#also there is entirely too much wine and chocolate here

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Three) (18+) / Part One | Part Two

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 6.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Dinner is a tense affair, but by the end of it it feels less like walking on eggshells and more like walking around hard boiled eggs on the floor. There won’t be a goopy mess if you step wrong, but no one wants a squashed egg.

You and Jake seem to be getting on as friends, as long as you ignore all of the blatantly romantic elements of your current situation. You’re unfortunately subjected to a man beside you fingering his roommate beneath the table cloth, and you’re glad that Jake also agrees that despite being on a sex boat, that kind of thing is better done in private.

“Unless, of course, everyone’s into that,” He shoots you another one of his patented winks, and you delight in reaching across the table to steal the cherry off of his black forest cake.

“Hey! Oh, whatever,” He scoffs at your triumphant grin, reaching for his glass of wine. There’s not much left in the bottle; he’s a heavy pour and you didn’t bother counting his glasses- you just know he’s had more than one. His cheeks are just the slightest shade of pink, and you plan on snapping as many pictures as you can as soon as you can get him hazy enough to let you. 

“Here, Hangman,” You feign kindness, taking hold of the bottle and trying to line the neck up with the rim of his glass despite him pulling away, “There’s only a little bit left, finish it off so you don’t waste your money.”

“No, ‘can’t.” He insists, gulping the rest of what’s in his glass in a manner rather contradictory to his words, “Gotta sober up again if we’re going out tonight.”

“I’m going out tonight,” You remind him firmly, finding woozy, pliant Jake much easier to talk to than sharp-as-a-tack Hangman, “You were all set to head to bed earlier; I thought you were some sort of kissing fiend on wine.”

“That’s why I’m soberin’ up, darlin’.” Jake drawls, and though he’s blinking slower than normal, his tone indicates that you’re the stupid one.

“Can’t be much of a security guard if my eyes are goin’ all dizzy,” He says, his tongue lazing into a southern twang that’s sharper when he’s oiled up with booze.

“Security guard?” You echo incredulously, “Hangman, what possessed you to think I’d need a security guard? I’m in the Navy, we both know how to aim between the eyes.”

“No, you know how to aim between the legs,” Jake licks the bitter wine residue from his lips, most likely tasting a sweet tinge of chocolate there, too, “I just don’t feel right leavin’ you with that Daniel guy.”

“He’s nice.” You speak with a tight clench to your teeth, and though you have to separate them to fit your dessert fork into your mouth, they still feel tense. You supplement the need to snap at him by grinding the pastry dough on your tongue into shreds with your molars. Perhaps you’re brutalizing your pie instead of enjoying it, but you’re not in much of a state to enjoy anything right now, except maybe liquor.

“If you’re not gonna drink this, I will,” You secede, waving the bottle at him, “If I’ve gotta spend the night with you I don’t wanna remember it.”

“Finally,” He scoffs, reaching now for his water glass where it’s sweating on the table cloth. His cold, calculating smooth-talk has been reduced to a petulant fit, “Only reason I bought the damn wine was for you, ‘then you had to make a big fuss about it, ‘n all of a sudden you’re suckin’ it down just ‘cause I’m gonna crash your little date later.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very unfair, Hangman,” You drawl, the only thing stopping you from drinking straight from the bottle being the elegant setting around you, “I’m unreasonable and I think you should ask someone to switch roommates because you can’t stand me.”

“Oh, nice try,” He levels you with a glare, water beading at the corners of his lips as his hand trembles slightly around the glass, “That’s that reverse psychology bullshit. Nah, I can handle you. You jus’ need a good kiss, that’s all.”

Annoyance prickles in your chest; he’d been shaming you for kissing earlier, now he’s prescribing it?

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“Mhm.” He nods, his eyes slipping shut as he braces his hand against his forehead, elbow on the table to support his weight. He looks pitiful- like he’d worked 14 hours and not like a man on vacation. Perhaps the water is working, loosening the effects of the sweet wine and leaving him drained in its wake.

“It would calm you down, I think.” He mumbles, somewhere hazy between sleep and wake, “Jus’ gotta arm wrestle Damien for it.”

“Daniel.”

“Whatever.”

--

Jake has mostly sobered up by the time that you’re all four bathed in multicolored strobe lighting one deck down from the restaurant. He’s sticking to strictly water now which is bringing his awareness back, but he has to take trips to the bathroom every ten minutes. You don’t mind- you appreciate having the time alone with Daniel.

“So,” He hums, hands framing your waist and chest pressed to your own, “He’s a little protective, isn’t he? You guys have a thing going on?”

“No thing.” You snap, “There’s no thing going on between us.”

“He acts like there is,” Daniel muses, and it’s somewhere between disappointed and resentful. But his hands never stray from your skin, so you hope it’s not directed at you.

“He just- he likes to be the best in everything,” You explain, the words escaping in a sigh, “You should see him in the cockpit, he’s insufferable. ‘Always has to win. I think that’s all it is, Daniel. And- for him to win, I’d have to lose. So I think he’s trying to bully you away from me, then he can boast about how I’m lonely and he’s not. He does it all the time back home.”

Daniel’s face curves into a frown, “He seems like a douche. ‘Like the kinda guy you should stay away from.”

“Trust me, I’m trying to stay away from him,” You scoff, tucking your nose against Daniel’s chest while the music lulls into a more heartfelt melody, “But for the next seven days we’re stuck on a boat together.”

“At least Danica likes him. Maybe we can unofficially swap.” Daniel nods towards his roommate, who’s now offering Jake a beer where he’s just exited the restroom. 

You watch as he grins charmingly- the same one he’d leveled at you during dinner only an hour before, “No thanks, darlin’. I’ve gotta keep an eye on that one over there.”

The pair glance at you when Jake gestures, and you realize they’ve caught you staring when you hadn’t even realized you were doing it yourself. You press your face back against Daniel’s chest, a strange breed of embarrassment heating your cheeks. 

“You can drink,” You call to Jake, agonizing as you’d rather keep your voice to a low murmur against Daniel’s ear, “I don’t need to be babysat.”

At that exact moment the four shots you’d done of something they’d promised you was mild all flood to your ankle and weaken it so that it gives out under your weight. You stumble, your foot bending awkwardly as you shriek, gravity trying its best to drag you down to the scuffed floor.

Daniel’s eyes widen but he works quickly, and his strong arms brace against your back as he keeps you pressed tight to his chest. He glances over your shoulder at Jake who’d lunged forwards to catch you, and there’s a tightness in his jaw, a hardness in his eyes as he straightens up that spells irritation close to bursting. Daniel smirks at him.

“What were you saying?,” Daniel chuckles, letting you ease your hands off of him where you’d gripped tight to his biceps, “I’d make a ‘falling for me’ joke but it’d be so bad I’d throw myself overboard afterwards.”

“Sorry,” You bemoan the surely stinging handprints on Daniel’s toned biceps, “I didn’t mean to- aah,” You hiss, gingerly raising your tweaked ankle, “I rolled it or something, I’ll- ooh, I’ll be back. Just gonna ask the bartender for some ice.”

Both men step forwards to brace your weight against theirs- even Danica offers her hand, but you wave them off with a sheepish laugh.

“I’m okay, guys, really. I can walk, it just-” You wince, a twinge of pain shooting through your ankle, “It just hurts a bit. I’m gonna go sit in the bathroom for a minute with the ice on it, ‘see what that does.”

Daniel looks hesitant to leave you, but he lets you hobble to the counter. The bartender looks suspicious of your request at first, like you’re somehow cheating him out of profit by asking for six ice cubes in a plastic bag. But one glance down at your elevated ankle gets him moving, and he wraps it once in a paper towel before passing it over the counter.

The bathroom counter is not an ideal resting spot, but it does give you a chance to glance at your makeup in the mirror. It’s mostly in-tact, but you note that your lipstick has faded some, partially from pressing it to the rim of your glass and partially from pressing it to Daniel’s own mouth. You’d shared a few more dizzying kisses on the dance floor, and they make your rolled ankle worth it a thousand times over.

The ice bleeds condensation through the towel after only a few minutes, and you turn the package so the dry side is now pressed to your sore limb. You hear footsteps and you ensure that your dress is draped over your lap- sure it’s a sex cruise but no one wants to see you on display, and glance at the doorway to see who’d come in through the hall.

It’s Jake.

In the women’s bathroom.

“Hey!” You scoff, glaring at him while your fingers numb with cold, “Get out of here, you creep. This is the women’s bathroom.”

“I know. But you’re treating it like a hospital, so I’m gonna do the same. How’s your ankle?” He glances towards your foot braced on the counter, “Dalton can’t be that good of a dancer if he’s steppin’ on your feet the whole time.”

“First off, it’s Daniel. Second, I didn’t roll my ankle because he stepped on me, I rolled it because I’m drunk.”

A satisfied smile flits over Jake’s face, “So you do need babysitting, then?”

You neglect to respond verbally in favor of trying to melt his face off with your glare. It doesn’t work- in fact, his own expression only gets brighter.

“So, whaddya say we just drop right down on the tile and go for it?” He offers, gesturing towards the dingy bathroom floor, “Or- this counter might work,” He leans forwards to brace his biceps against it, shaking to no avail as the fixture stays tight.

“Oh, yes, that would be very comfortable,” You gripe.

“It could be.”

“Get out, Hangman.” You grimace, shifting the ice against your ankle, “I just wanna freeze this pain away and get back out there, and I think your presence is somehow making it hurt worse.”

“You really know how to make a man feel special,” He cocks his head slightly, leaning against the counter and glancing at your ankle, “Is it throbbing?”

“No. Just stings a bit.” You grumble, keeping your eyes off of his dress shirt and the way he’s rolled the sleeves up. It’s a pretty color, nice against his tan skin.

“Right.” He murmurs, voice similarly soft as the music leaks in muffled through the walls.

“You can go,” You nod towards the door, “I think Danica really likes you. Which is weird, because she’s heard you open your big fat mouth, and that’s usually what sends ‘em running.”

Jake rolls his eyes in an excellent impression of Penny’s daughter Amelia now that she’s in the throes of teenagedom. 

“Anyways, you should go and drink with her. Have fun,” You offer, hesitantly kind to him, “You might as well get lucky even if you got stuck with a prudish roommate.”

“You’re not prudish,” He narrows his eyes at you, “You and Devon dry-humped in an elevator.”

“Daniel!”

“You didn’t even deny it,” Jake mock-gasps, “I bet the two of you were rubbin’ up on each other-”

“Get out.”

“-from decks 1-8. Hey, what’s that Ed Sheeran line that Rooster likes? Up and comin’ like I’m fuckin’ in an elevator?”

“Get out!”

Your ice pack doubles as an excellent projectile, but Jake was raised with older sisters, and is fantastic at dodging things flying towards his face.

He catches it with that infuriating grin he’s always shooting at you, and he tosses it into the trash while extending his other hand as an offering towards you.

“C’mon, Roger Clemens, let’s get back out there, shall we? Or are you too drunk to stand?”

“I can stand,” You insist, ignoring his hand and sliding off of the counter onto your feet, though one protests the weight with a sharp jolt of pain up your leg.

“Sure,” He scoffs, once more rolling his eyes skyward as he grabs hold of your bicep anyways, hoisting part of your weight onto him, “Let’s just get outta here before a gaggle of you ladies decide they’re all going to the bathroom together. Why do you do that, by the way?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because men have a habit of wandering in despite the clear sign on the door that says Women’s.” You glare up at him, but you let him help you hobble out of the bathroom.

“I go where I’m needed. You needed a medic,” He shrugs, angling you towards one of the barstools so that you can rest your weight again, “And you needed someone to tell you to stay away from that David guy.”

You snap your eyes shut instead of correcting Jake yet again, instead focusing on why he’s being particularly dickish this evening.

“Why do you care so much? He’s a nice man, why are you so angry that we’re connecting?”

“Because I don’t think he’s a nice man,” Jake’s face scrunches in a frown packed with judgment, “He defiled you in an elevator and he’s leaving his roommate high and dry.”

“No he’s not,” You scoff, “They’re dancing right now!” 

You jab a finger towards the pair now pressed together on the dance floor, ignoring the newly familiar tinge of jealousy in your chest when you see Daniel’s hands pressed to Danica’s waist just the same as they’d been to yours. It’s fine. You’re on a sex cruise; he signed a lot of contracts but monogamy wasn’t one of them.

“That’s worse,” Jake sneers, his hand sliding from your bicep to your back to steady you on the barstool, “He’s not loyal to either of you.”

“I don’t need his loyalty.”

“That’s not right. You should want loyalty. You don’t see me chatting up everyone’s roommates, do you?”

“You’re certainly friendly with Danica! And I don’t need your loyalty either, Jake!” You gush, voice raising, “Loyalty is for relationships! This is sex! Heated, messy, sloppy, dirty sex!”

Jake’s eyes dim of their usual fire, but you wouldn’t know it by the way his grin stays plastered in place. Then, slowly, bitterly, it fades, and he looks away towards a water ring on the surface of the bar, “Sex ain’t all there is in life. One day you’ll want loyalty.”

Your indignant laugh comes immediately, “Hangman, I can’t believe you of all people are lecturing me on loyalty. You’ve cycled through every tourist that makes the unfortunate mistake of wandering too close to the naval base. You’re not even loyal to your friends, why do you think we call you Hangman?”

The fire in his eyes is back, but it’s hot and not warm. Low blow. Maybe if you weren’t so drunk you wouldn’t have said it.

His jaw is tight when it opens for him to spit, “That’s ‘cause I ain’t got a girl I wanna be loyal to. And- and that Hangman shit is old, I don’t leave you hanging anymore. Not in the air, and not on the ground. Not after-”

Neither of you say it, but you both remember the sheer terror you’d felt when Bradley had gone down trying to save Maverick. How Jake had begged to be launched in a search and rescue, how they’d held him back until they were certain the two pilots were already on their way back. Like they didn’t want to risk one man to save two. Like Jake’s pleading wasn’t proof enough that they were more than just soldiers, more than just numbers, that they were people, too. You owe him that; he’d shown loyalty there, even if his pride had been hurt. Perhaps that proves his ego doesn’t win out, even if its what he likes to display.

“Fine.” You murmur, biting your cheek, “But- but just stay out of this, okay? If I wanna fool around with someone then I can, doesn’t matter if he won’t be here after this cruise is over.”

Jake’s face sours impossibly further, “Fine.”

He storms off through the crowd, and there’s a handprint-shaped cold spot on your back. 

You scoff at his dramatic display, but before the bartender serves you the drink you order in a huff, Daniel comes weaving towards you through the crowd.

“He asked to swap,” Daniel informs you, “And he called you my ‘side chick’.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” You take a bitter sip of your drink, eyes widening at the strength, “Oh, god, if I can even aim.”

“Aim?” Daniel asks, slight trepidation clouding his features, “You gonna punch him?”

“Nah, I’ll shoot him down in a fighter jet.”

It draws a laugh out of Daniel, and you enjoy the rich, warm sound. It sounds a little how your drink tastes, but it’s not as sour.

It’s just as intoxicating, though, and you let it make you dizzy as he takes your hands and spins you on the barstool to the rhythm of the music, dancing with you as much as you’re capable of.

--

“I think she’s one drink away from falling off of that stool,” Danica muses, and Jake’s eyes snap to her own where her head reaches his shoulder.

“What? Y/N?”

“Yeah. You’ve been staring at her for the last six songs.”

“Sorry.” Jake grimaces, “I didn’t mean to zone out.”

“It’s fine.” She pats his chest and god, it’s pathetic and oozing with pity, “She was giving you a hard time earlier?”

“She’s always giving me a hard time. Can’t just let me help her, she’s gotta make a big stink of everything.”

“Mm-hm,” She nods along, and Hangman begins wondering if this is how people feel when they speak to him. Patronized and condescended.

“Well, I don’t think she’s capable of giving you a hard time anymore,” She narrows in on the way you’re slumped against Daniel’s shoulder, face stretched into a permanent lazy grin, “You wanna head out for the night and get her to bed before she passes out?”

