#amazing home gadgets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brights-place · 5 months ago

Note

Miles 42 with a little sister who has telekinesis????

Miles 42! & Telekinetic! Younger Sister

Pairings: Miles 42! & Reader (platnoic)

Warnings: Fluff, Amazing older brother, cussing, slight angst, abit of blood

A/N: Uhm so I may or may not have given up at the end because I got tired at the end and Gave up !! Im so sorry I was so sleepy but I hope some of these were good enough for you (˶◡‿◡) Pre Telekinesis⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - Miles cared for his family it was obvious but he cared for Mama Rio and You more once Jeff died - Miles never told you he was the prowler and You never told him about having telekinesis - You aspired to be like Miles he helped your mother all the time even if you were 3 years younger then him you wanted to be like him strong, tough and caring so you would always work hard - In you city it was broken and horrible, crime syndicates all around flames, crumbling building, and crimes on the streets something you hated - Though you didn't expect you would have gotten telekenisis when you went through the rumble near the train station to see king pin standing over something... someone? but something stood by something tall that was wearing purple costume with a mask and clawed gauntlets with gadgets. His boots appear to be upgraded Jordan 1 shoes you paused confused 'Why the fuck would you wear badass things if your just gonna wear street shoes' you thought as you peaked through the rubble crawling over and looking up - Confused you reached out to touch the rubble to move it out the way to get a better view unaware there was a sharp needle hidden beneath - As you inadvertently pressed against it a pain shot through your hand and droplets of a mysterious purple liquid seeped into your skin as you yelped grasping your hand staring down at it chucking the needle away

- Kingpin spoke his gaze shifted towards you momentarily, the two of you exchanging a brief glance through the debris. In that instant, your eyes widened before you swiftly bolted away leaving him behind with puzzled thoughts before speaking deeply to the cyborg punk guy - "Follow them" - You were running fast and quick paced as you felt your heart in your ears as your lungs made you start heaving as adrenaline rushed through your vines - you quickly dodged and ran through the streets as the guy- or whatever the fuck it was chasing after you as you ran nothing else rushed into your mind but to Run run faster then you ever did before you just wanted to go home - A bright purple claw gauntlet suddenly illuminated as it lunged towards you - In a panic-stricken moment you instinctively reached out and grabbed a nearby pole flinging it at the man behind you behind you without hesitating - Adrenaline surged through your veins as you continued to shout in terror desperately searching for a means of escape. In a panicked state you raised your hands whipped any projectile you could find towards your assailant a bag of trash being chucked around -All the while the prowler leapt away and watched in surprise as you vanished into a horde of people - When you arrived home you couldn't help but run over to your mother hugging her as rio was confused patting your head as you sighed heading into your room as you didn't want to answer your mothers questions but just muttering a 'I just missed you' - You sighed plopping onto your bed annoyed as you sighed placing yourself under your bed covers before pausing checking the side of your bed for your heaphones before pausing letting out a slight 'huh' when not feeling them - You pursed your lips annoyed raising your hands up in annoyance when seeing your headphones on your desk as you paused "come here to meee" you whined raising your hand towards your headphones making a grabbing hand motion unaware that in a swift motion the item was in your hands as you paused

- You couldn't help but look over to one of your plushies on your floor raising your hand towards the plushie "come to meeeee" you repeated to yourself as you paused annoyed when seeing it not move before you froze when you saw it shake slightly when a light purple glow escaped your finger tips as you opened your palms more as it lifted up slightly from the floor as your mouth widened in shock and in awe before it was close to you it dropped to the floor fast - you stop and stared raising the headphone up in your hands before looking to the plushie on the floor confused slowly placing your headphones back around your neck for a moment - you couldn't help but paused staring at your palms looking up through your apartment window "I want to use these powers for good !! I'll protect my family I'll punish those who do wrong and will make the world right" - You trained yourself secretly but nearly kept getting caught by Miles who barged into your room as you would yell at your older brother in annoyance - How did it lead up to this? you made up a whole hero persona and would stop small crimes due to the fear of doing larger crimes but you didn't ind getting slight injuries you cared for these people - You came up with a name for yourself (Your superhero name) but for some reason others would call you 'Terrorkinetic' you didn't understand that at all you weren't scary at all!! not as scary as the guy who chased after you - You made it a mission the man who chased after you. You needed to find and put him to justice something you needed to do to protect those who you cared for and the people around you. -You didn't expect though when going to your older brother to ask for one of your sticker packets back for your sketch book to see him putting on a familiar mask that folded into covering his face as you froze quickly going back to your room freezing - Yet here you were in your stupid hero costume as you put on a black cape because you thought it looked awesome smiling proudly to yourself before failing to sneak out of your window as you shakily dropped to the side walk before quickly sneaking into the shadows of the alleyways running around to find any crime going on which was always - Here you were chasing after a theif who stole someone purse shouting at them to stop before seeing the male get chucked into the wall in the alleyway as you froze seeing a purple glowing eyes shine glancing at the theif a robotic voice speaking "You... hand over the files you owe kingpin" "YOU! put your hands u-up!" you shouted as the male snapped his head to you as your figure shook as you held out a baton - The guy who stole the lady's wallet pushed the prowler aka miles off as your eyes widened when miles quickly pushed the male to the ground as the theifs eys rolled to the back of his head knocked out as your eyes widened "A kid like you shouldn't be here" he stated walking towards you staring you down "I am- (Super hero name) and I will take you to justice" You shouted proudly yet your figure shook like a baby lamb as Miles eyebrows furrowed behind his mask noting down the familiar voice "Go Home" - "No! You have done wrong and I'll-" your figure was tied with a rope swiftly as you were placed ontop of a street lamp hanging there as you blinked confused behind your mask "EH>!?!" Miles is figure walked away back into the shadows picking the man he just knocked out up over his shoulder - While you shouted angrily "HEY COME BACK! I WILL BRING YOU TO JUSTICE!" even if he was your brother you watched him put on that outfit a bid to kingpin a man the whole family hated so why... why would he do that? work for him? didn't he despise him as much as she did... WARNING FOR BLOOD FOR THIS PART !!

- You couldn't help but stare at your trembling hands as the purple glow that normally emanated from them had faded somewhat leaving behind a metallic red color that seemed to stick to your skin. - Your body shook slightly as your mind raced with thoughts unsure of what had just happened. You had only wanted answers, but you had somehow gotten caught in the middle of something you knew nothing about. - Miles approached you in his Prowler outfit, his mask still firmly in place as he gently grasped your hands guiding you to the river to wash them. - You could hardly bring yourself to look at the scene before you the metallic scent of blood filling your senses and the once vibrantly colored flowers now marred by the stain of violence. - You hadn't meant for this to happen... this wasn't even suppose to happen but fear had overwhelmed you in that moment causing you to lash out with all of your strength using your powers without considering the consequences. - The man who had charged at Miles laid motionless on the ground crushed by the weight of various objects that had been hurled at him with such force. - Miles stopped scrubbing your hands and watched as the red from your skin flower down the river that carried it away by the current - He couldn't shake the question that plagued his mind how had you come to possess these powers..? He was planning to ask you once you got home but for now as the older brother he had to take care of you first Post Telekinesis⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - Miles is initially shocked and worried about your use of your powers after finding out about them particularly since he didn't know you had them. - As your older brother you should trust him - He has a lot of questions about how you got them and how long you've been training and he stared at you deadpanned "That's just a shitty workout routine and training its shitty" as you gasped and started to yell at your older brother

