#a3! one shot

[kingyo-konbini]

hello hello, this is my first time requesting on your blog so i’m sorry if i make any mistakes with my request !! but can i please have a drabble of any of these men: shinsou hitoshi, daichi sawamura, koushi sugawara or yu nishinoya comforting a pretty stressed out female s/o? she’s been working and studying that she doesn’t have much time for herself, thank you so much!

TAKE CARE [SUGAWARA KOUSHI X READER]

[SUMMARY] sugawara helps you destress [PRONOUNS] she/her [GENRE] fluff [POV] second person [WORD COUNT] 964 [CONTENT] sugawara being the best bf [A/N] THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST you have no idea how much it means to me (*´ω｀*) AND I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ;-; I hope you enjoy!!

“I think I’m dying.”

“I also think you’re dying.”

You tossed an unimpressed look his way, pouting at the teasing grin on his lips.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

Sugawara chuckled and closed the textbook in front of him, shuffling a bit so he was facing you instead of the table. “It’s true. Listen, I’m all for studying, but you’ve been working yourself too hard.”

“Have not.” You huffed, turning away from him to focus on the textbook before you. “Exams are coming up and I need to do well on them.”

“And you will.” Sugawara’s voice was certain, as were his movements as he placed a hand over the page you were reading before gently tugging it away from your grasp. “You’ve been spending all your time either studying or working. When was the last time you had a proper meal?” 

You let out a heavy and reluctant sigh, watching as your boyfriend slipped a spare sheet of paper into the textbook to mark your place before closing it.

“When was the last time we went out to eat?”

This time it was his turn to sigh, and his teasing smile turned sympathetic as he gazed at you. “[Name], listen to me. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine, I need to study-”

“If you don’t ace these exams, then no one will. You’ve been going nonstop for weeks.”

You avoided his eyes. “I’m fine, I promise!”

Sugawara let out another sigh and from the corner of your eye you watched him shake his head. “Well, if you won’t take care of yourself, then I guess I will.”

“Huh?”

Before you had time to question his statement further, Sugawara had gotten to his feet and was tugging you up to do the same, quickly placing his hands on your shoulders and spinning you away from the table you’d been sitting at for hours. “You are incredibly stubborn, you know that?”

“Am not.”

Sugawara laughed at that and grinned before shoving you out of the kitchen and towards the couch. “You may act like and say that you’re fine, but I can feel the tension in your shoulders. You need to de-stress.”

“Do not.”

“And luckily for you, I know the perfect way to do that!”

You yelped as he shoved you (rather unceremoniously) onto the couch. He grinned proudly from his stance above you as you wiggled around in a subconscious attempt to get comfortable, settling his hands on his hips in triumph at your defeat.

“Now you just lay there and look pretty and I’m going to be right back. Don’t you dare get up from that spot– I’ll know.”

“Koushi, what are you-”

“Put something on TV or pull up a game; my Switch should still be connected.” He grabbed the remotes and shoved them into your hands before leaning down and planting a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Remember: no moving from this spot.”

“You’re a menace, you know that?”

“Be back soon!” He said with a laugh, prancing out the door before you had another chance to argue.

Resigned to your fate, and appreciating the softness of the couch on your aching back (hunching over while reading was probably not the best idea), you snuggled further into the cushions and turned on the television, your eyes drifting closed after only a couple of minutes.

...

The sound of rustling plastic woke you from your spontaneous nap.

“Koushi?” You mumbled, sleep thick in your throat and slurring your speech. You rose into a sitting position and rubbed at your eyes, trying to rid them of their blurriness.

Once you were able to fully comprehend your surroundings, you spotted your partner crouching down by the kotatsu and looking rather sheepish with his hands in one of the many plastic shopping bags that littered the surface.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. You’re cute when you sleep, you know?”

“You always say that.” You grumbled, stifling a yawn. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Seems like all of my sneakiness was spent on that feat.” He chuckled, pulling a box of takeout from the bag. His nose was still red from the time he’d spent outside, and if you focused you could feel the chill from the winter winds radiating off of him.

“What’d you get?” You swung your legs over the edge of the couch, sliding to the floor to waddle closer to the kotatsu and slip your legs under the cover. 

“Your favorites. Thought it’d be a nice surprise and reward for all of your hard work.” Sugawara beamed, continuing to reveal box after box until there was a pile of discarded plastic bags on the floor and the surface before you was overflowing with your favorite foods and drink. “And a chance for you to actually eat something and take a break.” 

Your heart swelled. “Thank you.” You smile, almost shyly, at him. “You’re too sweet.”

“Nah.” Sugawara dismissed your claim, handing you a pair of chopsticks he seemed to pull out of the ether. “I’d say I’m the perfect amount of sweetness.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping your lips, Sugawara slipping under the kotatsu as well and bumping his legs against yours in a playful manner. 

“Besides, you’d do the same for me.” He shrugged, opening the box closest to him. “Not that you’d ever have to, of course, because I’m able to properly balance my work, studies, and self-care… unlike some people.” You kicked him. “Ow.”

“Shut up.” You stuck your tongue out at him, before following his movements and opening a few of the boxes before you.

“Thank you for the meal.” You both said in unison, and with another heartfelt smile sent his way, you began to eat.

[everwisp]

juza & nanami modeling for the fashion students during the university campus festival 📸✨

[ref: 1, 2]

[amourane]

falling for you

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: fluff, college au

w/c: 2.6k

summary: in which soonyoung struggles to ask you out on a date.

warnings: none!

a/n: if you saw the first post u didn't cuz tumblr made a mess of it and now i gotta repost it TT

"Jihoon!" A voice hissed from behind him. "Jihoon, here! Behind you!" He spun around to face...a bush. 

"When did plants learn how to talk?"

"It's me you idiot!" A hand shot out grabbing Jihoon's arm, pulling him into the bush. Soonyoung had twigs, leaves and something that looked like a ladybug but no one could ever be so sure. He was fiddling with the hem of his sweater, his cheeks bright red. “I just saw Y/n!” 

“So?” Soonyoung’s eyes bulged incredulously like Jihoon was supposed to know why his best friend looked like he had been living in the wild for a week. 

“Jihoon, you don’t just reply with ‘so’ and make it some question. You should know this!” Soonyoung shook his friend by his shoulders, squishing his cheeks painfully. “Obviously it’s because I saw her walk by and obviously I went up to talk to her but obviously I fell. I don’t even know how I fell and I was going to stand back up and continue to talk to her but she was already gone. And I have this huge stain.” He pointed to the brownish green patch on his white cotton sweater. “Everything’s just a mess!”

“Okay first of all, calm down Shakespeare.” Jihoon rolled his eyes, picking his best friend up. He tugged the sweater over Soonyoung’s head. “You could’ve just taken this off, you’ve got a shirt underneath anyway. And it’s been a week and you still haven’t asked her out?”

“Well, it’s hard alright.” Soonyoung nibbled his bottom lip. “Also Mingyu’s always around her and I can never seem to get her alone.”

“Now you’re just making excuses.”

Jihoon knew his best friend. He knew Soonyoung. If Soonyoung wanted something he’d probably fight the world for it. He remembered that one time he’d been so desperate to win Mario Kart against Jihoon that he’d dumped his water all over him. Jihoon was positively fuming, not because he’d lost but because Soonyoung had gotten his favourite shirt wet. 

Needless to say, Kwon Soonyoung would eat avocados for the rest of his life if it meant he’d get to ask you out. That was why it was weird that the guy who could probably fight zombies single handedly in an apocalypse couldn’t ask a cute girl out. 

“Hey what’s this?” Jihoon reached for the piece of paper hanging out of Soonyoung’s pocket. The boy flushed red, trying to grab the paper back from Jihoon. When he realised it was no use he slumped back a pout evident on his face. 

“You’re not allowed to judge me-”

“You really are a dork.” Jihoon snorted, examining the A3 piece of paper with ‘ASKING Y/N OUT’ scrawled on the top in big black marker. The page was filled with annotations and little diagrams that were all coloured in neatly. All the possibilities were drafted out, some more silly than others. “You were thinking of taking her to NASA?!” 

Soonyoung’s ears burned. He squirmed. “I mean it’s always a possibility but I think that would kind of ruin me.”

Jihoon watched as his best friend avoided his gaze, fingers anxiously fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smiled. He’d never seen Soonyoung this nervous to ask a girl out. It was oddly endearing. He continued to scan the paper, a little shocked that Soonyoung had put so much effort into this plan. 

So this was definitely not a little crush. 

//

“Okay listen.” Jihoon grabbed Soonyoung’s shoulders. They were currently outside the classroom you were in. He had devised this plan perfectly so that Soonyoung would actually ask you out without embarrassing himself. “Y/n’s going to come out here in approximately five minutes. You’re going to walk up to her and say ‘are you free this Saturday?’ and then she’ll say yes and then BAM instant date!” He clapped his hands together for exaggerated effect. 

“Jihoon, where are my flowers? And I can't be wearing this!” Soonyoung grabbed his black hoodie. “I can’t ask Y/n out like this. We need a suit and I need roses and some type of confectionery to win her over!”

Jihoon blinked like an owl. C-Confectionary?! Who the hell speaks like that anymore? Clearly Soonyoung had been watching too many romance movies. “You don’t need flowers or some fancy clothes to win Y/n over. You just need you, she likes you, not some dolled up Barbie.”

“It’s actually Ken who’s the main male-”

“Oh look here she comes.” He pushed Soonyoung hard. The poor boy stumbled clumsily, promptly bashing into you. He had to stop doing that. “Go get her!” Was all Soonyoung heard before he felt his soul die. 

You held Soonyoung steady. A small giggle left your lips. He blushed. You were even cuter today. Which was normally impossible but you were obviously special. The sweet smile you gave him nearly had him fainting. 

What was it Jihoon had said again? Oh yes, ask you out. He could do this.

“Did you need something Soonyoung?” 

Your voice was gentle and soft like a marshmallow. He could feel himself melting just at your words. Nope can’t do this. Soonyoung nearly spun around but when he caught sight of Jihoon’s deadly glare he retreated. Jihoon wasn’t someone you wanted to get angry. Guess he was going to have to do this.

“I...um…” He waved his arms around pathetically. It didn’t help that you were looking at him so innocently. “T-This Saturday you free...?” Soonyoung wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks burn bright red and he coughs. Not only did he completely butcher the English language but his voice cracked. Cracked! 

“I’m free this Saturday.” You grinned, eyes twinkling. Soonyoung felt his heart flutter. “I’ll text you okay?” You tucked a piece of paper into his hand before waving at him as you caught up to Mingyu. He watched as the two of you talked, you bursting into a fit of giggles, blushing.

The whole situation had happened so quickly it had made his head spin. A loud smack on his back brought Soonyoung back to reality. Jihoon stood behind him with a proud grin on his face. 

“Now we’ve just got to get you through this date.”

//

Soonyoung checked his watch for what felt like the upteenth time. It read, 11:13. He had said to meet him at 11 o’clock but maybe he was just early. Maybe you were stuck in traffic or something. He had spent about half an hour picking his outfit, with help from Jihoon of course because he could never decide on anything. 

It did look a little pathetic. Soonyoung sighed. Did you stand him up? You wouldn’t be that mean, would you?

“Soonyoung!” You were panting behind him, looking as if you had just run a marathon. Your chest heaved. “I'm so sorry. I lost track of time and everything kind of just went haywire-”

“I-It’s okay.” Soonyoung squeaked, wringing his hands. His eyes tried not to drift towards your chest. You were wearing a bright yellow sundress that hugged your body, little flowers dotted all over. The thin straps on your shoulders were tied in little bows at the top. He swallowed. 

“You’re not upset?” Your eyes were wide. The familiar scent of your jasmine perfume wafted to Soonyoung's nose and he shook his head. He could never be upset with you, that’d be ridiculous. You smiled. “Well, where are we heading?” 

He gave you a small grin. To say that Soonyoung has connections with people was an understatement. He had connections with everyone. That sounded a bit weird but everyone knew Soonyoung. It wasn’t like the town was small or anything, he was just known by everyone. Even the grumpy old lady that sold newspapers knew him.

Now normally he would have a plan for this, it was all written down. Sadly, Jihoon had ripped it up and threw it in the bin. Apparently having a plan was lame. Totally untrue, it was great to be prepared. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

//

“Oh my god!” You nearly tumbled to the ground at your shock. “How did you even manage to get in here? Isn’t this the Hong’s?” 

In front of you were rows beyond rows of strawberry bushes. The field seemed to stretch on forever. There was only one family in town that owned so many acres of land, the Hongs. You’d met their son, Joshua Hong, a couple of times at campus but everyone knew their strawberry fields were off limits. 

“My mum’s friends with Mrs Hong, used to go over to hers every week with apple pie. Me and Shua were friends for a while but then he got caught up in music and me, dancing. We still talk and I was lucky enough to get us in.” Soonyoung shrugs. “And it’s strawberry picking season.”

“Most boys would bring their date out to a fancy restaurant.” You picked a strawberry, popping into your mouth, savouring the sweet taste. “I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.”

Soonyoung tried not to smile too wide. He couldn't contain his excitement. At first he wanted to take you to a lot of places in one day but Jihoon had said it was impossible to take you to the cinema, zoo, aquarium, ice cream shop and laser tag in 24 hours. So he settled on strawberries. Everyone loved strawberries, plus it was free because he knew Joshua. 

You slowly intertwined both of your fingers, holding his hand. Soonyoung felt his cheeks flare an embarrassing red as his eyes trailed down to both of your clasped hands. He felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest. There wasn’t a lot he could do but try not to faint. 

A small smirk crept up on his lips as he handed you a basket. “We’ll make a deal.” 

“A deal?” You looked at him confused, taking the basket. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say, whoever picks the most strawberries decides where we’re having lunch and they pay as well.”

“Chivalry really is dead.” You rolled your eyes. If Kwon Soonyoung wanted to bet that he would pick more strawberries than you, then he best be prepared for war. You contemplated the thought. If you were to win you’d probably empty his pockets but if he won he would empty your pockets. It’s a 50/50 chance. 