“I dunno,” Jake shrugs, but his eyes never leave your slouched frame, “I’m having a nice time dancing with you, doll.”

“No you’re not.”

He turns to her, brows furrowed, “What?”

“No,” She repeats, but there’s mirth in her voice instead of reprimand, “You’re not. You’re worried about her. You two are friends?”

“Something like that.” Jake hums, but pointedly never denies her accusations, “She’s just- pardon me for speaking ill of your roommate, Danica, but I don’t want him messing around with her.”

“Mm. So you’re her father?”

“No,” Jake’s face wrinkles, and he tugs his arm an inch tighter around her waist, “We’re friends like you said. Sort of. The kind of friends that are always at each other’s throats, y’know the type.”

“Oh. So fuckbuddies.”

“No,” Jake laughs, and it eases out some of the worrisome creases in his face, puts new, happier ones in his skin instead, “See, I suggested that this cruise partnership was a work’a fate, that it’d give us a chance to blow off some of our steam, but she won’t have it. So now I’m just a glorified babysitter.”

“Ooh, so you’re not even in the friendzone,” Danica grimaces, a dry smile on her face, “Well, Jake, for what it’s worth, I think she’s lucky to have you as a roommate. And as whatever sort of friend you are to her.”

Jake nods tersely, head still turned to watch the way Daniel keeps you upright with an arm around your waist. 

“She said-” Jake starts, then remembers he’s talking to a woman he barely knows, then remembers he’s got nothing to lose, “She said all this shit earlier about me not being loyal. Reliable, trustworthy, all that. And- I wasn’t, okay? I was a… not so great person. For longer than I’d like to admit. But,” His throat feels tight now, and it tenses in his jaw as Danica listens, “I’m not like that anymore. And I haven’t been for long enough for her to notice. If she’s lookin’, that is. Which- I guess she’s not. But I just thought maybe- I thought maybe she’d see it and we could be different. I still wanna tease her, of course. But at dinner she told me she thought I was just trying to ruin this for her. And I’m not,” His eyes gleam, not with tears but with something close and soulful as he blinks into Danica’s eyes, “I’m trying to make it better. I’m trying to make it the week of her life. The week of both of our lives. I’m just…” He hesitates, weighing the word on his tongue, “I’m afraid she won’t let me.”

Danica squeezes gently at his bicep through his dress shirt, and briefly mourns that the beefiest man on this ship is 100%, prime-time in love with you. She’d have loved to spend a night with him, but she kisses her chances goodbye as she smiles sweetly at Jake.

“You’re a good friend. You’re a very good friend, Jake. You’re trying to be very good at being much more than a friend. But she’s not seeing it, right?”

Jake nods, and she mimics the action, “So you need to show her. Show, not tell. Even if she’s resistant, even if she tries to gripe at you, it’s because she’s still seeing the man you used to be. And hey, maybe she won’t want the man you’ve become, even if you worked hard on becoming him. But there’s no reason to throw up your hands now, is there? Let her see the real you, then she’ll decide whether she’s willing to have you. Be patient. It’s all up to her in the end, so be this new-and-improved version of yourself, and she’ll take care of the rest. Okay? Remember, you’re a good friend.”

Jake nods at her reassuring words, steeling himself for a week of patience that he doesn’t typically possess.

Danica continues through the silence, “Aaand a good friend would make sure she gets back to her cabin before she blows chunks all over her hookup’s shoes, right?”

“Oh.” Jake’s eyes widen momentarily as his head jerks towards you - he’s only ever seen you upchuck twice before, both times after rowdy nights out with the group, but he is noticing a familiar pudge to your cheeks that can’t spell anything good. He’s tempted to let you ralph all over Daniel, teach you a lesson about mouthing off to people that are only trying to be nice- but that’s what pre-dagger squad Hangman would have thought. That’s old Hangman, the aviator who’d have sold his wingman out for fame and glory. Now he’s an entirely different Hangman, the one with a rope around his neck that tightens each time Daniel squeezes the pudge of your hip.

“Thanks, Danica,” He breaks away from her embrace with a kind, chaste smile, none of his usual toothy sleaze, “Hey, uh- enjoy your night with Daniel. Careful, though: I’ve heard he does terrible things in elevators.”

“I’ll keep it in mind!” She calls, her voice a melodious laugh as she waves goodbye at him, “Straight to bed, Jake! And leave water on the nightstand!”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” He’s happy to let his southern drawl take over, nodding at her with a wink before spinning around to face you.

Daniel glances up at him, and his attempt at keeping a neutral expression over his face is valiant, but some of the wariness seeps through in the way that his arm tightens almost imperceptibly around your shoulders. Your eyes are desperately trying to stay open but they still lock onto Jake no problem, and you raise both of your eyebrows in what Jake is certain was an attempt to only raise one.

“Yes, Hangman?” You ask, your voice thick with booze, “You need somethin’?”

“You look like you’re about to need a trashcan,” Jake tentatively reaches for you, “C’mon, it’s gettin’ late. We should head back to the cabin for the night.”

Jake expects another jab about the nature of the cruise, but what he gets is drunken compliance, an easy reach of your hand for his own and a mumbled, ‘kay’.

“Hold on,” Daniel catches your waist, keeping you suspended between them, “You sure you can get her back okay?”

There’s a sharp tilt to his brow that makes Jake think Daniel’s not questioning whether he’s strong enough to carry you. The thought both offends and disgusts Jake, and he takes pleasure in swatting Daniel’s arm away from your hips to tug you into his embrace.

“She’s safe with me,” Jake scoffs, “But your roommate’s gettin’ lonely out there, Dallas.”

“It’s Dominic,” You gripe, the stench of liquor hitting Jake full-force now that your face is only inches away from his own, your forehead bumping his jaw.

Daniel hadn’t found Jake’s jab to be very funny, but a smile quirks the corners of his mouth at your slip-up, and he finally lets you go with a pat to the hip.

“You can call me any name you want, Y/N,” He offers, but his eyes pass darkly over Jake’s tense face, “So long as it’s not Jake.”

“No, no, he’s- he’s Jake.” You jab a sharp finger into Jake’s chest and he flinches back slightly, hissing at the contact.

“Good memory, darlin’.” Jake commends you, “Now let’s head for the elevators, m’kay?”

“I love elevators,” You sigh, no doubt remembering the feverish embrace you’d shared in one only hours prior, “Daniel, are you coming too?”

His face turns down in visible pain and he shakes his head, “No, I’m not. I’m gonna go find Danica - she’s probably looking for me.”

“She’s probably found someone else by now,” Jake laughs, haughty and biting, “I wouldn’t wait around for someone if they were hellbent on fooling around with someone else.”

“Really?” Daniel speaks like he’s snapping at Jake, gnashing and snarling like a fighting dog, “It seems like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The weight of your head slumped in the juncture between Jake’s neck and shoulder feels like shackles. 

For a moment the two men stare at each other, and if you weren’t slowly losing consciousness between them, they might have given into their tension-fueled urge to scrap like feisty teens. But you release a soft, tender sigh against Jake’s chest, and he hikes his arm up under your thighs instead.

“‘Gonna lift you, darlin’.” He informs you, waiting only a second before he scoops you into a bridal hold. Your head is quick to loll backwards at a grotesque angle, and before Jake can balance you out, Daniel reaches over to assist.

“Here, honey,” The man croons, nestling your head against Jake’s bicep, and he watches in abject horror as Daniel leans down to press his lips to your forehead, “We’ll see each other tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you.”

Jake is desperate to know whether your responding smile is dreamy from the liquor or from the sight of his face, “Mm, okay, g’night.”

“Night,” Daniel murmurs fondly, and Jake is all too happy to drag you away from him. 

“Slow down,” You plead when Jake is ten steps out of the bar and beelining for the elevators, “I’m gonna spew.”

“Not on me, please,” Jake jolts to a stop in the middle of the hallway, noting the rhythmic rocking motion of the boat and cringing, “Can I go for the elevator?”

“Slowly,” You mumble, and evidently you hadn’t heard his begging by the way you nestle your nose into his chest.

Upon hearing the ding of the elevator your eyes snap open, and you seem horrified despite having heard the word mere seconds before.

“Wait. No elevator.”

“What?”

“No elevator. Please, I can’t- ugh,” You groan, leaning away from Jake to hang your face over the ground beside him, “I can’t take the pressure of moving up in an enclosed space.”

“Well we’re one floor away from our room, how do you expect me to get you up there?” Jake gripes.

Approximately thirty seconds later he’s hauling you up a flight of agonizingly shallow stairs.

“This is bullshit.” Jake scoffs, “Should’ve had Daniel do this.”

“Dean,” You correct him, “His name is Dean.”

“No it’s not!” Jake laughs incredulously, rounding the corner to the second half of the staircase, “See, if you can’t even remember his name, you shouldn’t be foolin’ around with the guy.”

“What’s the name of the last woman you took home, Hangman?” You shoot him a glare with narrowed eyes where you’re still held in his arms, and he stops in his tracks to shoot you a menacing glance of his own while his chest heaves from exertion.

“Touche. That’s why I stopped foolin’ around with her, though. Couldn’t care enough to remember.”

“You never care,” You grumble groggily, and Jake tugs the both of you up the remaining four steps until he’s on your cabin’s level.

Your words are slashing relentlessly at a wound that’s been gaping for longer than Jake can remember. He thinks it's worse when you’re drunk- you’re shitfaced enough to forget your new boytoy’s name, but you still remember how shallow and vapid of a person Jake used to be.

“Right now, I care very deeply that you’ve got your room key with you. Or that you can reach mine; whichever works. You got it on you, darlin’?”

“This dress doesn’t have pockets,” You lament, “Where’s yours?”

“Uh.” Hangman glances over his shoulder, “Back pocket.”

Alcohol courses through your veins in the same quantity blood does when you reach with no inhibition for Hangman’s ass.

Jake’s eyes widen as he feels your fingers prodding and poking liberally around his dress pants, finally finding the pocket and slipping inside. He stays frozen solid at the door while you root around for his phone, finally pulling it out and squinting to focus on it as you bring it towards your face.

“Room key,” You pull out one of his debit cards out of the sleeve on the back, handing it to him expectantly.

“Uh- no, not exactly,” He strains to keep you suspended- he’s starting to wonder if you’ve got more muscle mass than he does, “The red one in the front, Y/N, that’s the room key. And I don’t have a hand to unlock the door with, so you’ll have to do that yourself.”

You toss his debit card onto the floor like it’s garbage.

“Hey! That’s- oh, just get the key.” He kicks it forwards, keeping it propped against the toe of his shoe while he waits for the door to open.

“Got it,” You drawl, and this time you’re right. You lean forwards without waiting for Hangman to move with you, and he nearly drops you where you’re aiming the keycard for the slot on the lock.

“Jesus, just- stick it in!” Hangman snaps, eyes on his debit card still discarded on the floor, “Let’s hope you never use a strap-on, you’ve got terrible aim.”

“I got it,” You grunt and a green light flashes while the lock clicks open. You manage to jiggle the door handle until the heavy slab of wood swings open, and Hangman is glad you’d remembered to leave a light on before you’d left.

He takes his final steps towards the bed and sets you down on the side he’d left open earlier. You’re too shitfaced to remember that you were vehemently opposed to sleeping in the bed earlier, and he’s glad for it when you sink willingly into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed, lashes resting over your cheeks.

“Hang on, ‘gonna get you some water. You- uh, change while I’m gone.”

He ambles off to the bathroom, and when he hears rustling outside the door he shuts himself inside to give you privacy. He decides to change into his own sleeping clothes, but it’s less of an outfit and more of a strip tease until he’s standing on the cool tile floor in nothing but boxers. He hadn’t planned on wearing much of anything for the entire week, and he definitely hadn’t packed sleeping clothes.

He fills a glass of water and knocks briefly on the inside of the bathroom door, “Hey Y/N, I’m coming out, m’kay?”

There’s no reply.

He assumes you’d shout at him if he tried barging in on you changing- in fact, you had only hours prior. He takes your silence as permission to exit the bathroom, but when he finds you curled up in bed, your dress is still on.

Evidently you hadn’t been changing.

“Y/N,” He groans, reaching out to prod tentatively at your shoulder, “No, don’t do this to me. Wake up, c’mon.”

Your eyes are firmly shut, glued there by booze.

“Shit.”

Jake sets the water on your square nightstand, ankles sturdy despite the rocking motions of the boat. He’s well used to being at sea, and it doesn’t make him unstable as he leans over to inspect your sleeping face. He can see your eyes flitting this way and that, barely covered by the thin skin of your lids, and he marvels at your drunken ability to knock out like you’ve been concussed mere minutes after hitting the mattress.

He lifts your arm and when he lets go it falls pathetically over your chest - there’s no waking you.

“Okay,” Jake grimaces, reaching for one of the straps of your dress, “For the record, I don’t wanna be doin’ this.”

“If you were awake you’d be yellin’ at me for breathing towards you,'' Jake rambles, a running dialogue making him feel slightly better about stripping you naked in your sleep, “But if you wake up tomorrow in this deathtrap you’re gonna be pissed, so I’m doin’ what I think is best. I swear it’s not a ploy to stick my hand down your shirt.”

And- speaking of sticking his hand down your shirt, he has to ruck the fabric of your dress up and over your breasts to slide it off of your head, “Aaand, there they are, and they’re out now, and that bra looks really uncomfortable, so I’m gonna-”

Jake slides his hands beneath your back, locating the series of clasps easily. 

“Please don’t kill me,” Jake begs, blinking up at the ceiling as his neck aches with the way he cranes his head upwards, “I’m not lookin’, I swear.”

He peels your pushup bra off of your chest, and the fabric is warm where he tosses it in the vague direction of your suitcase. He wants nothing more than to linger on that, to press his hand to the pad that had just cupped your flesh and let the warmth travel south. But he is a Southern gentleman, and you’re sleeping, and the bra remains discarded in the hallway.

“Right. Now the pajamas,” He continues his stream of consciousness if only to reassure himself that he’s not a creeping perv in the darkness of your cabin, “For both of our sakes, Y/N, I hope you packed better nightwear than I did.”

Upon discovering nothing but lacy chemises neatly folded among your other clothes, he gnaws at the inside of his cheek.

“Okay. Don’t go gripin’ at me in the morning for sticking you in one of these things. It was your poor packing skills that led us here.”

He plunges a hand into your suitcase and comes out with a red lacy contraption. He feels, to his own incredulity, a blush rising over his cheeks, as if he’s a teenage boy thumbing through a porn mag and not a decorated naval aviator. He drops the red thing, and reaches for something less sinful. What he finds next is a softer pink garment, silky and longer than the red- though he’s sure it’ll only barely cover your ass. All he wants is to cover his own, though, to make sure he won’t be in trouble for cramming you into a sexy getup while you’re passed out drunk, and the pink is looking better than the red for that purpose. Although- Jake has to admit, the pink is sexy in its own right. It’s soft, and smooth, and delicate, and he’s getting uncomfortable down south so he really needs to stop staring at it.

“Pink it is, darlin’.” He hums, “Hope you don’t mind. Maybe when we dock you can find something a little more conservative. Up you go,” He slides a hand beneath your back, his eyes trained dutifully on your forehead and absolutely nothing down below, “Hope y’don’t mind your hair getting a little messy. I think you scruffed it up when you hit that banister earlier, anyways.” Technically, that had been equal parts yours and his fault. He’d been carrying you, so he could have been a little more careful about swinging you this way and that as he’d navigated the ships’ halls, but you kept reaching out to touch things, and you’d collided square with a metal post in your curiosity. He bunches up the chemise and slides it over your head, careful not to scrape the lace over what little of your lip gloss remains. He doesn’t want to add staining your clothes to the list you’ve surely got of all his transgressions against you.

It’s rather hard to dress you blindly, and his hand does accidentally dip between your tits as he tries settling the material against your skin. He jerks it away like it’s burnt, hissing as his eyes widen where they’re staring at a particularly boring ceiling light.

