#and He will make it easier for us even if hes not taking it away

[reilemon]

🌹Surrender❄️

♡︎ synopsis: Sylus and Zayne show you that you can't get away with lying.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader x Zayne

♡︎ tags: barely any plot, mfm dynamic, oral (both male and female receiving), orgasm denial, dvp

♡︎ word count: 5.5k

♡︎ a/n: this fic is part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange event made by @nanamiscocksleeve and I wrote for @laddelulu30 . It was challenging ngl, but I had fun and I hope you'll like it!

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping. divider by @anitalenia

The car hums softly, the tension inside it palpable. Zayne’s hands grip the wheel, his hazel green eyes fixed on the road ahead, occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Sylus sits with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You sit beside him, looking out the window, twisting the damp hem of your shirt as you can feel Sylus’ glare on you.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Zayne’s calm voice breaks the silence.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It wasn’t planned,” you mumble. “My friend called last minute... I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

Sylus shifts beside you, leaning closer. “You didn’t think lying about being at a coffee shop might be a big deal? Or leaving your location on so I’d find out anyway?”

You stiffen, guilt tightening your throat. “I thought both of you were busy and it was just easier that way.”

Sylus scoffs. “Easier? For who? You, sneaking out? Or us, finding out you’re not in your apartment like we thought?”

“Sylus,” Zayne interjects, his eyes flick to the mirror, catching yours. “This isn’t about the coffee shop, or even going out. It’s about trust. We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know where you are.”

The word trust stings more than Sylus’ sharper tone. Your fingers clench tighter around your sleeve, twisting the fabric until it wrinkles under your grip. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” you say with a lump in your throat. “My friend needed me tonight. She just got out of a bad relationship, and wanted to go out.”

Sylus presses further. “And when it got dangerous? What then? You knew enough to text me—why not just tell me the truth from the start?”

Zayne’s grip on the wheel tightens. “Do you know what went through my head when Sylus told me you weren’t home?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “When I saw where you were? You’re lucky we got there in time.”

Your throat tightens, and you glance out the window as you mumble, “I didn’t think it’d turn into such a mess.”

Zayne exhales slowly, and you can see Sylus in the corner of your eye shaking his head. You know you’re in the wrong and that you made a few stupid decisions tonight, but your pride is not letting you admit it.

The car slows to a stop at a drive-thru, and you hear Sylus grumbling under his breath.

“This place again?”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips when you catch Zayne roll his eyes before answering. “Yes, it’s the only nearby place that works at this hour.”

Sylus sighs dramatically but complies, rattling off an order as though it’s beneath him.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The apartment greets you with its familiar scent and warmth. What also greets you is pieces of clothing and makeup scattered around the living room. You’re sure your boyfriends noticed the mess, but you’re surprised no one made a single comment as they made their way to the kitchen. You take off your shoes and join them. 

Sylus places the bag of food onto the table, his gaze flicking toward you. “Are those the new jeans?” he asks. 

Caught off guard, you glance down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the denim. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Told you they’d look good,” he says, leaning back against the table, his arms crossing over his chest. The way he says it makes your cheeks warm. 

Before you can respond, Zayne’s voice cuts in, giving you the same compliment. He steps closer, his eyes softening as they glance over you. Tonight, their attention makes you more flustered than usual, so you thank them, your cheeks burning, and you busy yourself with helping Zayne unpack the food.

The three of you engage in small talk as you eat the late-night meal, the earlier tension from the car ride dissipating with each bite. Despite his complaints, Sylus cleans his plate with the efficiency of someone who secretly enjoyed it.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Remnants of the day washed away after the shower, the three of you settle on the sofa to watch a movie. Zayne and you slipped into pajamas while Sylus put on a shirt and sweatpants he kept in your apartment. As you sink into the sofa, the warmth of their presence surrounds you. You cover yourself with a blanket, nestling into the space between them. Sylus leans in to press a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to send a small shiver through you. “Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

You nod, your cheeks warming as Zayne reaches for your hand. His touch is light as he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “It’s been a long night,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “You should try to relax.”

The tenderness of each gesture dissolves a little more of the tension lingering from the car ride. For a moment, it feels like the night’s events have been smoothed over.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The blanket draped across your legs is warm, wrapping you in comfort as the faint scent of soap and shampoo lingers from the showers. You stretch out slowly, eyes still on the tv as you move to rest your head on Sylus’ lap. His hand rests on your head, the light touch of his fingers soothing. Your legs find their place on Zayne’s lap, his strong hands moving to cradle your feet. When his fingers press gently into your arches, eliciting a soft sigh from your lips. The way his thumbs knead into your soles sends tiny ripples of relief through your body. Sylus’ fingers gently massage your temple, while Zayne’s hands work slowly over your calves. For a moment, you’re content to lie there, letting their attention wash over you.

But your hand starts to wander.

It traces along the fabric of his sweatpants as you brush over the firm muscle of his thigh before your palm settles over his crotch. Sylus chuckles, and you feel his body tense slightly under your touch. His hand stills as he glances down at you. “You sure you’re not tired?”