- You eventually reveal that you only discovered your powers recently and that you've been practicing secretly and how he nearly walked in on you when you tried to train the best you could - Miles is surprised but relieved that you didn't keep it secret intentionally; he knows you well enough to know you wouldn't hide something like this from the family but you did anyway - when he tried to pull the family card you literally shouted at him how he was the prowler as he stared to the floor "I had to" "YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DO SHIT MILES" you shouted angrily at him. - TIME FOR SOME POSITIVE ONES INSTEAD TO LIGHTEN UP THE MOOD!! - Miles would ask you to bring him something and when yoru THAT lazy you use your powers to hand it to him as he smacks you at the back of your head for using your powers - He would train you to use your powers with uncle aaron to get you to be able to help in some stuff when needed even though you strictly said its only for the good - Miles found it incredibly endearing how you would sometimes use your powers to play pranks on him such as making his hat float around until he grabbed it with a mock-angry expression or getting his jordans out of reach

- Miles liked to test the limits of your powers playfully seeing how far he could push you and your buttons - He once walked into your room to ask if you saw his sketchbook to see you holding it and speaking in rapid spanish as everything in your room floated like you were getting possessed... he did not even question you for the rest of the day

- he loves to steal your food expecting you to get up and physically take it back from him but instead you'd use your telekinesis to move it out of his reach or get it back as he just stares at you like you just killed someone

- During family game nights he always stares at you intensley since you use your powers to cheat always coming up with excuses like have no idea what your talking about" or saying "your just a sore loser" Miles would protest knowing exactly what you were doing but allowing it to happen anyway because seeing uncle aarons pissed off face was the best part of it all

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

149 notes · View notes

cerastes · 6 months ago

Note

It's kind of amazing that a horny game like Nikke actually included stuff like Cyberpsychosis. Nikkes going insane or committing suicide if they are reminded too much that they are actually full-conversion cyborgs. The reason why they don't have a lot of cool gadgets like built-in thrusters or weapons. And then you have someone like Snow White who replaced a large chunk of her body with enemy robot parts.

Nikke is this really cool thing to have Existing in the space, even if I don't play it anymore, because of how charmingly unbalanced it is as a whole, making the charming parts of it all the more apparent.

It's got barebones gameplay, the seams of which burst the moment you do high level content and realize there's not much it can do due to its limited concept. Combat rarely translates to whatever is going on in any story thematically, being thus gameplay being more of an abstraction. There is a gulf and an ocean of power between fellow characters of the same rarity, meaning a max rarity character might do absolutely fuck all while another one, with the same odds, might snap the game in two with ease. It's story is absolutely nothing to write home about. It's a setting that can be best described as "self-indulgent incel nice guy heaven", where your character is The Only One to be nice to all these poor second class citizen superpowered voluptuous supermodel living weapons with tits two times your head and asses big and heavy enough to easily crush cars. Everything jiggles. It's so insanely predatory with its flash sales after every little thing you do.

And yet, the basic story it tells, it tells well. It's fun. It's entertaining. It knows what it is, and it has fun with itself, but it doesn't throw all pretense, either. It walks the razor-edge thin line between having a goof and telling a story with emotional depth. What it doesn't have in complexity or originality, it makes up for in sheer moment-to-moment, with good scenes, with good execution of things we've already seen. The showdown with Modernia lives rent free in my mind, Commander loading the Vapaus round, as Modernia or Marian, no way of telling, begs them to put down the weapon, because she's already back to normal, Commander shooting, and Modernia catching it with her teeth, and then growling the most guttural threat with freshest purest fury: "You shot me. Your really shot me! Shikikan!" and then drilling Commander right through the chest. And everything that happens after in that scene. It's got interactions out the wazoo, both mundane and touching. It has music that goes from "background music that really works" to "handcrafted for the moment and the character in its excellence". I think it's because Nikke knows what it is, but doesn't reach the self-mockery rung of the ladder. It knows what it's doing, and it's still sincere about it, even if it dares have fun at its own expense sometimes.

So, with that on the table, the take on Cyberpsychosis present in Nikke is incredibly powerful as a narrative tool because it tells you just how much of a jury-rigged slapdash product Nikke are. They are not cutting edge technology, they are literally something they pumped out quick as can be while telling everyone in the world that's still alive that they are cutting edge technology. And all, all of the safeguards are ultimately subject to willpower and perspective. Some Nikke go insane if they are too machine-like. Snow White has basically rebuilt herself over and over hundreds of times in her forever war. Nikke cannot aim at humans, so Crow instead puts a steel plate on the ground and ricochets her bullets off of those to shoot Commander successfully. Aiming is something you do with your senses normally, right? Rose figured out that she can just wear a blindfold and convince herself that what she's slashing is not a human, but a Rapture, and that's how she disemboweled and killed her Commander. Just by not seeing and fervently believing.

It's really, really cool how they go about it.

#nikke

124 notes · View notes

wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 9 months ago

Note

Can I request Carol Danvers x Reader. While the whole team is on a mission, Reader finds themselves in trouble. Carol swoops in a saves them. The team starts to harass R, which makes R have feelings of doubt toward their abilities and also not good enough for Carol. Angst and then you can end it however you see it. Thank you! If you don’t like this request, please feel free to ignore.

My Voice of Reason

Warnings: Bullying of R by the team that's about it

Word count: 660

A/N: thank you for this request! I had a fun time with it~

“Y/N! Come in! What's your status?” Cap shouted over the comms. Your head was reeling after being knocked back about 50ft. You had no voice left, you had been shouting, using your voice manipulation to subdue the enemies.

You had run out of throat spray to ease the pain and talking was something you couldn't even fathom.

“Anyone got eyes on Y/N?” Natasha called through the comms.

“I'll find her.” You heard Carol call through, and before you knew it, she was standing above you. “You good, Echo?” The nickname that stuck with you for being able to mimic any sound. You were able to nod, point at your throat, and sign ‘no’. “Can you get up? Can you walk?” As Carol asked, another handful of Hydra goons came round, and without a second thought, Carol picked you up before unleashing an attack, knocking them out. “Let's get back to the QuinJet.” You nodded, gripping onto her, burying your face against her to hide the blush covering your cheeks.

The ride home had been full of whispers as if you couldn't hear them talking down. It was your voice that wasn't working, not your ears.

You felt Carol's strong hand on your shoulder. Looking over, she gave a soft smile. “Almost home. We'll have to debrief, but you should grab some medicine first.” You gave a soft smile back and nodded.

“Y/N do you have anything to say?” Tony remarked, all eyes on you.

“Ran out of meds. Couldn't talk.” Your voice still hoarse.

“I am so sick of that excuse! You need to train more often and stay off missions. You're grounded.” Cap called across the table. You pulled your sleeves over your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. You couldn't look at any of them.

“I'm sorry…” you spoke softly. Letting the ‘adults’ talk even though you were 21 you were still the youngest besides Peter, but Tony kept him mostly off field.