“Accident. It was an accident. I swear.” He vows, hoping against hope that you’ll stay sleeping as he clumsily dresses you.

“Christ,” He yanks the material down your thighs, settling the chemise into place, “‘Knew how easy it was to take one off’a woman, never knew how hard it was to put it on. I think,” He muses, blinking long and hard before peering down carefully at you. You’re fully clothed, “That’s good. Okay. Done.”

The silence in the room is deafening now that he doesn’t need to keep up a stream of dialogue to soothe his fraying nerves, and his footsteps seem to pound against the cabin floor as he rounds the bed to his own side. There’s plenty of room, but he still feels like he’s sinning - crawling into bed beside your sleep-limp, pink satin-swathed form in nothing but his boxers.

With one click of the remote beside his bed the lights turn off, and there’s no sound besides the ship’s motor to distract him from the gentle inhales and exhales of your peaceful breathing. He licks his lips, settles into his typical sleeping position, sniffles briefly, fiddles with his hands, lifts a leg up to stretch his muscles, readjusts his neck on the pillow, clears his throat, wriggles his toes beneath the blankets, itches his nose, and comes to terms with the fact that he’s unable to sleep. Something’s not right, and he thinks little before he turns to his opposite side to see if sleep will meet him there.

It doesn’t, but your face does.

His neck stiffens and he nearly rears his head back when his nose brushes against your own, your warm breath fanning over his face. He snaps his eyes shut and breathes deeply himself, lashes fluttering when he deems himself brave enough to open his eyes again.

You’re there, looking like sleep was made for you the way it lulls your face into peace and erases the wrinkles Jake puts around your nose and mouth. There’s no longer the prominent frown lines that you’re always sporting around him, and your lips are blessedly relaxed, almost pouting with the way your cheek is squished into the pillow instead of disapprovingly downturned in his direction.

The silence suffocates him, rushing into Jake’s ears and clogging them until tv static fills his brain. The only words he can form, the only thing he’s capable of doing is murmuring a gentle, “Goodnight, Y/N,” In a voice far softer than he’s ever aimed towards you before.

Then he turns, rolling back onto a shoulder that aches from carrying your phantom weight, and shuts his eyes for the night.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ SANTA TELL ME IF HE REALLY CARES ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai, sigma

the pm is hosting a christmas party for yokohama! everyone is encouraged to bring a gift for the people they love…so what do the bsd men get you?

info. fem!reader. sm fluff. profanities from chuuya ofc LOL, them trying to outdo each other for you. pm hq has a rooftop floor here. implied reader is in the ada. wc. 3.1k

You walked inside the lavish lobby of the port mafia headquarters to be greeted by DAZAI, who immediately embraced you in his arms.

“Bella! You made it!” he exclaimed, pulling you in. You could feel the heat of his body warming you up, relieving you of the chilly weather outside.

“Of course, Osamu,” you giggled. “Wouldn’t want to miss something super special as this.”

Still trapping you in his hug, he led you down the hallway, one hand moving to playfully pat your head. Security guards parted to let the two of you through, entering the room where everyone was.

“So many people!” you exclaimed when you entered the headquarters’ formal dining hall decorated in Christmas festivities. Everyone was either chatting about or gathering by a table to get sweet desserts or hot chocolate.

“Want some hot chocolate to warm up, angel?” Dazai asked, looking towards the line.

“No thanks,” you replied. “You’ve warmed my heart up already.”

He gave you a smug smile in response, but you didn’t miss the light pink that also flushed his cheeks.

“Come over here.”

You followed Dazai as he made his way to a different table filled with wrapped presents and bags alike.

Dazai took one of them—the gift bag in your favorite color and handed it to you.

“For the gift exchange,” he smiled. “Merry Christmas, bella. I hope you like it.”

Your eyes lit up in joy, grateful and excited to see what he had gotten you. “Thank you!”

The first thing you pulled out of the bag was a custom heart pendant in your preferred metal—Dazai knew whether you liked silver or gold better. When you unclasped the locket, you saw matching pictures of you and Dazai inside, both bundled up in the snow. It was a good memory to look back at.

“This is so cute, Osamu.” You closed the locket and let the brunette place the jewelry around your neck.

“It looks even better on you.”

The second thing inside the bag was a box. Pulling it out, you saw that it was a Lego flower set.

“As much as you love flowers, they don’t last forever. However, these do!” You grinned widely at the thought and matching gift—Dazai always easily recalled your favorite things.

“We can build them together, too,” he continued, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love them. You’re amazing at getting gifts.”

“I wouldn’t expect that at all.” Your attention was brought to the ginger-haired who had his arms crossed beside the both of you, a cheeky grin on his face. CHUUYA had a mug of eggnog in his hand, though you knew for sure he’d rather have a glass of red wine reserved for the evening party instead.

“Chuuya!”

“What’s up, doll?” he smiled, a different, sweeter tone entirely, as he strode towards you.

“What do you mean by that?” Dazai asked, referring to Chuuya’s earlier comment.

“Thought your taste in gifts would be shitty, just like you,” he chuckled as you greeted him with a hug.

“Hey, that’s a bit rude,” you whispered.

“Oh really?” Dazai responded with his own sarcastic laugh. “I’m not sure you could do any better.”

“You really underestimate me! Come with me, baby…we’re going to prove to the-thing-that-comes-with-the-discounted-bandages who really knows what to get a lady for Christmas!”

Dazai stood, jaw dropped, dramatically offended as Chuuya pulled you away.

You two walked to the other side of the room, where there were even more gifts under one of the many Christmas trees in the hall.

“Bastard,” Chuuya sulked under a scowl, picking up a box wrapped in crimson red, his statement color.

You chuckled in amusement. He riled up so easily, over something so trivial. “Don’t worry about him, Chuu. I already know I’m going to like what you got.”

“Ya better,” he replied, but cheered up from your words. “Are you able to hold it?”

He handed you the box, hovering his arms below for support in case you dropped it. Though it was a larger package, it was still a bit heavier than you expected.

“Yeah, I got it.” You then raised an eyebrow. What could be inside this gift?

You set it down on the nearest table, undoing the pretty bow of ribbon and wrapping paper that kept the mystery intact.

Inside, you were received with a record player.

“Oh, wow!”

You loved music, and you’d always wanted to start collecting vinyls as it looked cool, but everyone knew it was an expensive hobby.

Not only had Chuuya gotten that—a very nice one, too—he also got the records of your top ten favorite albums.

You looked through the covers, smiling with each new one you saw.

Chuuya explained a few things—how he was setting you up for good because he made sure you got a turntable player instead of a suitcase one, how you should replace the black slip mat with the white one he bought instead so your vinyls look prettier, how to not damage the records…you could hardly pay attention to him though because you were overjoyed at how thoughtful he was for that.

“You seem passionate. Do you collect them too?” you asked.

“No, I just wanted to research to find something good enough for you.”

You could feel your heart melt. He had really spent time picking this out after you’d only mentioned you finding record players vintage and cool twice, and you’d never even pointed out you’d want it as a gift.

“Thank you, Chuuya,” you said, leaning towards him, burying your face in his neck. “I love it…especially how you recall my favorite albums, too.”

“Of course doll,” he replied, running his hands through your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

You could’ve stayed like that, but your little moment with the port mafia executive was ruined when Chuuya glanced over at one of the snack tables to find all the food had just disappeared.

“Now what the fuck?”

You followed, looking at what he was looking at. Then, you realized the man standing by the table with a piece of cake—the last piece of cake.

RANPO caught your gaze and jumped, hyper from all the sugar he consumed. “There you are!” He ran towards you and shoved you on the ground, away from Chuuya.

“Hey man, what the hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted in annoyance.

Ranpo acknowledged the ginger-haired only then, looking up from where he had you suffocating in his arms. “Huh? Oh, sorry, didn’t see ya there.”

Chuuya grew even more infuriated at the provoke.

“You tryna pick a fight?”

“You still want to after knowing how last time turned out?”

Ranpo was referring to their last encounter, where Chuuya had embarrassingly lost against him from a single blow. But you didn’t need to know that.

So, Chuuya used all his willpower to keep silent under an outraged glare as he watched Ranpo drag you away to make sure he didn’t bring up any details about it.

“I got you a gift too!” Ranpo exclaimed as you walked back towards where the other agency members were hanging out. “Wanna guess what it is?”

“Hm…some sort of treat, that’s for sure,” you replied.

“Partly correct!” he replied. “That’s not all that I got you though.”

“Oh? How generous!”

“No!” his response was stern. “A princess like you deserves more…as the world’s greatest detective, noone would know that better than me.”

You smiled. “You’re right, Ranpo.”

With that, he handed you one of the cutest gift baskets you’ve seen. The actual basket was snowman-themed, and inside was everything you wanted that could fit in it—that pajama set you had in your online shopping cart, the new skincare products you’ve wanted to try, your favorite candle—you hadn’t even ever mentioned it to him before. And, of course, a lot of chocolate. Of course, Ranpo would also be the best gift-buyer, using his knowledge to his advantage.

The one thing that really stood out to you, though, was a jar of Hershey kisses, with a note on it that said:

KISSES WHEN I’M NOT AROUND.

It even had a chibi-fied face of the cute brunette on it.

“This is my favorite thing in this gift,” you said.

“Of course, because I know you always miss me when I’m not there to kiss,” Ranpo confidently stated. “Which is why I came up with a solution! They’ll never be as sweet as me, but it works.”

You laughed in delight. It was a very creative idea. “This is amazing; thank you, Ranpo!”

Never knowing how to respond to thankfulness directly, he answered it with something else. “Hey, there’s something on your nose.”

“Really?” You moved a hand to feel what was on there, but Ranpo grabbed your wrist to prevent you. Instead, he bopped your nose with his lips.

“There was frosting,” he said, probably from when he excitedly greeted you earlier.

“You enjoyed those desserts, huh?” you asked, glancing at the depleted table once again.

“Yup! It was just lying there, and noone said anything about how much you could take, so…!” He paused, trying to remember something.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

…

You chatted with agency and port mafia members alike a while after. Everyone was having a good time, even when Chuuya started bickering with Dazai and challenged him to a duel.

“Shithead!

“Mackerel!”

“How about you talk once you grow another two inches?”

As everyone was being entertained by Chuuya breaking an entire wall by throwing Dazai through it, your eyes were distracted by an elaborate bouquet of roses and baby breaths that you hadn’t noticed before.

Curious because it wasn’t by any other gifts, you left the crowd to inspect it.

You were surprised when you picked the arrangement up and saw that it was addressed to your name on a note. However, there was no name to say who it was from.

You looked around to see if anyone was nearby that could’ve placed the flowers there. But everyone else was watching the fight.

You flipped the note over, seeing a sketch of an elevator and a four-number code on the back.

An elevator?

You scanned the hall once again. The only elevator there was the one at the corner, restricted to the port mafia. The guests weren’t allowed to use it, and a security pad was guarding it.

You hesitated but then decided to approach the door. If someone gave you the code they wanted and were permitting you to use it, right?

Once again, no one protested because they were all distracted watching Chuuya on the ceiling, making sure Dazai couldn’t touch him. You pressed the four numbers into the pinpad and were congratulated with a correct ding! sound and the elevator sliding open.

You stepped inside and realized there was only one button—to go up. You pressed it, and the doors closed, moving you up.

Luxurious as always, the elevator had a glass window, the entire city of Yokohama coming into view as you went higher. A few seconds in, you realized that the elevator wasn’t going to stop until you reached the top.

You still weren’t sure who had mysteriously invited you to meet them. You hoped it wasn’t the boss—the doctor in charge creeped you out, if you were being honest. But you figured it couldn’t be him because he was also downstairs, chilling with the agency’s president.

Your heartbeat raced as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, adrenaline surging in anticipation of the surprise, coupling with the chilly breeze outside. You had reached the rooftop.

“You’re so easy to tempt; those flowers drew you in faster than a blind mouse to a piece of cheese laid in a trap.”

You smiled as you heard the foreign accent of the person near the edge riddle you while admiring the entire city below. “Hi, Fedya.”

FYODOR turned around, violet eyes meeting yours.

“I should’ve known.” Of course, the enigma was him—conundra was the Russian’s signature.

“How in the world did you even get here?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. He always had his ways to infiltrate anywhere—through deception, through hacking, anything goes.

“I invited ourselves,” he smirked, and only then did you notice his two subordinates on the other side, one in fear as the other tried to trip him over the ledge. “Didn’t want to miss out on the gift-giving either.”

Fyodor took out a jewelry box. “I hardly get to see you. So I thought to get you something that you could wear everyday.

“And this one is special, to remind you of my presence even more.” He opened it, revealing a bracelet, and like Dazai, he also knew what color jewelry suited you best. It was nothing too showy—it was simple, but it was classy, timeless, just like him.

And you noticed what made it special. There was no clasp. It was made to be welded on the person’s wrist—a forever bracelet.

“Choose wisely,” Fyodor said as you looked in awe. “Which wrist, milaya?”

You quickly contemplated and held out one of your wrists towards him as he took out tweezers and a small laser. You watched as he delicately fastened the bracelet around your arm, making sure it sat on your wrist perfectly.

“Finished, fine with it?” he asked when he was done, and you lifted your hand toward the horizon.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” you responded candidly. Then, Fyodor lifted up his own sleeve under his coat, revealing a matching one. You were almost stunned, because you didn’t think he would be the type to wear anything other than a necklace.

“Merry Christmas, dorogaya,” he softly said, pressing you against his chest in a hug.

“WAIT, WAIT! Dove, there’s still me! Don’t seal away your heart just yet!”

“Huh?” You both turned towards NIKOLAI, who kindly but quickly moved Fyodor away from you.

The next thing you knew, there were foil snowman and reindeer balloons in your hand, white confetti popped over you, acting as snow, and the jester standing in front of you presenting a large gift.

“To be honest, I’m scared,” you admitted, knowing his chaotic, playful nature.

“Why?” he giggled. “Think I’m going to scare ya, baby? You can take my word, there’s no jumpscares in this one.”

“You better not be lying,” you said and removed the lid of the black box that reminded you of a magician’s top hat.

And he was being truthful because you were greeted with the exact opposite of remarkable. He had gifted you plain, white socks.

“Wow, Kolya. I never even knew you were capable of being mundane.”

He laughed once again as he just set the box in front of you, not saying anything more as you stared at him in confusion.

You took the socks out. Surely, there was a catch. He was acting too suspicious. And the entire gift was odd. You found nothing tampered with on the socks, though. And there was nothing else in the box. So why was it so big? And why did it look deeper than where the bottom stopped?

You nervously looked at Nikolai before sticking both hands in. You felt your way around the level until you realized the entire package floor felt like paper machete, something used in piñatas and things like that.

By instinct, you lifted a fist and punched through the box. You immediately punctured through the false bottom, uncovering your true gift.

He celebrated. “Smart girl!”

There was an assortment of plushies—many of them. You always asked Nikolai to help you get some whenever you found claw machines at amusement parks, so he knew you loved stuffed animals.

Then, there was a large, fluffy throw blanket, perfect for winter.

“I got that because I know you’re probably so cold when I’m not hugging you.” True. Nikolai encapsulated you like a blanket whenever he came over.

“The thought of having this didn’t even cross my mind,” you said. “Well, that goes for everything you do,” you chuckled.

“That was really creative; I love it, thank you!”

Nikolai popped more confetti, this time in pink hearts. “She loves it! Happy, happy Christmas!”

He swung you off the ground, spinning you with ease until your own head started spinning the opposite way.

“Gogol! I think she’s dizzy!”

The two-tone-haired casino owner had a concerned look on his face, and you couldn’t tell if it was because your eyes were unfocusing or because Nikolai was throwing you around so easily. Strong guy.

Nikolai stopped, realizing he had gotten too excited. “Sorry, dove! Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you responded, unable to keep your balance as you tripped over yourself. You landed on SIGMA’s torso, and he helped guide you to stand up properly again.

“Thanks, Sigma,” you replied. “How are you?”