You nuzzle against his thigh, “I’m sure,” you say softly.

Sylus’ gaze flicks past you, meeting Zayne’s over your head, the exchange passing in an instant.

You shift onto your back, blissfully clueless, the warmth of the blanket replaced by the cool air of the room as Zayne slides it away, folding it neatly onto the backrest. His hands move to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin, sending faint shivers along your body as he pulls off the piece of clothing. You draw a sharp breath as Zayne’s long fingers trace the sensitive spot between your legs, the barrier of your underwear doing little to dull the sensation. His thumb presses gently, testing your reaction.

Above you, Sylus watches your face as you’re still resting your head on his lap. His hand threads through yours, his grip steady as he lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

Zayne’s eyes flicker down, his full attention locked on the slow movements of his fingers. The pads of his ring and middle finger press firmly against the soaked fabric of your panties, sliding back and forth at a slow pace. The pressure builds as he alternates his rhythm—pushing his fingers harder against you, dragging them in slow strokes, then pulling back just enough to make you whimper. The dampness of your arousal soaks through the thin barrier, your panties clinging to your folds.

“Fuck,” Zayne murmurs. “You’re so wet, my sweet girl. You like this that much? Being teased like the needy little brat you are?”

Heat floods your cheeks at his words, but before you can respond—his thumb circles your clit, pressing firmly enough to draw a gasp from your pretty lips. Your hips shift against his touch instinctively, desperate for more, but his movements remain infuriatingly measured.

Zayne shifts, his hands pressing against your thighs, keeping you open as his head hovers just between your legs. Your legs tremble in his hold when you feel it - the slow swipe of his tongue over the fabric. A quiet moan escapes your lips as he does it again, his tongue dragging across the sensitive spot, his saliva mixed with your slick making the fabric cling to you. Your free hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding into Zayne’s dark hair, urging him closer, urging him to give you more. His eyes flick up briefly, and then you hear Sylus’ sharp tut from above.

“Tsk, tsk. You’re not in charge here, sweetie.” Sylus’ voice is rich with mock disapproval. He reaches down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls your hand away from Zayne’s head with. He presses your hand above your head, holding both of your wrists in place with one hand, while Zayne’s grip on your hips tightens, making it impossible to move. His fingers press into your skin, holding you down as his tongue flicks out again, swirling slow, maddening circles over your clit. Your head tilts back against Sylus’ thigh, a frustrated sound escaping your lips as you try to shift against Zayne’s hold.

“Look at her,” Sylus muses as he watches you squirm. “So fucking needy. Isn’t that cute?”

Zayne chuckles against you, the vibrations making your toes curl. But, after a few more frustratingly dragged out swipes, he finally relents. His hold on your hips loosening just enough to slide your soaked panties to the side, the cool air kissing your exposed skin, spreading goosebumps all over your skin. His thumb brushes lightly along your folds, spreading the slickness, before his tongue is finally on you, dragging slow swipes from your entrance to your clit. Relief courses through you, your thighs trembling as the ache that’s been building finally begins to ease. His tongue moves with precision, parting your folds and swirling around your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

Above you, Sylus’ ruby gaze flickers down, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt. The fabric bunches in his hand as he lifts it higher, revealing the soft curves of your breasts, the cool air making your nipples pebble instantly. His free hand traces slow circles around one hardened peak, his thumb brushing lightly over it, teasing, before he pinches just enough to make your back arch off the sofa. Then, slowly, his hand trails up, over the side of your neck, before settling on your bottom lip. The gentle pressure makes your lips part instinctively, your tongue swirling around his finger. Sylus adds another finger, the digits sliding deeper as your lips tighten around them, coating them in saliva. Then he pulls them free and drags them down, swirling over the hardened peaks, the added slickness making you moan.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Sylus asks, his smirk widening as his fingers press harder, rolling your nipples between them.

Zayne’s lips seal around your clit with just enough suction to make you cry out. Each stroke and suck builds the pressure inside you to a breaking point, your toes curling as the pleasure coils tight in your core, threatening to snap. You’re so close—so close you can feel yourself teetering on the edge—

And then Zayne pulls back.

The loss of contact draws a frustrated, broken whimper from your lips, your hips jerking against nothing.

Zayne looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t look so surprised,” his voice calm and infuriatingly composed. “Brats don’t get to finish so easily.” His hands stay firm on your hips, keeping you still as you try to move.

Your lips part in protest, but Sylus cuts you off with a smug tut. “Ah, ah,” he smirks. “You’ll have to earn it first.” His fingers slide down, gliding over your soaked folds before delivering a sharp tap to your swollen pussy, the sudden jolt making you flinch with a yelp.

“Look at this mess,” he mutters, his voice dripping with mockery as he taps again, watching you flinch. “Needy little thing.”

His fingers glide through, your body arching into his touch in desperate need of more. But then he pulls away, leaving you trembling in frustration. His glistening fingers rise to his lips, his eyes locking onto yours as his tongue flicks out, savoring the blend of your juices and Zayne’s lingering taste. He chuckles, “You know we don’t let bad behavior slide.”