You must have stayed silent for a tad too long because Soonyoung grew worried. 

“W-We don’t have to if you don't want to-” 

“Fine. No rules, just as many as we can pick.” You shook his hand, a playful grin on your face. “Be prepared to lose Kwon.” You dashed away.

“Hey, you’re cheating!” 

“No rules remember!” 

Soonyoung stood still, mouth open like a goldfish. He finally snapped out of it, chasing after you, determined to win. There was no way he was going to let you beat him. 

Or maybe he will. 

//

Soonyoung grasped his basket tightly. It was already nearly full with ruby red strawberries. No doubt they were sweet and juicy. He hadn’t seen you since you left him and it was slightly worrying. Hopefully you were fine. Hopefully.

"Y/n?" He calls over the bushes. No reply. Soonyoung trudged forward, still looking for you. A twig snapped from behind him. "Y/n?" He spun around only to see you reaching a hand inside his basket plucking a strawberry and stuffing it into your mouth. 

"They're really yummy, I should thank Joshua when I see him." You giggled, turning to flee again but this time Soonyoung grabbed your hand. A small squeak escaped your lips. 

"Don't you dare run away." His tone was light and teasing. You shrieked when he popped one of your strawberries into his mouth. "No rules remember." He smirked, playfully flicking your forehead. You threw a strawberry at him which he dodged. You pelt another and another. One hits him and you stifle your laughs. 

Soonyoung pulled you forward and you shut up. He leaned forward, breath fanning your face. You instinctively fluttered your eyes shut. 

"I'll see you later." He whispered, causing you to snap open your eyes, mouth dropping to the ground. You watched dumbfounded as he ran away. What happened to the shy Soonyoung?

//

“I only lost because you ate all of mine.” You pouted, folding your arms defiantly. It wasn’t your fault that he was so devastatingly cute that you just had to offer him some of your strawberries. He stole them from you, even if he insisted that you gave them willingly. 

“You’re in denial Y/n.” Soonyoung skipped happily next to you, swinging his full basket. Your pout deepened. “Now where’s the most expensive place to have lunch?” He pulled his phone out, tapping a few times before a smug grin took over his face.

“You’re going to empty my pockets.” You whined. 

Soonyoung grinned. “Come on we’ve got to catch the train otherwise we’ll be late. I’ll pay for the tickets.” A small smile flitted across your face before it reverted back into a pout. You huffed, letting Soonyoung clasped your hand as the two of you walked away. “If it makes you feel any better, you can have my strawberries.”

“I just wanna know what was with the personality change back then?”

His cheeks flushed bright red. “I can be confident too…”

“Don’t doubt it. I’ve seen you dance.” The look he gives you has you rolling your eyes. “You’re a totally different person when you’re in the studio.”

His cheeks flushed bright red again causing you to burst into a fit of giggles. 

//

“So what you’re saying is that the bill is too expensive and right now you’re hiding in the bathroom and, might I remind you, you left poor Soonyoung to fend for himself.” Mingyu said through the phone.

“It sounds worse when you say it aloud.”

“You can’t just ditch him Y/n, what are you going to do, climb out a window and escape?” He hissed. You stared at the tiny window at the back. If you did it right you could squeeze through. “If you’re thinking about climbing out of a window I will stop feeding you my brownies.”

“Hey hey hey. No need to deprive my need for brownies Gyu, have some respect.” He snorted, muttering under his breath. “I can still hear what you’re saying.” 

“Good.”

Okay maybe running inside the bathroom and hiding in a stall wasn’t going to solve all of our problems. But the bill was hefty and you would probably land yourself in prison if you did manage to pay for it. Also you couldn’t climb out of the window because you really did need those brownies. 

“I want you to go out there and say you can’t pay for it and ask Soonyoung to pay for it.”

“Gyu are you crazy?”

“You’re the one in a bathroom stall, not me.” And with that he hung up leaving you alone. You could do this. It was not that hard, not that hard.  

Soonyoung was still sitting at the table where you left him but this time all the plates had been cleared and he was staring at his phone. He looked up and smiled. “Thought you were gonna do something illegal. Don’t worry, I paid for everything.”

“D-Did you rob a bank before we came here?” Your mouth was hanging open. That was the only option, unless he really did have enough money but everyone your age was practically broke so…

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “You didn’t actually think I was going to let you pay for all of that? You’re cute.” 

You were left gaping as he took your hand. What just happened? He said your line, your line. You were meant to call him cute. Soonyoung seemed to sense how confused you were because he shot you a dazzling smile.

“Told you I can be confident.”

[cyren-myadd]

Look at how happy Spider is in this BTS shot for A3! I bet he's flying on an ikran with Kiri :)

Analysis of the image:

He's now wearing a Metkayina style loincloth, he has a tooth necklace like the one Rotxo wears instead of the Omaticaya choker, and he has a new exopack strap to replace the standard issue RDA one he wore while with Quaritch. It looks like he's been living with the reef people for a little bit and they've given him Metkayina clothing. The person connected to the ikran behind him could be literally anybody, it's impossible to tell without the CGI, but the fake Na'vi leg doesn't look that much bigger than Spider's leg so I would guess it's one of the teens, probably Kiri or possibly Lo'ak. I also notice that Spider's leg has a bloody scratch so I wonder if he just came from an action scene. He also still has a mark from when Neytiri cut him, so it looks like it's a permanent scar, he's always going to have a physical reminder of that night now :( it's a family curse at this point, OG-Quaritch had a face scar, Spider's got a chest scar, and recom-Quaritch is emotionally scared from Neytiri's arrows lol.

If I had to guess, I think this shot must be early on in Avatar 3, because he doesn't have the topknot hairstyle, V-shape painted on his forehead, or the Metkayina harness he's shown wearing in his official character poster (the character poster is pretty obviously a shot from A3, because he never looked like this in A2). He IS shown with the same tooth necklace he has in his character poster, so I think this could be the beginning of him getting accepted by the Metkayina clan and upgrading his outfit. I can't wait to see it in 2025!

[windydrawallday]

Roll a DICE to the RESCUE!

My (first) double-page contribution to @turbofox-zines 's TF Fanzine/Art Anthology: the RBA Zine, in all its glory!

Well, here is upscaled thrice so, I suggest everyone check the full monster of a piece by [Downloading it here] the whole booklet because there's so much precious art and writing (we even got a special guest story!) that deserves the support.

This illustration is extra special to me because it marks my first time working on a double page instead of my usual one-page piece. It's the first time I let my Graphic Designer knowledge take credit for the lettering, text, and graphic components to make this a full-functional board game (it works beautifully printed in an A3!).

The admins even let me contribute with the little character graphics to decorate the zine pages, something I was delighted about ♥

Now, as always I'll share my art process under the cut because a lot was going out during the journey to make this piece look as professional as you see it now. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I did, thank you to all for the support ✨

I confess: I never EVER before illustrated a whole map in this art style x'D So I was glad this show already had shots from different perspectives of its setting. Still, not every place was visually consistent so this map is more of an approximation than a loyal representation of the canon.

I think the hardest part is to make something that looks good both with an without the board game path.

... I confess too that even if I'm obsessed to make things follow a certain logic, I struggled a ton with the perspective 💥

YEAH, IT MADE ME USE BLOCKS TO UNDERSTAND IT AAA

It was worth the effort: look at how it works printed! And this is without an illustration-suited paper.

OH! Before I go: this too marks my first time drawing the vehicle mode for TFs... THE TINNIEST VEHICLES EVER, you can download their respective files on the Merch Part of the Zine too!

They are so bite-sized, luff them!!!

[zzoomacroom]

Live a Little

✨✨✨

Dreamling, One Shot, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Friends to Lovers, 6500 words

Late entry for @mr-sadman's Dreamling Week 2024 (Day 1: Indulgence, First Time). Also for @dreamlingbingo (Square A3: Friends to Lovers)

✨✨✨

Summary: Dream needs to be convinced that he’s allowed to indulge, to want, to live. Hob shows him some of the little things that make life worthwhile: good friends, good wine, fancy chocolate, and amazing sex.

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Getting Together, First Time, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Under-negotiated Kink, Dream has bad blowjob etiquette but Hob is into it, not beta read

✨✨✨

“Make yourself at home, my friend,” Hob says, ushering his oldest and dearest friend into the sitting room. Dream nods soberly and heads for the sofa, while Hob turns back towards the hall. “Back in a tick. I’ve got a nice Pinot noir I’ve been saving that I think you’ll like.”

Before his friend can launch into his whole “You need not trouble yourself, I have no need for sustenance, blah blah blah” spiel, Hob darts through the hall and into the bright, cluttered kitchen at the back of the flat. He uncorks the wine and crouches down to rummage through the cabinets, hauling aside dishes and cast iron pans that would almost certainly be considered antiques by now. He knows they’re around here somewhere…

“Ha!” Hob makes a little noise of triumph as he retrieves the pair of dusty earthenware cups that he’d bought at an art fair a couple decades back. They’re handmade and painted in brilliant blues and greens, and the small bumps and imperfections on them remind him of the Border ware dishes he had owned back in the mid-16th century (minus the lead glaze, presumably).

Hob gives the cups a quick wash and dries them off before pouring the wine. He’s learned the hard way that Dream is not a fan of glass drinkware these days. When his friend explained the reason for this sudden aversion, Hob’s heart had shattered like the brandy snifter that Dream had dropped minutes before. Afterwards, he had gone through and purged his flat of wine glasses, glass bowls, and anything else that even vaguely resembled the prison Dream had described. Not just for his friend’s sake, but for himself; he doesn’t want that reminder either—the thought of his dear stranger, trapped, alone… If Hob had known…

God, if only he’d known…

Anyway. The point is, he’s been sticking with coffee mugs since then. But he can’t serve fine wine to the King of Dreams and Nightmares in a “Shag of the Century” mug, even if it does feel hilariously apropos, so it’s lucky he remembered these. The flat’s a bit of a mess as it is and he doesn’t want to come across as too much of a slob.

Hob hadn’t expected his old friend to drop by today. Well, to be honest, he never expects it, but he’s always thrilled to see him. Ever since they broke their centennial tradition with that first meeting at the New Inn, Dream has started visiting more frequently. At first it was brief, sporadic meetings at the pub, but he gradually started to come around more often, much to Hob’s delight. He’s shown up a few times when Hob was leaving work, instigating a riot of gossip among Hob’s coworkers and sixth-formers alike. Sometimes he visits Hob while he dreams, which had destroyed Hob’s entire perception of reality the first time it happened and still never ceases to blow his mind.

Usually the two of them come up to Hob’s flat, ostensibly to watch a movie or so that Hob can show off whatever new gadget he’s acquired, but the truth is that he wants Dream’s attention all to himself. Hob has always been a selfish, greedy man, and he can’t help but covet this precious time spent together. One never knows if the next Will Shakespeare is lurking in the pub.

He can never predict exactly when his friend will show up, but these days it seems like hardly a week passes without seeing him. So it’s odd that this is the first time he’s been by in over a month. Hob had noticed right away that something was troubling him; Dream seems even more distant and shuttered than usual today, and so Hob had herded him upstairs the moment he walked through the door.

He’s trying very hard not to be a mother hen, but in fairness the pub was starting to get crowded, and Hob knows that his friend is not fond of the noise. He’s just being considerate, he tells himself. Yes, he’s missed him desperately these past few weeks, and yes, the worry that he’d been captured again has consistently been in the back of Hob’s mind. But he has to rein it in and play it cool, lest he trigger another incident like 1889. He knows how lucky he is, how spoiled he’s become, getting to see Dream so often after having gone a century (or more) between meetings. So he knows he’s being a bit silly, getting so antsy after only a month apart.

Still. He worries.

(Continue reading below or on ao3):

Hob returns to the sitting room, wine bottle in one hand and the two cups balanced precariously in the other. He stifles a gasp and nearly drops them when he sees his friend perched on the sofa, having evidently vanished his coat and shoes back to the Dreaming, leaving his feet and arms bare. Hob simultaneously feels like a prude and a pervert as he drinks in the rare sight of that flawless ivory skin.

Then his heart swells with fondness—Dream has actually attempted to make himself at home, like Hob offered. “Attempted” being the key word; he does rather look like he’s sitting in a waiting room instead of on his friend’s sofa. Like he’s not sure how comfortable he’s allowed to get. Hob wants to make him comfortable, wants to wrap him in soft blankets and feed him soup and make him understand how fiercely loved he is.

Steady on, Hobsie. Get a hold of yourself.

Dream looks up from the worn copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy he’s been thumbing through, and if Hob didn’t know any better he’d say there was a faint blush blooming on his perfect cheekbones.

See, that’s the elephant in the room: the ever-present sexual tension between them has been at an all-time high lately. Obviously, Hob fell in love with Dream the second he laid eyes on him—how could he not?—and occasionally, over the centuries, he’s felt a spark of… something, from his stranger (that look he’d given him in 1789 being the most flagrant example). And he’s been feeling that something more and more often these days.

Maybe he’s just a lovesick, hope-stricken old fool, but Hob has a sneaking suspicion that his feelings for his friend are, at least to some small degree, reciprocated. Hob is sure as hell not going to make the first move; he cringes as he remembers how that had gone the last time he tried it. But it’s alright. He can be patient. He has been patient. And if nothing ever happens between them, well, that’s alright too. This easy companionship that they’ve developed is more than Hob could have ever hoped for, and he considers himself a lucky man indeed.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

“Here we are, my friend.” Hob hands one of the cups to Dream—the blue one that matches his eyes—and settles beside him on the sofa, stretching and making a point of putting his feet up on the coffee table to signal to his friend that he’s allowed to relax. And he does seem to get the hint, his shoulders easing down a fraction as he leans back into the cushions. “To life,” Hob says, tilting his cup Dream’s direction. Dream responds with a small, slightly pained smile and gently clinks his cup against Hob’s before taking a sip, humming appreciatively as he drinks.

“Good, eh?” Hob grins, thrilled that his friend is enjoying it.

“Indeed. This is a fine vintage. I thank you for sharing it with me,” Dream replies solemnly.