“Good, now that I get to see you again.” He lightly blushed, breaking eye contact as you smiled. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“I got you something as well,” he replied, showing his own present. “I’m not sure what the people downstairs got you, and mine isn’t as fancy as Dostoevsky’s nor as extraordinary as Gogol’s, but I hope you like it.”

You felt warm, even in the icy weather. “Awh, just hearing that you got something for me is more than enough,” you replied. “I am so grateful no matter what.”

You took the present and opened it, first greeted by a new set of poker cards. However, this one was different because when you sifted through them, you realized it was the Decay of Angel’s custom set. You had been wowed by Nikolai’s Joker and Fyodor’s Jack when you first saw them, always using the set when you played a game with others.

But there was also a new addition to this stack. You were on it, taking your place as the queen.

“What? Sigma, this is so cool!”

There was one more thing inside. Your favorite lipstick in your favorite shade.

Sigma loved the color and even more how it looked on you. He loved how his cheeks would stain whenever you kissed him there—the pigmented contrast to his paler skin. You hardly needed restocking as you loved the lipstick yourself, but it was always good to have another extra.

“Merry Christmas,” Sigma said as you opened the container and swatched it on your face. You looked as beautiful as ever.

“Merry Christmas, Sigma,” you responded, kissing his forehead. Then, you pulled a cookie wrapped in a napkin from inside your coat and placed it in his mouth.

“Saved it for you,” you giggled. “There’s a lot downstairs. Maybe they’ll let you guys in if I say I invited you. Well, at least you.”

i heard if u rb, u will receive x2 gifts this xmas from ur favs! reblogs are appreciated; they are your christmas gift to me! <3

tags : @kissesmellow21

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + heart lights divider by benkeibear.

[sweetercalypso]

Something Right (Frankie Morales)

Summary: For your first Valentine’s Day together, Frankie goes all out. But can the evening be saved when his plans fall apart?

Word Count: 1.6k

Notes: minors dni; kissing, brief finger sucking, mutual mast., mentions of alcohol, eating/sharing food (chocolate), one tiny injury, afab reader wearing a dress, no use of y/n, Frankie is a sap and we love him for it

Frankie had been planning this date for weeks. Hours spent meticulously crafting a menu, tasting wines, arranging heart-shaped balloons in every corner of the house – anyone could tell that he was a man in love.

He’d ordered an abundance of long-stemmed roses, picked out the perfect card, and agreed to whatever other embellishments the young store clerk had recommended. The first Valentine’s Day as a new couple is meant to be a spectacle, and Frankie’s determined to show you how much you mean to him, no matter the cost.

The evening had started off without a hitch. The house was decorated, the table was set, and Frankie still had enough time to pull his old record player out from storage. Unfortunately, that’s where his luck ended.

He’d chosen an uncharacteristically formal ensemble of dark slacks and a pressed button-down shirt, opting to retire his beloved ball cap for this special occasion. He’d slung a dark red tie around his neck, then switched it out for blue, then abandoned the idea entirely as his nerves began to fray.

The longer he stood in front of the mirror, the more he picked apart his appearance. His pants were too tight, his collar wouldn’t stay in place, and he’d run his fingers through his hair too many times, leaving his beloved messy curls in a state of disarray. Maybe he’s just not the fancy type.

Nevertheless, he moved into the kitchen with the hope that a nice, home-cooked meal would excuse his disheveled look. He’d chosen something simple enough that his rudimentary cooking skills would suffice, yet eloquent enough to still be called a ‘dinner date’. He’d really put in the work to make this evening perfect.

With the table prepared and the sound of vintage crooning love songs playing softly in the living room, there wasn’t much left to do except tackle the intimidating mountain of ingredients waiting on the counter. He sucks in a deep breath and runs a hand down the side of his face, trying to decide where to begin.

A drink first, he settles, aiming to calm his restless energy with a taste of liquid courage.

Cradling the wine in the crook of his arm and skillfully balancing two glasses between his fingers, Frankie rummages through the kitchen drawers in search of a tool to open the seal on the bottle.

The delicate glasses clinking precariously in his hand require the better part of his attention as he adjusts his grip and hunts blindly for the corkscrew he knows is somewhere in here and-

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, jerking his hand free from the drawer.

In his distraction, Frankie had skimmed his thumb across the sharp edge of a knife disguised in the clutter of endless utensils. His sudden movement had also jolted the wine glasses in his hand, knocking them together harshly and cracking their fragile sides.

He exhales through his nose and places the wine and the broken glasses on the counter before bitterly tending to the cut running across the tip of his thumb.

The noise of the record player turns to static as the last track ends, and Frankie huffs and shoves his hand under the kitchen faucet to ease the sting and assess the damage done by his impulsivity.

Maybe this would turn out to be a drink-from-the-bottle type of celebration, after all.

Just as he’s drying his hands and returning to the feat of preparing dinner, the resounding chirp of the doorbell rings through the air. He freezes in his tracks, wide-eyed and panicked as he checks his watch. 7 o’clock. You’re right on time.

The walk from the kitchen to the foyer is a painful reminder of how unprepared he is for your arrival. An entire day spent getting ready for your date with nothing good to show for it. This day was supposed to be a monument to love, and he feels like he’s let you down.

He’s embarrassed and red-faced as he opens the door to greet you. The mouth-watering neckline of your dress is a cruel poke at his own shabby appearance.

“Frankie,” you drawl, drinking in the sight of his mused curls and the swell of his cotton shirt pulled taut over the muscles in his shoulders. “Don’t you look handsome.”

“Hey sweetheart,” he dips his head in a bashful acknowledgement, opening the door wider to welcome you inside.

You press a chaste kiss to his cheek as you pass by, handing off a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a sappy Valentine’s Day card with big cursive letters on the front.

“Couldn’t show up empty handed,” you mention as the corners of his mouth curl into a grin.

He follows instinctively as you move through the house, guided by the trail of decorations leading into the living room. You stop to admire the bouquet displayed proudly on the coffee table, running your fingers lightly over soft, red petals.

“Oh Frankie,” you gasp. “It’s beautiful.”

He nervously scratches at the scruff on his cheeks as he plants himself beside you. “I had so much planned but everything went wrong,” he confesses. “I tried to look nice and I was gonna make dinner and-”

“It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You cut him off with a kiss before his self-deprecating rambling can continue. “This is all I need for Valentine’s Day – just you.”

He melts into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist, humming a pleased sound against your lips. “You’re worth more.”

You pull back just enough to speak, chiding him as he follows your lips with his. “Knowing that you went through the effort is enough.”

His chest is warm under your hands as you smooth your palms down the front of his shirt. “Besides, I think you need to be rewarded for all your hard work.”

His subdued energy is quickly replaced with a reinvigorated interest. He tightens his hold on your hips, raising a brow in question. “Yeah? What’d you have in mind?”

“Since you planned dinner,” you begin, fingers tracing over the row of pearly buttons lining his shirt. “Why don’t I take care of dessert?”

You motion towards the couch and Frankie scrambles to follow your direction. He settles back against the cushions with your gifts placed neatly beside him, thighs spread eagerly as his cock begins to swell against the confines of his boxers.

With slow, teasing movements, you climb into his lap, thighs fitting snugly around his waist as you balance above him.

Frankie’s hands slowly wander up to your hips, bunching the hem of your dress in his fist as he inches his attention higher. When you tug on the waistband of his pants, he stops you with a hand placed over yours.

“Not yet.”

You pause to watch as he reaches beside him and grab the novelty chocolates you’d brought. He brings the heart-shaped box to his mouth, tearing into the plastic with his teeth and unwrapping the sweet treats.

The lid to the box is discarded somewhere to the side as he settles the box in your lap and pulls out a rounded, cream-filled chocolate and places it against your lips. When you open your mouth to accept his offering, Frankie’s fingers linger on your tongue, the taste of his skin salty against the taste of sweetness.

“Good?” he asks, dragging his fingers over your tongue before selecting a piece for himself and tossing it into his mouth.

Half the box is finished in a haze of shared kisses and the rich, fruity flavor of storebought chocolate. When you’ve finally had your fill, Frankie leans forward to deposit the rest on the coffee table, arm slung around your waist to keep you close to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” he grins, dropping back against the couch.

The movement jostles you in his lap, pressing your core against his hardened cock; a glimpse of exposed skin peaks from beneath the hem of his shirt, providing the perfect chance to remind him of your earlier promises.

“Need to feel you.” Your fingers curl around the button on his slacks and Frankie is quick to agree.

He expertly pulls himself free and runs a hand up the up the underside of his length, slowly dragging his thumb over the head. “You want my cock?” he asks, thighs tensing subtly underneath you as a warmth spreads through your chest.

“Raise your pretty dress up, touch yourself for me.”

You gather a handful of material at your waist while Frankie lazily strokes his cock, watching intently as you slide your underwear to the side and press a finger to your clit.

“S’that feel good?” He speeds up his pace to match the messy tempo of your pleasure, finding his own motivation in the way your thighs hug his hips.

“Frankie,” you cry, chest heaving with the effort of keeping yourself upright. “Please fuck me.”

He swears under his breath and fights the temptation to lay you down and give you what you’re asking for.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he pants. “Need you to come first.”

Your mouth twists into a disconcerted frown, but your fingers persist, spreading a sheen of glossy slick over the apex of your thighs. You’re both chasing that same feeling, both hurtling towards the same end. Frankie’s free hand closes over yours on your hip like he’s anchoring you in place, urging you closer to your climax.

“C’mon sweetheart. M’so close.”

The pressure building in your gut finally reaches its peak, sending you into Frankie’s chest as you sputter through your release. Frankie follows with a breathless noise as he tips over the edge, spilling pearly rivulets of spend over his tight fist.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, or maybe that’s Frankie’s pulse thundering over yours. His grip on your hand loosens and he cups the back of your neck, bringing your mouth to his in a hungry, determined kiss.

“Give me five minutes,” he pants against your lips, tasting of chocolate and heady desire. “And I’ll give you anything you want.”

[jake-g-lockley]

Only for You (Steven Grant x reader)

Masterlist | Playlist

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected p in v, popping someone’s cherry, dirty language, swearing.

Word count: 3.8k worth of filth and fluff, yay

A/N: I wanna lay on his chest fr (also his fucking hands just-) I’m fucking sorry but I just realized that I have never written Steven Grant smut, holy shit. Here it is, soft, first-time sex with Steven <3

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. “Don’t laugh Steven! I'm not scared of sex, I’m just saying that there are other things that I want in a relationship too.” you pout, elbowing Steven square in the stomach.

“It's not like I know how good sex is anyway.” You grumble as Steven chuckled.

You and Steven were curled up on the couch, a forgotten movie playing softly on your laptop. Your head was settled comfortably on his chest, a fluffy blanket over the both of you. If anyone had walked into Steven’s flat then, they would see the picture of your perfect version of a couple.

Except, well, you and Steven weren’t together.

You and him had been watching a movie when a particularly sexy scene came about and you moved to bury your face into Steven’s chest in embarrassment. Part of you had just wanted to stay there, all warm and comfortable but Steven had started to laugh, and is now prodding you slightly about your abstinence from the act of fornication.

He also had been nagging you about how you ditched your Tinder date to instead come to Steven’s flat bearing gifts of wine and chocolates.

“What are the other things you’d want then?” your best friend pushed on, sitting up slightly to close the laptop and place it on the coffee table before gazing down at you.

You shrunk slightly under his gaze, suddenly feeling shy.

Despite being the sweetest human being on the planet, sometimes when he was really into a conversation, Steven would have a sparkle in his eyes that made you feel slightly intoxicated. The first time that happened, you were surprised with the way your body reacted to him, in a fluid way, as if it was totally in tune with the nature that he had presented to you.

Forget sex. You had never been in a romantic relationship. In fact, Steven’s probably the first person in this big blue world who has been this close to you. You cherished him and held him oh so close to your heart, but that made you fall so incredibly hard for him.

But Steven was older, more mature and probably had more experience than you could ever uncover. Why would he want someone as inexperienced and young as you?

Instead you choose to avoid his eyes, staring at your hands that fisted the fluffy blanket.

“You’d think it's stupid.” you mumbled.

“Now, love, I never in a million years would think that. Come on, let's hear it then.” he urged, his hand finding yours for comfort.

You hold his hand in both of yours by his fingers, his hand comically bigger than yours. The weight of his hand in yours was reassuring and safe. You found yourself tracing his life line as you stared into space.

“I’d want them to dance with me in the rain even if both of us have two left feet. I’d want to go on long walks with them and talk about the stupidest things in the world. I’d want to hold their hand and run errands. I’d want them to sing me soft, made up songs, or read me poetry. I’d want them to make me smile even during my darkest days. I’d want them to just hold me in their arms and whisper sweet fluffy things. I’d want them to be my safe place, my comfort person. I’d want someone who can heal me, Steven.” your voice breaking a little when you got to the end of your list.

The both of you sat in silence for a while. You turned your focus entirely to the beat of Steven’s heart and the way his body was pressed to yours. You continued to toy with his fingers, brushing your thumb over a small scar over and over. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want him to fulfill all that you had just said.

“Is that too much to ask for, or am I going to end up being an eternal virgin, eternally alone?” you laughed a little as you said it.

“Would you like me to try?” Steven whispered suddenly, the words spilling out of him in one breath.

At that very moment, you froze. You felt as if the world ceased to exist at the sound of his words.

Steven took a deep breath before continuing.

“You have already given me the opportunity to know you, in the best way possible, as your best friend. Darling, I’ll let you step on my feet while we dance in the rain. I’ll be your book of stupid facts while we walk around London aimlessly. I’ll never let go of your hand and I’ll sing you songs of my love for you and read you poetry about your pure beauty. I’ll make sure that beautiful smile doesn’t leave your face and I’m not a doctor, but I swear to you, on my life, that I’ll do my best to heal you.” He says as his free hand lightly runs up and down your arm.

“And I hate to be so frank, but I’m already holding you in my arms and I’m trying my best to whisper sweet things to you. Besides, if you didn’t feel safe, I doubt you’d still be slotted next to me holding my hand in yours.” He simply stated, as if he was proving a point.

You didn’t realize you were breathing rapidly until your eyes caught the movement of your chest. You licked your lips, attempting to say something back to Steven.

“Fuck.” was all that you managed instead.

“I could do that very well too if you like.” Steven said without missing a beat.

“YOU COCKY BASTARD!” You wriggled away from him and laughed, sitting up slightly to watch as a smile bloomed on his rosy face.

“You’d do that for me?” you whispered, the second the laughter died down.

“I’ll do anything for you, only for you.” He reassured as his eyes searched yours, bringing a hand up to cup your face. “I want to be the constant in your life, so, my darling, would you like me to try?”

“Yes, please.” You closed your eyes and leaned into his hand, before feeling yourself pulled close to him.

Your eyes fluttered open and you found yourself staring into dark orbs that you had constantly found yourself lost in on a daily basis.

“Can I kiss you and show you how hard I’ll try then?” Steven whispered, his eyes drowning you in his own sanctuary.

“Yes, Steven.” was the last thing you heard yourself say before you lost yourself in him.

Steven’s lips were soft and forgiving against yours as your mind scrambled to comprehend that you were having your first kiss. Your hand shook as you tried to find purchase, settling to grab Steven’s t-shirt. His nose slotted perfectly against yours and you could smell his aftershave and feel his stubble against your skin.

You could tell Steven was trying hard to take it slow but as you straddle his lap, he brought his hand to your hip to push you further into him. The friction made you gasp, allowing Steven to lick into your mouth, creating a symphony of sounds from the both of you.

The both of you stopped for air, but you couldn’t pull yourself away from him, choosing to breathe the air that he heavily breathed out.

“How was that?” Steven asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears.

“For my first? I couldn’t have asked for more.” you hissed slightly as Steven still kept an iron grip on your hip to push you against him, feeling the dynamic shift between the two of you.