A few hours later you'd been released from the debriefing, heading straight to your room. “FRIDAY. Soundproof.”

“Sound proofing complete ms. Y/L/N.” As soon as it was soundproof, you let out a banshee scream in frustration. You yelled until your voice was just about gone again, “Fuck them. I try so hard…Tony has a stupid suit, Cap is a super soldier, Thor is a literal God!” You yelled. “It's not fair…its…” you started crying which turned into uncontrollable sobbing.

“Echo? Are you in there?” You heard Carol knocked at your door. As you tried to gather yourself together real quick and told FRIDAY to stop the soundproofing.

“Y-yeah…here…” you called out, spraying your throat.

“Can I come in?” Carol asked, making you hesitate for a moment before opening it and pulling her inside. “Hey, you okay?” Carol cupped your cheeks, you tried looking away, anywhere, but at her. She was always so kind and caring towards you. “Look at me Y/N.” It caught you off guard, she never used your name ever since she learned your nickname so of course you looked at her. “Don't listen to those idiots. You're amazing and you're an amazing super hero. They have fancy gadgets and enhancements. You don't have those things. Sure your voice is a power and makes you an enhanced individual, but your power hurts you too. It isn't endless your body has limits and they need to understand that.”

You felt your body shake at her words, trying to hold back your tears, but they end up falling as you're pulled against her. “Shhhh I'm always on your side.” Carol pulled your face up gently before pulling you into a soft kiss making your heart soar as you kissed her back pushing up on your toes and wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

Through all of it, Carol was here with you, and so long as you had her by your side, anything the other members said didn't matter.

#ley speaks #ley requests #ley drabbles #ley writes #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers #carol danvers x female reader #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x female reader

212 notes · View notes

zzoomacroom · 5 months ago

Text

Live a Little

✨✨✨

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

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

✨✨✨

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

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1/1

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

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

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

✨✨✨

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

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

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

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

God, if only he’d known…

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

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

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

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

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

Still. He worries.

(Continue reading below or on ao3):

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

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

Steady on, Hobsie. Get a hold of yourself.

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

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

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

At least that’s what he tells himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob’s breath hitches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Right. Better keep talking, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take me to bed, Hob,” he purrs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm, interesting.

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

“No,” Dream replies in a trembling whisper.

“May I?” Hob asks gently?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not gonna last,” he grunts in warning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps,” Dream murmurs, almost inaudibly.

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

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

Hob chuckles drowsily. “I always do.”

✨✨✨

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

#dreamling #dreamling fanfiction #dreamling bingo #dreamling week 2024 #dreamling fanfic #dreamling fic #the sandman #sandman #sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #hob x dream #nsft #zoom writes

105 notes · View notes

kkaewrites · 1 year ago

Text

real or not real — nagi seishiro x reader !

warnings. indecent language, ooc nagi.

tropes. meet-ugly, enemies to lovers.

you hate nagi seishiro.

he was stone cold, often referred to as socially awkward— but you feel like those were just excuses to make up for his rude and nasty behavior. personally, you think he’s overrated just because he’s considered a soccer genius. of course, no one ever believes you. they think your hatred clouds your judgement (it obviously does not).

you first met him when you were in grade school, deskmates for the first day of class. he was shorter than you at that time, but aside from his height, everything about him stayed the same. he still has the same gunmetal gray eyes that’s either reflected with boredom or reflected by the screen of his gray nintendo gameboy. he still has the same white hair, as clean as the first drop of snow, but as wild as a lion’s mane.

to you, there was absolutely nothing about him that’s fascinating— he was the same as any average boy. playing mobile games was his favorite past time, so much so that you believed that it was his lifeline at one point. or so you’d assume. he always kept to himself and was left to his own devices (quite literally), most things that kids enjoy don’t seem to pique his interest. you guess those were the reasons why he didn’t have many friends.

no, scratch that— he didn’t have any friends.

at first you wondered why. if there’s one thing you noticed about him even at a very young age, it’s that he’s handsome. he doesn’t have to be the “rich kid” with amazing gadgets and fancy toys, or the “cool kid” who knows what right words to say and way to say it, but he’s nagi. he was conventionally attractive without even trying. however, that fact doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that he looks lonely.

so, you’ve devised a plan to talk to him.

“hey. sei-chan, wanna be my friend?” you’re everyone’s friend. the sunshine child, the one who always lends her classmate crayons or pencils, the kid with pigtails who smile at strangers for no reason. you’re the kid that everyone loves, and if by some miracle, someone hates you (which has never happened and will never happen)— everyone would simply take your side. you’re loved by all.

if nagi was shocked by your sudden proposal, his features didn’t show any signs of it. what he does is pause his current game and faces you. it’s the first time you’ve ever stared at him eye-to-eye. your heart jumps.

uh oh. is this what they call a crush?

eyes filled with hope, you patiently waited for nagi’s response. you expected him to utter “sure” wearing his usual monotone voice, but it doesn’t come. and what he says instead ruins you. your heart does a somersault and tumbles, crashing onto the pavement and breaking into tiny, gliterring pieces. it did not feel good.

“no thanks. i despise people like you.”

you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong at that very moment. maybe you were too blunt, too cheery, too whatever — just something too much to be able to upset someone like nagi seishiro, who doesn’t feel strongly about anything or anyone. you didn’t have the courage to ask him what you’ve done wrong because your vision blurs. you always reckoned that it was due to anger, but your mother who saw you run home with tear-streaked cheeks says otherwise.

you still don’t know how you managed to piss off nagi, even until your very first year of college. after grade school, you never saw him again. you heard he studied at some prestigious high school but that was the end of it, you never really asked because you had no interest whatsoever. you somehow managed to assure yourself that there was no way you’d ever cross paths with him once again— so why is he here?

why, of all places, would he be your deskmate for your politics class?

at this point, you thought maybe the gods above despised you, too. did they hate you enough to not only be schoolmates, not only be classmates with this man, but to be deskmates? hate is the only logical explanation for this fucked-up coincidence. you’re not keen on fates or invisible strings so you’re sure this was just a punishment for you.

oh god. you hate it so much. you hate him so much.

without a word, you took the seat right next to him, taking the opportunity while he’s sound asleep. you’re not sure why he would take politics as his subject, because as far as you know about him, all he ever cares about is his mobile games. maybe soccer as well, but that’s not exactly related to politics, either.

when the professor enters the class, you found no reason to wake him up. he could get screamed at for all you care, but there was no way you’d ever converse with him at your own accord. because the only way you’d ever survive sitting next to him for the whole semester is by not acknowledging him at all. you can do that. you can avoid talking or looking at him. he’s not that talkative (and he’s not even awake) to begin with.

until your plan crashes and burns.

he turns out to be your partner for a school project— a big one, at that. you considered going solo, but the whole point of the project is to make sure two people are working together. it was a community development kind of plan, so unless he works with you and you work with him, you’d be getting an F for your politics class. that, you can’t have. even if it meant talking to him and enduring his presence.

he wakes up right after the class ended and you could barely contain your scoff. he sat through the whole 2 hour lecture just like that, does he have no care for his grades? doesn’t matter. it’s none of your business if he fails, that simply means that you won’t see him much anymore (which is a win for you).

you sighed. he should’ve been paired with someone else. why did it have to be you? why did it have to be your deskmate? and why did he have to be your deskmate? it was too much. how could you ever work with someone you hate? with someone who hates you?

you’re going to fail politics. you’re 100% sure of that. there was just no way that you’d ever accomplish this task— or you could beg your professor to let you switch partners. or you could ask your classmates to let you switch... but who would ever want someone as lazy as nagi to be their partner? fuck.

from the corner of your eye, you saw nagi yawn. it took all of you to swallow your pride whole and gulp it down to ever approach him, but it’s better than not trying. if you fail, at least you tried. even if it meant battling your inner demons.

so, clutching your bag straps tightly as if it would ever help, you turned to your sleepy deskmate. “nagi. it seems like we’re partners for the politics subject. i’m expecting you’d cooperate willingly so that—”

“sorry,” he interrupts with half lidded eyes. “do i know you?”