“I can’t think of anyone better to share it with,” Hob says, perhaps a bit too earnestly, and Dream’s blush deepens ever so slightly. “So,” Hob clears his throat, “what have you been up to, my friend? It’s been a while since I saw you last.” Dream stiffens at that, and Hob hastily adds, “If you want to talk about it, that is. You don’t have to.”

Dream takes another long sip of wine and shakes his head before speaking. “I was with family. I spent some time with my youngest sister, as well as some other relations. One whom I had not seen in centuries, and. Another. With whom I had not spoken in millennia.”

To Hob’s credit, his mind boggles only a little at that. “Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? Family reunion and all?”

Dream makes a small noise—of agreement or skepticism, Hob couldn’t say—and looks away as he continues to drink his wine. It’s obvious that something has happened; Dream seems… hopeless. Resigned. To what, Hob doesn’t dare guess. Dream doesn’t seem inclined to share more at the moment, and there’s a beat of awkward silence as Hob fumbles through his mind for a new topic of conversation. He’s mentally reviewing his day for any interesting stories to tell when he notices his friend staring at the small box wrapped in gold paper on the coffee table, seemingly lost in thought.

Hob springs forward and opens the box, nudging the chocolates in Dream’s direction. “Oh! Where are my manners? Help yourself to those. Some of my coworkers got them for my birthday—well, what they think is my birthday.”

Dream blinks at him. “I do not need to eat.”

Hob chuckles. “Nobody needs to eat chocolate. It’s purely for pleasure. You don’t need to drink this very good wine either, but you’re enjoying it,” he points out, topping off both of their cups to underscore his argument. “And I bet these would go great with the Pinot.” He takes a vanilla cream-filled one for himself before pushing the box closer to Dream. “Go on, they’re quite nice. It’s the expensive stuff. I think that one’s caramel, and that’s a raspberry cream…”

A tiny smile creeps over his friend’s face as he speaks. “My sister is fond of those. Or. Something like them.”

Hob is immensely curious about these family members Dream keeps mentioning, but he doesn’t want to pry; he knows by now that if Dream wants to share something with him, he’ll do so in his own time. “Well, please, have as many as you’d like. I’ll never finish them all before they go stale, so you’d be doing me a favor.”

“I do not usually. Indulge,” Dream says, though he is still staring (longingly, one might almost say) at the cocoa-dusted confections.

“You mean to tell me you’ve got the entire Dreaming at your fingertips, and you don’t indulge in all the lovely things you’ve made? That, my friend, is a tragedy.” Hob smiles and shrugs. “Well, if you won’t indulge yourself, then why not indulge me? I won’t make you eat them, of course, but…” he takes a bite of the bonbon (it really is good, even if it’s a bit too sweet for his taste), “you’d be missing out.”

The gloom that had earlier enshrouded Dream seems all but dissipated, and Hob can’t help but notice the way his friend’s eyes flick to his mouth, the starry voids of his pupils blown wide. Hob is considerably flustered himself right now, but he manages to give his friend what he hopes is a roguishly charming wink.

Dream glances down, his cheeks reddening further. “Very well. If you insist,” he says primly, like he’s doing Hob a favor as he delicately plucks a milk chocolate truffle from the box. And he is doing him a favor; Hob already counted it as a win that he was enjoying the wine, and this is just… well, the icing on the cake. Hmm, maybe he can get him to try cake next time…

Hob loses his train of thought as he watches his friend bite into the chocolate. Dream’s eyes widen before fluttering shut, and the moan he lets out is downright sinful. It’s enthralling. Hob is in trouble.

Dream keeps his eyes closed while he savors the confection, his tongue darting out to lick the powdered cacao from his petal-pink lips. He swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Hob shivers as he envisions…

No. Now is not the time. Keep it together, old man. Hob shifts and crosses his legs, vainly attempting to ignore the heat pooling low in his belly and the subtle tightening of his trousers.

“Thank you, my friend,” Dream murmurs, glancing demurely at Hob. “They are. Nice. As you said.”

“Of course. I’m glad you like them,” Hob beams. “Help yourself to more. Anything I have, you’re welcome to,” he adds, gesturing vaguely around the flat.

Dream stares at him for a long moment, with a hunger in his eyes that brings to mind that look, the one he’d given him in 1789. There’s something else in his expression, though. Something sad. But before Hob can attempt to decipher it, Dream schools his features, once more a mask of emotionless detachment (except for the telltale flush that has now spread from his cheeks to his ears and neck).

They’re sitting quite close together on the sofa, Hob notices. Had he scooted over without realizing, or was that Dream? There’s no body heat, no familiar human scent coming from his friend, but Hob can feel a strange sort of energy emanating from him—something like static electricity. Like the heavy, expectant stillness that comes before a storm.

Dream slowly, hesitantly reaches for another piece, and as he leans forward their thighs brush together ever so faintly.

Hob’s breath hitches.

Although they’ve been meeting regularly for a couple years now, they have never so much as shaken hands. This is unprecedented.

Hob exhales shakily, and he can’t hold back the embarrassing little noise that escapes him. He tries to disguise it as a cough, but Dream freezes and draws back suddenly as if he’s been bitten.

���It’s alright,” Hob says softly, almost a whisper, like his friend is some skittish wild beast who might flee at any second (actually, that’s about the size of it). “Have another one.”

Dream shrinks back into the sofa, looking suddenly rueful. “I should not.”

Hob laughs nervously. “Now don’t tell me you’re trying to watch your figure, because you’re already…” he splutters and trails off, tugging on his earlobe as a prickling heat creeps up the back of his neck.

Too much. Stupid. So bloody stupid, just shut up.

He hasn’t had nearly enough wine for his mind to be so fuzzy and his mouth so loose. So why can’t he get a grip?

"It’s just—I mean,” he goes on, his treacherous mouth continuing to prattle on despite his brain’s feeble protests, “my point is, it’s alright to indulge. You of all people deserve to indulge. And I offered, so… please. Take what you want. You’re allowed to want things, Dream. And you deserve to have what you want. And—and I know, you can conjure anything up out of dreams and stardust. But even so. I just… I want you to know that anything I have, anything I can offer, however trivial, it’s yours if you want it. And it’s just chocolate and wine, eh? So… why not live a little?”

Hob looks up, apparently done with his ramble, to find Dream staring at him, his head cocked in that adorable way of his. His lips are parted slightly and his eyes shine with unshed tears.

Oh, brilliant. Great fucking job, Hobsie. Just don’t know when to quit, do you?

“Hob,” his friend begins, his voice a deep rumble of distant thunder, more of a feeling than a sound. “You are very generous. More so than is wise, and far more than I deserve. But I am afraid that your generosity may be. Misplaced. You say that I should ‘live a little,’ but. I am not… alive, in the way that you are. I do not live. I simply… am.”

Hob stares at him, dumbfounded, while his heart breaks into a thousand pieces. That… is the saddest fucking thing Hob has ever heard in the two-thirds of a millennium that he’s been alive. It all makes sense now. That’s why Dream has always been so interested in the mundane minutiae of his life. He’s been living vicariously through Hob, and all the while he’s got no life of his own. Just… existing, not living, for billions of years, and on and on until the end of time.

But that’s not true, is it? No. Hob rejects the entire premise. Dream may not be a living, breathing human, but he’s a person. And he does so have a life; he’s got a family. He’s got friends. If nothing else, he’s got Hob. He’s more than just his bloody function that he’s always going on about. Hob wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Tell him that he can live, he must.

Hob’s mind is already racing with ideas—he’s going to have to up his game; they can’t keep meeting at the pub or in Hob’s flat. There’s so much more out there to do and see. Maybe, instead of living vicariously through him, Hob can convince Dream to do some living with him. Not like that… Just. Bucket list-type stuff, even though neither of them can die. Although he doubts Dream would go for it; the mental image of his dear friend skydiving is as far-fetched as it is hilarious.

Of course, he doesn’t dare say any of that. He’s sure he’s already overstepped with that unhinged rant he just went on. He ought to quit while he’s ahead and drop the subject before he offends Dream. Still, it’s impossible not to notice the way Dream has been swaying closer to him over the course of this conversation. The way the air between them seems to crackle with electricity.

“Nevertheless,” Dream continues, “I am grateful for your kindness. Thank you, my friend.”

"'Course,” Hob murmurs. “Like I said. Anything I can offer, it’s yours. So… what do you want?”

Dream falters for a moment and seems to be intensely focused on picking at a nonexistent loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt. “I… I must confess that I do not know what to say. When you ask me this. It is not in my nature to want; desire is the domain of my sibling. It is not within the purview of dreams. I do not live, nor do I want.”

“Bullshit.” The word spills from Hob’s mouth before the thought even crystallizes in his mind. Dream looks stunned and a bit offended, though more confused than anything else. He’s not getting up and storming out, though, so that’s a good sign. He’s frowning, but still watching Hob intently, like he’s curious as to how Hob will follow up that little outburst. Hob is curious where he’s going with this, too; apparently, sitting this close to Dream has caused his brain to short circuit, and now his mouth is running on autopilot.

Ah. Right. Better keep talking, then.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have said that. But… I mean, obviously you wanted that chocolate. And you want to be here, or you’d have left already.” The furrow between Dream’s brows deepens as Hob speaks, and he clenches his jaw tightly. Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t give him ideas. Dial it back, old man. “But that’s alright! Really, it’s fine! More than fine! I—I don’t know about this sibling of yours, but… it just seems to me like you do want something, my friend. And whatever it is, if it’s in my power to give it to you, that’s what I want. So… what do you want?” he asks again.

Dream hesitates, gazing at Hob with those fathomless blue eyes as he appears to genuinely consider the question. He’s sitting so close that Hob can see his own reflection, blurry and distorted, mirrored in the glossy sheen of tears that rests on his friend’s dark lashes.

Finally, he seems to make up his mind. He swallows and leans closer still, his face mere inches away from Hob’s. Hob ceases breathing as a perfect, pale hand snakes upward at a glacial pace, coming to rest on his stubbled cheek. It’s smooth and cool, and Hob’s eyes drift shut as he leans into the touch. Then, impossibly soft lips are brushing against his own, and Hob lets out a muffled sob as one hand flies to Dream’s waist, the other gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer.

Dream’s tongue probes gingerly into Hob’s open mouth, and lightning sparkles behind his eyelids. His heartbeat is a rolling crash of thunder as the clouds finally break—kissing Dream is like the first rain after centuries of drought; cool and sweet and refreshing and vital. Hob didn’t realize how parched he had been for so long, how desolate the desert of his soul, until this. This perfect kiss. It’s soft and slow and tastes like chocolate and red wine, and this—this may be what finally does Hob in after all these years.

Or it could just be that he hasn’t taken a breath in almost a full minute.

He pulls back, gasping and panting as he rests his forehead against Dream’s. Words fail him—a rare occurrence for Hob—and all he can do is grin stupidly at his friend.

“You,” Dream answers finally. “I want you, Hob.”

Hob lets out a wet, trembling laugh. “You’ve got me, Dream,” Hob whispers. “You’ve always had me.”

Dream surges forward to kiss him again, bolder and more eager this time, and Hob allows himself get swept away in the deluge. He could stay like this for hours—forever, even—and a needy whine escapes him when Dream pulls away again and surveys him with a smoldering gaze.

“Take me to bed, Hob,” he purrs.

“Oh, darling, absolutely,” Hob replies, scrambling up from the sofa and taking Dream’s hand to lead him to the bedroom. Then he freezes, struck by a sudden thought. “Er, quick question first. Is this really—I mean, am I awake right now, or…?”

Dream’s red, kiss-swollen lips twist into a fond smirk. “You are awake, Hob. But would it make any difference if you were not?”

“No,” Hob chuckles. “No, I s’pose it wouldn’t.”

Minutes later, they are entangled on Hob’s unmade bed, exploring each other hungrily with hands and lips and tongues and teeth. Hob is naked from the waist up, Dream having torn his shirt from his body with a fierce, otherworldly strength that was so startlingly arousing that Hob can’t even complain about the loss of his favorite button-down.

Dream sinks his delicate fingers into the thick pelt on Hob’s chest, humming approvingly into his mouth as he grinds against Hob’s thigh. Hob can feel his arousal through the soft fabric of his trousers, and he dips his hand beneath the waistband to squeeze the meager flesh of Dream’s arse. Dream goes still and inhales a sharp breath that Hob knows he doesn’t actually need.

“Hey. You alright?” Hob asks, withdrawing his hand and soothing it over Dream’s shoulder. “Sorry. I should have asked first. I know—after what you went through… I get it. We don’t have to keep going, love. Or we can, and you can keep—”

Dream cuts off his nervous babbling with a kiss. “I wish to continue. I trust you, Hob.”

Hob thinks he might explode from the affection that swells in him at those words. He beams at Dream and steals another quick, fervent kiss before peeling off his shirt.

“Look at you,” he breathes, drinking in the vision before him—Dream is utterly flawless. A marble statue come to life with creamy-white skin and elegant collarbones that flow into lithe, graceful shoulders and lean, well-muscled arms. “You’re so fucking beautiful I could cry, Dream,” Hob says raggedly as he runs his hands over smooth plane of Dream’s chest, circling his thumbs reverently around the firm, pink buds of his nipples.

Dream sighs and closes his eyes as he arches into Hob’s caress, dragging his fingers through the wealth of hair on Hob’s chest and continuing downwards, tracing the narrow trail down to the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoning them with nimble fingers.

Hob quickly shuffles out of his trousers and pants, groaning as his erect cock springs free. Dream’s eyes darken, the sky-blue of his irises nearly eclipsed by starry black as he (sweet Christ in heaven) licks his lips. “Hob,” he rumbles, his voice even deeper and silkier than usual. “You are. Exquisite.”

A laugh bubbles up from Hob’s throat unbidden. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just—hearing that from you is… I mean, I can’t believe this is really happening, it’s like—”

“Hob,” Dream interrupts, raising his eyebrows and lifting his hips emphatically.

“Right. Sorry,” Hob says, bending down to unbutton Dream’s jeans. But just as his hand brushes over the zipper, the trousers vanish, leaving Dream totally nude with Hob’s hand just millimeters away from his flushed, heavy prick. “Someone’s eager,” he smiles, taking him in hand and gently stroking the delicate, velvety flesh. “Gods above, Dream, you have the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen.”

