written, as well as those yet unwritten.”

What was he looking for? There was no way he was gonna just come out and say ‘The person who cursed me.’ What to ask for, what to ask for—

Hob must’ve been silent for too long, because Lucienne prompted, “For example, I have detailed accounts of sleeper’s dreams.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” he agreed. “Show me my dreams, please.”

It turned out, over 650 years on Earth meant he’d dreamed quite a lot. It was enough to fill several bookshelves, and that was with most people having one of the shelves of a bookshelf dedicated to them, at most. “Er, I’ll only need the past week,” he clarified.

Lucienne handed him the book open to yesterday’s dream. “Do not look at the dream you’re having right now,” she warned. “The ink is still drying.”

Right. Because...he was dreaming. With his senses, his reading abilities, and the laws of physics working correctly, it was easy to forget that he was asleep at the moment. How would the book even record the dream? He imagined himself flipping the page, and words appearing: “I flipped the page.”

Hob shuddered and went further back until he reached the dream he had on New Year’s, right before Dream gave him the invitation.

Oh. It was a dream about him and Robyn having a picnic. Robyn had been telling him a story, in the way only little kids could do. That was...sweet. And also definitely not the kind of dream he’d normally have after getting blackout drunk. Hob supposed if he could stop one of friends from having a nightmare right in front of him, he would do so, too. If only that was the kind of dream he needed.

He looked at the dream for the day after that, then the one for a nap he’d taken, and then all of the ones after that until he reached yesterday’s dream again.

Nothing. Not a single one was about Mary’s New Year’s Eve party.

Hob paced along the bookshelves. Okay, so this had been a long shot from the start. His Friend couldn’t have known somebody had cursed Hob—that was why he was looking for proof in the first place. He would have to do this the old fashioned-way—

Wait, was that Mary’s book?

Hob stopped and set his hand on the wooden shelf underneath the book. Mary, as the host of the party and not someone on the Dream King’s radar, might’ve had a dream about the party.

But...it was one thing for him to look at his own journal, but someone else’s? A close friend’s dreams? She had a girlfriend. He didn’t want to read something he couldn’t unread.

The lights flickered off.

Some soldier instinct of his activated, shooting adrenaline through his system even though all that happened was half a second of darkness.

Hob was berating himself when he realized—part of the library was gone. Not like an explosion, or like a wall had been put up, but like he was in Minecraft and the game was lagging.

“Uh, Lucienne?” Hob called like Dream had called her.

“Yes, sir?” she asked from behind him.

He whirled around, heart still beating like a rabbit’s. “Did you see that?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “No, sir, but I can tell you’re on the verge of waking up.”

“But I’m not done. I haven’t even been asleep for that long.”

“You’ve been asleep for almost ten hours. You are waking up, sir.”

Hob grabbed Mary’s book. “Can I at least take this with me?”

She shook her head as the world faded to black.

———

He didn’t wake up feeling like he’d slept for ten hours, not the sleep he’d gotten used to in the 21st century, anyway. It seemed no amount of comfort mattered when he was lucid the whole time like that.

Hob was splayed on his back across the mattress dramatically, so he groaned when he caught sight of the calendar he’d put on the ceiling.

It was a school day.

With it being 4 am, he was in no danger of running late or anything, but it would’ve been nice if it was the weekend. He knew at least a thousand kids that would agree with him.

Of course, not many of his kids would feel like someone had taken a cookie cutter, cut out their centerpieces, and then replaced those pieces as painfully as they’d been removed.

Hob took advantage of his early wake-up time by going through his morning routine leisurely, taking any activity that would cause him pain slowly. Luckily, this was something he could do without regret—by the time he was done, it was still sooner than he usually left for school.

Hmm. The kids would be concerned about him. As much as he would usually advocate for caring about others, he couldn’t have them telling anyone about any overt signs of his lackluster health that they might notice.

That meant he had to whip out his tried and true method: Bribery via pastries. Hob dropped downstairs and informed the New Inn’s manager that he’d be paying for any purchases made by anyone with an ID from the school he worked at for the next week.

Understandably, his manager’s eyes bugged out, but they couldn’t argue with the increased business it promised the New Inn, not to mention his long-term resident privileges. Afterwards, Hob left for school to prepare.

Class went well. He might’ve had to sit down a couple of times (and then started to nod off), but the pain lessened over the course of the day, and the kids loved the free food. The end of the school day came faster than he expected (helped by his inadvertent nap during lunch).

That meant, as he was gathering his belongings, with no major problems from his work life, he was free to worry about his personal life, aka the events of last night. How exactly was he going to go about finding who’d made him forget when he couldn’t trust his memories and he couldn’t go to Dream?