You kissed Steven with all your last might and you could hear and feel a deep groan erupt from him as you pressed yourself against him, the wine you had edging you on. He kissed you back with equal fervor, as if he couldn’t get enough of you by the second. You ran your hands through his curls tugging them slightly causing him to whimper. You pressed yourself down on him, hard, realizing that you relished in the sound he made when you tugged on his hair. You could feel him, hard against you and a part of you felt absolutely victorious but the other part that was unsure slowly started to win over.

“I’ve never done this before, Steven.” you whisper as Steven moans, and you could tell that he was holding back from rutting his hips against you.

“That’s alright, love. Do you want to stop?” Steven says with a worried tone in his voice.

You gazed at Steven, at the state that you had put him in. His curls were astray and his lips were parted. Lust had blown his pupils wide open and you swear you could see a galaxy in them from your vantage point.

“No, I don’t want to stop. Not with you. Could you show me?” you plead.

“Let's take things slow,” Steven soothed you, slowly lifting you off him and laying you on your back. “I’m going to eat you out, love, but I need you to promise me that you’ll stop me if it gets too much for you.” he said while his large fingers hooked the waistband of the sweats that you stole from him.

Your face burned furiously at his words, not expecting the forwardness. You wanted to cross your legs and pull away but this was Steven. Your Steven. He would keep you safe.

“I promise.” You whispered back, your heart thumping in your chest.

Steven kissed your inner thigh, pushing your thighs apart to reveal your clothed cunt as you propped yourself onto your elbows to watch him make a mess of you. Your legs hung limp on either side of him, and you felt like a rag doll, absolutely powerless.

He started lightly marking your inner thighs, his tongue soothing out the evidence of his ministrations everytime your moans got a little too out of control. You swirl your hips, not content that your cunt wasn’t getting what it had been initially promised. Feeling a little bolder, your hands flew to his curls as you tried to direct him to what you really needed.

You felt yourself go dizzy as Steven’s fingers suddenly pushed your panties to the side, feeling your already dripping slit.

“Gods, you’re already so wet for me, darling. Such a shame that no one else will get to see how pretty this pussy is now that it's mine.” he mumbled as he trained his eyes to your core.

Blood rushed simultaneously to your face and clit, making you cry out loud at Steven’s lewd commentary.

“Steven, I-” you try saying but you choke on your words as he catches you off guard by pushing a digit into you, pumping it in and out at a slow pace, a vulgar squelching sound reaching your ears. He curls the finger without a hint of sorrow, hitting that one special spot that makes your legs turn into pure jelly, enlisting a shaky moan from you.

“You feel so soft, my love.” he says almost darkly, taking the finger out of you and inserting it into his mouth, eyes not leaving yours and your eyes widen, taking in every square inch of what you were seeing in front of you.

He lowers his head to you until his nose brushes harshly against your clit, sending a shock through your body. Your back arches back as you bring his face closer to you by his hair. Steven didn’t seem to be bothered by the way you were literally suffocating him, instead he lapped a broad stroke along your slit, tasting your juices straight from its source. Your knee jerk reaction to the pleasure you were having was to clamp your thighs together, but Steven was faster than you, holding your thighs open with light pressure, as he pushed his tongue inside you. You felt like you were drowning in a pool of delight as Steven continued to absolutely devour you.

“So much for going slow, Mr. Grant.” You thought as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

You loved it. Nothing you’ve tried on yourself has felt anything like this. You could tell Steven was studying the pattern of your pleasure, choosing to change tactics when your moans were more hollow and sticking to what he was doing when you wailed and pushed yourself against him. His name rolled off your tongue like a prayer more than a plea and Steven relished the way you spoke it under the change of circumstance.

“Bloody hell, baby, keep saying my name like that. Make everyone know that I’m yours.” Steven groaned into your core as he paused for a breath.

Without meeting much resistance, he pushes two thick fingers into you, covering your clit with his mouth and starts to pump at a steady pace. You brought a hand up to your mouth to stifle your cries of pleasure, only for the hand to be pulled back down by Steven. The steady stimulation of his tongue instantly pushes you up and over your breaking point. You felt yourself clench around his fingers as his tongue runs soothing circles around your clit.

“Gods, I can feel you squeezing my fingers. You like that, angel? Trust me, you’re going to like my cock more.” he says, directing his filthy words into your cunt.

You came with his name echoing in your screams, your body convulsing uncontrollably as Steven helped you to ride out your high. After cleaning out the remnants of the first orgasm that he gave you with his tongue, Steven kissed your thighs softly as you bathed in its afterglow. Your eyes focused on his face, a shy smile encapsulating his wet lips as a soft shade of pink danced over his cheeks and nose.

“That was amazing, Steven. Thank you.” You stretched your arms out for him and he obliged, letting you grab him by the t-shirt and pull him down for a kiss as you wrapped your legs around his torso.

You pulled him further down with your legs so that his body was flush to you, only to have his clothed bulge grind into your sensitive clit making you gasp.

“Shit! Sorry, love!” Steven groaned as he tried to pull himself off you.

You were having none of it. You kept him down and grinded upwards, grinning at the look that passed his face.

“Are you sure, darling? I just don’t want you to be overwhelmed.” he breathed as you ducked your head into the crook of his neck to kiss him.

He smelled like sandalwood and papyrus, twisting your brain with a desire you never knew you had in you.

“I know you’ll be gentle, I can take it.” you said clearly, wanting him to realize that you wanted to see and feel his pleasure too.

Steven searched your eyes only to have you stare back, full of silent determination, before cradling you close to him and lifting you up as he stood from the couch, as if you weighed like a sack of potatoes. Steven’s strength never failed to surprise you. You remembered the time he helped you move into your new apartment, how he lifted several heavy boxes at once without breaking a sweat.

He settled you down on his bed softly, and you knew from that moment on that he was dead set on being gentle with you. He smoothed your hair on the pillow and kissed your forehead before sitting down beside you.

“Can I take your top off, darling?” he asked, his large palm kneading your hip as you smiled up at him.

“Yes, please, bra too.” you said as Steven raised his eyebrows at your shy demand.

He did as he was told and wasted no time in absolutely worshiping you.

“You’re fucking beautiful. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Steven groaned, letting his hands roam your bare body as his eyes sparkled like a teenage boy.

His mouth and tongue traced patterns on your skin that made you start whimpering. You could feel your arousal grow between your legs again as Steven captured one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked softly, releasing them with a pop, only to knead at your breast with his large hands.

“Need you inside me.” you breathed as he sucked soft hickeys onto your skin, hickeys that only he could have an access to.

He moaned at your words and looked at you with hooded eyes, before proceeding to take off his clothes one by one. Your eyes widened as Steven pulled his boxers off and grabbed a hold of his length. You’ve obviously watched porn before and you’ve never seen a more beautiful cock in your life. He looked absolutely perfect to you, soft trimmed curls boarding the hilt of his long and girthy length with a pink head that was leaking pre-cum.

Your breathing quickened as you watched him pump himself a few times before rolling a condom on. Kneeling in front of you, he grabbed the bottle of lube from his bedside and coated his palm before stroking himself again.

“Steven, you’re a god.” you heard yourself saying as you scanned his body that was literally sculpted to perfection.

“Fuck, Y/N, don’t say that, I’m not gonna fucking last with your words.” He says as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your slit, catching your clit and making you throw your head back against the pillow.

“In, now.” you punctuated as Steven tried to take his time with you.

With the help of the lube and your slick, Steven slid inside of you with relative ease, shocking you and himself with how fast he bottomed out. There was a sharp pain as Steven stretched you out, followed by the sweet sensation of pleasure that made you whimper with ecstasy. You had never felt this full in your life and Steven’s cock was pressing deliciously in all of the spots you had never thought you had. His hands held you down with bruising strength, allowing you to adjust to his length, and only started moving when you started to grind your hips impatiently.

He showered you with praises as he moved with slow fluid movement, his hand inching towards you for you to grab onto. Instead of lacing your fingers together with him, Steven pulled your hand towards him and pressed it gently at the lower part of your belly. You moaned at the feeling of his cock inside of you, the tip bulging through your skin. He pressed down slightly harder, getting off at the feeling of your hand massaging his cock from the outside.

“Steven, you’re too good to me. Feels so good.” you slur as he pushed on slightly harder and deeper.

Tears started to flow from your eyes as your free hand gripped at Steven’s biceps, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his skin as he started to speed up his thrusts. His hand on your belly leaves yours, only for his fingertips to end up on your clit, the action causing you to shake. From the extra stimulation and the way his cock speared you, your second release came faster than your first, blinding you yet again with its powerful waves.

You could feel Steven’s movements start to stutter the second you came, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chased his release. He folded his body over yours and with a few more solid thrusts to your cunt, he groaned into your neck as he spilled thick ropes of cum into the condom.

It took the both of you a few minutes of heavy breathing to gather your thoughts. Steven came to his senses first, slowly pulling himself out of you before taking off the condom and discarding it. He then slowly stroked your hair as your breathing became more labored before taking a bottle of geranium oil from his bedside and dripping it all over your spent body.

You smiled at Steven as he massaged the fragrant oil into your skin. He focused on the points of your body that were sure to be sore tomorrow and silently pressed out all of the tension you had in you. Your body felt warm and you had a buzz running through you as if you had just ran a marathon. He massaged a silent thanks into you with every squeeze of his hand and you just laid there and stared at the man before you, wondering what kind of miracle had allowed you to get to this point. You looked past him and squinted into his apartment, giggling slightly at where your underwear had ended up.

“Hmm, am I really that funny, baby?” Steven said before following your line of sight and gasping at the sight of your underwear draped ungracefully over Gus’s fish tank.

“Oops, sorry Gus, mate.” He said sheepishly, his face turning red. “It's alright, darling, he won’t remember it.”

Steven flipped you over gently and started massaging your back, pulling small hisses and moans out of you. He kneads your lower back with his knuckles, providing you with stronger precision that knocks the wind out of your lungs with pleasure as you sink further into the mattress. He skims over the globes of your ass, making you giggle again. Flipping you onto your back, Steven pulls you into his lap as he settles himself against the headboard, covering the both of you up with a blanket to provide you with some privacy. You cuddle close to him, feeling safe in the small cocoon that he had created.

“Do you always end … it with a massage?” you asked suddenly, the question creeping up into your fluffy thoughts.

“No, actually.” Steven says, sitting up a little. “This was the first. I remember how you would say that massages were your favourites and that you would get a weekly massage if you had some disposable income.”

You blink up at him, realizing that he had been listening to you all along. Your heart swelled with the awareness that you had found your perfect man way before you had even comprehended it.

“Thank you, Steven. I love you.” you say before you could stop yourself as an unknown emotion settled upon Steven’s face.

Horror pulsed through you, your cock-dumb brain still too foggy for you to think anything coherent.

“Shit, sorry, I mean we only just had sex a few minutes ago. This is so uncool-” you stutter before Steven places a finger to your lips.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Steven says, genuinely as a chuckle reverberates through him and into your heart.

You calmed down immediately with his confession, your face blazing as you kissed him, finally feeling at ease with everything around you.

“Told you I can fuck really well.”

“FUCK OFF, STEVEN!”

Tagging: @romanarose @mintpurplemnm

Reblogs are appreciated <3 love you all so so much *muah*

[joeyalohadream]

Little angsty, pining!Gale fic

Sat down to right something and wrote this instead. I don't usually write anything that's not at least somewhat fluffy, but it's the mood I'm in lately, I guess. LOL. Sorry, I'll be out of my funk soon, hopefully!

Takes place in England, vague-timeline, but before Regensberg.

AO3 Link

“I was so busy this afternoon, I didn’t even have time to eat a thing. This wine will go straight to my head.”

Her voice is musical, her laugh bubbles after it in a charming cadence. John’s eyes crinkle at the corners and the skin of his face stretches with the force of the smile he directs at the woman nestled under his arm in the booth. 

Gale had started his night nestled under that same arm, in that same booth. 

John laughs with her, a quiet, fond chuckle, and tells her that food is an important thing to make time for. He pinches her chin between two fingers and makes her head move to where he wants it to go, whispers something in her ear that makes her cheeks flame and then he turns away to laugh at something Curt says. Gale’s palms are sweating.

Two days ago, after interrogation, John had watched him, concern heavy in his blue eyes, as Gale had pushed the food around his plate. He’d kicked him under the table and nodded at the untouched food in front of him when he’d drawn Gale’s gaze and then he’d lectured him on taking better care of himself on the walk back to barracks. He’d also given him a chocolate bar that he’d pretended to pull from behind Gale’s ear. And smiled at him with fondness in his eyes as Gale savored the entire thing, refusing even a bite for himself.

It made Gale feel important in a way not much else did, having John’s focus, his care. It made him feel too much and crave more. It was dangerous. 

John hadn’t gone out that night. He’d stayed in with Gale when he’d said he needed a quiet evening and they’d played gin rummy and talked about everything except for the war. His attention hadn’t drifted from Gale once until they’d finally called it a night and gone to bed.

Gale had laid awake wondering if he would star in John’s dreams and then fallen asleep feeling foolish. 

Now, Gale watches this beautiful woman watch John and he recognizes the look in her eyes. She wants his attention back on her, doesn't want to share it with the other airmen. He wishes he couldn’t relate. 

“You know, I have a friend, still sippin’ her drink with the girls, waiting for a handsome pilot of her own.” She says the words too loud, but her goal is achieved as John’s head turns to follow the sound of her voice and just like that, she has John’s attention while Gale has everyone else’s. 

She eyes Gale with a smile, red lipstick making her teeth look bright white. Gale wants to tell her that John isn’t hers. That last week it was a different woman sitting in her place and tomorrow it will probably be another. He keeps his face impassive.

He tries not to squirm even as he chooses to stay silent instead of outright balking at the idea of entertaining a woman all night. The pretending is harder to stomach than solitude. The toothpick in his mouth needs to be replaced. It’s too saturated and frayed from the extent he’s been worrying at it. 

As always, John comes to his rescue. 

“Buck here has a beautiful girl back home.”

He doesn’t. 

“He won’t so much as dance with anyone that's not her.”

He says it like he always does, like he finds it endearing. Gale hates the way he wishes his voice held some kind of bitter emotion. But as always, it is just warm affection in his tone when Gale is the subject that colors his words. It had started making Gale’s chest flutter somewhere around the time of their first promotion.

And he’d desired that tone and the man it belonged too long before they were assigned to the 100th. Ignoring it hadn’t worked, so accepting it and letting it consume a part of him that would never be shared became the solution. 

It's why he broke it off with Marge before shipping out, though he didn’t tell John that. Didn’t tell anyone that. She still writes to him, still wants to be his friend, and it’s easy for the men to draw the conclusion that he is loyal to a sweetheart back home. 

The woman under John’s arm rolls her eyes and then forgets about Gale immediately. 

She’s laughing at all of his jokes. 

Even when John pulls out his best material, Gale makes sure to give him nothing more than a smile. He’s been unable to help himself and has allowed soft huffs of quiet laughter on occasions that are becoming less rare. But Gale has never given him a full bellied laugh. 

Maybe he should have. He knows it’s a goal of John’s, to make Gale smile, to make him laugh. 

She’s touching his chest, the side of neck. 

Gale allows himself to be touched by John. Not at first. Physical contact hadn’t been a part of his life in a positive way before he met John. It took a lot to get to the point where his best friend’s method of expressing friendship didn’t make him want to recoil, didn’t make him flinch. It took a lot, but it didn’t take a long time. By the third week in flight school, he was craving the soft touches and starting to hate himself a little for it. 

He hardly ever initiates the contact himself. He’ll give John’s shoulder a squeeze. Let his hand linger in his grasp for too long when they greet each other. 

Maybe things would be different if he let himself touch with the freedom in which John did. But affection was something he soaked up like a sponge when it was from John and wilted at when it was from others. And it was something he’d never learned how to give or take. Thinks maybe John could teach him but he knows he’ll never ask him to. 

But things wouldn’t be different. 

Because he watches John’s hand trail from her shoulder, down her back and to her hip, fingertips grazing the soft curve of her body on its way down. He watches John smile into her hair and whisper something into her ear again that makes her cheeks flush to match her lipstick and then nuzzle behind her ear. He looks away as John’s fingers trail the hem of her skirt. 