It really is lovely—long and slim and rosy, all wreathed in soft black curls. Even his balls are pretty; plump and pert and perfectly round. Hob wriggles down the bed and nuzzles into the hot, solid length, relishing the weight of it on his face. He licks from the base to the tip, laving his tongue over the leaking slit before mouthing his way back down to his balls, sucking on each of them in turn. Above him, Dream breathes heavily and lets out quiet little whimpers. Hob strokes his thighs—he’s so tense, his muscles taut as a bowstring beneath his silken skin.

“Relax, darling,” Hob says, placing a kiss to the bony jut of his pelvis. “I’ve got you. Just let go and enjoy yourself.” He returns to his task of exploring Dream’s cock with his tongue, and Dream takes a long, quivering breath, loosening a fraction as he exhales. Hob can’t help but feel a bit smug at the knowledge that he’s gotten Dream so worked up he’s apparently forgotten he doesn’t need to breathe. “That’s it, love. Let me take care of you.”

He takes Dream’s bollocks into his mouth again, then moves lower to give a tentative lick to his hole. Dream gasps and startles at that, and Hob hears a choked-off “ah!” somewhere above his head.

Hmm, interesting.

Hob raises his head to see Dream looking down at him in wonder, mouth agape and eyes glazed. His cheeks are flushed a deep rose, and glistening drops of pre-cum decorate the alabaster plane of his abdomen. Hob smiles up at him, tracing a finger around the tight, twitching furl of muscle. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?” he murmurs.

“No,” Dream replies in a trembling whisper.

“May I?” Hob asks gently?

“Please,” Dream sighs, and Hob nearly comes untouched on the spot.

He slides a pillow under Dream’s hips and pushes his thighs upwards, gliding his hands along the smooth white flesh and trailing light kisses down to his spread arse cheeks. “Gonna make you feel so good, love. Just promise you’ll tell me to stop if I do anything you don’t like, alright?”

He glances up to see Dream nodding frantically, his eyes wide and black and glittering. “Yes. I trust you, Hob,” he says again.

Hob grins before diving in and licking a stripe from his entrance to his bollocks and back down, circling his tongue around the rim and nibbling at the tender pucker of milky skin. Dream moans and keens beautifully as Hob thoroughly slicks his hole with saliva, slurping and suckling and reveling in the sensation of Dream’s hairless, baby-soft flesh against his cheeks and chin. He dips his tongue inside, and Dream wails while Hob hums and groans enthusiastically. Dream is hot inside, and he tastes of petrichor and electricity and something Hob can’t identify but that he knows down to the very foundations of his soul (dreams, his mind supplies. He tastes like dreams).

“Hob!” Dream gasps, his voice rough and rasping. “Please—please—!”

Hob works his tongue in deeper, then pulls back and jabs it in again and again, until Dream is mewling and sobbing and writhing in ecstasy. He thinks he doesn’t want? I could teach him to want. Eat him out for hours until he’s sobbing and begging to come.

Just as the vision materializes in his head, Dream howls and clenches around Hob’s tongue. “Yes! Yes, Hob, please please please—I want—ahh!”

Hob has long suspected that his old friend could read his mind, and this all but confirms it. He shivers as he realizes the potential there—the possibilities are, well, endless. Hob withdraws his tongue and glances up, only to be met with the most beautiful sight he’s ever witnessed: Dream, red-faced and panting, his chest heaving, his lovely prick rock hard and leaking steadily against his porcelain stomach.

“Look at you. So bloody gorgeous,” Hob says hoarsely. “How are you feeling, darling? Good?” Dream nods, and Hob smiles and nuzzles against the back of his thigh. “Be a dear and grab the lube? It’s just in the top drawer there.” He tilts his head in the direction of the nightstand and Dream twists around to procure the half-empty pump bottle.

“It is not necessary,” Dream mumbles once he’s remembered to catch his breath, though he nonetheless hands the bottle over. “You cannot hurt me.”

“I know,” Hob replies lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “All the same, I’d prefer not to risk it. Indulge me.”

Dream’s lip quirks and he huffs a tiny laugh before settling back onto the pillows, graciously allowing Hob to continue. Of course he’d be a pillow princess, Hob thinks fondly as he squirts a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, spreading it over Dream’s puffy, fluttering hole. He works a finger inside slowly, and Dream makes the sweetest little noises as Hob strokes his tight, satiny walls and brings his other hand to Dream’s throbbing cock. Dream moans and arches upward into his hand, sighing in relief as the tension begins to bleed from his body.

“That’s it, darling. You’re doing so well. Just let go,” Hob coos. He adds a second finger and finds Dream’s prostate, brushing over it teasingly on every other thrust. “You feel so bloody good inside. Would love to fuck you sometime. Want you to fuck me, too. I could ride that beautiful cock of yours all day. Would you like that, love?”

“Yes—Hob—anything—please!” Dream cries breathlessly, grinding down wantonly on Hob’s fingers.

“Mm, we’ll work up to that. Right now I’d like to get my mouth on you, and you’re not going to last much longer, are you sweetheart?”

“I can—” Dream begins what would no doubt have been a devastating retort, but it tapers off into a high, quavering whine as Hob lowers his mouth to his cock, sinking down in a slow glide until he can feel the bulbous head in the back of his throat, trickling a warm rivulet of pre-come. He swallows, and Dream’s hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly as he starts fucking furiously into Hob’s mouth. Hob groans and ruts his own aching cock against the mattress as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of Dream’s slick, clutching entrance. It’s raw and rough and animalistic, and Hob is more than happy to let Dream use him however he pleases right now; he might come just from this.

With no warning save for a guttural growl and a stutter of his hips, Dream comes down Hob’s throat in thick, hot spurts. He shudders and gasps, tugging roughly on Hob’s hair before abruptly going limp and boneless. Hob swallows down the last drops of spend and slowly pulls his mouth and fingers away, panting raggedly.

He crawls up the bed to wrap Dream in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to his neck and shoulders. “You did so well, love,” Hob whispers proudly. “So beautiful when you let go like that.”

Dream hums and grinds languidly against Hob’s still-hard prick where it rests between the cleft of his arse. He wriggles around in Hob’s hold and captures his mouth in a deep, desperate kiss. He trails his lips along Hob’s jaw, down his neck and chest, steadily traveling southward until he is face to face with Hob’s cock. It’s a bit shorter than Dream’s, albeit thicker, and darker-toned; not as pretty, in Hob’s opinion, though Dream would appear to disagree—he’s practically got hearts in his eyes as he glides his cheek along the hefty, engorged length. He glances hesitantly up at Hob through his thick lashes, looking almost shy.

“You don’t have to, love,” Hob smiles down at him, running his fingers through Dream’s downy, soot-dark hair. “I just wanted to make you feel good, is all.”

“Indeed?” Dream smirks. “I thought that you were teaching me to indulge. So. Won’t you indulge me?”

Hob lets out a delighted laugh. “Well, suppose I can’t argue with that.”

Dream makes a noise of agreement, then swiftly takes Hob’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him to the root in the blink of an eye. Hob gasps at the sudden velvety warmth enveloping his prick, and his hips jerk involuntarily. Dream stills him with surprisingly strong hands, pinning him down and bobbing his head in quick, fluid motions. Dream’s mouth is… fucking sublime. Christ’s bloody wounds, he’s good at this. Hob brings his hands to Dream’s hair, not pulling but stroking and kneading his scalp. Dream rumbles in approval, his deep moans vibrating through Hob’s cock, and Hob throws his head back against the pillows.

“Not gonna last,” he grunts in warning.

Dream only takes him deeper, hollowing out his cheeks and slurping hungrily as he bobs his head faster. Hob looks down to see Dream gazing up at him with a blissfully dazed expression, his forget-me-not blue eyes glassy and his cheeks streaked with tears. Hob is hit with a flash of deja vu; he’s fantasized about exactly this on many a lonely night over the centuries, though his imaginings never came close to the divine, earth-shattering perfection that is Dream’s mouth. He comes with a choked sob, flooding Dream’s mouth with a torrent of spend, and Dream’s eyes flutter shut as he swallows it down eagerly.

“I love you—!” The words escape unbidden in a breathless whisper, dragged forth from somewhere deep within the core of Hob’s being, unable to be contained any longer after being left unsaid for over 600 years. Hob doesn’t realize what he’s said until Dream freezes, tightening his grasp on Hob’s hips and digging his sharp fingernails into his flesh. Then, he’s crawling up Hob’s body like a tiger pinning its prey, steely eyes boring straight into his soul.

Fuck. Of course, had to go and fuck it all up, didn’t you?

“You mean that,” Dream intones, low and sonorous. It is not a question.

“Yes,” Hob replies softly, his voice wavering as he braces himself for the inevitable swirl of sand as Dream disappears.

Instead, Dream swoops down and captures Hob’s mouth in a savage, frenzied kiss, growling and digging his fingers possessively into Hob’s ribcage. He claims him with kisses and bites and scratches and bruises, descending on Hob like a starving man on a feast, and Hob is only too pleased to let Dream glut himself on him. Dream could devour him whole, if that would make him happy.

Once he has thoroughly left his mark, Dream runs his eyes over Hob’s body in apparent satisfaction before nestling into his side and draping himself over his chest. “I think,” Dream says, curling a tuft of chest hair around his long pale fingers, “that I feel the same. About you.” He buries his face in Hob’s neck, and Hob pulls him into a crushing embrace, beaming as he plants a kiss to the top of his head.

“So,” Hob laughs through joyous tears, “would you still say you’re just existing? Because I think we did a lot of living today.”

Dream huffs into his shoulder. “You make a convincing argument,” he concedes, his voice muffled. Then he raises his head to look at Hob, his eyes shining with amusement. “However, I believe I will need more evidence before I can draw an accurate conclusion.”

“Oh, just you wait, darling,” Hob grins. “I happen to be an expert on living, and I’m going to show you all the little things that make it worthwhile.”

Dream’s smile fades slightly at that. Hob brings a hand to his cheek, tilting Dream’s chin up and meeting him in a tender kiss. “Hey,” he whispers. “D’you want to tell me what’s been going on? It’s just… Clearly, something’s bothering you, love. And if there’s any way I can help… You know I’d do anything for you, Dream.”

“You have helped. More than you realize. And… I will tell you what has happened. What I have done. Not today, but… I will tell you. Though you may come to hate me for it,” Dream sighs heavily.

“I could never hate you,” Hob replies automatically. Because it’s true; he’d fallen arse over teakettle for Dream when he thought he was the actual devil. “Whatever happened, we’ll sort it out, eh?”

Dream simply stares at him for a long moment before speaking again. “What do you think happens to a character when their story has finished being told?”

“Er—” Hob doesn’t know what he was expecting Dream to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Dream has him fixed with a piercing gaze, obviously awaiting a well-thought-out answer. “Well… I guess that’s up to the character do decide, isn’t it? Once the story is over, they’re free to do what they want, I suppose.” He shrugs. This discussion is far too deep for pillow talk.

Dream frowns, furrowing his brows as he considers. “I believe there is some merit to your words,” he pronounces thoughtfully. “I have long believed that I have no story of my own. Perhaps I am wrong.”

“Maybe you’re just in the wrong story,” Hob yawns. He’s honestly lost the thread a bit by this point, and he’s not entirely sure what they were talking about to begin with. But that feels like the right thing to say, and Dream evidently agrees as he rests his cheek on Hob’s chest, just over his heart.

“Perhaps,” Dream murmurs, almost inaudibly.

“Like I said,” Hob says, stroking lightly down his back. “We’ll sort it out.” He yawns again, then winces at the strain on his sore jaw. “Tomorrow, though. Because I am absolutely knackered, darling.”

Dream hums, burrowing contently into Hob’s hold. “Yes. Sleep, beloved. And dream of me.”

Hob chuckles drowsily. “I always do.”

✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

[97keanu]

"ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵐⁱˡˡⁱᵒⁿ

ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢʰⁱⁿᵉ"

Mob Boss!John Wick x Mob Wife!Reader

Premise: It's the early 2000s, New York City. You're 27 years old, your husband, John Wick, is the head of the Slavic crime syndicate in New York. Your father married you off to him 6 years ago, to end a feud between your families. You have been John's wife for so long, but still feel like you barely know how he feels about you. He's quiet, comes home bloody and bruised, tries to keep you out of the business even though this life is all you've ever known. Will John reveal his true feelings for you when a rival family kidnaps you and holds you for ransom?

Tags/CW: stoic and suave!john, possessive!john, predator coded!john, prey coded!reader, kidnapping in, drug use, canon violence for john wick series as well as the sopranos, smut, more tags to come in later chapters.

A/N: This is going to be a 3 part limited series, but I would love to write drabbles/imagines/one-shots for these two in the future! This chapter is mainly an intro to you and John's relationship and some shameless smut, more drama in the next chapter!

Words: 3k

Gold. Your favorite color as a child, the same color as your daddy's pinky ring, you can remember peeking at it over the old wooden poker table. Your daddy laughed along with all the other men in the room, like a language you couldn't understand, the cigar smoke bitter, but sweet like vanilla if you inhaled enough. You can see all sorts of shiny objects on the poker table. You spot a silver glinting metal of a few of the men's guns politely placed on the table. The liquor they're drinking is glinting in crystal glasses, sloshing around as the men get rowdier and more incoherent. Your eyes always come back to that ring, however. Embellishments of diamond inlaid into that honey colored metal. The only thing you liked better than the glint of gold was the flash of a diamond. And daddy's ring held both. You knew even then, no more than 6 or 7 years old, that that ring would be yours one day.  You were right.  Your husband John, gave it to you as an anniversary gift last year after killing the men who killed your father. It's big enough on you to fit on your ring or middle finger. Your dear old dad was a lot of things, most not things that you loved. The only other thing he gave you in life that you were truly grateful for was arranging a truce between feuding families and setting you up to marry John.  You had no idea who this man was, not to mention he was 20 years older than you, and was the head of New York City's Slavic crime syndicate. Along with his family being a family that rivaled yours for so long, the idea of marrying this man, the man they call 'Baba Yaga', was frightening. He was harsh when you met him. You only talked 3 times before you saw him at the altar.  When you did meet him, he was well kept, incredibly so. His hair was dark, a bit long, slicked back perfectly. His face though, that was what really sent cold shivers up your spine. He looked like a wolf, his eyes were hungry for something, you couldn't even say what for sure, but you hoped your father wasn't shepherding you as a helpless sheep into John's pasture.