Someone knocked at his door. Who would do that when it was already an hour after school had ended for the day?

“Come in!” Hob called.

The door opened and revealed...Mary. Guilt hit him full force (figuratively, thankfully for his chest) as he remembered how he’d debated looking through her dreams. And here she was, probably concerned about his behavior since the party. “What...can I do for you?” he asked with a smile that he desperately hoped hid the shame.

“Robby!” she said cheerfully, stopping on the other side of his desk. (The hair on the back of his neck stood up.) “So glad I caught you before you left. I’ve kinda got something important to ask.”

Hob hid his hands underneath his desk so that she wouldn’t see that he was wiping irrational nervous sweat off with a tissue. “Go on.”

“Well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about New Year’s. About, y’know.” (He didn’t know). “About our midnight kiss.”

...midnight...kiss...?

There was no way. Surely he would’ve remembered that.

But, as a traitorous part of himself pointed out, he could’ve done it if he’d just forgotten about Dream, and Mary wanted it.

No, no. It just didn’t feel right.

Mary pouted, “I was worried you wouldn’t remember. It’s just, you’re such a great guy, Robby. You’re kind and funny. Hot, too.” She gave him a onceover as she walked around the desk. “Won’t you give us a chance?”

“I...” Alarms blared in Hob’s mind as he wracked his drunken memories and found no recollection of kissing anyone at midnight. In fact, he was rather certain he’d been fantasizing about kissing Dream. It wasn’t a stretch that he might’ve told her about it.

“Uh...” It was a stretch that she would do what her behavior was pointing to.

“Well...” He just couldn’t believe it. Years, they’d been friends. She’d helped him decide what he wanted to do with this iteration of himself, and now she almost ruined his chance at a relationship with the only constant in his life? If Desire hadn’t helped him, he wouldn’t even know.

“The thing is...” It occurred to him that Mary definitely thought her spell was still working. He had no clue how it worked. What if she tried to do it again, right now? Hob had to get out of here.

He had to make sure she wouldn’t do it again. He had to go big. That meant using an underhanded tactic: Guilt.

“I don’t know, Mary,” he breathed out eventually. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve just felt off for the past few months or so. Like there’s some essential part of me I’ve forgotten.”

Ooh, it was working. She was pale as a sheet.

“I’ve actually,” he laughed self-deprecatingly, “been having memory problems. Spacing out while talking to people, and forgetting the last few seconds. Haven’t been sleeping well either. I’m worried that there’s something wrong...neurologically.”

Mary had frozen except for a hand she’d moved to cover her mouth. Was that too much...?

No. He remembered how he felt when it first started, and it was awful. If this made her feel guilty, that was her fault.

Hob finished, “And, I just don’t think I can handle a new relationship on top of all of that and school.”

She stared at him wordlessly. When her brain apparently turned back on, she squeaked, “O-of course. I’ll just, um, go.”

———

Thankfully, Hob wasn’t interrupted again between then and when he got home. It was already nearing six pm.

The nap he’d had during lunch had somehow given him enough energy that he wasn’t tired even now. It was a good thing, even if it was an accident, because now he already knew Dream wasn’t necessarily going to talk to him if he just went to sleep.

Instead, Hob was going to try praying first. Maybe it wasn’t possible. Maybe it would go to voicemail. Maybe it would work, but Dream would still ignore him. It was still better than potentially wasting the rest of the night sleeping, and having to wait until tomorrow after school to talk to Dream.

“Dream,” he started, trying to inject intent, “Please hear my words. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Hob Gadling.”

“Fucking—” Hob spun around. Why did everyone always have to appear behind him?

Oh well, he had good things to look forward to in the near future. He gave him a wide grin. “Dream, I’ve found out what I needed to know. What do you have on someone I know, Mary?”

His Friend gave him a scrutinizing look, then closed his eyes. “I shall look.”

He was still for a long moment. Longer than Hob felt like he should’ve been. Then, Dream opened his eyes, and they were full of tears.

His voice was dangerously low: “Mary Cornell...has violated you...irreparably. I cannot begin to describe...” Dream bowed his head.

“Oh, no, no, no!” He couldn’t bear to see his Friend like that. Hob crossed the space separating them in two quick strides and took both of his hands, making Dream look up. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t irreparable. That’s what Desire did; they fixed it.”

He let that sink in as he teared up, himself. “Dream, I love you.”

Hob had the pleasure of watching Dream’s devasted expression turn into one of pure joy before he was pulled in for a bruising kiss.

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