Before you can protest, Zayne’s hand slides along your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His hazel eyes meet yours, “You know we’re not angry,” Zayne says softly, as his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. “But we will take our time making sure you understand.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body trembling under the weight of their attention. Frustration wells up, but so does the thrill of knowing exactly what they’re doing. Of course, they wouldn’t let you off so easily—it’s Sylus and Zayne.

Sylus releases your wrists, and before you can process the absence of his touch, Zayne reaches for your hands, pulling you upward with ease until you’re sitting on the sofa. Sylus stands up, stepping beside you as his hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants. He tugs them down just enough to free his cock - thick, flushed with a bead of precum at the tip. Your breath catches as he strokes himself lazily, his eyes glinting when he notices your gaze drop to his length.

“Come here,” Sylus commands as he plants one foot on the floor, the other on the sofa, your mouth watering at the sight. He strokes one last time before dragging the head of his cock toward your parted lips. The salty bead of precum hits your tongue, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes as you take him in. Sylus growls, his hand resting on the back of your head, holding you steady.

Beside you, Zayne stands up, mirroring Sylus’ stance, as he slides his pajama pants down and frees himself. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your hand to him, curling it around his cock. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, twitching as his hand envelopes yours, his grip firm as he helps you stroke him. “Slow,” he murmurs softly. “Feel how hard you’ve made me.”

Sylus’ hips begin to move, his thrusts shallow at first, as the thick head of his cock pushes deeper past your parted lips. You hollow your cheeks, your tongue flattening beneath him, and the sharp hiss that escapes his lips goes straight to your core.

“Deeper,” Sylus growls, “I know you can take it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust—his grip keeps you firmly in place as his hips roll forward, forcing his cock further down your throat. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you struggle to keep up, swallowing around the thick length stretching your throat. Spit drips from the corners of your mouth as he moves, hitting the back of your throat, making you choke with each thrust. Sylus’ movements falter for a moment, his thrusts growing erratic and then, abruptly, he pulls back. The sudden loss leaves you breathless and you look up to see his jaw clenched, his hand squeezing the flushed tip.

“Fuck,” he mutters in a shaky voice. “Almost made me finish down your throat.”

Before you can catch your breath, Zayne’s hand tilts your chin, guiding your mouth toward him, your lips parting instinctively as the head of his cock brushes against them. He presses forward, filling your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours as your tongue swirls around the tip, savoring the salty taste. A low groan escapes him, his hand resting on the back of your head as he sets a languid pace. Your jaw aches from the stretch, but the weight of him—hot and heavy against your tongue—makes you moan softly, the sound vibrating against him. Your hand finds Sylus, wrapping around his slick length as you stroke him in rhythm with Zayne’s thrusts. Sylus hisses through his teeth, his cock twitching in your grasp as he watches.

The ache between your legs becomes unbearable, your thighs pressing together in the desperate need for release. Unfortunately for you, Zayne’s sharp eyes catch the motion. Abruptly, he pulls back, his cock slipping free with a wet pop.

“No,” he says firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His grip on your chin forces your gaze upward. “Spread your legs.”

You almost whimper at the tone. “But—”

“Spread them,” Zayne repeats. The authority in his voice makes your thighs part, the frustration growing as Sylus chuckles above you.

Zayne’s hand shifts, guiding your mouth back to him. His cock slides past your lips again, and this time his thrusts are faster, each movement pushing deeper until the tip hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes again, the sound of your gagging pulling a guttural growl from him.

“Just like that,” Zayne murmurs, his voice rough. “Take all of it.”

Beside him, Sylus’ breaths become rough and uneven as his hand tightens over yours, his hips snapping forward, drawing Zayne’s attention.

Zayne’s hand slides to the back of Sylus’ neck, pulling him forward until their faces are almost touching. His voice drops low, quiet enough that you can’t make out the words. Their whispers drip with intent, and the thought of them planning your undoing makes your pussy clench desperately, slick spilling over as your body begs to be used exactly the way they want.

Sylus’ eyes flick to Zayne’s, hazy with arousal, with a faint smirk on his lips. Zayne’s lips press to the sharp line of Sylus’ jaw, followed by teeth dragging over his skin before he bites down, rough enough to leave a mark. The sharp sting rips a guttural, feral sound from Sylus’ throat, his cock twitching in your hand, precum spilling along your fingers.

“Good,” Zayne mutters against Sylus’ jaw before he pulls back, releasing Sylus’ neck. Their eyes meet for a moment, before their full attention is back on you.

Zayne’s thrusts grow erratic, his cock hitting the back of your throat one last time before he pulls out, leaving you gasping. You barely have time to recover before Sylus’ hand grips your jaw, tilting your face toward him, but his other hand grabs at the hem of your pajama top, tugging it upward in one swift motion, leaving you bare before him.