You were surprised when he took your hand softly, all the edges of his face jagged and sharp like a freshly cut jewel, and pressed his lips into your hand. It was from then on that you knew, despite everything else, that he would take care of you. There was something in his kiss and his steeled eyes that promised so from the get go. 

From the moment you kissed him at the altar, you knew there was something those lips were hiding, however. They were so soft, but somewhere in your mind you couldn’t help but taste blood, coppery, metallic on those perfect lips. He looked at you then, having only seen you three times before, like he was looking at something as precious as gold. You felt coveted. 

Despite this, as the honeymoon waned, and you two began to settle in as husband and wife, you thought perhaps, maybe this could work for you two. And it did, for all intents and purposes. Over the years, you two have fallen into a routine, not one you're displeased with per se. You know this is the life you were born into, being able to be a pristine trophy inside John's luxurious apartment never bothered you. He treated you well, always kept your needs met. But he was cold, distant, especially about work. You know the business, you've known it your whole life so you have no idea why he feels the need to keep you so in the dark most of the time. He barely speaks when he comes home bloodied up, weak, ready to collapse into the couch and sleep off the night finally. You dutifully help clean his wounds, silent, but those piercing eyes of his look into yours, saying more than those lips ever did. 

Because of John's reluctance to allow you anywhere close to the business, you're surprised when he comes home one night and tells you that he'll be taking you to a party. 

"A party?" Your glossy lips utter, turning around to face John from your seat at the vanity as he enters the bedroom with the news. Quite frankly, after being married for six years and rarely leaving this apartment, you're shocked. "You never take me to parties?"

"It's important you come tonight." John says simple, stepping closer to you, and slowly beginning to take off his dark suit, going down to suspenders and a crisp white button up. He isn’t giving anything away just yet. 

"Finally decided to trade me in for someone newer?" You say, obviously joking even though you know it happens. These parties that men in the business go to, your father found six different wives at them after your mother, you know how women are treated in this world. You are seen as no more than a currency of status, and you know you’re not getting any younger. 

John, however, gets really serious. His head jerks towards you, and he has that wolf look in his eye again. He bores you down with his dark, almost black eyes, his jaw set. The fear you feel from that look is one you never wish to again. 

"Don't you ever joke about that." John finally says, but he doesn't soften. "I would never let anyone else have you."

If there's one thing you know for certain that John feels about you, it's possession. He always has been protective of you, to a fault most of the time. You feel as though he's set you in the world's most gilded cage most days, and at night he comes home and tears into your body like an animal. John was never soft. He wouldn't start to be in the bedroom. He would never push you away from cuddling after, however. He just didn't seek comfort from you the way you did him. But you were grateful he allowed you to have the comfort you craved from him, even if he was silent for most of it. If you were lucky, he may even pull an arm around you after a particularly aggressive fuck. 

Not to say either that you didn’t enjoy how he took you in the bedroom, taking everything from you but your blood. And you knew he could take that too if he pleased. The aggression, the rawness of his body against yours, you had to admit, it turned you on. He never made your feel like you were lesser in the bedroom, in fact, he could give just as much as he could take. There were many times he had you propped up on the pillows, spread for him, and he lapping at you with a fervor you could hardly stand. He would tease you relentlessly if you let him, if you didn’t grab that dark hair of his and pull him into your aching pussy while telling him what you need. Begging him for what you need. His black eyes would look up at you from where he supplied pleasures that made your head spin, as if to say ‘You see this? I give you this, do not forget that I can give you such pleasures.’

And Lord, did you know, that he could do just that. Even now, as you see him undressing for the night, you can feel yourself begin to ache with want. 

John can tell he has frightened you from how he has spoken, though. So he crosses what feels like the great expanse between you two, and he kneels in front of you, his hands on your thighs. 

“Listen, I need you to understand that you never have to worry. About anything, with me.” His eyes are not exactly soft, but they are trying, which counts for something. “These eyes are focused on one woman and one woman only, do not ever doubt that, my love.”

You couldn’t help but feel compelled to believe him. Not to mention it was one of the rare times that he told you, or at least implied, his love for you. You did find yourself questioning often what John’s idea of ‘love’ was, however. You aren’t so certain your vision of love matches his, but at least it seems as if he is true to you. You begin to feel foolish for the cracks of doubt that have been plaguing you lately, you have no reason to believe John would cheat on you other than that the other mob wives have to deal with it constantly from their spouses. John is different, you must remember that. 

You nod, a few tears coming to your eyes, and John’s large hands are there to wipe them away before you even have to wonder. 

“Do not cry, solnyshko.” He says, his voice gruff, but understanding. “I do not wish for you to be hurt.”

“I hurt from being locked away here for so long…” You don’t know why you feel brave enough to say it right now, but you do. John’s eyes suddenly look unusually pained, and he glances away, blinking as if to gather himself. 

“I know, I hope bringing you to this party will help. I just…” His hand on your cheek begins to tighten, not on you, but as if the muscles in it are desperate to grasp for something they know they must not. “I do not trust your safety for much of what I do, I…I cannot lose you.”

You don’t say anything, just look at him, on his knees for you right now, seemingly begging you to understand. It’s more than you’ve seen from him in the six years you’ve lived with him. It honestly causes a few more tears to fall, you’re not sure why seeing him this way does this to you. It means a lot to you. 

“Okay, John. I will go this party with you, glady.” You say, accepting the idea, and John seems relieved. 

“Good, now, no more tears,” He brushes the last few that have sullied your cheeks with his thumb. “Come, let’s go to bed my darling…” 

As he stands from where he knelt before you, his strong hands take your arms in them, pulling you off of the plush vanity stool, and into him. He smells like smoke and gunpowder, mixed with that expensive cologne he always wears, the one that smells like pine trees and reminds you of the woods. He gently, for once, takes you into the large, black silk bed. Once you’re settled, it’s like he is ready to make a feast of your body. He’s so primal, animalistic and ready to be drunk on your scent. You let him take you, his teeth already into your neck, leaving indents, leaving his mark on you. He goes slow this time, really lets you feel how much he wants you. It doesn’t take him long to completely undress you, his hands are swift, and they work quickly to fling the little you had on to the bedroom floor. 

You gasp when his hands decide to reach for your pussy next, and you hear him chuckle as he suckles on your breast, which are heavy with lust. 

“You’re already so wet for me, my dear…” He whispers into your skin, the biting and nibbling beginning again as soon as the words leave his lips.

His hands work like magic, starting with teasing your poor pussy. He doesn’t go for your clit right away, no, he works slowly, but deliberately around it, testing your want and your wetness. He continues to lower his bites along your body, going down further and further, saving your swelling clit for his tongue to savor. He spreads your legs roughly, your breath catching as you’re so suddenly exposed. You feel the cold air of the room against the heat between your legs, and watch as John looks over your body with nothing but pure hunger and satisfaction in his eyes. You can’t believe you ever thought he would look for someone else when he looks at you like this nearly every night. How foolish…

Before your thoughts can be taken by things that simple do not matter in this moment, John is plunging his tongue into your cunt, hungry to taste you, a low growl escaping his lips and vibrating the tender flesh there. You moan out, your legs trying to close, but a firm hand guiding your thigh back down to the bed, holding it there. You continue to squirm, your hands finally finding purchase in his tossled dark hair, and you feel as if you have found an anchor in the deepest depths of an angry sea, ready to consume you if you do not hold onto something. 

You breath hitches higher as he sucks on your hardening clit, pulling all of it to attention in his mouth and driving you mad. He continues to over stimulate you like this until you’re begging him, breathless and tossing your head back into the silk pillows, to stop, to let you go. Unfortunately, you are his prey, and he will have his way with you however he can, so while he releases your tender clit from his mouth for a moment, he is slipping two fingers inside you with a swiftness that causes you to see stars. You always forget how good he is at this, how could you ever underestimate his power to bring you to the edge like this?

John pumps his fingers inside you, working that spot that drives you crazy, and you can barely speak coherently. He loves making you such a mess for him, a wordless, breathless mess that tangles in John’s sheets. 

John allows you to get closer and closer like this, and just when you’re screaming out his name, finding some words that convey how close you are, how you’re so ready, does he slip his fingers out from inside of you. The whine you let out from this surprises you, even makes you blush from embarrassment. You can’t believe how badly he makes you want him.

John lifts himself to his knees, freeing his cock from his tight pants, and you’re always taken back from how long and girthy it is. You know you can take his cock, you have many times before, but you know how much it stretches you out anyways. Your stomach is in knots from how full you wish to be of him. John can see the hunger in your eyes and wastes no time, grabbing your thighs and pulling you close in one fell manuever. He lines himself up with you, then wets his cock with your juices so he can slide into you easily. He always makes sure not to rut into you dry, he wants you soaking for him at all times during this. 

John finally gives you what you want, your moan loud enough that you don’t doubt the neighbors know what this man does to you. His cock slips in so perfectly, going deeper and deeper, inch by inch, until he is at his limit inside you, your pussy completely full of him. You reach out to pull him close to you, but John stops you. 

“I want to see you touch yourself for me, darling. I need to see your face when you cum on my cock…” He is so instructional, so demanding. You know you have to give him what he wants. 

You stay laid on your back, while John keeps up on his knees, still so deep inside of you. You work your hand down to your clit, your other hand grasping at your own breast with desperation for something to hold onto. You can’t help it, you’re already losing yourself, your hands working and your moans giving a show for John. You know he loves when you really let yourself feel it, and you can feel yourself tighten around his cock as it pumps into you from how good you are feeling. 

As John continues, you look up at him, your eyebrows drawn and your face so close to ecstasy, your body so tight and close to giving you the release you desperately need. You know John's close too, his face turning from one of someone so focused on their partner's pleasure, to someone who can barely keep their eyes open from how good it feels. The thought that somehow, right now, you have a small bit of power over him, turns you on. The fact that it's your pussy that makes him devolve into a mess of breaths and soft groans is so satisfying you can feel yourself start to cum. That's all it takes for John to join you, his cock twitching and full, going deeper into you with each long thrust as you both finish together. You can feel the rush of heat as he delivers his pleasure unto you. 

John collapses beside you, spent. You move, your body sore where John held your legs open for so long. You find your way onto his sweaty chest, laying your head down onto his defined chest muscles. John wraps an arm around you, his hand gently, so slowly, petting your hair. You know he isn't the super affectionate type, but you also know that you've been together long enough that your husband cannot refuse you on much. Especially not when the two of you can relax into each other. 

You softly close your eyes and count John's breath, trying to match yours to his. You aren't sure after what count it happened, but you fall asleep in John's arms. 

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 15: PAINFUL RE:BAKE Translations

budding spring | dream catcher | painful re:bake | crossing paths

last updated: 20/9/2024

Picaresque, Again

Portrait / Keiku Karashina

Fake Remnants

Acting As Actors

Rekindling The Flame

Breaking Out Of The Shell

The Things At Your Disposal

Easy To Understand Taste

Bring On The Risk

Best Shot Update

Taking Your Voice Into Account

The Place Where I'm Needed

Make Blossom

Pre-Planned Etude

Gathering Clues

Expose Yourself

Surprise Scout

The Fate of Ashes

Taichi Nanao, the Actor

That's A Wrap

Sugarless Boy

"Never Again" One More Time

Harm Caused By Talent

The Things You Have To Do

A Place To Belong And A Spark To Light That Fire

The Feelings Put Into A Bare-Handed Fight

Memories of Nachi

Unforgettable Pain

Re:Formative Experience

Picaresque Returns

Re:High Five

Wolves

Even If It's A Failure,

daily inste posts (links lead to twitter)

Guy-N

Itaru-Chigasaki

9mon-baseball

Tenma.S-621

Tsum-Tsuki

M.U.

[kingyo-konbini]

FRIENDLY REMINDERS & MATH EQUATIONS [SHINSOU HITOSHI X READER]

[SUMMARY] what one person writes on their skin also appears on the skin of their soulmate. reader is forgetful and shinsou is bored. awkwardness ensues. [PRONOUNS] she/her [GENRE] fluff | soulmate au [POV] third person [WORD COUNT] 1083 [CONTENT] soulmate-identifying marks | pov switch between reader & shinsou | math

She was forgetful.

[Name] always had an issue with remembering things. She would put reminders on her phone, sticky notes on her walls, and big red words on her whiteboard and in her planner. And yet, somehow, she always seemed to miss them. The only thing she found that would work (and that wasn't even a guarantee) was writing the reminders on her wrist and hand and arm.

When she first started doing it she worried that it would bother her soulmate, the person who saw the scribbled notes appear on their own skin as though they had written it. But, after a while, she forgot about that, too.

...

He was bored.

Shinsou Hitoshi had a problem with staying awake during study hall. He was fine during the actual lessons, hoping to soak up as much hero stuff as he could, but when he was left to his own devices he became utterly bored and horribly tired. He would read and go over notes, but those activities quickly became just as boring as doing nothing. The only thing that would stave off his boredom was to look at the words that would sometimes cover one of his limbs. And on the days where there was nothing, he would absentmindedly draw small doodles on the empty space.

When he first started doing it, he worried that his soulmate would find the cartoon-ish cats to be too childish, or his drawing abilities to be less than sub-par. But, after a while, he grew bored with that, too.

...

It was Sunday. [Name] had two assignments due for English on Monday, neither of which she’d started, and a math assignment she was absolutely clueless about. She’d asked her friends, who were just as stumped as her, and Google didn’t even seem to have the answers, either. [Name] stared down at the math problems in front of her, mind split between figuring out the equations and working on the two English papers. Why had she thought spending Saturday with her friends, getting some extra practice in with their Quirks, would be a good idea?