And he imagines doing that to Marge or the girl across the room and all it does is turn his stomach. 

So, nothing would be different if he were able to touch freely or laugh loudly. He’s different and John’s not, so he’ll settle it all back down in his chest and try to think about all of it less. 

But he doesn’t have to torture himself by watching where this night will lead his best friend, so he slides out of the booth and heads to the bar to pay. 

“What’s got you so glum, Buck?” Everett Blakely’s effusively kind voice sounds off as Gale pockets his change and he gives the other man a raised eyebrow. 

“Pretty sure this is just what my face looks like, Everett.” 

“Nah, sometimes you smirk a bit.” Everett grins at him. “Besides, it’s all in the eyes, and you’ve got sad eyes tonight, Major.”

“Think we’re all entitled to bad nights once in a while, given the circumstances.” Gale plucks a fresh toothpick from his pocket to replace the one he’d ruined, catches John leading the woman onto the dancefloor and can’t help but follow his movements with his eyes. 

He wishes he was normal enough that the lives of the twenty men they’d lost two days ago was what was twisting his insides. Instead, it’s watching his best friend do a perfectly normal thing - flirt and twirl a girl around. Both realities of his reasons for hurting live heavy in his chest, like they’re located in different chambers, blessing him with the opportunity to feel different types of agony instead of just your average layer of pain.  

“Gonna head out,” he says, nodding at Blakely, who lifts his glass in response. 

John is in rare form this evening, giving up on dancing quickly and already guiding the girl towards the back door without a glance in Gale’s direction. 

Because he’s normal. And normal men don’t think about their best friends when there’s a pretty girl hanging on their arm. 

Bucky probably expects Gale to be waiting for him when he’s finished. Waiting to walk back together at the end of the night. 

Or maybe he’s not thinking anything at all about Gale. 

He’s the first one back. He’s always the first one back. 

The shower room is vacant, and he takes his time, but he’s still alone when he makes his way back into the barracks. He’s still alone when he changes into his sleep clothes and lays in his cot. 

And he is still alone an hour later when sleep refuses to sink her claws into him and drag him to some kind of relief. 

Men slowly stumble in, and Gale closes his eyes, giving the illusion of slumber. He listens to the nightly routines of the men around him as they prepare for sleep, actions audibly clumsier than most nights in their inebriated states. 

But drunken movements disturbing a quiet room are something Gale’s been hearing since he was a boy, so he finds them familiar and ignores the way they make his stomach tighten unpleasantly in anticipation. 

More time paces, everyone settled into bed and Gale still can’t sleep.

Shuffling footsteps, intentionally quiet in their movements are the only thing that alerts him to John’s return. His cot is within arm’s reach of Gale’s own, but he’d thought it would remain empty tonight. The feeling of satisfaction that bubbles up in him is ugly and bitter, but he lets it boil under his skin as John returns to his side in the end. 

Heavy, scratchy wool glides up the length of his torso until it rests under his chin. Strong hands tuck it under his shoulder blades and his hips. He tries to keep his breathing deep, feigning the same familiar pattern of sleep he listens to from John’s bunk each night to lull himself to sleep. A moment later, calloused fingers brush the product-less bangs off his forehead and run through the length of his hair. 

The tender gesture almost forces his eyes open. That aching, craving hunger for more of what John will give him is a living thing in his chest. Those fingers ghost over his hair one more time and Gale uses every bit of strength in himself not to push up into the touch, not to whine when it’s gone.

He hears John let out a sigh that sounds mournful and he doesn’t understand what any of it means. 

As John moves, most likely to turn away, Gale can smell her perfume. 

If he opened his eyes he’d probably see her lipstick stained on his mouth, his neck. Knows with a gut-wrenching certainty that it’s probably stained in more intimate places, and he wishes John wasn’t too drunk to go take a shower. 

Wishes it wouldn’t linger on him. Wishes it wasn’t on him at all. Doesn’t want to see the red of her lips on John’s when the new day dawns. 

Imagines if it had been him under John’s arm leaving the pub, there wouldn’t even be a visible trace of him in the aftermath. 

He’d be forgettable, inconsequential. Easy to forget. Easy to regret. 

He keeps his eyes closed and wishes John hadn’t come back at all. Is so glad that he did. 

A softly whispered “goodnight, Buck.” is breathed into the stale air of the barracks, and Gale lays awake for a long time after John’s breathing evens out into sleep, wishing he could join him in more ways than one.

[zzoomacroom]

Live a Little

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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)

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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

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“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! 💗💗💗

[suppose-i-was-worm]

I Put A Spell On You

Fake Dating (Part 1)

**I know, it's not the one that I started writing and was really funny, I'm having a lot of trouble with that one. Enjoy this one instead!**

“I need your help.”

Damian frowned, stashing away the knife he’d hidden beneath his pillow. Danny was crouched on the sill of the window he’d come in through, looking at him with wide blue eyes.

“Tt. What do you need? It is well past midnight.”

“I need you to fake date me.”

“What?”

Danny flinched, and Damian realized how sharp his question had been.

“My apologies. Please explain to me what is going on so that I can best assist you.”

Coming fully into the room, Danny started to explain.

“So, you know my parents and holidays, right? They- they’ve started hounding me about bringing home a significant other since Jazz got married.”

Damian nodded- he was familiar with Danny’s parents’ personality, even having never met them.

“Anyways, for Thanksgiving, they’re threatening to invite Paulina over and make me sit next to her. Paulina, Dames! I wouldn’t survive. So I told them I had a boyfriend who lived here in Gotham, and now they’re insisting on coming here to visit. If they find out I lied, I’ll be dead! My grades are too good for an early death.”

“So you came to me.”

“You’re the only person I know well enough to pull this off, Damian.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit picked up from his father.

“And you did not think to tell them about-“

Cutting him off, Danny grabbed Damian’s face and looked directly into his eyes, a serious look on his face.

“Damian, I assure you it would be a fate worse than death if they found out how we met.”

Damian pulled himself away from Danny, glad for the dim light of his bedroom hiding the blush heating up his cheeks. The other man had never been that close to his face, and Damian would probably say that Danny’s eyes were more dangerous for him than the entire League of Assassins.

“Please, Dames? It’s Paulina we’re talking about.”

Closing his eyes, Damian thought things through. Fake dating Danny would be- a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, as it would require him to be close to the other man for extended periods. A curse, because he knew it would end as soon as Danny’s parents left Gotham. For Damian, who had been struck by Danny’s beauty from the first moment he’d seen the other, the brief benefits might just outweigh the pain of them ending. At least he’d have the memory of being close to Danny.

When he opened his eyes, Danny was holding his hands in a mock praying position, looking up at Damian through his lashes.

“Tt. Fine.”

Danny lit up, literally, and then darted forward, planting a kiss on Damian’s cheek.

“You’re the best! They’re coming in to town tomorrow- drop by mine when you can!”

The other man slid back out of the window and flew off before Damian recovered from the kiss enough to protest the short notice.

~~~

The next day found Damian waiting outside Danny’s apartment, flowers in hand. He had done some investigation as to what he ought to bring with him to meet a significant other’s parents, so he was also armed with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

The door opened soon enough after his knock, revealing an older woman he had never seen before. He could see where Danny got his frame, though, as well as his delicate features.

“You must be Damian! Come in! Danny’s elbow deep in the microwave with Jack. I’m Maddie- we’ve heard so much about you!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He stepped inside the apartment, handing Maddie the wine and chocolates after she closed the door.

“Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? Danny!”

Danny poked his head out of the kitchen, and Damian almost swooned at the look Danny gave him.

“Hey Dames! Glad you could make it!”

He emerged, wiping what looked like grease off his hands, and took the flowers that Damian handed him.

“For you, Beloved.”

More importantly, he also took the short kiss Damian gave him over the bouquet.

When Damian pulled away, he was delighted to see that Danny was flushed.

“Uh- thank you! They’re beautiful.”

“Oh, you two are so cute! How long have you been dating?”

“Three years.”

“Not long.”

Danny and Damian spoke at the same time, and then Damian smiled smoothly, determined to fix his mistake.

“Perhaps I feel like our time together until now has been too short. Every time I see you, you are as beautiful as the day we met.”

He was rewarded with Danny flushing an even brighter red.

Maddie turned to her son, hands on her hips.

“You’ve been dating this polite young man for so long and hadn’t told us?”

Danny shuffled his feet, looking bashful.

“I didn’t want to scare him away. I really like him, mom.”

A large man came out of the kitchen, laughing a booming laugh.

“We can tell, Danno. It’s not like you haven’t been talking about him for the last few years.”

Damian looked over at Danny, doing his best not to let his expression show. Danny had been talking about him to his parents? For years?

Danny laughed nervously and then herded everyone into the dining room.

If he were being honest, Damian had pulled out all of his acting skills to charm the Drs. Fenton throughout the evening. He did not need acting skills for his interactions with Danny. He kept close to the other, wrapping an arm around his shoulder when he could and dropping light kisses into the shorter man’s hair when the opportunity presented itself.

It was heaven.

Danny walked him out to his car after dinner, and didn’t let go of Damian’s hand the entire way.

“Thank you for tonight, Dames.”

Damian smiled down at the love of his life.

“Of course, Beloved. Anything for my husband.”

With a scoff, Danny let go of Damian’s hand and stepped back.

“Sure, Damian. Drive safe.”

~~~

Danny Fenton knew when he was screwed. His parents had been in Gotham for a week, and Damian was still dropping by to see him on a semi regular basis. He’d even been touchy, and Danny knew that of all people, Damian Wayne wasn’t ever physically affectionate.

It partly gave him hope, and partly made him think this gambit was hopeless. He was aware of Damian’s extra-curriculars, after all, and knew the entire family were good actors.

And yet-

Damian’s parting kiss to him had been long and clinging the evening before his parents left, and he seemed reluctant to leave Danny standing in his own doorway. His hand lingered on Danny’s wrist, and his eyes were the last to tear away.

So, yeah. Danny was fifty percent sure that Damian might possibly reciprocate his feelings, but he didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

He hadn’t had the courage to ask much of Damian since they met, even though he’d been half in love with the other man the moment they laid eyes on each other.

It had been a routine summoning- He’d tasted the blood in his mouth, and while it did not necessarily taste like the blood of an innocent (he always went to bat for the victim in those cases), it piqued his curiosity enough to check things out.

He rose from the summoning circle, crown of fire wreathing his head as he showed off his less human appearance.

The cultists fell away from him, scrambling to bow and prostrate themselves in front of him.

“Oh great Ghost King! Please accept this sacrifice in order to take your rightful place as the lord of all worlds!”

Danny looked down to see a handsome young man in a well fitted suit glaring up at him, blood drying from a wound on his head.

When their eyes met, something changed. The summoning circle flared from Danny’s own ice blue to a sharp neon green, and something lit up under the chair the ‘sacrifice’ was tied to.

With noises of surprise, the cultists started to rise to investigate, but Danny snapped his fingers and caught them all in ice.

Landing, Danny inspected both the runes in the summoning circle and the one beneath the sacrifice, and then floated out of the circle to find the book the cultists had been using to summon him.

When he found it, he had the urge to finish these idiots off himself. They had somehow botched the ritual so much that they had turned it into something of a wedding, and now he was ghost married to a human civilian.

Turning back to said human civilian, he found the other on his feet on the opposite side of the room, holding an improvised weapon.

“Oh cool, you got free. Good news, you’re not going to die.”

The civilian stiffened even more, arching an eyebrow.

“Tt. What is the bad news?”

Danny shrugged.

“Oh, not much. We’re just kinda… Married now? I’ll find a way to dissolve it, or something, and you’re not obligated to have anything to do with me, but… Yeah. Supernaturally married. Is a thing. That we are.”

Civilian’s shoulders slumped, and he stalked out of the warehouse (why was it always warehouses?). Danny followed behind.

“Oh, hey, we’re in Gotham!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Close to my apartment.”

The man turned to him incredulously.

“The ghost king has an apartment in Gotham?”

Danny let his transformation wash over him.

“Well, Danny Fenton does, and I’m him most of the time.”

“Damian Wayne. A pleasure.”

Damian held out his hand, and Danny shook it carefully.

“Totally! I’m gonna- go. I guess. And look into the ghost married thing.”

“No rush. It might be advantageous to be married to an interdimensional king.”

With a laugh, Danny lifted into the air.

“Sure. I’m cool with being friends, if you want. Maybe we can work together.”

“I can do friends.”

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

Cruel Summer Chapter 1 (Chris Evans x Actress/Singer!Reader)

(Okay, So Ive been away for a hot minute. And I've been through quite a bit. But I got inspired to write this and I hope yall love it!! Couple of things. 1.) Taylor Swift doesnt exist in this series, the reader is like taylor swift! 2) dont come for me, I've been chewing on this idea for a few months now lol. 3.) Im almost done with chapter 1 of My Alpha, I know I've gotten some messages about that!! Also, half way through chapter 2 of Midnight rain ;) Enjoy! Let me know your thoughts on this!! love you guys!!!)

Thoughts? Suggestions? General opinion wanted here!!!!!

You’d be delusional to think that he wanted anything more than hookups with you. Being a movie star was hard enough to make a “normal” life ...falling in love with your co-star though...that made everything even worse. That’s what led you to becoming a world famous pop star, releasing smash hit after smash hit. Your smile; when up on that stage, tens of thousands of fans screaming your songs as you sang them, standing ovations, tears of happiness, excitement, thrill, it all made that heartache ease just a little bit. But not all the way. 

“Tonight is a HUGE night, I can’t believe you’re going to announce another album. I’m in awe, really I am.” Your mom said, grabbing your shoulders and looking at you in the mirror of the room you were currently using backstage. “Mom, thanks so much for traveling with me during this tour. It means so much to me.” you smiled softly at her, “especially after everything I’ve been through recently. Wanna know the surprise songs tonight? Or just be surprised like everyone else?” you asked with a soft laugh. 

Your mom and dad were your biggest and best fans you could have ever asked for. Even during the worst time of your life, you’d had your parents support when changing careers. “Awe, let me be surprised like everyone else dear. Your cue is up….come on,” she gave you a big hug and kissed your cheek. “You’re going to be amazing, just like every other night” she beamed before walking out of your dressing room. 

You stared in the mirror, touching up your red lipstick before turning around and walking out. Your bejeweled bodysuit in the colors of your most favorite album you’d put out, pinks and blues. You smiled at the stage crew and everyone working behind the scenes as you walked with your assistant. “Another great sold out crowd out there, the VIP tent is dead center, lots of celebrities are here tonight too.” She smiled before you walked away standing on your mark. 

Listening to the entrance music you’d had custom made, caused the memories to flood your mind. 

You looked over at him grinning as you both reached for a piece of popcorn. “Soooo I thought you wanted to do something else when you asked me to come to your hotel room 10:30 at night.” you smirked as he laughed, throwing his head back. “While yes, I’d love to do that too….I figured it would be nice to watch a movie or two, enjoy a snack and relax together too. I ordered some wine and chocolate covered strawberries too.” he said leaning closer to you, as you bit your lip leaning into him, letting his lips brush yours. The next thing you knew, he had you pinned to the bed, popcorn littering the floor as he kissed down your neck, slowly pushing your shirt off and attacking your chest. 

“Ready? Have fun!!” Your assistant shouted over the music and screaming fans as the platform started to bring you up from under the stage. You plastered a grin on your lips and got in your stance with your mic. 

The moment your back up dancers pulled back the large fabric fans to reveal you, you began to sing one of your songs. The roar of screams, cheers and cries erupted throughout the entire stadium as you came into sight for everyone. The platform continued to rise as you sang, smiling at everyone. 

“It's you and me, that's my whole world

They whisper in the hallway, "She's a bad, bad girl"

Oh, I just thought you should know (you should know)

It's you and me, there's nothing like this (like this)

Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince (okay)

We're so sad, we paint the town blue (paint it blue)

Voted most likely to run away with you.” 