“Open,” Sylus commands, and your mouth falls open instantly, tongue slipping out. The flushed tip of his cock presses against it, dragging across it as he smears the salty slick, before his release spills suddenly, the first hot spurt hitting your tongue. The rest paints your cheeks, dripping down your chest, and clings to your skin in messy streaks. Zayne watches, his hand gripping your wrist as you stroke him. His cock twitches violently in your grasp, and when your fingers tighten, slick with his precum, it pushes him over the edge. A sharp, choked groan escapes his lips as his hips snap forward, his release spilling over your face and breasts, mingling with Sylus’ mess.

You’re trembling, every inch of your body aching with unfulfilled need. Sylus tilts your face up with two fingers under your jaw, making you to meet his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Fucking perfect.”

Zayne’s fingers brush the corners of your tear-streaked eyes. “She is,” he agrees with a smirk.

You bite your lip as your gaze flicks between them - they’re both still hard, their cocks twitching and glistening.

Zayne moves first – he sits back on the sofa and grabs a large pillow and positions it behind him. Reclining slightly, he leans back against the cushion, his legs spreading as his cock juts upward. His hands reach for you, pulling you toward him, guiding you onto his lap and helping you recline against him. Your back presses against his chest, his warmth melting some of the tension from your muscles. His arms wrap around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Just relax,” His voice is calm and soothing as his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

Sylus steps closer, his sharp gaze raking over your trembling form, smirk widening as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. He drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air.

“Fuck,” Sylus mutters, his eyes burning as he spreads your legs, his grip firm.

Zayne’s hands glide upward, smearing the mess of their release over your chest before his fingers close around your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp. Then, his fingers trail downward, leaving a sticky path until they stop just above your needy core. You grab onto his veiny forearms at the first stroke of his fingers over your clit, before his fingers dip lower, gathering your slick before gripping his cock. He presses the tip to your entrance, dragging the length of his shaft through your folds, catching your clit in the motion, making your pussy flutter.

Zayne shifts beneath you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before nudging inside. The stretch is immediate, the delicious ache making your breath hitch as he pushes deeper, steadying your hips with firm hands. A raw, breathless moan escapes as he fills you, your head tilting back against his shoulder.

“That’s it.” Zayne whispers in your ear, his grip tightening as he holds you in place.

Every slow thrust presses against your most sensitive spots, each movement tightening the coil in your belly. Sylus watches as his hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly to match the roll of Zayne’s hips.

“Fuck,” Sylus mutters. “Look at her—dripping down to the base, and you’ve barely started.”

Zayne chuckles softly, his lips brushing your ear as his thrusts grow deeper, each one sinking to the hilt. The intensity builds with each roll of his hips, his cock filling you completely. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, the sound making Sylus’ hand quicken as he strokes himself.

“Are you ready to take me too?” Sylus asks, his voice low and teasing.

Your body freezes momentarily at the question, your pussy clenching around Zayne’s length.

“You… both?” your voice trembles. The idea intrigues you, but you’re hesitant. “I don’t know if I can - I mean – I’m not sure it’ll fit -”

Sylus’ smirk widens. “Oh, it’ll fit,” his voice is almost mocking, “You’ve been so needy tonight. This is what you’ve been begging for, isn’t it?”

Zayne nuzzles against your ear, his lips brushing your skin. “But only if you want it.”

You fall silent, your breath shallow as you process their words.  Sylus’ expression softens, his hand smoothing over your thigh as his gaze meets yours. “You can say no, darling.” he says softly.

Zayne presses a kiss just below your ear. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. You don’t have to take this any further.”

The sudden shift in their demeanor makes your chest tighten and their patience reassures you. You take a second to think. They’d never tried this before—never pushed to see if you could take them both at once. With how thick and long they both are, the idea had always seemed impossible. But tonight, the need is unbearable. You need to feel them—both of them—stretching you, breaking you, until there’s nothing left but the overwhelming sensation of them taking you completely.

You take in a shaky breath, “I want to. I’m ready.”

Zayne’s hands tighten gently around your waist, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ll take care of you.”

Sylus’ teasing smirk returns. His hand grips his cock, the flushed head pressing against your stuffed entrance. Sylus’ cock nudges forward, catching your clit one, two times as he struggles to push inside. “Relax, sweetheart.” he whispers. Your legs tremble as Sylus presses forward again, the thick head of his cock pushing at your entrance again. A high-pitched whimper escapes you, as Sylus’ cock slips over your clit once more before the head finally begins to ease inside. Sylus moves slowly each inch forcing your body to adjust to the impossible fullness. The tip finally slips fully inside, your walls clamping down tightly around both of them. The sensation is almost too much, your gasps and desperate moans filling the air as your body struggles to adjust to the impossible fullness.

“Shh,” Zayne soothes, as he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re doing perfectly. Just breathe, my darling.”

Sylus growls, his hand gripping your thighs as he stills. “So tight. Goddamn, Zayne, you’re not leaving much room.”

Zayne chuckles softly, his voice calm but you can feel his muscles tensing. Sylus shifts his hips, his tip stretching you impossibly as he inches deeper. The new fullness is overwhelming, every nerve inside you screaming for more.

“So fucking sensitive,” Zayne teases. “I bet she’ll cum before you’re even halfway there.”