“you’re going to rip your paper to shreds.” nagi commented from behind you, peering over your shoulder as you aggressively wrote on your notebook. you imagined the page to be nagi’s face as you cruelly stabbed it, not caring about your pen or your paper’s state. you cannot believe that for some reason, you’re still stuck with the snow white haired guy. you’ve tried everything there is to get rid of him but nothing seemed to work.

“right,” your teeth could break with how hard you clenched your jaw. “will you be free later?”

“oh. i have soccer training.”

of course he fucking has soccer training.

you gave him the strongest deadpan you could muster before exhaling a deep breath. once to calm yourself down, twice to clear your head and thrice in hopes of losing all of your lungs’ air so you could shrivel and die on the spot. nagi seems to be unaware of your thoughts— and even if he had understood your facial expression and body language, he simply did not care.

“i’ll be free after, though.” he adds, as if you’d ever know that information if he hasn’t uttered it. this at least gives you the sense that he might care about the group project, and that he won’t be a complete inconvenience.

“okay. let’s meet up at the coffee shop near school. will you be done at 8?”

“yeah. but,” he pauses. “i thought we’d just do the project at my place.”

“who died and made you king?” you blurt out before you could think of a proper response. you wondered if you’d ever feel so strongly about a person the same way you did for nagi. he was driving you mad.

“what?” his clueless face almost made you feel guilt— almost. but you ignored the sensation and frowned instead. the least you could do was give him a clearer sentence:

“there’s no way i’d ever step a foot at your house.”

“it’s fine. no one’s home anyway.”

“that’s even worse.”

“huh? oh. don’t worry. you’re not my type.”

the conversations you somehow hold with nagi infuriates you. he has this way of making you feel like shit for some reason, and he does it with so much nonchalance you’d wonder if he insults everyone. but you know better and you know he definitely doesn’t, because you’re the only one he treats like this. it’s the absolute worst.

what does he mean you’re not his type? were you not pretty enough? not tall enough? not skinny enough? not fair enough? not what? ever since grade school, you’ve always thought that he sees you as someone “too much” and yet as he stands here with you, in an empty classroom— you wondered how you could be “too much” and yet be “not enough” at the same time.

and since when did you care about how he views you? since you were kids, apparently. because the words he would utter up until this day shatters you all the same. and you hate him— so goddamn much. but beyond all that anger, there’s grief. it doesn’t subside even as you grabbed all your things and shoved 6”3 foot tall nagi aside.

for some reason, he shows up at the café you mentioned at exactly 8 o’clock in the evening. you were typing away on your laptop, while a cup of caramel macchiato and a bunch of scattered papers littered your desk. you didn’t expect him to come, and it would’ve been better if he didn’t. but somehow, he’s here and he looks a little apologetic.

“are you upset?” he asks. his sports bag slumped over his shoulder as he stands right next to you. there’s an unoccupied seat in front but he doesn’t take it— at least, not yet. his whole, undivided attention was poured onto you and you alone. it makes you squirm in your seat, so you decided not to look up from your screen to greet him.

“no. take a seat.”

“you look upset.”

“do you want me to be upset?”

“no.”

“then shut up.”

wordlessly, he takes the seat right in front of you and slouches. he looks battered and fatigued from practice, but he doesn’t say a word to complain (to your absolute shock). you guessed that he walked straight from the field to the café without even changing or taking a shower, because his clothes clung to him like a shirt a few sizes smaller.

“shouldn’t you go change?”

“yeah. but i left my clean clothes at my apartment.”

fifteen minutes pass and you suddenly closed your laptop shut, eyes fixated on nagi’s gunmetal gray ones. he looks surprised from your sudden move, a look that you didn’t expect to recognize due to how miniscule it was. you felt bad for him. the café was getting too cold for comfort and all he wore was his jersey (one that’s drenched with his sweat). if you stayed any longer, he’d probably catch a cold.

why you care, however, that was not a question you could currently answer.

“let’s just go to your place.”

despite his constant need to laze around, his place wasn’t a complete mess— well, yes, there are (presumably dirty) clothes on the floor and used dishes on the sink, but you’ve seen worse. you expected his apartment to be so much worse. it seems like he’s not a complete monkey to not understand basic hygiene and cleanliness.

your only problem is that nagi seems to be bored. you caught him dozing off the coffee table as you ramble about your politics project, and you don’t even have to ask if he cares at all— because he’s trying to hide his obvious distate and boredom. so, even though you’d rather proceed to do your work rather than humoring this 6 foot tall giant, you pipe up:

“wanna play a game?”

“what game? i don’t like games that require effort.”

“it’s called real or not real. we take turns in guessing if the other person’s sentence is real or not real.”

“sounds like a pain.” he groans.

“you know what truly is a pain?” you turned to look at him. “this politics project. so take it or leave it. i’m kind enough to give you a break.”

“shouldn’t we play a different game? a mobile game, maybe.”

“what about a wager, then? the winner’s the boss.”

the game was a piece of cake— to you, at least. nagi’s an open book and it’s easy to read him. you explained that the mechanics goes like this: you take turns in giving very specific sentences about yourself, and the other party has to guess whether it’s real or not real. five wrong guesses means that the other person wins. so the only thing you have to do is to make sure that nagi loses first.

unfortunately, you were down to four mistakes while nagi only had one. the game wasn’t going like how you imagined it would be. how were you supposed to know that nagi keeps a cactus as a pet? how were you supposed to know that he only figured out how to play soccer when he was in high school? how were you supposed to know that he’s got a picture of his crush under his study table? (you still had no idea who that crush is, and it quite literally shocked you). how were you supposed to know that someone like nagi seishiro, was capable of liking someone romantically?

on the other hand, out of the six sentences you threw at him— he had only guessed wrong once. you don’t know how he’s so good at this game, too. it was either he knew awfully a lot about you, or was really good at second guessing things. you’re pretty sure it was the former. how could he know a lot about you, when he doesn’t even know your name?

“real or not real: i hate you.” you stated. his nonchalance was putting you off, but you’re not sure if you were uneasy because of it or if you felt guilty for saying that sentence out loud. you told yourself you could just take it back and act as if it’s not real but nagi himself looked so convinced when he said:

“real.”

he was right once again. but you didn’t have enough time to dwell on the whole thing when his sentence comes.