In a moment of desperation, [Name] glanced at her wrist and the lack of anything drawn by her soulmate. It had been some time since she’d seen anything drawn by them, and she had to admit that she missed seeing the cute cat doodles. It was rare for her to think about her soulmate, writing notes or reminders on her skin without so much as a second thought towards the other person who could read them.

She bit her lip and picked up her pen, hesitantly drawing the first equation into her skin. Underneath it she wrote “help?” and then capped her pen, set it down on the desk, and waited.

...

Shinsou had never tried to communicate with his soulmate through the drawings. He knew people who had, people who had written down their location or phone number and met their soulmates that way. If Shinsou wasn’t being honest, he’d say that it was too much work and he wasn’t interested in the whole “soulmate” thing, anyways. If Shinsou was being honest, though, he’d say that he was worried about what he’d find. What if his soulmate thought he was ugly? What if they hated him and his Quirk? What if they were scared of him? They seemed like such a ditzy, cute person, always writing reminders on their skin, no matter how simple. How could he compare to that? To them, he was just the person who would draw a cat sometimes, and even that was rare.

And besides, they had never tried to contact him, either.

Which was why it was such a surprise when Shinsou saw the equation suddenly appear and the word 'help?' written beneath it. He’d been drying off from his shower, just having gotten back from training, when he noticed it. He stared at the numbers and letters and blinked. The equation looked familiar- they had just gone over it in class on Friday.

He could help his soulmate with a math problem.

Shinsou quickly finished drying off and got dressed, sitting at his desk and quickly picking up a pen. He wrote the word 'okay' beneath their request for help and waited a minute before getting to work.

...

The moment his response appeared beneath her cry for help, [Name] felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She waited with bated breaths as the process to solve the equation slowly appeared. [Name] copied it down, stroke for stroke, in her notebook. It took a second for her to realize she’d been holding her breath.

Within two minutes the answer was there, peering up at her from her wrist. The steps to getting it had been neatly recorded and transferred to the assignment sheet, and [Name] let out a long sigh of relief. 'thank you.' She wrote, adding a smiley face for good measure.

Content with that small bit of contact, [Name] turned back to her papers. She had just started attempting the next problem when the familiar sensation of lines appearing in her skin brought her back to look at her wrist. Written in the space where the palm meets the wrist were new words: 'do u need help w/ more?'

[Name] sucked in a breath, her heart racing against her ribs. Trembling more than she’d like to admit, [Name] wrote a short 'if it’s not too much trouble' beneath the question.

...

Shinsou couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face. As soon as he realized it, though, he forced it away and replaced it with a neutral expression, though his eyes still glimmered. Talking to his soulmate made his heart beat quicker than usual; he told himself he wasn’t sure why, since he hadn’t given them much thought, but a voice in the back of his head whispered "you know why."

Hesitating for just a moment longer, Shinsou began to write down his phone number. Once the numbers were written, he grimaced. Had this really been a good idea? He thought back to the number of people who had done the same thing he had, though for different reasons. They all seemed happy enough, but was he ready to talk to his soulmate like they did?

Shaking his head, Shinsou assured himself that he wasn’t trying to connect with them. All he was doing was trying to help someone with their math homework. That was it.

Three minutes passed before his phone buzzed.

[winter-spark]

Starting you off with some of my worst earliest a3! writing so hopefully you won't think this is as poorly written as it actually is.

Setting: SSR Fam, Konomi's wedding reception - Konomi pov (mid conversation because I thought this segment was better)

Itaru went red and started choking on his drink. Konomi rolled her eyes and rubbed his back but honestly she wanted to laugh.

"I–We're not together!"

"You're not?" She leaned on her hand. How much could she make him squirm? "Coulda fooled me."

"How?! Two people playing a couple on stage," and off-stage, "doesn't just make them a couple. Do you know how many relationships an actor would be in?"

Konomi shrugged and looked in her glass. "Not because you guys played a couple, either time, I just have eyes, Itaru."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He loosened his tie, face still red, "That we looked like a couple when we weren't acting like one or something? Because that's just silly."

Konomi finished off the rest of her drink. "You know Itaru, for someone who's trying to convince me there's not a romance between you two, you still haven't said that you don't like him that way."

"I–It's not that– I just–" he sighed, "I wish I could reload this conversation."

"Sorry, Life includes an autosave feature, no going back." Konomi sat back in her seat as Itaru slumped in his. "Then it's safe to assume you have no plans on confessing?"

"And ruin a good thing?" He gave a short hollow laugh. "Yea no. That'd be NG."

Konomi wished she knew to look for signs of a possible crush when she'd met Citron. There was warmth and love but she couldn't pin from memory if there were any hints of romantic feelings. "Feels like a high risk, high reward mission huh?"

"One I think I'll leave on the mission board."

"I see… Well, can I offer a little advice?"

"You're going to anyway…"

"If you ever do take on that mission, and he doesn't feel the same way, he still very clearly loves you as a person. They all do. You won't have to shut down and isolate yourself."

Itaru was quiet. He looked away. "Didn't you say you'd ask the kitchen staff for a way to wrap this up?"

"Right, 'cause you're looting my wedding." Konomi joked as she stood up. "I'll go see."

"Konomi."

She paused and waited. She started to turn towards him but stopped when he said

"Thank you."

“No problem,” Konomi smiled and continued forth. He didn't always show his gratitude towards her. So she was always glad he has recently. She could feel it, he really did appreciate her. And as a big sister, that was honestly all she could want from him.

What if I used this post to share snippets I've written? Would that be cool?

Even if I never post some of the things as like finished fics or anything I've written I'm really eager to share just about all of it. I'm just a very insecure writer lol

To make it more palatable for the dashboard, I'll reblog it from here each time and use a keep-reading link to hide it. If that's something anyone would want to see I suppose.

[wyrmswears]

"Generator"; 1569 words.

The Administrator has something to show Agent Walker.

...

Sure, he knew it wasn’t the first time he had been called to a one-on-one meeting with The Administrator, but it may as well have been. It wasn’t like he remembered any of their previous interactions; he was going in blind all the same.

When his fax machine first spat out the offending paper, he believed it had been sent to the wrong agent. But there was his name at the top, ‘Agent Walker’. There was the possibility that someone else shared his surname, but as far as he was aware he was the only agent without a first name.

The listed meeting room wasn’t her office, nor was it one of the Administration’s more conventional meeting rooms, complete with tables 30 people long but only one person wide and more fake potted plants than you could ever imagine. No, today he had been called down to the lowest floor of the Administration: the server room. The part of his brain that understood technology bristled at that; it would be much more effective to place the server room on a higher floor. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t say anything about that to The Administrator when he faced her - he would stick to his department, as all good employees did. The networks and communications department could handle that one.

The elevator down required two separate keycards: one was his standard agent ID, and the other digitally recognised him as a department manager. The former granted him permission to move between floors, yes, but only the latter allowed him access to the basement.

The ride down took 2 minutes and 43 seconds. He counted. No one else entered the elevator the entire journey.

When the elevator reached the basement and the doors slid open, The Administrator was standing on the other side of them. He hoped he would forget this meeting like the others, if just so he could become ignorant to the way he jumped at her sudden appearance.

“Agent Walker.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Administrator, ma’am.”

She smiled. This did nothing to soothe his racing heart. “Come, let’s talk.” She beckoned and he followed her into the dark room.

It was large, but so were most rooms in the Administration. The realm reassignment department was tiny relative to the office rooms that the majority of their employees were stationed in. This room was about half the size of block 8E sub-block 185A A3/11√5. He could see three of the walls, dark stretches of concrete, sealing them in. The fourth that should’ve sat opposite to the elevator was obscured by rows upon rows upon rows of computer servers. A blue glow emanated from them and he grimaced at the thought of the voltage it would take to create a light that strong.

As he struggled to keep pace, The Administrator barely spared him a glance. “This may seem beyond your department, but trust me, your role will become clear soon.” She forewarned. She would never have him leave his department, he knew. That was the first rule of the Administration: Stay in your place. “What do you know of Lord Ras of the Wyldness?”

Lord Ras. He had heard that name. Some of the employees that hailed from Imperium had mentioned it in conversations coated with nothing short of hatred. The ‘outlander’ who had gained a position of such power in their otherwise closed society. That sort of talk only ever continued for a couple days before their new job turned their interest towards paperwork and mild office drama.

“Isn’t he the one trying to awaken ancient evils without a permit?”

The Administrator shot him a look, slow and venomous. “He is”, she nodded, “but that’s not important to us right now.” She walked towards him. He averted his gaze to the floor with stiffened shoulders but found that she only continued past him, down the alley of servers. She didn’t need to beckon him this time, he knew what he was meant to do. He followed.

There was little light between the pillars of computers. They were only between two rows of the many, but what he could see was endless. The towers sparked a theory in his mind about why she was mentioning the rogue lord. “We use a lot of power.” He started, testing the waters. The Administrator stopped walking and turned to face him, her silence commanding him to finish his speculation. “Lord Ras allied with Imperium by promising them power; do we need to ally with him too? To have enough power?”

The Administrator smiled and shook her head. Count two for smiles, and a contradiction - she must have expected him to guess wrong. “You’re right that we do plan to ally with him, but it is not out of need for power. We have all the power we could need.” She turned again and continued to weave her way through the computerised nest which was now composed of more than just server towers. Thick cables ran both overhead and underfoot, LEDs glowed from no visible circuitry, and the drone of electric humming and cooling fans only ever got louder the further they went.

Finally, they breached the sea of servers.

Now that he could see the wall they had been trekking towards all this time, he realised that it wasn’t made out of concrete the same as the other three walls. No, this one was glass. Despite this, nothing was visible from the other side. There was no depth at all, only pure light glowing an almost-white with its brightness (though when Walker inspected the way it lit up its surroundings, he realised it to be tinted pale blue).

In front of the glass wall, the cables reached their largest size before slipping underneath panels in the floor. The servers did not get within 10 metres of the wall. Instead, they stood guard in their rows, watching the tiny humans approach the divine light.

The Administrator hummed, snapping Walker’s attention back to her. She gestured towards the glass. “This is our power source. You can look, if you would like.”

He didn’t know if that was a good idea. Just looking at the glass from this distance was already beginning to hurt his eyes. Nonetheless, unsure if it was because The Administrator had told him to or because he chose to, he stepped forwards.

As he approached, he could feel the electricity in the air. It combed through his hair and bounced around a pit in his chest, dangerously close to the one that ached whenever he thought about the family he might’ve once had, before he forgot everything. He didn’t realise he was shaking with a strange sense of excitement until he was close enough to touch the glass and found himself unable to hold his hand still. He almost did touch the glass, but held back just before his fingers made contact. He still couldn’t see anything on the other side. Pale blue swallowed his vision.

He looked over his shoulder to The Administrator. She raised an eyebrow and jerked her head towards the glass again. He turned back. A bright light stared back at him.

He didn’t scream. This was unusual - Walker knew he was cowardly and anxious and that in any other scenario he would’ve jumped or fallen back or swung a punch - but something was different this time.

If anything, he stood closer than he did originally, watching the sparking lights with complete fascination. His breath fogged the glass.

“What is it?” He asked after what could’ve been anything between a second and a day, even though he couldn’t hear what he was saying over the pounding of his own heart.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The Administrator was at his side now. When had she moved? “It’s lightning.”

Like realising one’s hunger upon taking a bite of food, the word sparked an ache in the back of his head. “Lightning…” He knew what that was, of course, as well as where it came from. They must have captured it live from a storm. He had never seen a storm before, but he had heard anecdotes of them from newly recruited employees and field agents alike. He was jealous. Did all lightning look like this? Freckles and curls?

She watched as he pressed a hand to the glass. The lightning responded in kind, pressing the palm of its hand opposite to his. “We could let it go of course, but it would run away. Far from here.”

Far from here… No. They couldn’t let it free. Now that he had seen it, felt it, he knew he couldn’t bear to part with it. They had to keep it contained. He told The Administrator such.

She nodded and smiled again. “I knew you’d understand.”

He dropped his gaze to study the hand that would’ve held his if it could.

It was almost the same pale blue that shone through the rest of the glass, but somehow brighter. The similarity in colours made it hard to tell the form of the figure apart from its glow, but blue and yellow markings fanned out across its form like the branches of a pine tree. Lichtenberg figures, his mind supplied.

He looked up at its face, admiring its curls and running a hand through his own. He wondered if he’d at all resemble the figure before him if he looked in a mirror.

[ivorysodapop]

Draw my dear meeks, or onee-chan Rei, or mamamimi, or one of my fave A3 ships, or Midori, or *is shot and killed on the spot*

Yes I finished these in the UC. I don't have my stylus so you are getting these two

MIMIMAMA ‼️

[cyren-myadd]

Quaritch vs the consequences of his own actions

Click for better quality!

In all seriousness, I think something vaguely similar to this may happen in A3. I've seen people throwing around the idea of recom-Quaritch getting a redemption arc, and while I don't think that's ENTIRELY impossible, I still struggle to see how it could happen with everything he's done as his own entity, even if you don't blame him for the crimes of human-Quaritch. Like, I know he didn't order Neteyam to get shot, but that death is still on him, you know? I don't think he could ever reconcile with Jake and the rest of the Na'vi after Neteyam.

BUT I also know that James Cameron is ✨cooking✨ something with this big blue asshole, otherwise he wouldn't have had Spider save him. Plus, I've seen that leaked script! Quaritch is definitely not gonna keep fighting for the RDA, and will probably turn against them at some point. So instead of switching sides because he pulled a Jake and genuinely realized the RDA is in the wrong, he's gonna switch sides for purely selfish reasons, namely, Spider. Like, he's gonna fight on the "good" side, but he'll still be a huge asshole. I for one can't wait to see his character development wherever it goes!

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] Event | Devil Maid’s Holiday | Episode 4

Izumi: What’s up, Sakuya-kun?

Sakuya: The costume that Yuki-kun made is what led to us getting this performance offer, so…

Sakuya: How about we develop the story for the performance based on the costumes?