The words make you whimper, your cheeks burning as Sylus pushes further. His hands tighten on your thighs as he finally bottoms out, holding still to let you feel every throbbing inch buried inside you. The maddening stretch of having both of them makes your pussy fluttering around them, pain and pleasure blurring together. Your breath comes in ragged, broken gasps as the tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter, impossibly close to snapping. You try to roll your hips, desperate to chase the climax that is right there, but their strong hands hold you still, denying you the friction you need

“I’m so close - !” you whimper, the desperation spilling from your lips as your head tilts back against Zayne’s shoulder. “I’m gonna—please, I need to—”

Sylus smirks down at you, “Close already?” he taunts. “I haven’t even fucking started yet.”

His hips shift slightly and that is all you need to fall apart, your orgasm crashing over you with devastating force. The tightness of your walls pulls guttural groans from both men, Zayne’s breath hitching against your neck as Sylus growls above you. They hold you steady while your body trembles in the aftermath, shallow gasps leaving your lips.

Sylus’ hand digs into your thigh, the grip bruising as his other hand braces on the backrest. His cock moves with shallow thrusts, the friction making your eyes roll back.

“You’re so sensitive,” Zayne murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “I can feel you clenching every time he moves.” Sylus’ pace quickens slightly, your moans growing louder as the coil in your belly tightens impossibly fast.

“Already?” Sylus teases, as he watches you writhe.

You don’t even register the question as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench tightly around them both, the overwhelming tightness pulling a groan from Sylus, his hips stuttering briefly, while Zayne sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on your waist.

But Sylus doesn’t stop. His thrusts deepen, slamming into you, the drag along your oversensitive walls pulling pathetic whimpers as your pussy tightens around him. The slick, maddening friction of their cocks sliding together, every thrust dragging a raw moan from your lips as the stretch pushes you closer to the edge. Your breath catches, your back arching as the coil snaps. Pleasure rips through you, blinding and raw, tears streaking your face. You clench around them tighter, milking them both as the aftershocks crash through you.

Zayne’s breath is hot against your ear, his chest heaving against your back as his cock throbs inside you. The tight clamp of your walls around him has him on the brink, but he holds on as his hand moves downwards from your waist.

“You’ve got one more in you, I can feel it.” he rasps.

His fingers find your swollen clit, the first touch sending a shock through your body, making your hips jerk involuntarily. “Easy,” Zayne soothes, as he presses his fingers firmly against the sensitive spot.

Sylus’ grip on your thigh is bruising as he rams deeper, his eyes locked on yours – watery and heavy-lidded. “You’re milking me—gonna pull me apart.”

Zayne’s breath is hot against your ear, his fingers merciless on your clit, rubbing slick circles that make your hips jerk wildly. “Cum,” he rasps. “Now. Let us feel you, my love.”

Your body obeys - your walls clamp down hard, as you completely lose your voice from the overstimulation. Sylus curses, as your fluttering walls drag him deeper. His cock throbs hard before he cums, his release, hot and thick, floods you as his hips stammer. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his voice breaking. In your fucked out daze you hear Zayne moan in the crook of your neck, as his hips still, burying himself to the hilt, his release hitting in heavy hot waves, mixing with Sylus’, leaving you completely full, dripping, and ruined.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your head lolling back against Zayne’s shoulder. His lips press softly against your temple, his hands stroking your waist gently as Sylus leans over, his breaths heavy and uneven. Every inch of you feels hypersensitive, your skin slick with sweat and cum. You’re pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat, the fullness lingering even as the men stay still, both of them still buried deep inside you.

Sylus’ hand moves from your thigh, his gaze scanning your face. “Breathe for me.” he says, still breathless. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that streaked down your face. You nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak, and you focus on steadying your breath. Sylus smiles softly. “You did so good.”

Zayne’s lips press against your temple again, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “She handled it perfectly. Didn’t you, darling?”

The praise makes your cheeks flush, though you’re still too dazed to say anything. Sylus shifts first, pulling out slowly, the movement making you wince. His hand stays steady on your thigh, stroking softly for a moment before he walks away. Zayne follows a moment later, his withdrawal careful and deliberate. The sudden emptiness pulls a small whimper from your lips before Zayne’s arms tighten around you, holding you firmly against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. His hands rub soothing circles over your sides, grounding you as he shifts to sit upright, cradling you in his lap.

Sylus returns quickly with two warm damp cloths. Zayne takes one to clean your face, while Sylus kneels in front of you as he gently wipes away the mess from your thighs and belly.

Zayne murmurs against your temple. “Do you need water? Anything else?”

Your voice is faint, barely above a whisper, as you manage to say, “Just stay… both of you.”

Sylus chuckles softly. “Like we’d go anywhere,” He tosses the cloth aside and sits down on the sofa beside you, while Zayne adjusts his hold, setting you gently to sit in between them and covers your lap with the blanket. The warmth of their bodies, every soothing stroke of their hands, their quiet breaths, soothe you. Though, you can’t relax.