The music ended as everyone cheered even louder and you laughed softly, the platform lowering back to the mainstage level; you grinned as the next song began instantly. You loved performing for a crowd, they never made you feel like you weren’t worth the love and attention. You strut toward the front of the stage, beginning to sing the bridge, along with the crowd, when a sight almost threw you off your performance. He stood there in the VIP tent with a cold beer in one hand, his other arm around the shoulders of a petite brunette. 

“I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (oh)

Said, "I'm fine, " but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh)

And I screamed for whatever it's worth

"I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

He looks up grinning like a devil” 

You belt out the bridge, the crowd screaming louder toward the end. You tried to not to look at the VIP tent, the urge to see him again, standing there happy with some other girl, you danced around, happily grinning at the crowd, encouraging them to sing along. You finally took a break, smiling wide as everyone clapped and cheered. “Hi!” you said cheerfully. “My name is Y/N and welcome to The Eras Tour,” you grinned as the stadium erupted again. 

“I just want to say thank you to everyone who is here tonight and I hope that I don’t disappoint. I usually perform only two surprise songs a night, however, I’m feeling…fun tonight, so I want to add another song to the list for you all. It’s one that I don't usually perform live. But, I hope you enjoy it.” you smiled as the platform rose and you looked around, the soft jazz music starting as loud cheers erupted. You couldn't stop the smile that landed on your face as you began to sing. 

“We were crazy to think

Crazy to think that this could work

Remember how I said I'd die for you?

We were stupid to jump

In the ocean separating us

Remember how I'd fly to you?

And I can't talk to you when you're like this

Staring out the window like I'm not your favorite town

I'm New York City

I still do it for you, babe

They all warned us about times like this

They say the road gets hard and you get lost when you're led by blind faith

Blind faith” 

You smiled looking around, your eyes landed on him again, he had a look in his eyes, just like how he used to look at you, hunger and desperation for your touch. You put your lips back up to the microphone and made eye contact with him again. 

“But we might just get away with it

Religion's in your lips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship

We might just get away with it

The altar is my hips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship this love

We'd still worship this love

We'd still worship this love

I know heaven's a thing

I go there when you touch me

Honey hell is when I fight with you” 

You didn’t mean to stare for so long, but the way he looked at you, watching your body move. You wanted to jump off stage and run into his arms again, kissing him, telling him how in love with him you still were, even after the three years that had passed. You felt a tightness in your chest when the girl turned and kissed his neck, and began to dance with him. 

You finished the song not soon after and took a small bow as everyone screamed out. You stood still smiling as the platform began to lower, before diving off to get changed. “I need a minute,” you said as your assistant came up to you. She looked slightly confused as they began to help you into your next outfit. How were you going to continue this concert with him staring at you? You didn’t think you could do it honestly. 

“I can’t believe you changed the set list, We’re going to have to cut one of the surprise songs.” You looked at her. “No we can’t but we are changing them tonight.” you said as they did up the back of your dress. “What?! Why!” she gasped. “Chris is here,” you said looking at her as her face fell. “With some girl.” she sighed putting a hand on her head “Jesus fucking Christ……okay. Tell me what you need.” you looked at her again as tears filled your eyes. “I need a fucking minute.” you grabbed the new mic rushing off.

[hotpinkstars]

HELLO! may I request a elysia x reader :3 I LOVE HER SO SO MUCH OSMDHSJS okay

reader and elysia baking cookies together pls or reader bakes cookies for her and surprises her with them

-> cookie baking

synopsis -> you and your girlfriend, elysia, bake cookies together!!!

a/n -> I LOVE ELY TOO AHHH i lkke squealed when i saw this request shes so cute i love her so bad

warnings -> none! pure fluff :)

w/c -> 645

knowing your girlfriend, elysia, ideas like this were so common! so you took no surprise to her skipping into the living room and flopping down on the couch, kicking her shoes off and cuddling into your warm body.

“hiii~” she mused, smiling up at you. “i have a fun idea, hear me out.”

you listened as she spoke about how aponia and griseo baked cookies together that morning, on the behalf of griseos request. she saw and she thought it was cute, and now she wants to do the same thing with you, too. 

you nodded, before lightly pushing her off of you and getting up to check and make sure you have the right ingredients. 

you didn’t.

so, that made for an eventful late night shopping trip with elysia! you came in needing flower and chocolate chips. you both knew that. you both repeated it to yourselves with each other over 40 times, at least.

you spent over 100 dollars and have a cartful of grocery bags. whoopsies! 

but it’s okay, you got to go out with your girlfriend. she made it fun anyways. but back onto the point!

you two immediately went to work in the kitchen, with elysia telling you the ingredients and you mixing them together. your ipad was filled with flour, due to elysia wanting to make the dry mixture but accidentally spilling a whole thing of flour everywhere. you laughed at the sight, making her laugh too.

there was also another accident in the kitchen, where you both “accidentally” put a whole entire bag of chocolate chips into the mixture (where you later on regret it), leading to even more laughter.

she tried to initiate a flour fight a couple times, but you didn’t necessarily feel like cleaning even more of a mess up tonight. she understood, so she just bounced around the kitchen, bringing you all the ingredients you needed. 

thats when she brought out heart and flower shaped cookie cutters! when she laid them down on the counter, you swore you could see her eyes glimmer with happiness. you smiled, feeling incredible that you could bring such a heartwarming experience to your gorgeous girlfriend. 

“alrighty, into the oven they go!” she laughed a little, before putting pink oven mitts on her hands and sliding the cookie pan onto the top rack. “these look sooooo yum. i hope they turn out alright…” 

you pat her back, and she grins. “they’ll be fine, i just hope all that chocolate poured into them wont do too much harm. these are gonna be really sweet, but if they don’t turn out right, we can always make another batch.”

she nodded. “and we could relive this night all over again. this was a lot of fun, y’know.”

“you’re right, it was,” you chuckled, before turning around and looking at the mess awaiting. “but if we don’t clean this mess up soon, we’re gonna get a bug problem. i don’t think either of us could even fathom finding bugs all the time.”

“ew, i don’t even want to think about that,” elysia makes a disgusted face before turning around and wetting a washcloth. “bugs are so nasty, you’re gonna be the one squashing them if they find their way in here!”

you laughed, cleaning up your mess before taking a seat on the couch with a glass of cool red wine in your hand, elysia following you. 

“how many more minutes until the cookies are done, did you check?” you look over at her, watching her pacewalk over to the oven. 

“we can take them out now!” she calls, putting back on the oven mitts and sliding the cookie pan out of the oven.

when they cool off, you two turn on your show of choice, eating your heart shaped cookies. the chocolate was too much, but its the experience that counts, right?

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Hey Mary! I love the seaside prompt list! 🏝️ I’ve only got two months of school left and then I’ll be sitting on a beach with a good book and enough margaritas to help me forget this entire school year! 🤣🤣

I’d love to request #25–stargazing on the beach with Jake, please. Thanks, sweetie! 🥰🥰

ooooohhhhhh yesssss idk why but I feel like Jake knows, like, the stars? so.

also omggggg!!!! HAVE FUN!!! I'm on vacay myself but I'm already jealous

It wasn't really cold, but it certainly wasn't really warm either. There was a breeze coming from the ocean, the sound of waves breaking on the shore and the metal of Jake's truck digging into your back. But then again, his arm was around you, your hand was resting flat on his chest, and you were snuggled so close to him that his body warmth was more than making up for the less pleasant cold.

"There's Orion's belt", he said, reaching a hand out to point at the sky, not that it did anything. You couldn't have spotted it even if he had been holding a laser pointer. His other hand was lazily brushing through your hair and really, you were trying, you were squinting at the stars and doing your best to follow his explanations, but he was making it a bit hard to concentrate.

He'd already pointed out the North Star and Ursa Major, but you had pretty much lost him after gasping "Oh, the moon's so pretty tonight" when you had got out of his car. You were a bit too embarrassed to tell him now.

"Where'd you learn all this?", you asked instead, letting your fingers skip over the fabric of his shirt.

"I'm barely scratching the surface. You can't see much of the stars here. Back in Texas, I could see Rho Cassiopeia almost every night."

"Yeah, I don't know what that is", you sighed, propping your chin up on his chest to look at him. He was smiling in a way that showed his dimples and you felt the sudden urge to kiss him - it was always endearing, so absolutely adorable when his dimples showed that you just couldn't help yourself. You just had to lean in.

He tasted like the wine you'd drunk at dinner and the chocolate pudding you'd had as dessert.

His fingers buried themselves in your hair again and his other hand went to your waist, pulling you on top of him as he deepened the kiss, making the angle less awkward and much more pleasant for your neck. You tugged at his bottom lip, snaked your tongue into his mouth, raked your nails along his jaw just the way he liked. He groaned and pulled you back, breaths still mingling, and the smile on his face had turned into that all-too familiar grin.

"Well this date worked out better than expected", he chuckled and you could hardly shake your head at him in exasperation before he'd already brought you back in, your back pressed to his truck this time and his hands next to your head.

If Jake Seresin could drown in your kisses, he'd die a happy, happy man.

[lumenflowered]

Pelipper mail! A nightmare, maybe? Or just a dream...

It is a normal shift at the Yharnam Coffee Shop, in your home town in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon. You have lived here all your life, and have been satisfied enough.

The owner, Gehrman, hardly ever comes into the shop to manage things. He prefers to sit in the chair out front and greet customers, all day long, and he swears this is critical to Yharnam Coffee's successful operation. When he's not present, it's up to you as most senior employee to make sure things run smoothly.

Not that there's ever much difficulty or tension, here. The shop's only competition was your former employer, the Cainhurst Brewery, and it burned to the ground three months ago. Your coworker Alfred seems unusually happy about that and you have your suspicions, no matter how many times you've tried to tell him that companies don't deserve his loyalty or outside-work efforts.

Eileen is here, as usual, sitting in the corner with her black coffee and blacker clothing. You don't know what she used to do, but she's retired now. She likes to people-watch, and will comment briefly to people who make the effort to sit beside her, but she always pushes visitors away eventually.

At the front of the line now is Djura, who used to work here but quit in favor of a better job last year. He is polite but curt, asking for his latte to go as he always does, because you know he doesn't like to spend time in here any more than he needs to. You take his payment and write his name on the cup, spelled correctly as so few people can. Behind you, Gascoigne begins making the drink for him.

It is an uneventful day. After a while, Eileen gets up to leave. Another one of your regulars, Gilbert, enters wearing a face mask, but he assures you what he has is not serious. At the end of your shift, Gascoigne's daughters show up with an order for four hot chocolates. Laurence and Amelia are already here to replace you, making this as their first order of the day, and you help Gascoigne carry everything out to his wife waiting in the car.

Then you head home yourself, and Reina meets you at the door with a smile and a hug, and all is well.

I. That.

What.

I have so many questions and I am, in fact, just confused enough to actually begin asking them.

Where is Portland? Where is Oregon? Why a coffee shop? I'll admit I'm rather amused by how thoroughly useless Gehrman was, given how thoroughly useless I am led to believe he became in his old age. Yet—

Cainhurst? A brewery? If anything, they would be a winery, they were always all too pretentious about their particular vintages—on a related note, do not drink the wine there, it is not wine and it is not sanitary—and I don't know who this 'Alfred' is but if he burned Cainhurst to the ground he cannot be entirely terrible.

I do know Eileen, and she would be the sort to drink entirely black coffee. She would... also be the sort to push people away. Especially after being retired.

...I can scarcely imagine her retiring. Not willingly, at least. She was... she was younger than me. She was an old woman in that dream.

I have... never met a Djura, or a Gascoigne, or a Gilbert. I suppose that they, like Alfred, must have been after my time... and like whoever Amelia must be.

Laurence is... familiar. I would not trust him in food service. For several reasons.

Still, I...

How can I feel nostalgic for something that never was, and never could be? For people I have never met, only heard of, in many cases?

Why do I miss something that I never experienced?

...Enough of that, I suppose. Victory Road is close, and I'm told that the Pokémon League is just beyond it.

Perhaps...

...Perhaps I'll consider coffee further, the next time I am in civilization. I always preferred tea, though that was more out of familiarity rather than anything else. It certainly smells nice, or did in that... dream? Nightmare?

I don't know what to categorize that as, in complete honesty.

[loverboy-cc]

2023 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

The quaint little chocolate shop seems to have put up its seasonal decorations on time for once. Little pumpkins and bats are stuck to every smooth surface and cotton cobwebs hang between the shelves. The small man behind the counter waves as you come inside.

❝ Happy Halloween! I assume you’re here for our special Halloween series of snacks? ❞

❝ We’ll be releasing a new type of treat twice a week for the entire month, leading up to Halloween! ❞

He smiles and hands you a cute little menu printed on bright orange cardstock.

October 1st: Bat shaped honey candies

Gepard/sub reader, ft breeding + semi public.

Bonus 1. Honey and Wine

October 4th: Chili pepper truffles

Blade/sub reader, ft dub con

October 8th: Dark chocolate dipped rice crispy bones

Wriothesly/sub reader, ft a/b/o + semi public

Bonus 2. Not Enough/Too Much

October 11th: Gummy tentacles (mint chocolate flavoured)

Dan Heng Il/ sub reader, ft orgasm delay/denial + inhuman genitals

October 15th: Witch hat hot chocolate bombs

Wriothesly/sub reader, ft daddy kink

Bonus 3. Fish out of water

October 18th: White chocolate bats

Yae Miko/sub reader, ft dub con

October 22nd: Halloween cosmic brownies

Itto/dom reader, ft aphrodisiacs

October 25th: Pumpkin flavoured chocolate eggs

Neuvillette/dom reader, ft monsterfucking

October 29th: caramel dipped chocolate skulls

Dan Heng il/dom reader, ft non con.

October 31st: Assorted snack bag

Neuvillette/dom reader, ft dub con

Ended up burning out a little :/ I’ll probably release these as individual fics eventually and add them after the fact but for now it’s done.

❝ I’ll also be giving away some free snacks on the 31st! If you’re interested send in an ask off anon with your request on the day of! ❞

❝ I’m also happy to give you a shout when we release a particular treat, or all of them! Send in an ask off anon to be added to the pinglist!❞

[thatseventiesbitch]

A while ago I found a good deal on some That '70s Show scripts, and I impulsively bought them! See below for a detailed breakdown of what is different between the table read script and what actually aired.

Next up: S2xE22 "Jackie Moves On" (note that it is episode 221 on the script 👀... production order vs airing order). There were a lot of changes/re-writes in this episode! See below for details.

The Production Schedule for the week:

(Just thought this ^ was fascinating!)

First difference: the entire cold open! I wonder why it was re-written. 🧐

In the episode that aired, the cold open starts with Eric and Donna entering the basement together, and the rest of the gang (except Jackie) is already there. They jump into the same conversation about how Jackie isn't doing well, but with different dialogue.

The scenes are extremely similar and end up in the same place - with Fez's ninja warrior fantasy. The Eric/Donna fan in me loves the little moment between them that's written here & wishes it stayed, though! Eric loves the way Donna smells after a bath, *lol*. (This is a continued characterization! He made similar comments to her in That Disco Episode in season 1...)

The next scene, in the Forman kitchen, is slightly different too. Eric and Laurie's banter is different:

And the kids discuss what they will do for dinner that night while Red and Kitty are at Frenchie's. Red's mom's necklace isn't brought up at all in this scene (unlike in the actual episode)! He just mentions breaking out the nice jewelry.

Red & Kitty's next scene, when they head out to dinner, is different. I like Red's little fantasy at the beginning, where he seems to be talking to himself in the mirror and imagining how their evening out will go. 🤣

Hyde and Laurie's next scene is slightly different, too. It's not pictured here, I'm just going to summarize it. Hyde remarks that his dinner of frank and beans was good and hearty, but that Laurie only ate a few bites of toast and some water. They exchange slightly different burns, but it leads to the same moment: Eric coming in and Hyde and Laurie teaming up to burn him.