“real or not real: i want to kiss you right now.”

the silence was so loud it pierces your ears— or maybe you have gone deaf with that sentence. you’re not sure of anything at the moment because it feels like your senses were slowly slipping from your own fingers. if nagi was joking, his face didn’t show any signs of him laughing soon. but maybe you should know better, maybe he could joke like that with a straight face.

so you waited for a few minutes, for him to tell you that it was a joke— that it’s not part of the goddamn game because how could it be part of it? but nothing comes. his eyes were simply on you as he patiently awaits your answer. your make it or break it answer, at that. and it only dawns on you that this is real, this is his sentence and he’s expecting you to play. he’s expecting you to answer real or not real. because you were the one who proposed the game in the first place.

you wanted to scream and to run away, but you were rooted on the spot. time stood still and it froze you under nagi’s unblinking gunmetal gray eyes, as if the situation’s not bad at all. but this is a trick question, your rational mind says. he told you when you were younger that he despises people like you, asked you if he knows you upon meeting at your politics class, and told you that you’re not exactly his type— so there’s no way he’d want to kiss you. right?

you meet his gaze. right, nagi?

against your better judgement to think it through, you suddenly blurted: “real.”

his face doesn’t shift and nor did the mood of the room. your heart was beating erratically as if you’re not facing the guy you clearly hated with a passion, but the silence ensues. you were screaming at yourself, why the fuck did you say real? were you out of your goddamned mind? were you crazy? the answer’s clearly not real!

nagi, however, only looks away. “huh.”

“what?”

“i almost won. what a pity.”

“the answer’s real?”

“yeah.” he tilts his head and answers as if you were stupid. as if you were the one who’s weird and doesn’t get what’s happening— but maybe that really is the case. because you’re mind hasn’t caught up yet. what does he mean the answer’s real? does that mean he wants to kiss you, right now? how is that possible after all the things he had said to you?

you laugh. not the quiet giggle or the chuckle you were accustomed to doing, but a belly laugh— one that could rival a hyena’s. because this was funny. too funny. he’s definitely joking and you’ve only figured out that now.

“okay, fine. you got me.”

“what do you mean?”

“the joke. you’re so serious that i almost missed it.”

confusion marrs his face. “what joke?”

“about the kiss.”

“i wasn’t joking.”

“well, i’d rather have you joking than for that sentence to be real.”

“you hate me that much?”

he almost sounds hurt, but you knew better. how could he be hurt, out of all people? if there’s anyone who’s hurt, it would be you. how can he say all those hurtful things with so much nonchalance and tell you things like he wants to kiss you? how cruel must he be to toy with you like this? it was not funny. none of this was funny.

and it reminds you of your childhood— of your little crush on nagi that never seemed to go away. somehow, the little you screams that you should not fall for something like this. that it is easier to hate nagi than to love him. that it is easier to stand up from your seat, smile, and tell him: “yeah. i do.”

it has been a week. maybe two. or three? you’ve lost count. you’ve never visisted nagi again after the whole real or not real game, and you never saw him often because he’s been excused. something about soccer championship that you didn’t bother listening to. besides, you liked the comfortable silence now that he’s not around.

your phone dings. and it’s from an unknown number. but somehow, you guessed it has something to do with nagi.

unknown

real or not real: i’m sorry

oh. that’s right. the game technically hasn’t finished yet because no one has won. you told yourself numerous time that you won’t reply to his message, but against your better judgement, you somehow still did.

you

real

when your class ended, nagi seishiro was right outside. he was panting and sweaty— as if he ran just to get where you were. but this is nagi we’re talking about. there’s no way he’d actually do something like that, despite his lingering look on you. what’s that supposed to mean, anyway?

breathless, he speaks up to catch your attention. you were busy stuffing your books inside your locker, back against him as you completely ignored his presence. you did not say hi. you did not meet his gaze. but even without direct contact, your heart was drumming against your rib just by knowing that he’s near. what the heck.

“we won the game.”

there’s a lot of responses that entered your mind at that very moment. entry #1, who asked? entry #2, who cares? entry #3, why are you telling me this? and the list goes on. you’re pretty sure none of them were positive— but this was all so confusing. why was nagi chasing after you like a lost puppy who lost its mom? what’s he going for here?

“that’s good for you.” you slammed your locker shut and walked away. nagi eventually follows after you, as if there’s something in his throat that he wants to let out, but you didn’t give him the chance to. you’re sure nothing that would come out of his mouth is good. you’re sure he’s running after you because of the politics project, or because he wants to annoy you.

and you hate it. you hate him. your gut twists at the thought of him running after you like this is some shoujo manga and that’s the annoying part. how is your heart flipping with your every waking step if you hate him so much? you’re supposed to hate nagi, god fucking damn it.

you finally stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the 6 foot tall soccer player. to get it all over with.

“is there something you need to tell me?”

“we haven’t finished the game.”

“i don’t care about the game. leave me alone.”

“it’s your turn. your real or not real.”

this was stupid no matter what angle you look at it. it was just some game you made up and decided to try with nagi. it didn’t mean anything to you because all you wanted by then was to get his attention, so why did it matter so much to him? you don’t get it. you’re not sure how nagi circuits because everything he does confuses you. and before you know it, your irrational side takes over. reason left your body when you blurted the words:

“stop it. fucking stop this.”

why are you so persistent?

“was it fun to toy with me? was it fun when you told me you despised me when we were kids? was it fun when you told me i was not your type? i don’t fucking get it.”

you were angry. mad. seething. your blood boiled underneath your skin and you feared that it would leave your whole being in nothing but dust. through it all, you’re also confused. perplexed. lost. your mind can’t understand the fine line between hate and love anymore. your feelings overlap with each other and merges— you’re not sure what you’re feeling now. you’ve wondered how long you’ve buried this string of emotions you’ve had for nagi. that would explain why you’re nothing but a ticking time bomb now.

“if my playing with my feelings give you so much fun— then do it elsewhere. i have no time for things like this, nagi.”

“but i’m not playing, though. i’ve liked you for quite awhile now.”

excuse me?

“oops. i accidentally gave the answer to my next sentence. what a pain,” he scratches the nape of his nexk and looks away.

how the fuck am i supposed to respond to that?

“do you expect me to believe you?”

“i’ve got no reason to lie,” he shrugs. “plus, lying’s a pain. i don’t like it.”

“but— what you said back then...”

“i, well. i go blank when i talk to you. i guess. my stomach flips when you’re around and my throat goes dry.” nagi doesn’t look at you once while he utters this. tinge of red coats the tip of his ears and this is where you think ‘this is it’. he’s not lying. this is real, and you know that much— nagi never looked nervous until now. you think maybe that explains why he would avoid your gaze and why he would say the most confusing things. you think maybe this is nagi. the socially awkward nagi. the one who can’t talk to people properly nagi.

“i’ve always thought you were pretty. i despise pretty things because it makes me feel things. it’s a pain.” he mumbles. “of course i know you. of course i know your name. but it’s the first thing i thought to say because your face was too close. you’re prettier up close.”

he should stop talking. he should drop it all together and just kiss you, but you could never say these words because you haven’t wrapped your head around the whole thing yet. nagi likes you. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi short circuits when you’re around. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi’s actually confessing. nagi likes you. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes you.