Their care, their unwavering attention, makes the guilt bubble up. Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. You swallow hard, your fingers clutching the blanket as you glance between them.

You take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For lying to you. For sneaking out.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your shoulder, his voice calm as he replies. “I’m glad you admit your mistake. We need to know where you are to keep you safe.”

Sylus’ nods as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “Exactly. We weren’t mad because you went out. We were upset because you didn’t tell us.”

Tears prick your eyes again, but this time they’re from relief. “I won’t do it again… I promise.”

Zayne smiles softly. “We’ll hold you to that promise.”

You nod, the exhaustion catching up to you as your body sinks further into the sofa, your eyelids heavy. But Sylus doesn’t let you rest – he stands up and takes you hand in his. “We need to wash up.”

You whine. “I don’t want too - I’m too tired.”

Sylus grumbles something before he leans down, grips your waist, and hoists you up over his shoulder. You yelp as you’re suddenly upside down, your protests turning into a mix of laughter and annoyance as you squirm in his hold.

“Sylus!” you laugh, your fists half-heartedly thudding against his back. “Put me down!”

“Not happening,” he replies smugly, his palm landing a playful smack against your bare ass.

Behind you, Zayne shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he stands up, going around you two and towards the bathroom. “Take it easy, Sylus. She’s had enough for tonight.”

By the time you’re back in bed, wrapped snugly in fresh blankets, sleep takes you almost instantly, nestled between Sylus and Zayne, with your heart light.

[goopgirlie813]

There's this anxiety being expressed here that if we don't have prisons and the proposed programs fail, that we will have no protection against those Dhamer and Breivik types. When proposing a new and unfamiliar way of structuring society, people want assurance that they will have some method to guarantee safety that is at minimum on par with what we have now. If prison abolition cannot protect people from something that prisons can, people are going to pick prisons.

The subtext behind these responses is that people prioritize safety and security over idealistic visions. People are expressing that prisons offer a concrete solution to the threat of Dahmer types (lock them where they cannot access victims) and they don't see an equally concrete solution from your proposal. That is a massive safety risk. They do not want to take that risk. They want assurance that your proposal can protect them and their loved ones as reliably or more reliably than the prison system. The fact that they keep asking shows that they do not yet have that assurance.

So the questions people are worried about here: the prison system kept Dahmer from killing more people. Would yours be able to do the same? How can I be sure that the "Dahmers" of the future will not cause more carnage under your system than under the prison system? What is your system's plan B? What are the failsafes? Where is the redundancy (we NEED redundancy to accomodate failures)? How can I know that my loved ones will be safe?

Your proposal is competing with the prison system in multiple metrics. For everyone here, the metric of concern is reliability. You have to prove that your system is as reliable or more reliable at stopping and preventing violence than the prison system. Keyword, "Prove." As in, demonstrated in reality and not just mapped out in a hypothetical scenario.

To be clear here, I am not saying your proposal is bad. I don't really disagree with you and you bring up some good points. But even I would not be willing to risk reducing the safety of my loved ones by jumping in before the details are nailed down. The prison system isn't perfect, but it stops certain problems in a way we can see. Most of us will not knowingly throw that away.

Logic alone is not enough to justify replacing an important aspect of society, because if your logic overlooks even a single data point the whole thing could collapse, leaving everyone completely unprotected. This is still in the "hypothesis" stage and we need to actually test and demonstrate it with experimentation before leaning hard into implementation. These criticisms you are recieving are telling you exactly what details you still need to nail down. If you listen closely, they are telling you exactly what steps to take to persuade them.

@organic-homegrown-boyfriend was highlighting a percieved lack of versatility and a concern that your proposal would have blind spots for certain crimes. The question is, "how can your system account for a variety of crimes and motives?" It is a request to explain or propose how your system can measure up to the prison system in terms of addressing complex or difficult crimes. Specifically, he's asking about rape, which is already notoriously difficult to convict people for and which even now many people get away with. To quote him, "how are you thinking that the alternatives you suggested would make the situation better instead of exponentially worse?" How can you guarantee that it will work? Not just how do you think it will work. How do you know it will work? How can I know it will work?

The implication is, "I will not change the system if there is any reasonable chance that it could make it easier for rapists to get away. I will not support prison abolition unless you can assure me that there is no way it will make this situation worse." It is not unreasonable to refuse to do something if you have reason to believe it may increase a problem like that.

@peavers-headache and @jambeast were highlighting a lack of redundancy. A lack of back up plan. The question is, "what do you do if this fails?" Because you need to do something. It is a request to explain or propose back up plans to prepare for the possibility of that scenario. That's important. Do you understand why that's important? Providing an answer covers your bases and grounds your proposal in reality. It shows that you've thought through the logistics and aren't operating purely on ideology. It makes the proposal more reliable. Easier to trust and therefore easier to support.

Point is, criticism often tells you a lot about how the other person is percieving what you say. If you want to persuade, you have to be aware of that and not defensive.

Pretty sure @needabetternamelater has reblogged like 5 of my posts and then blocked me. So that's funny. But, just in case it's just a glitch that won't let me reblog those replies.