Next up is Fez's scene in the restaurant with Jackie (also different!). Here are the changed parts:

The next scene (not pictured), with the 4 guys in the basement, is slightly different as well but wasn't noteworthy enough to screenshot. The scene ended up in the same place - Eric inadvertently reveals his childhood summer camp nickname (Dr. Pee Pee) and when Kelso burns him, he reveals Kelso's (Big Chief Brown Bottom). 😆

Red and Kitty's next scene (not pictured) is pretty similar: they're back from dinner but Kitty is upset Red keeps bringing up his mother's necklace (they call it a turtle pendant in this draft of the script). She eventually reveals she pawned it, and she doesn't feel bad because she used it for groceries. Red exits and she immediately tells Eric she actually feels very bad. Eric asks if she had a lot of wine at dinner and she says more than she should've, *lol*.

Jackie and Donna's scene on the front porch is almost identical - including Jackie's fantasy about turning into the blueberry girl from Charlie And The Chocolate Factory - until this part:

The next scene is with the guys & Laurie in the basement - again, very similar, but some slight changes. I laughed out loud at a few of these cut lines!

Red & Kitty's last scene (not pictured) is very similar to the final version. Kitty apologizes to him, Red forgives her, and they both discuss how they did what they had to do to make ends meet as a family but that thankfully things are much better now. The scene ends with them deciding to go back to the pawn shop and reclaim their stuff *lol*

The final scene with the gang on the driveway is again different! Jackie shows up and she's back to her normal self, but she doesn't pull Fez aside for their little chat. There's also another cut Eric/Donna moment 😭 And a little Jackie/Hyde/(Kelso) one, methinks 👀

The credits are the same - Eric is napping on the couch and Laurie puts his hand in warm water and says "Sweet dreams, Dr. Pee Pee."

So, in conclusion - almost every scene in this table read draft script was different from what actually aired in the episode. The general spirit of the scene was always the same, but a lot of lines were changed from this script to what ultimately aired. I wonder why that was! And I wonder how that worked, logistically. It appears they did the Table Read on Monday and shot the episode on Friday (some scenes earlier, actually, because of pre-shoots). That's not a lot of time for the cast to re-learn all of their lines! Show biz, baby.

Stay tuned for more That '70s Show original script reviews with me, your host, @thatseventiesbitch 😀

Other Scripts I've Posted:

S2xE20 "Kiss of Death" S2xE26 "Moon Over Point Place" S5xE21 "Trampled Under Foot" S7xE8 "Angie"

[shmowder]

I have some more dessert headcanons 🍰 I doubt I can explain but it's just a feeling I have. Daniil would like Turkish Delight. Lara and Artemy both like fruit pies, best is blueberry for Lara and rhubarb (it's a vegetable but whatever) for Artemy (oh god I'm stereotyping based on colors again). Candy corn for Clara. Candy corn is divisive but I actually like it. I think Grief would like candy in general, maybe those little chocolates with liquor inside, and cinnamon flavored things. Big Vlad - mincemeat pie. Rubin - bread. Just bread. Red velvet cake for Katerina, meringues for Eva. For Aspity, those dirt pies made out of oreo crumbs, pudding, and gummy worms lol. I think Grace, Notkin, Sticky, and Murky would like those too :o)

There's probably some obscure dialogue that contradicts something there but oh well~

What do you think of Victor's animal being a tiger? I keep thinking Basset Hound and yes that's almost entirely because they both have a high likelihood of being found sitting on the floor by the clock. He's some kind of scent hound to me - more calm and deliberate than sighthounds, and once they have their mind set on something, focusing on it to the extent that it's nearly impossible to pull them away. But at the same time, I can sort of see the cat thing.

🐿️ anon

Your brain is big and wrinkly all of those fit perfectly omfg. "Rubin = bread" I LOVE IT.

Here's what I think their preference in sweets would be in addition to yours.

Eva

Turkish delight, Honey soaked rose baklava, kanafeh with sweer syrups. The intensely sweet desserts are her favourite, think heavy caramel chocolate cakes. She'd sample a lot of desserts from different cultures but those would be her comfort ones.

Victor Kain

The dishes he eats are an acquired taste that wouldn't appeal to most people. Think blue cheese and something along those lines. think bitter chocolate, coffee, and pistachio flavours. Traditional creme burlee and dark chocolate mousse.

I like to think that Khan abhors these flavours and desserts out of rebellion and only demands the most sprinkle filled bubblegum bonbon cupcakes for his birthday.

Maria, however, goes for flavour-rich desserts that explode in the mouth, something with a heavy taste and an aftermath of wine.

Yulia

Cheesecake, lemon tarts. Subtle sweetness with the spin of something different sate her appetit the most. French Vanilla chiffon cake for special occasions, a blueberry muffin with her morning light cream cappuccino.

Rubin

He's absolutely not a dessert person, so when the craving strikes, he would rather go for a baked good. Almond bread, rosemary-walnut brow butter cookies and biscuits, English muffins too.

Taya

Fairy bread cookies, strawberry shortcake, and orange puddings. Fruit based desserts with cream are her favourite. Peach pie and cherry jello. Sadly, most of these would only be found in the Capital, and exporting them into the town wouldn't come easily. The kin might adjust their recipies to accommodate her sweet tooth and include more fresh fruits.

--

For Victor's animal, I was surprised to learn it's the same one as Rubin! They both have tiger in their descriptions. Especially when Khan's animal is an adorable hedgehog. Oh my god, so cute. But it fits. He really does go hide in that spiky polyhedron whenever life gets too troubling. He also has the Kains and Capella ready to protect him.

It's because of Victor's animal being a tiger that I add the "predatory" lines in the story. The sharp claws hidden in his clapsed hands.

He's a tiger in the aspect of the danger rather than the ferality. His mind is as sharp as a tiger's tooth and his focus and patience when hunting a prey or a goal is unmatched. You never expect him or hear him, how he'll as stealthy as a tiger when it comes to mind games.

For Rubin, however, I do see the symbolism centring on the ferality instead. He's like a caged tiger, one with filed down claws and broken teeth. He used to be so sharp and had so much potential. He's truly a force to be reckon with, but the cruelty of life stole away his prime. He's overcome with grief and appears as a docile, tired predetor because of it, like a circus tiger not caring anymore and just jumping through the fire hoops of whoever orders him to. Which is why he is so quick to join the army, he needs a purpose, a mentor, an end goal, a firey ring to make him feel useful because nothing is more terrifying to an imprisoned animal than absolute freedom.

[naraven]

A Simple Date <3

ILY @haliyamori TY SO MUCH FOR THE AYAKA,,,

i didn't know we were both each other's white day giftees, that's very funny to me

i love talking about kaveh with you, so enjoy this little thing i wrote for you <333

wc / 800

“Kaveh, I’m coming in!”

Before he could even react, the door bursts open. The force of the wind lifts what little of the blanket was covering his legs.

“What the f- what? [Y/N]?”

“Literally who else would it be? Get up, babe, we’re going to the aquarium!”

Kaveh could feel the blood in his head moving, fully ragdoll in your arms. He yawns into your shoulder and burrows his face deeper into your neck.

“Why’re you here? Am I missing something?” You puff your cheeks and shove him upright. His head lolls backward but your grip on his shoulders is starting to scare him. 

“You said we’d go to the aquarium on white day! This is the second most romantic date in the year, so get dressed. Unless, of course, I pick out something so we can match.” As you turn around, Kaveh koalas onto your back. He pushes his full weight forward, almost making you stumble into his closet face first.

“Kaaaveeeh, get off!” “No, I’d rather stay here with you than go to some stupid aquarium.”

You gasp, “Aquariums aren’t stupid! Don’t be mean to all the weird ass fish from the ocean.”

Kaveh pushes more weight onto you than you thought was possible. You yelp, trying to stand up straight.

“Nooo, let’s just get a nice breakfast first or something, going to the aquarium is too much work.”

You feel your feet leave the floor, sliding up the bed. Kaveh put his mouth on your nape and blows raspberries.

“HAHAHA KAVEH- STOP.”

You lurch forward, hitting your sleepy lover with his own pillow. He grunts and you fall onto his stomach as he does.

“Unf- Owww…” “That’s what you get babygirl.”

Kaveh cringes at the nickname and you have to hold back a laugh. You loved calling him cringe pet names, some of which made Kaveh groan in frustration. It was always so much fun with Kaveh, someone who would also be as open as you. It was fresh to see someone who wouldn’t hide themself to the world.

With that came the strange friendship with you and Kaveh’s roommate, Al-Haitham. The most he would say to you was how Kaveh seemed a lot happier ever since you two met each other and how you guys were the perfect fit for each other.

He also let you know that Kaveh was a ugly crying drunk. You didn’t know how much he could cry until you three were drinking wine after Kaveh had got promoted. Needless to say, Al-Haitham was a reliable roommate who would constantly nag at the two of you for being so childish.

Which led you to being alone in their house, as Al-Haitham wanted to get away from all the sappy couples as much as he could.

“If you want to use the house, go ahead. I’ll be at work so I don’t have to see Kaveh being a soggy blanket.”

“Thanks, Haitham. We’ll get you some chocolate, too.” “Please don’t.”

You laughed as he walked out the house. What an interesting creature…

“C’monnn, let’s go do something!” “Nooooooooo!”

Kaveh wrapped his legs around your own, effectively tripping you while still in bed. Your cries are ignored by the blond man tangling your limbs together.

“Ughhhhh, why are you so heavy for a guy that stays inside all day…”

“You did NOT just call me fat!”

“I see looks can be deceiving as well…”

Kaveh’s scandalized gasp makes you stifle a laugh. When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to look at him.

“Alright fine, we can take the day slowly. We still have the entire day ahead of us.”

“Of course I’m right. Now stop moving, I’m getting cold without the blankets.”

After some more wrestling for the blanket, you end up spooning your beautiful baby from the back. You press your face into his hair, the clips usually pinning his locks back gone.

He smells of the wood he uses for models, the scent clinging to him even now. His body is warm and heats up both you and him.

“Is there anything you’d like to eat for breakfast?”

“At this point, I think I’d rather eat a big lunch.”

“Ok then, what do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know, you pick.”

“I’m asking you because I don’t know what to pick.”

You huff. This was going nowhere.

“Maybe I’ll just order some takeout. This White Day is turning out to be just another slow day, huh?”

Kaveh hums, huddling deeper into the mattress, “But it’s still a day I get to spend with you, y’know?”

Oh. This man was going to be the end of you.

“...You’re right. I’ll pay for our food today.”

“Huh? No way, I will.”

“If you pay food anything today I will not give you any cuddles for the next week.”

“Wha- hey!”

You giggle in response to his protests. He grumbles and you can feel the vibrations of his laughs afterwards.

“I love you so much, Kaveh. I wish we can celebrate White Day every year together.”

“Mmm, I love you too…”

You can tell he dozed off. He probably stayed up all night working again, and so just for today you’ll let him rest.

You kiss his hair, gently lulled to sleep by the sound of his deep breaths.

[mryoyo000]

ASOIAF Fanfic: “A Kiss For Stannis” Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Who can tell me what this is?" asked Professor Unella. She tapped the projector with her laser pointer.

No one raised their hands. Professor Unella rolled her eyes. "No one? Figures. This is a diagram—" she gestured at the image on the screen, "—that shows a decade's worth of data about one of the most destructive recurring events in our society. Every year we're blindsided by the repercussions, and then we do it all over again without ever stopping to consider WHY those repercussions happen."

Brienne looked around the lecture hall. Jaime wasn't in class today. That wasn't surprising. He knows what people would be saying...no, what they are saying. Never to his face, of course, being the son of Mayor Lannister. But the atmosphere at Oldtown State University was tense, even biting. In the newspaper this morning, the headlines blazed about King's Landing where as of today, Valentine's Day was outlawed and any celebrations or commerce even vaguely related to it would be punishable offenses. Fines for wishing someone a happy Valentine's Day, displays of affection like holding hands, and giving gifts. Selling flowers or chocolate or any other products that could be classified as Valentine's Day-related was a crime that could get you arrested.

Mayor Olenna hadn't enacted the same law yet, but Brienne felt grimly certain that the way things were going, the day of love would be outlawed in Oldtown soon enough.

"This diagram," continued Professor Unella, "is a comprehensive analysis of the social and economic devastation caused by an entire business day devoted to hedonistic impulses. People are nearly fifty percent more likely to see their efficiency and productivity reduced, and the studies from the Citadel have indicated that over seventy-five percent of those included in that statistic will see a drastic reduction in efficiency and productivity. More than seventy percent of all national businesses will reduce prices, or even give away products for free, not just on Valentine's Day proper but for the duration of an entire week in some cases. This day also encourages social scissions and is linked to increases in crime and dysregulation of the national soul."

More and more, Brienne was appreciating Jaime's wisdom in staying home today. The grumbling students, and the look on Professor Unella's face, were proof enough. Even though they were in Oldtown, far from the capital, most people were against the law and it had become a notorious topic of discussion. And it didn't help that Mayor Tyrell was so closely in cahoots with Mayor Lannister either.

Today of all days, Jaime Lannister would not be a welcome presence, except maybe among people like Professor Unella, who either agreed with the laws herself (doubtful) or wanted to gain favor with the major political families of Westeros (more likely). After all, Professor Unella had published an article several months ago in defense of the Redwyne family's ruthless monopoly on the production and distribution of wine in the Reach.

And as for Jaime himself? Brienne didn't think very highly of him—who did? He was pretty smug and condescending, and he wasn't shy about flaunting his connections and advantages. He was on the varsity jousting team, and had a bunch of awards for equestrianism and swordsmanship too. He was a jerk to pretty much everyone, including Brienne, although she found herself wondering if some of his arrogance was a mask. Having Mayor Tywin for a father was probably a challenge in its own way, although it also meant that Jaime experienced few of the challenges that his classmates did.

"Brienne!" Professor Unella glared at her, and Brienne twitched at the sound of her name being yelled. Other students were muttering and laughing. Brienne was not popular.

"I can see you zoning out all the way from here," said Professor Unella. "Maybe you can share with us what's so much more interesting or important than today's subject matter?"

Brienne knew that most people thought of her as slow and stupid, but she had an answer ready for this situation. She'd learned from experience that it was helpful to have an answer ready at all times.

"I was thinking about the new law," she said carefully. She didn't agree with it, which wouldn't go over well with Professor Unella, but she didn't want to be ridiculed by her peers for defending it, even insincerely. "I guess I'm a bit unclear what the social detriments are."

Professor Unella rolled her eyes again. "You should say that you're confused, not that you're unclear. The social detriments I'm referring to are the psychological impacts of a holiday that encourages anti-state sentiments, which lead inevitably to problematic and disruptive behaviors. If Jaime were present in class today—I'm sure he has a good excuse, of course—I have no doubt he'd agree. This research has all been generously sponsored by Mayor Tywin Lannister, and Mayor Olenna Tyrell is very interested in these findings as well."

"But what sentiments do you mean, Professor? With respect."

"Sentiments," said Professor Unella. "Mayor Lannister has talked about this at length. I'm going to assign all of you an additional midterm: to read, watch, or listen to a speech given by Mayor Tywin of your choice, and write a summary of his arguments with proposed conclusions." The class groaned, and a few people gave Brienne dirty looks. She felt her face turning red, and tried to shrink in her chair.

"I'll give you an example," said Professor Unella. She spoke more quietly than usual, and there was an odd look in her eyes. "'You cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night.' That's a famous line from one of his most important political speeches, the Castamere Conference. We should all take a lesson from those words. Your institutions and governments will provide for you. Love is a fleeting chemical reaction, a stirring of hormones. Laws and order are tangible. They keep things functioning."

With that said, she dismissed the class. A few people roughly elbowed Brienne as they walked past her. They couldn't take out their frustrations on Professor Unella or the absent Jaime, so she was the substitute. Brienne's father would be horrified if he knew, and he'd beg her to come home and take classes at Tarth College. But people there wouldn't be any different, not really.

As she put her laptop into her backpack, Brienne was surprised to be addressed by the one person she'd never have expected to address her.

"Brienne, can I speak with you for a few minutes?" asked Professor Unella.

...to be continued?