“i don’t like pretty things. that’s not my type at all. but reo said i might be in love with you.” he finally turns to look at you and tilts his head. your face burns— and you swore it was because of the remnants of your anger, but everyone else could tell that it was not. your heart does a somersault, but this time it does not drop. it stays in the air, lingering like nagi’s perfume scent, until he carefully waits for it to land on his palms when he said: “i think he’s right. i’m in love with you.”

for the duration of your game with nagi and with all the truths shared between the both of you— this is probably the most real out of them. this is the only time he doesn’t ask the question ‘real or not real’ because his face says it all. his face says that it’s the real and raw truth. his face says that you must believe this because he’s not making it up. it was the first time you could read his expression. it was the first time that you’re not confused by nagi.

“fucking dumbass,” you comment. “that’s not how it works.”

you reach over to grab his collar, on your highest tip-toes because of his height. you’re pretty sure you’re the only ones present in the secluded corridor but the clamors of your heart makes an illusion of people cheering for you. somewhere in the parallel worlds of your universe, you think maybe those cheers exist. it only silences when you pulled nagi down with you, whispering:

“i hope you still want to kiss me, then.”

when he closes in the gap between the both of you, his answer was loud and clear.

i do. always.

notes. YES YES YES i finally finished this long ass fic! i’ve been writing it since forever & im just SO glad i finally get to finish it 🥹 as u can see, there is nothing on my mind rn but nagi seishiro. he’s literally living in my head rent-free and i’m not complaining. i love him too much. i hope u enjoyed this ‼️ as always, likes & reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you so so much for ur patience & love for this blog ❤️

ִ ࣪𖤐 masterlist !

540 notes · View notes

reidssluttywaist · 7 months ago

Text

A travel essential

In which reader buys Spencer a Kindle.

notes: hi! this is my first time writing something for spencer and also my first time posting here. this is just a little blurb, i thought a couple of days ago, and decided to make something off of it.

fem!reader, fluff

Spencer Reid was not a fan of modern gadgets. He cherished the feel of paper between his fingers, especially when it came to his beloved books.

Y/n approached Spencer with a carefully wrapped package. "Spencer, I got you something," she said with a smile.

Spencer eyed the package suspiciously. "What is it?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Listen, you probably aren't gonna like it at first, but open it with an open mind, ok?" You replied, excitement barely contained.

Reluctantly, Spencer tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a sleek Kindle nestled inside. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What's this for?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

"It's a Kindle," explained, her enthusiasm evident. "I thought it might make your life easier. You can carry all your books with you without the weight, and I know you don't like technology, but this is a pretty fun thing to have when you're away on cases."

Spencer's expression softened as he examined the device in his hands. "But I like reading physical books," he protested.

"I know," Reader said gently, "but just try it! I know Hotch says you can only bring like two or three books but this isn't even two hours worth of reading for you, right?! So I just thought I'd buy you this so you can have access to however many books you want while on the plane back home or when you can't sleep in the hotel beds."

Spencer hesitated, torn between his love for tradition and the practicality of Y/N's suggestion. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Okay, I'll give it a try."

Y/N had a big smile on her face, delighted that Spencer had agreed to at least give the Kindle a chance. "Great! Let me show you how to use it if you want."

She logged on to his Kindle and explained KU to him, he was reluctant but amazed about the varieties of books he could easily access.

Spencer still carries at least two hard copies of books with him every time he's away, but he also carries his Kindle in a Halloween-themed case you bought him.

#spencer reid #fluff #criminal minds

88 notes · View notes

rarityroo · 5 months ago

Note

Tmnt 2012 donnie and headcanons x gn!reader who makes short films/ who loves candle making?

My candle light

(2012 Donnie x Gn!reader)

I was so excited to write this, although I know TADC gets the most attention on my page I will always have a special place in my heart for TMNT! Thank you for being my first TMNT 2012 request, also I’m v happy it’s my favorite character! Send more requests my way I’m very excited to get back into writing and as always please Enjoy!!

Donnie found comfort in his lab, surrounded by his gadgets and gizmos. His brothers often teased him for being a workaholic, but he didn't mind. The hum of machinery and the glow of monitors were his sanctuary. Lately, though, his thoughts kept wandering to you.

You were unique, with a passion for candle making. Donnie initially thought candle making was mundane until he saw the intricate designs and mesmerizing patterns they created. Each candle was a blend of colors and scents that he held close to his heart. He couldn't help but be captivated.

One evening, Donnie wandered into [Name]'s workspace. He made a small space for you to work in his lab,

The room was filled with the comforting scent of vanilla and lavender. Candles of various shapes, sizes, and designs were scattered around, some in the process of being made, others waiting to be used as they were made to be.

You looked up and smiled. "Hey, Donnie! What brings you here?"

Donnie felt his cheeks warm. "I just wanted to see what you were working on. Your candles look incredible, so beautiful."

You laughed softly, the sound making Donatello's heart flutter. "Thanks, Don."

You gestured for Donnie to come closer, and he hesitantly stepped forward, feeling the warmth and calmness of the room enveloped him. "Come here, let me show you something," you said, your voice as soothing as the candles you crafted.

Donnie's eyes widened as he approached your workbench. The intricate tools and delicate patterns intrigued him. He watched in fascination as you delicately poured molten wax into a mold, carefully adding colors and scents. Your hands moved with practiced grace, years of experience making you move so swiftly. Donnie marveled at your skill.

"How do you do it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do you make them so perfect?"

You chuckled softly, glancing up at him with a twinkle in your eye. "It's all about patience and attention to detail," you explained. "Kind of like your work with those gadgets you fiddle with. You have to understand the materials, how they interact, and how to bring out the best in them."

Donnie nodded, following what you said. It was like you spoke the same language, even if your crafts were different. He felt a sense of familiarity, a bond that went beyond mere admiration.

As you worked, you explained the process to him, describing the different types of wax, the best combinations of scents, and the techniques for creating unique patterns. Donnie listened intently, absorbing every detail. He found himself completely engrossed, his usual stresses melting away in the comforting glow of you and your candles.

After a while, you handed him a freshly made candle, its design a beautiful swirl of purple and blue, with a hint of lavender and soft notes of vanilla and cinnamon. "Here, this one's for you," you said, smiling warmly.

Donnie took the candle, feeling its warmth in his hands. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "It's amazing. You're amazing."

You blushed at his compliment, but before you could respond, there was a loud crash from outside the lair.

Donnie's brothers were home, and their usual chaos had resumed. He sighed, glancing towards the door, but you touched his arm gently.

"Stay a little longer," you said softly. "The chaos can wait."

Donnie looked back at you, his heart swelling with gratitude and affection. "I'd like that," he replied, settling into a chair beside your workbench. He watched you work, feeling more at peace than he had in a long time, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to simply be.

#tmnt 2012 x reader #donnie tmnt #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donnie #tmnt raphael #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #donnie x reader tmnt

122 notes · View notes

qierxing · 1 year ago

Text

Fathoms Below

Commissioned by the amazing rainbowsillz

TW/CW: Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy coping mechanisms and mindsets, Blackmailing, Threats of Violence Yan!Azul x Mer! Reader

You're not exactly a go-getter.