What do we do with rapists in a prisonless society? Well, 1. Fewer than 1% of rapists go to prison, so holding up prison as the standard that any other solution has to beat isn't hard. What do with do with rapists in a society with prisons? For 99+%? Not prison.

2. Prisons do not reduce the amount of rapes that happen. So again, prison fails pretty handedly at being both a prevention and a punishment. (It's a bit like arguing 'without the death penalty, what will we do with shop lifters?")

3. I've explain many times, on posts you've responded to, the variety of responses a justice system can have to any crime, including sexual assault. Mandatory counseling, restraining orders, restorative/reparation hearings, housing and employment restrictions, fines, caseworker check ins, mental health consults, and vocational training are all possible responses, and which would would have the best chance of preventing recidivism would depend on the specifics of that person and the risk factors in them reoffending.

In the past, we locked people in pillories and cut off their hands for crimes. Phasing out a cruel and ineffective punishment doesn't mean there's free reign for crime.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this decrepit pervert is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re restless. What’s worse, is you have no energy. You never really do. Living is the most exhausting thing you’ve ever done. 

You lean in the window sill, half hunched as you stare out at the suburban street. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Your mother lives in a condo, on one of the highest floors. You hate it. This place isn’t so bad. It’d be nice if it was just you. 

That last thought makes you sad. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to be alone. You hate being such a burden. What you hate most, is feeling like you’re on a leash. Sometimes literally as your oxygen tube keeps you bound to the tank. 

All your existence, there’s been something wrong with you. In high school, it got so much worse. You didn’t even realise until your mother pointed it out. Then the appointments doubled, the tests too, and it never stopped. Will it ever? 

You’re trapped in a holding pattern. If living is so difficult, should you even try? That’s a bad thought but you can’t help it. You see your mom, you see Andy, and they don’t need all these medicines or this thing to breathe for them. They have lived full lives, they have jobs and a home. You have nothing. 

You turn away from the window. The tall trees and peaked rooftops are no longer so beautiful. They’re just another reminder of everything you don’t and will never have. 

A knock at the door startles you. You cross the room and inch it open. You peer out, disappointed to find Andy again. How long is your mom going to sleep? 

“Hey, sweetheart, I was thinking you might want to come with me. It's pretty quiet around here,” he says. 

“Come with... where?” You rasp. 

“I was going to go to the pharmacy and get your script filled, like your mom said,” he explains and holds up the doctor’s paper. “Found it in her purse.” 

“Oh, uh...” you hesitate. You don’t know what to do. That he’s even asking makes you feel obligated. “Sure, I... okay.” 

“Take your time, I’ll warm the car up,” he assures you. “Anything I can help with?” 

“No, sir, I’ll grab my bag.” 

You shut the door before he can respond. You pause and feel bad. You hope that didn’t seem intentional. You go and grab your belt bag. You check that everything is in it, then drag your tank back to the door. 

You come out and the hall is empty. You go around to the bathroom and rinse off your face. You don’t have a toothbrush so you use your finger to spread some paste around your teeth and rinse your mouth. You’re overly aware of your day-old outfit. You do what you can for your hair then resign yourself to being the same mess you always are. 

You take the stairs slowly. One at a time as you prevent the wheels of the tank from thumping. Andy’s house is so nice, you don’t want to ruin it. You get to the front door and pull on your jacket. You put on your sneakers and awkwardly angle out the front door. 

The SUV whirs in the driveway. Before you can get to the first step, Andy is there. He helps with the tank and sets it on the flat ground. You quickly take the handle and thank him. 

“You alright?” He asks. You wish he wouldn’t be so worried. Your mother doesn’t ever ask, only if it’s for show. 

“Fine,” you assure him. 

You roll the tank past him and he calls after you as you get to the SUV. “Hey, you don’t gotta sit in the back.” 

“Uh, right,” you say. 

You go around to the passenger door and he opens it for you. Once again, he lifts the tank. Before you can react, he does the same to you. You lurch up into the seat and wriggle until he lets you go. He doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. 

You sit straight and steady the tank between your knees. He shuts the door and you get the seatbelt clicked in. As he climbs in the other side, you take out your vaseline and smear it under your nose. It’s particularly raw this morning. 

“Shoot, is that from the AC? I can turn it down.” 

“No, it’s... okay,” you stare through the windshield. You want to get this done and over with. Your brows furrow at the thought of your mom waking up to the empty house. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks. 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“You look worried,” he says. 

“I... my mom. She’s in rough shape.” 

“Hungover,” he clucks, “it’s a good thing you don’t take after her with that.” 

You nod, not sure what to say. He does up his seatbelt and checks the mirrors. He shifts and backs out of the driveway. 

“Feel free to put on some music. I don’t think you want to listen to my oldies,” he chuckles. 

“It’s okay,” you hug yourself with one arm, your other hand on the tank. 

The silence buzzes in your ears. It’s too late now to change your mind. Besides, you’re so indecisive about your music. You wouldn’t exactly brag about your taste either. 