Yuki: So you’re saying the costumes should come before the story?

Sakuya: Yeah.

Izumi: I see… That could be a good idea. Let’s give that a try this time.

Azami: That ain’t a bad idea. The offer was originally made to Yuki-san, and this way, he can make whatever he wants.

Muku: That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see how the costumes and story turn out…!

Yuki: You’re all overreacting. …But, whatever, I’ll try my best.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Yuki: (Planning the costumes first, and then coming up with the story for the performance, huh…)

Yuki: Hmm…

*Knock on door*

Yuki: Come in.

*Door opens*

Sakuya: Sorry to bother you. We know you’re working hard, Yuki-kun.

Muku: Arisu-san made some tea. If you want, why don’t you take a break?

Yuki: (…I guess there’s no point in worrying about it anymore.)

Yuki: Sure, I’ll come and join you.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Yuki: Whoa, that sure is a lot of good-looking sweets you’ve got set out.

Homare: Ah, Yuki-kun, come join us.

Homare: I hear you’ve been working hard. Come now, have some tea.

Yuki: Thanks. …Mhm, it’s good.

Homare: I’m glad you think so. Have some sweets, as well. We’ve got cookies today.

Yuki: This is kinda a weird group of people. I usually think of Azu-nee being part of this kinda thing.

Homare: That is because we’re having a special tea party today.

Yuki: Special?

Sakuya: Well, we heard from Tenma-kun that you’ve been holed up in your room for a while now, Yuki-kun, so… We got a little worried.

Muku: While we were talking about that, Arisu-san suggested that we have a tea party as a way for you to take a breather.

Yuki: That’s why? You didn’t have to do that, it’s not like I’m super stuck or anything.

Yuki: It’s just that I usually look to the script when coming up with costumes, so now that I’ve got to figure out what to do with the costumes first… I’m just a little lost.

Homare: What sort of thing are you envisioning making now?

Yuki: Well, the costume I originally made was based on a maid uniform and designed to be worn by a female idol.

Yuki: But I was thinking that if we’re going to be acting in them, it might be better to have them be a combination of devil maids and butlers.

Muku: Devil maids and butlers… That alone kind of brings the story to life!

Sakuya: It certainly fits the vibe of Halloween.

Yuki: That said, I’m stuck on which designs to go with. The theme is the theme, so they should be easy to make, but.

Homare: Maids and butlers is a splendid idea. By all means, feel free to include me when considering the casting.

Yuki: Right, you’ve played a butler before, haven’t you, Arisu? You’ve definitely got the vibes of one.

Yuki: And the way you were making tea just now really made you look butler-ish…

Yuki: …!

Yuki: I took the maid uniforms pretty much completely in the cute direction, so I made the butler designs more ornate to prevent them from becoming too chic…

Yuki: Okay, now I’m kinda getting an idea.

Sakuya: That’s great…! If that’s the case, then why don’t you also come up with the casting, Yuki-kun?

Yuki: The casting too?

Sakuya: Yeah. It was actually what Homare-san said that made me think of it.

Sakuya: I’m sure it’d be easier for you to envision things if you know who’s playing the role, right?

Yuki: Oh, yeah, that might be a good idea.

Yuki: I’m planning on making things that anyone can wear, but I should be able to come up with something tentative… I’ll give it a shot.

Sakuya: Great!

Homare: However, wouldn’t it be difficult for you to draw things up all on your own? It seems like you have a shorter time period than you usually do.

Yuki: What’s the big deal now? I’ve done this plenty of times before. I’ll just set my dumb dog onto things if I need to.

Yuki: I’ll show you guys the rough sketches once I have them just to see if I’m headed in the right direction.

Sakuya: But the costumes themselves must be challenging enough, so we’ll help with whatever else.

Muku: Yeah, we’ll do whatever we can to help!

Yuki: Thanks, that’d be helpful.

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 13

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 13: soft aftermath

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up at some point in the middle of the night, desperately needing to use the bathroom. I groaned my annoyance from the sleep disturbance and shifted, hoping to put myself back to sleep.

But then I remembered what had transpired. My hand shot out from the covers and found Alastor barely half a foot from me. I let out a shaky sigh of relief.

He's still here.

I could barely make out his face in the dark. The memories came flooding back and I suddenly felt very awkward. I wrapped my tail around my leg and used magic to quietly push away from him.

I carefully sat up on the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving his dark form. I could sense he was in a lighter sleep now, but still asleep. I tried looking for my shirt but I couldn't see anything, and using magic to make light would wake Alastor.

It was then I remembered I had worn a dress to the gala. My clothes were hidden away in drawers. Would he be able to sense my magic if I used it to grab clothes? Would it wake him up?

I didn't want to risk it. So I gave up on trying to dress and quietly pushed off the bed. My legs gave out and my knees slammed into the floor. I gritted my teeth when Alastor woke a moment later. "Darling?"

He used magic to create light, filling the room from a single orb. I frantically tried to stand but that made things worse. I pulled myself onto the bed and sat facing away from him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, hand stretching out to brush against my bare back. Tears were building in my eyes again. I wasn't ready to face him yet, not so soon after what we had just done. Especially now that he had found me on the floor.

"I'm fine," I answered, "I just needed to use the bathroom."

There was a moment of silence. "Would you like assistance?"

I wiped the stray tear. "No thank you. I'm more than capable." I used magic to draw night clothes from my dresser. I quickly slid them on, used magic to help dull the pain in my legs and crotch, then carefully stood. My eyes were focused on my feet as I walked carefully to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me.

It took more magic for the pain as I sat down. It wasn't until I was washing my hands that it became too overwhelming. I left the water running and half fell in the corner of the bathroom. I curled into a ball against the tub and hugged myself tight. The last time I remember this happening was back when Alastor was keeping me against my will.

Memories came to mind from the ring cage. Memories of my assault actually happening and of the healer having to examine me fully to ensure I wasn't pregnant.

Wait...

We hadn't used any protection. Could I have gotten pregnant? Was it that easy? That simple? Could a Demon get pregnant? Of course they could, that was how I was alive. How easy or hard was it for a Demon to get pregnant? For a half Demon, half Angel?

Being pregnant wasn't something I was ready to deal with. I made a choice to have sex, not to be pregnant. I didn't want to have my own child yet. I wasn't ready.

I couldn't stop the tears. I struggled to keep my breathing quiet so Alastor wouldn't hear me. They were turning into whines as the room started to cant to one side.

Darling? Alastor touched my mind.

Go away. Get out of my head. I snapped.

There was a long silence.

Then a knock on the bathroom door.

"I said go away!" I shouted.

"Darling, we need to talk."

"I don't want to, now please go away." I turned away from the door but my eyes never left it. I had a shield around me, waiting for him to burst through or slither under the door in his shadows. But he never did.

Please let us work through this together, he said. It was rare to hear him use the word 'please' in such a sincere way. I started to cry harder until my vision turned white and I gagged.

He prodded my mind more until I finally granted permission. He came through by his shadows and manifested in black night clothes. I would've breathed a sigh of relief if I wasn't still crying.

He put a hand on my back and coaxed me into a position so I was leaning against his chest. I stayed curled up but my claws gripped at the loose fabric over his chest. One of his arms kept me close and his other hand threaded through my hair, lightly scratching my scalp.

The radio played in the bedroom and he started to hum along to it. My crying slowed surprisingly fast in an effort to listen and feel the vibrations in his chest. My mind focused on the melody, on his humming, on his hand in my hair, and on his faint rocking back and forth.

I found myself completely calm and nearly asleep by the end of the song. He placed a kiss on my forehead then tilted his head to encourage me to meet his eyes. His smile was small but genuine.

"Hello gorgeous." The hand in my hair reached around to pull a strand out of my mouth. I wiped my face with my shirt collar, disgusted from all the snot I had conjured. He chuckled quietly and used magic to help clean me up and clear my sinuses. "How do you feel?"

I yawned. "Tired."

"I think we ought to sleep until dusk tomorrow." He put an arm under my legs and hoisted me up. I wrapped my arm around his neck and pressed my eyes against his skin. His usual smokey scent was almost masked by the smell of sweat. We would both need to shower tomorrow.

He turned off the faucet and carried me out of the bathroom. He kneeled on the bed and laid me down, sliding under the covers and returning to the position we had been in earlier. He rubbed his palm up and down my back as I let out another yawn. He lowered the radio.

"Goodnight my dear."

"Goodnight Al."

****

Sunlight cut through the curtains and landed perfectly on my closed eyes. My ears flicked at the sound of water running. I stretched out my sore limbs and peeled my eyes open.

Alastor's spot was empty and cold. My hand rubbed the material where he had been sleeping as my mind reached out to ensure he was still here. Another ache was making itself known in my lower half. I stared off into nothing as my mind began to wander. Though I was never able to go very far. Alastor's mind seemed to be tugging me back every so often.

A moment later, he walked out of the bathroom dressed in his pants and long sleeve. His eyes found mine in an instant. His smile was genuine as he came around the bed to sit on the edge, claw habitually finding my cheek.

"Good morning, love." He placed a kiss on my forehead.

I gritted my teeth and rolled over on my back. My hand found his thigh. "Good morning."

"Did you have a better time sleeping?"

"A little."

"Good." He ran his hand through my hair but stopped when it caught a knot, making me wince. He untangled his claws and settled with my cheek. "I drew a bath for you. Would you mind me carrying you in?"

"Why?" I questioned.

"It's a gesture I wish to express. You deserve it after doing so well last night."

My cheeks burned. "I-I wouldn't say that."

"No? I would certainly say so." His smile turned smug.

He pulled back the covers and slipped his arms under me before I could protest. His magic dulled the pain as I wrapped my arms around his neck. My embarrassed face stayed pressed into his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom. With one hand, he snapped his fingers and my clothing disappeared.

"Al!" I jumped in his arms and tried to shield myself by turning inwards on him. One hand tried to cover anything and the other still held onto his shoulder.

His chuckle vibrated in his chest. "It's not as if I haven't seen it all, my love." He carefully placed me in the cream colored tub. The hot water was instantly soothing and killed any rebuttal I had. I let go of him and sank so only my chin touched the surface of the water. "Sit and enjoy my love. I will not be far."

His warm hand left the top of my head and he closed the door behind him. I sunk further so my nose was still above the water's surface. I purposefully made my mind go blank as the pain dulled all the sores and aches in my muscles. This was a much better, much softer, aftermath. It felt like part of my soul was healing.

I lost track of time. My mind was wondering to a bunch of different things. If they went down a rabbit hole, Alastor's mind pulled me back. I couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose or subconsciously. Either way, it was reassuring.

I was about to get out when Reagan came yelling into the house. I felt Alastor wince. She wasted no time running up the stairs and calling for me through the doors.

"I have great news!" she yelled.

"I'll be down soon," I called back. She fumbled down the stairs and waited impatiently in the living room. She and Alastor bickered (naturally) and I could hear his words as if I was in the room with him, but with a strange echo.

"She needs time to rest," he told her.

"Why? Did something happen at the gala?"

"It was an exhausting event," he covered smoothly, "and she is not feeling well." He started up the stairs in an effort to catch me before I moved on my own.

"I'll only take five minutes of her time."

"I highly doubt that," he quipped over his shoulder. I had barely wrapped a towel around me when he walked into the bathroom.

"Al!" I snapped.

His one ear flicked in annoyance. "What?"

"Care to knock?"

He thought for a moment. "No."

"Must I teach you boundaries again?" I used magic to pull clothes from the wardrobe. He interfered with his own magic and sent them to the bed.

"What is there to keep me from?" He tilted my chin up with a single claw. 

"One night isn't going to solve everything," I said somberly. I opened his hand kissed his palm, bringing the clothes into the bathroom with my magic. "I'll be out in a minute."

He took my hand in turn and placed a kiss on my knuckles. He then closed the door behind him and waited in the bedroom. A few minutes later I walked out as I dried my hair with the towel. Alastor was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.

"I fail to see why you don't use magic to dry your hair," he commented.

I thought for a moment. "It feels natural? Doing it with magic doesn't feel right." A thought came to mind and my eyes suddenly looked him up and down in his usual red suit.

He noticed. "What is it?"

"Did you shower?" I asked point-blank.

"I use magic," was his answer. His ears had tilted to the sides a little, noticeable only to a well trained eye.

That explains the sweat smell.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, having easily read my thoughts. He was annoyed. 

I fumbled for the right words. "Just that...it's just your scent. It's not bad but...I think a proper shower would do you good."

This time his ears fell back. "I will do no such thing."

"Why not?" My tone was sincere.

"I never found joy in it. Magic is simpler and more efficient."

I let out a sigh as I used magic to dry the last traces of water from my hair. I still needed to talk to Reagan who was waiting patiently downstairs. "I don't understand you."

I will make you take a shower at some point.

You will do no such thing, he answered.

"Even if it helped solve some...issues I may have?" I teased, sauntering over to place a kiss on his nose. His claws found my hips and he stood up to meet me.

"I can be persuaded." Even I knew he wasn't being honest as he said it. He leaned down for a gentle kiss and I let him, if only for a moment, then pried his hands off my hips and took a step back.

"Good. Because you're not touching me until you do." I tossed the towel at him and quickly slipped out of the room. I could feel his frustration and disappointment.

I found Reagan on the couch fiddling with her hands. She sprung up when she heard me walk into the room. Her hands were behind her back, almost how Alastor did, and had a huge grin on her face.

"So, what is this great news?" I prompted, allowing my smile to show. Alastor appeared from his shadows in the other corner. His eyes were focused on the bursting young adult.

Fortunately she spat it out before she exploded. "He finally did it...he asked me to marry him!"

My smile widened and I opened my arms for a hug. She nearly took me to the ground from the force of the hug and my weak legs. I gave her many congratulations as she bubbled over the details of how it went down last night with Lucas.

Two very important things happened last night. I noted to myself.

"I'm glad he finally built the courage to ask," I commented as I examined the ring on her finger, "even after getting the ring."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. He waited another two weeks after he got the ring before asking you."

"How did you know when he got the ring?" She had gone very still with surprise.

"How do you think he got your finger measurements just right?" I glanced up at her with a devious smile. 