It's not in your species' nature to be so, when one of your greatest strengths is to simply go with the flow and see where the sea currents take you. Even in the darkest trench, you'll always find a way through (using your handy glow in the dark biology).

It is, however, just like you to be curious when the waves take you to the next interesting destination.

This shipwreck must be recent. Last time you were here, you don't recall broken masts and a proud figurehead buried in the sand here. You float along while examining the wreckage with a meticulous gaze. The glimmers of buried jewelry here and there don't interest you. No, you have no interest in such trinkets.

There's a gaping hole within the port side, jagged wood ripped into razor sharp teeth revealing the insides. It's dark and cloudy with mud and debris, but that's no issue for you. Rot and time have claimed the interior, but there's still some items that survive. As you swim closer, you discover quite a few things littering a toppled desk.

There's a glass bottle that is scratched and covered in dirt but still intact. Within, there's parchment rolled up, perfectly preserved and safe from the salt waters. You tuck the bottle away in your bag, making sure it's snug inside so there's no chance it would fall out. Another cursory glance has you catching a curious metal object, no bigger than a clam shell, with strangely colored needles inside. You decide to also pocket it, just in case it turns out to be useful.

All in all, it's a fruitful exploration that has you quite satisfied. You are tempted to continue, but the rays of light are already dimming above into sunset, and your parents would not be happy about having to spend hours finding you again, especially not in a new unfamiliar area.

But just as you're almost to the colony where your family has settled down, you hear some strange sounds. Mischievous laughter mixed with crying has you turning your head in mild confusion. Following the commotion, you find a clearing with a large metal pot, surrounded by several other merfolk. You vaguely recognize them as your neighbors, their faces somewhat flickering in your memory.

"What's so funny?" The quiet question has them turning around in panic, surprised by your unexpected presence. There's some awkward coughs and furtive glances exchanged between the gaggle.

A nearly unnoticeable teary sniffling has you glancing at the pot, realizing someone must be inside. When your suspicious eyes meet the clique's again, their faces sour as they sheepishly swim away, clearly annoyed they were deprived of their fun.

It doesn't take much to piece two and two together. Sighing, you wait for a moment, then two, but nothing else happens. The mysterious sniffling has stopped but there is no sign of them being willing to leave the dark pot.

The calls of your parents carry on the currents, lulling you back home. You chance another indifferent glance back before swimming off towards home.

—

Apparently, the metal circular item you found is called a ‘compass’ by humans. According to your father, at least. When you pester him more about it, he shrugs and says that human sailors would use it to find their way on their voyages. The red needle would supposedly point you to your path. That was the only thing he knew about it.

You’re absolutely delighted with this fascinating discovery. So much so, that you can barely contain your excitement during class to go and test your gadget.

"[First] [Last], are you listening?!" You let out a shocked yelp at your compass being swiped away by another finned hand. Your teacher peers down at you with disapproval in her beady eyes. The compass glints in her claws, just out of reach.

"Pay attention to the lesson. You can retrieve your toy tomorrow." And with that, you watch sullenly as she swims away with your treasure. Snickers echo around you from your classmates but you ignore them, propping open your notebook in annoyance. The day seems longer without your compass in hand, but finally, the bell rings and class is over for the day.

The rest of your classmates waste no time swimming out the door, chattering about plans and playdates and what not, but you still remain in your seat, vindictive and resentful.

"I can't even test out that compass until tomorrow." You slump over and your head hits the coral slate with a dull thud. Ms. Ulyana can be so stingy sometimes. Besides, you already knew everything taught in the magical theory section today.

"Excuse me?" You don't bother raising your head, still moping about the loss of your precious gadget.

"What." You're not in the mood to be made fun of or exchange polite conversations at the moment.

"Isn't this yours?" You sit up abruptly, and see a young octopus mer holding the compass in his hands. You vaguely remember him sitting in the back of the room, hunched over his notebook, his glossy silver locks covering his face.

"How did you…?" He smiles faintly with mischief flickering in his pupils.

"Octo-mers are great at camouflage, did you know?" The boy shrugs casually, setting down the gadget in front of you. “And…” He starts mumbling, fidgeting nervously with his fingers where you can’t hear him.

“Er, what did you say? I didn’t catch that.” You awkwardly interject.

“It’s….it’s thanksforhelpingmeout!” He blurts out quickly. This time, you hear him perfectly clear and stare at him in mild confusion. When did you help him out? You wrack your brains but come up empty. Instead of embarrassing him by denying it, you just nod along.

“Well, still, thanks. I’ve been waiting all day to try this out.” You grin. “You’re the coolest, uh…”

“A-Azul. Azul Ashengrotto.”

“You’re the best, Azul,” You hold out a confident hand. “I’m [First]. Wanna be friends?”

He hesitates, eyes staring intensely at your open palm offered. “Y…You want to be friends with me?”

You tilt your head. “I think anyone willing to get into trouble for me is worth befriending.”

“Even if…I’m just a crybaby and octo-twerp?” His lower lip trembles, teary voice nearly cracking.

“Who called you that?!” You put your hands on your hips, raising a tentacle to intertwine with one of his own. “I’ll give them a hearty zap if they do such a thing!” Azul splutters as you administer a gentle shock through your tentacles. It’s absurd enough to make him burst out laughing and you join in happily.

Within that small classroom, a fond memory is created with that childish laughter.

—

The compass seems to get wonky underwater in the depths, so you reluctantly take to the shallows where the sea pressure is a little nicer to your gadget.

It's strange to be so close to the sky as merfolk. The clouds remind you of the sulfurous gasses that are spewed in the deeper marine trenches. But it's much more transparent compared to the opaque heavier gas, lighter and much more friendlier looking.

The red needle points straight ahead, and you breach just slightly, spotting a beach in the distance. Despite reservations, you drift closer, still only keeping your face above to render your sight usable.

Misty fog clears and reveals palm trees and jagged rocks littering the golden sands. It's no island, since the land stretches further back into the atmosphere, with no end in sight. But there's no sign of life, save for the seagulls circling above and tiny crabs scuttering below. A little bit disappointing for your destination.

The stories you heard from elders were always about wild islands with treacherous fauna and mysterious treasure buried deep underground. Maybe even a group of thieves lurking around. This was just a barren reef that held naught but the bones of those unfortunate to wash up here.

Still, you move forward, trying to see if there’s anything at all on the sand. Some multi-colored sea shells here and there, hardly in the condition to be collected, let alone be traded for with others. You glance at the compass in your hands with an annoyed huff.

“Useless thing…” You mutter under your breath. It’s a childish hope, but you had thought it would lead you to somewhere amazing, that you could tell your own tale about. That way, Azul could finally stop scoffing at you for your ‘ridiculous’ dreams and prove everyone else wrong.

The item barely makes a sound when it meets sand, and you turn away. The disappointment has already dampened your spirit to the point where you want to find the darkest nook and curl up and sleep.

A throat clears behind you, and you freeze at the unexpected sound.

“I believe this is yours?” The voice is tinged with specks of haughtiness that has your hackles raising subconsciously.