Her mouth fell open. "You knew?"

"How could I not?" I half laughed. "I never stopped keeping an eye on you just because you grew older."

"I can't believe you've been keeping this a secret from me." She crossed her arms but there was no malice or hurt behind it.

"Lucas has been keeping it a secret for far longer from what I can tell in our conversations," I returned slyly.

We continued on with the conversation for another hour. Alastor went up to his office but his mind was still with me. I could feel changes in our connection happening with every breath I took. I was anticipating what I would find once I looked deeper.

Fortunately, Reagan still had to make her celebratory rounds to her close friends. She gave me another tight hug and sprinted out of the house. I had to take a minute to myself once she left. I had been the first person she told, out of all the people she now knew she had chosen to tell me first. Happy tears fell down my cheek. 

It felt like only last week she had been a scrawny little teenager who fought anyone who gave her a wrong look. It felt like only last week she was crying over how little friends she had. It felt like only last week she was pretending to 'run into' Lucas. She had grown so much and was now old enough to marry.

My thoughts turned inward. Alastor and I were soulmates but we weren't married. There were plenty of people who married someone they weren't soul bound to, like Reagan and Lucas, but did those who did find their soulmate marry each other or just continue living together? I looked down at my empty hands. Was a wedding even something I wanted? For most of my life I didn't even think I would live long enough, escape the rings to have a wedding, or believe I could ever come to love a cannibalistic Demon Overlord. Was it something Alastor would even want? Speaking of whom, he was still upstairs in his office doing who knows what. 

As I climbed the old stairs, I reached out my magic sense to make sure Nym and Thatcher were still in the city and still okay. Once I reassured myself, I gently knocked on Alastor's office door. He bid me to enter and turned in his chair as I did. He had his reading glasses hanging on his nose and his cheek leaning against his knuckles. In his hand was one of his books and abstracts. Something about his position and the way he glanced over his glasses at me was very...attractive.

"I suppose you may have to orchestrate their wedding, then," he started. 

"She may ask for help but there's better people in the haven for that sort of thing."

He straightened his head. "Why do you do that?" 

"Do what?"

"Sell yourself short. Talk down about yourself."

"Oh...uh..." My tailed swished nervously behind me. "Just a habit, I suppose."

He sighed and tossed his book and glasses on his desk. He stood to his full height and took a few steps to stand in front of me. "I suppose I'll have to break that habit, then. Can't have my soulmate thinking she's less than." One hand stayed behind his back while the other cupped my cheek. 

I leaned into his touch but then remembered my promise. I took a step back and met his eyes with a sharp look. "You're not permitted to touch me until you take a shower."

His ears bent sideways again. "It is so miniscule. Why do you insist on it?" 

"You don't have to," I raised my hands and stepped backwards out of the office. My heart was pounding in my ears and I had to force myself not to speak too quickly. "But I was going to offer that you could shower with me." 

His ears stood straight up. I could hear his thoughts at how surprised he was at my offering. His mind tried to think of ways why I might be making the offer, of any tricks I might have up my sleeve, but even as he read my mind he could find none. I walked into our bedroom and he chased after me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Sorry this is coming out so late. Good way to end your night or start your day.

Here's a little something sweet before it gets real spicy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @martinys-world @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 9. Missing Star [A3]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon

Setting: Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot & Prompt 5. Grave Of Snow

A/N: It's been a moment since we last saw our dear Colonel who kicked off Rickmas2023 - shall we return and find out what's been brewing since last time? 🤭 I'm very excited to share this one, I ended up staying up kinda late yesterday to make sure it would be ready for proofing this morning but I think my late-night brain did a good job - and the nicknames in this one! I love nicknames! 👀👏

I also started working on tomorrow's prompt yesterday night as well - breaking off the serial theme with a Brandon One Shot tomorrow that I think will be a bit longer 😂 It was gonna be just like 1k (for my sanity's sake) but I'm already on 2k and I think I need another 2k at least to wrap it up nicely 🙈 I really am terrible at keeping things short, but I think this one is gonna be really good so I hope you're excited for MORE Brandon content tomorrow, feels like he's really popular among my readers this year 🥰👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Emotional Turmoil, Classicism, Mutual Pining, Love Confession, Hand Holding, Hand Kissing, Feeling Less Than Worthy, Sort Of A Proposal? Feels… like, feels, you know?

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 2.1k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• Brandon •⩥

He watched as you walked into the room, timid and quiet in your movements despite the commanding dress he’d had made for you. Ever since he had disclosed those bold words of your effect upon his heart from the first moment his eyes had found yours, well, he had perhaps been too bold in stating such a fact openly, without barely knowing you. Yet, how could he not? You were a vision as grand as any illusion conjured in the Sahara. As wonderfully sweet in demeanour as a gentle deer in any lush forest where hunters did not exist.

How, on God’s green earth, could he not fall for your beauty? The gentleness he had witnessed in those eyes of yours, framed by soot and ash, over a week ago. The sweetness of your words as you spoke of him as if he were another man — he knew now, of course, you had not known who he was. That you had treated him kindly and spoken only kindness of a man unknown to you based merely on the words of a friend had only engulfed him further in your beauty.

The moment he had entered his bedroom, seeing you in his bed dressed only in a nightshirt and free of any soot or ash for the first time, his judgement had taken flight and abandoned him with no wits. You had disarmed him so fully, so easily, so honestly — he often found himself to be at a loss for words in your presence. Sure, he was a man of few words to begin with, but never had he lost the ability to form sentences of the simplest kind until you appeared.

As you walked toward him, your eyes cast down while simultaneously flicking about in what appeared an effort to not look at him had his heart twisting uncomfortably. You were far younger than him, but not as young as to it not being within reason for him to house such feelings, surely? The very idea you found him… unappealing , made a coldness slither along his back and stiffen it. But as your eyes darted to his for a moment, there was a small hesitant smile across your lips just a mere step before you were stood by him, beside the naked tree within the ballroom. He wished desperately to reach out and clasp your hand, kiss the back of it and offer you anything within his reach no matter where in the world anything lay that was your heart’s desire.

His hands ached with the want to hold you once more, as he had caught you when you stumbled out of the chimney like his own blessing from the stars, or when he carried you from the forest and had the honour of feeling nearly all of you pressed against him. It was not proper, nor had you indicated he was allowed to touch you in any manner. He cursed his errant heart's desires when there was so little evidence regarding your feelings on the matter.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said quietly, a deep rumble he couldn’t control. “Colonel Brandon,” you replied gently, sweetly. He wished for the world to fall away so he could speak with you clearly, could affirm the words he’d spoken a week ago the day he first met you and subsequently fell into the pit of desperation and want unlike any he had ever experienced.

⩤• You •⩥

You didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act or even what to do with your fidgeting fingers. He looked at you with such a strange sensation in his eyes. There was nothing but gentleness and kindness visible in them, but the sensation was another matter entirely. Ever since he’d spoken those words, of you breathing life into his heart, your world had tipped on its axis and realigned itself to centre around the gentleman who now spoke so few words to you. Had he perhaps misspoken? Was he changing his mind about the declaration which had nearly burned your skin with its warmth?

You stood beside him, your hands clasped before you while you both looked at the naked, magnificent tree the servants had carried in that very morning. “Such a beauty,” you said with awe as your eyes travelled up to the top where a star would soon sit. “Indeed,” the colonel said in a quiet murmur and you turned to smile at him, only to find him already watching you. Your cheeks heated under that intense look of his.

“Miss, are you finding my estate to your liking?” he asked, yet another question only asking of things that held little importance. Why you wished for him to take a deeper interest in you you could only say was due to the warmth spreading within you each and every time you saw him. “You have a beautiful home, Colonel,” you said and he smiled that little smile of his before he looked away. Could I do it? You wondered. Could you, perhaps, ask a more personal question to show your interest in him?

“Sir,” you began but kept your eyes fixed on the tree as he made it hard to speak without stuttering or stumbling over your words. “Is there-, is there a lady of the house?” You nearly sucked in a breath at the most forward question, you hadn’t been in the servants’ quarter long enough to hear any gossip and now that you were there as his guest they only greeted you with formality. Even Mrs Garber had abandoned any real friendliness and adopted the behaviour of you being a higher citizen. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. They were all very nice, friendly, and even kind. They were a happy staff, yet there was no real friendship to be found for you now.

As the silence stretched on, you dared take a peek, only to find him looking at you with barely any emotions in his features; as if he were holding himself still and indifferent. “There is not,” he said after a moment. “Oh, I would have thought-, I mean given-, umh, I…” you stuttered as his eyes never left yours, it was as if your mind could not properly function when he watched you and the way your body nearly purred when he was close had you vibrating as he was just within reach but never actually touched you in any way. It was proper. But it was maddening .

“Given, what? Do explain, miss,” he said, but it wasn’t derogatorily put. A genuine curiosity lingered in his dark voice edged by a warmth unlike any other. “Well—” you averted your gaze and began fidgeting “—given how handsome and kind you are, Sir.” Where the boldness came from you had no idea, but the words had been on your tongue for close to a week now. “You think me handsome?” he asked, a stunned sort of air to him. “Who would not?” you asked, turning in the process to look straight at him. “You are a handsome man.” “I am old,” he countered while for the first time lowering his eyes away from you. “We have a different opinion of what old means, Sir.” “You say that word, in a specific manner, miss.” “What word, Sir?” “That word.” “Sir?” “Yes, you speak it with such respect.” “I have the utmost respect for you, Sir Brandon.” He tilted his head at that, studying you closer all of a sudden.

“Is this due to my age?” he asked, circling back to the subject you held little regard for. You didn’t see an old man, only a handsome and kind one with a strange sort of distance to him. “No, Colonel. I’ve heard stories of you through the city, my former master spoke highly of you but with a certain distaste for your gentleness as he was a cruel—” You shut your mouth before another word could slip out. “Continue,” he ordered. “I do not like to speak ill of—” “Is he the reason you are fidgeting with your hands so incessantly?” It wasn’t a question so much as a quietly spoken demand for answers. You only nodded. “His name?” “I shall not speak, Sir. If you’d excuse me, I do not feel well all of a sudden,” you said in a quick lie. The memories of Lord Burlington were still too fresh. Your skin and flesh still felt the sting of his crop, held by him or his loyal butler.

You walked far too swiftly towards the door but before you could open it a warm hand grabbed yours. You froze mid-step as lightning seemed to strike you from his soft but steady touch. “Miss,” he said in a quiet drawl. “You shall speak the name so I can sever all ties.” Those were the words he spoke but the threat under them was far clearer than you’d care to admit. “You wish to shame the lord?” you asked. “He is but one of many who treat us with… severity.” “I wish to invite him to the day I shall make you mine, and he shall see what a beauty he harmed and realise he is done for, my sweet.” “The day—” Your breath hitched as his hand tightened only for his eyes to widen a second later and release you.

He turned away, his hand fisting before relaxing as he watched the naked tree while your blood pounded in your ears and your heart hammered beyond what should have been possible. The tension lay thick in the air while the silence stretched. “I have spoken too rashly,” he admitted. “Forgive my assumption, miss.” “A-assumption?” you managed to force out between laboured breaths. “That I hold a candle bright enough to capture your flame. Much like this tree misses its star, you have been my missing star. Bright, gentle, light…”

The words he spoke, so kind but sorrow-filled, twisted your heart as you watched his usually straight shoulders slump. You’d spent a week falling for him from a distance. Each gentle word to his staff, every confident step, all the little looks and smiles gifted in your direction. A true gentleman at heart, holding the respect of many yet naming you his missing star — the most important decoration of a Christmas tree and guiding light to those lost.

“Sir…” “Do not fret, my sweet,” he interrupted without looking at you. “I am accustomed to rejection.” “Accustomed to— What? Colonel Brandon I—” “It’s been many years though, as I’ve not offered myself to anyone. Before you, it was never anyone of true importance either.” “Importance? Sir, I’m a scullery maid. I have no—” “Do not finish that sentence,” he said as he swung around, his gentle eyes widened. “You are of the greatest importance, little star.”

Your mouth turned dry while your stomach churned and warmed under his stare. The harshness that mingled with the kindness in his eyes was a warming thing to be witnessed by. You wished to feel those strong arms wrap around you, holding you close while his gravelly voice whispered those sweet nicknames which had from time to time slipped out of that thin mouth of his you wondered what it felt like to kiss.

“I’m not rejecting you, Sir.” Those were the only words you managed to push out as your throat closed up. His brows lifted, surprise marring his face. “You-, you are not?” he asked and you shook your head. “Then, what are you doing?” “I-, I-,” you began, but how were you to speak of what he made you feel? He, a respected colonel with such grace and wealth to him, was far beyond your reach. You had done your best to tamper down your feelings, the building need in your entire body for him which only grew with each passing day.

You took a step back, as if your body knew it could not have what it wished for and tried to increase the distance. “Do not walk away from me, miss,” he said, but there was no harshness to his voice. “I’m not worthy,” you whispered. “My heart says otherwise.” “But I’m not— And you’re—” “My sweet,” he said, interrupting your clumsy attempt at forming words. “You are far beyond worthy. I knew, from the moment our eyes met and you spoke so kindly. There is more value in you, my missing star, than most in high society.”

You shook your head, as if you couldn’t believe the words he spoke. Yet, the moment he grasped your trembling hand it was as if the world fell away. There was only him, his kind eyes, his sweet warmth. The soft touch of his thin lips against your knuckles nearly had you undone right then and there.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: How are we feeling? 👀🙈 Gosh, I loved writing this one - it just feels so right for Brandon to be like this - I hope it hits the mark for you too! Also - I'm really getting into the thick of Christmas prepping now - I will do my best to post fics as early in the day as I possibly can but it might fluctuate a bit 😅❤

Q: What Rickman character would you prefer to be snowed in and stuck with for a week in a somewhat realistic setting? A: For me, it would have to be Snape - the magic alone makes him a prime candidate for making the week better 😂 Cold? Use a charm. Thirsty? Use a charm. Moving furniture? Use a charm. Can't reach the blanket? Use a charm. 👌

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[Dec:2023]