A human boy has the compass you tossed in hand, inspecting it with a thoughtful look, before turning that gaze to you. His purple eyes are mesmerizing; they remind you of the vibrant sea shells in the various reefs dotting the Coral Sea. It takes an embarrassing moment for you to compose yourself to finally reply.

“It isn’t anymore.” He raises a judgemental eyebrow, and you almost shrink in on yourself.

“Why not?” You cross your arms defensively at the judgemental tone. “It isn’t good to litter, you know.”

Your ears burn at the pointed accusation. Is a human seriously going to lecture you about pollution when they’re one of the causes for said situations?

“That item used to belong to humankind, how is it littering when I am merely returning it to its place on land?”

“In this condition? I’d be surprised if it still works.”

“Well, it clearly didn’t work when I was trying to use it.” You fold your arms petulantly as the boy’s eyes slant in judgemental surprise.

“What use does merfolk have for human gadgets?” You bristle at the questioning tone. “I thought your kind has no need for these kinds of things, since you have an innate sense of direction.”

“So what?” You snap. “Who said that mers weren’t also curious about exploring either?”

“Exploring?”

This back and forth ends in a humiliating embarrassment when Vil (he introduces himself with an air of elegance that makes you think of royalty) informs you that the compass is not some kind of magical gadget that can lead you to your desired location. You thought he would be more smug and condescending about it, but he only patiently explains the usage of the compass and how the red needle is only meant as a stalwart guide, as it will always point north wherever you are. It’s a little disappointing, but still. You could see how it was useful as a human.

“That sucks. I wanna explore a new land one day and be able to tell all about it to my folks.” You flick your tentacle and splash some water out in musing. Vil has settled on a rock near you and now the animosity has simmered away into genuine curiosity for each other. It’s nice. When was the last time you were able to talk this freely about your dreams?

“I’m sure you can,” Vil smiles, and your breath is momentarily taken away.

It feels good to have someone who believes in you, for once.

—

"...I think he’s a good person.”

The sound of someone choking makes you whip your head to see Azul keeled over his large book volume. After recovering, he looks up at you with incredulous disbelief in his sapphire eyes.

"You can't be serious? He's a human!" He spits, hostility coating his words like tarred ink.

"Ugh, so what?" You puff out your cheeks. “Why do you have a problem with this anyway?”

“Because he’s a human! And besides, how do you know he won’t do something suspicious like sell off your fins or tentacles once you turn your back, huh?!” Azul retorts, making you roll your eyes.

“This is not the age of the Sea Witch, Azul, it’s the modern era,” you coldly reply. “And that’s rich coming from you. Did you get that tome from the library or someone else?”

Azul flinches, cheeks blotching into a mottled dark purple as his tentacles writhed around the book as if to protect it from your disdainful gaze. Of course. Last week you swore one of your classmates had become mute, and another one’s P.E grades had dropped drastically, despite performing well in the past years. Azul sure has been working hard perfecting his unique magic these days.

“I earned this book fair and square!” Azul protests. “That human is another thing completely!”

“His name is Vil.” It’s like talking to a stone wall. You knew Azul disliked hearing about Vil, but not to this extent. “And he’s my friend.”

“I’m your friend too!” Aquamarine eyes narrow as your closest friend snarls at you. “Doesn’t that mean anything?!”

“Not when you’re insulting my other friends!” Without meaning to, your own tentacles begin to thrash in irritation, buzzing with the hum of electricity. “Ugh, forget it. I knew you were going to be like this, just like when you make fun of me for my weird treasure hunting.”

You’re not a fast swimmer, so even if you storm off, it must look silly, just floating away as your tentacles drift behind you. Despite the desperate calls of your name echoing behind you, you don’t turn back at all.

—

Perhaps you should’ve thought about at least making up with Azul before you made your decision.

“How are you going to explore the world if you can’t even leave the sea?” Vil had said with a disapproving frown. “You can’t let sentimentality shackle you from your potential.”

The words echo in the back of your mind. Sentimentality. Yes, that was one way to put a label on your relationship with Azul. You can’t deny entirely that reaching out that hand to him that fateful day was entirely out of a genuine desire to make friends. That little regret permeates the way you end up having to cheer Azul up from another self loathing session or whenever you’re having to reassure him that you won’t ever leave him all alone. It’s not that you actually believe in your words, but rather, it was the quickest way to quiet his tantrums. And although Azul matured greatly in magic and smarts, he never did quite grow out of his childish belief that you would always be there to coddle him. Not even when those sly eels attached themselves to him, taking over your role of being an actual friend.

So you take to the surface with your parents’ tearful blessings, leaving only a brief message with an acquaintance you made in your elementary school days. Rielle had hesitated, but ultimately wished you luck up on the surface. You can’t blame him. If you were braver, you would have made the effort to say the bitter words to your friend yourself. But that would be wasted time on a flood of tears and ink and even worse, a complete meltdown that would take days to mend.

When the volunteers handed you the transformation potion, they told you that although you trade your fins for legs, most mers have to adjust for a long period of time, having been so accustomed to swimming and utilizing your unique biology. At the time, you threw those warnings to the wind and chugged down the potion. Nothing would matter if it meant you could break away from the sea foam. You hadn’t realized the gravity of this until you’re stumbling over yourself and constantly ending up with aching bruises on your knees and shins.

You hadn’t quite realized, until Azul is the one pushing you back and shrugging your apartment door shut behind him with a deafening click. Although it took you weeks to figure out how to walk without falling, Azul moved with an ease as if he’s always been human. It almost makes you envious enough to forget that he’s pinning you back on a wall, pupils dilated and breathing heavily like a madman.

“Azul, let go! What the hell? How did you even know where I lived–?!” You’re not entirely panicked, more confused and annoyed. Even if he was erratic at times, he was still that baby octopus. He wasn’t exactly like the Leech eels who were known for their sharp teeth and ability to maul things to shreds.

“It wasn’t easy, you know,” Azul mutters, a thin sharp grin strained across his face. “Do you know how hard it is to follow your tracks after you abandoned me like that?!” You scoff. One month and he’s already thinking it’s the end of the world that you weren’t glued to his side night and day.

“Abandon? Please. You must be insane to think that me going to the surface to study is the equivalent of abandoning someone,” you spit back in his face and he recoils only slightly, but still remains steadfast in his strong grip over your hands. Even as you wiggle, he gives no indication of letting go.

“Well, that doesn’t matter now,” you bristle at the way he ignores your reply. Bad habits die hard– he’s always loved ignoring anything he didn’t want to hear from you when convenient. It’s almost relieving in a way, to see that he hasn’t changed a bit. “We’ll be returning back to the Coral Sea.”

“What?!” Now you’re angry. It’s one thing to hear Azul to be delusional, it’s another to have to entertain those delusions. “You must be out of your Sea Witch’s mind to think that I’ll–” Your words die in your throat when something cold and hard presses to your jugular, digging into your voice box.

“You will.” Azul’s pupils are still dilated, black taking over sapphire pools and leaving only a cold abyss. Your eyes dart down, following the magical pen that gleams with a silvery gemstone that makes your heart almost stop in place. “You will, and you know why, my dear?”

“Because I earned you first, fair and square.”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #my works #commissions

175 notes · View notes