The drive stretches on as you huddle into the door, distracting yourself with the passing light poles, houses, and so on. You don’t know this area. It’s not anywhere near your usual pharmacy. You often wait in the car when you do go with your mom. 

He pulls up along the curb and park. It’s a nice quaint street in the neighbourhood. There’s a park on the corner and an organic store on the opposite side. You peek out at the local pharmacy’s moniker, hand-painted unlike glowing banner of the department store where your mom usually goes. 

“Should be able to get this filled,” he says as he shuts off the engine. 

You just nod and hum. He gets out quickly, easily. You envy that. You can’t do anything easily. He comes around as you push the door open. He once more brings down your tank but you’re certain to climb out on your own. You nearly stagger as you do. 

You wheel out of the way as he closes the door. You look around at the other pedestrians. A woman with a stroller, a family just across the way babbling in glee. You turn away before the scene can make you morose. 

Andy leads you to the pharmacy door and pulls it open with a chime. He lets you in first. There’s only a few aisles inside, the pharmacist’s counter is at the back, another till near the front where they sell chocolates and candy. 

You linger until Andy points you down the center row. You go ahead of him and stop before the long counter. He unfolds the prescription as he greats the man behind it boldly. Good mornings and niceties you struggle to get right. 

“Hm, we have these on hand but it’ll be a wait. Been a busy morning,” the pharmacist explains. 

“That’s fine, we can keep ourselves busy.” Andy says. You squirm. You can? Waiting that long will only add to the tension that makes your chest even tighter. 

You back up as he turns around. He looks around for a moment, as if he thinks you wondered off, then smiles at you. “There’s a cafe across the street, how about it?” 

“I don’t... drink coffee,” you say. 

“I know, sweetheart, I remember,” he gently strokes your shoulder, “they have tea, too. Or smoothies. You must be hungry too.” 

“I... if you want to, I guess...” you shrug. 

“You know, I’m not your mom. I won’t say no,” he intones. “You don’t have to be so nervous.” 

“I know, I... I’m sorry.” 

“And you don’t need to be sorry,” he counters. 

You almost apologise again, only to fill your cheeks with air and nod. You feel like you should be though. Like everything you do is a disappointment. 

You go back down the middle aisle. Andy reaches past you to hold the door again. You come out and narrowly avoid a collision. You wait for the family of three to pass by before Andy nudges you to the curb. He takes your free hand as he tugs you with him, jaywalking through the lazy traffic. 

The effort is enough to make your head spin. You get your wheels over the other curb and sway. Andy doesn’t let go. He takes you past the patio area of the cafe and swings back the door before he releases you, pointing you within. 

The smell of coffee, the grind of a machine, and the chatter of diners greets you. You wait behind the two teenage girls at the counter as Andy comes up next to you. He stands close but you assume it’s because it’s such a tight space. 

“Do you want to find somewhere to sit?” He wonders. 

“No, I’m okay,” you say. 

“Sure, uh, so what do you want?” 

You look up at the hand-written menu. You might get a tea after all. 

“The brioche egg sandwich is one of my favourites,” he says. 

“You come here... a lot?” You wonder. 

“Sure. I like to run in the mornings. I’ll grab a coffee on my cool down. And weekends I’ll have breakfast. Your mom’s usually still asleep if she’s around,” he tuts. 

“Right, uh... that sounds fine. Brioche.” 

The girls go to the further end of the counter and Andy waves you forward. The barista greets him by name. She’s very pretty. She has amber coloured braids with a zigzag pattern and cute freckles over her cheeks. You want to ask how she did her hair like that but you don’t want to be rude. 

“Andy, how are you?” She chirps in recognition. 

“Good, we were just walking through the neighbourhood,” he says,  You adjust the tube under your nose self-consciously. The barista is gorgeous and reminds you of everything you’re not. 

“Oh, is this your fiancee?” She asks. “She’s finally come around.” 

Andy chuckles and you blanch. He doesn’t offer a protest and neither do you. You wait for him to correct her. He doesn’t. 

“Sweetheart, what did you want to drink?” He looks at you and you nearly choke. 

“Can I have the pomegranate tea, please?” Even your voice sounds ugly. 

“Sure, what size, hon?” 

“Small,” you croak out. 

“Small pomegrante, and your usual?” She asks Andy. 

“Yep, and two of the brioche breakfast sandwiches. Oh, and something sweet for dessert. Those cherry tarts look delicious,” he points to the display.” 

“Got it, anything else?” She taps the till screen. 

“That’s it,” he slips out his card and waits. He selects a tip amount before he taps, the machine beeping in acceptance. You spy the total right before it disappears. Oh, that’s expensive. 

“I’ll bring it to you, Andy,” she smiles brightly, “you two enjoy.” 

Andy takes your hand again before you can react. He brings you to the table and you sit across from him, right by the window. You feel like you’re on display. You hate it. 

You push the tube into your nose as you think then trail your hand down the length. You stare off into the distance. You don’t know, it feels weird. It feels like he’s doing too much. Like maybe he feels bad for you. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” He interrupts your trance. 

You flinch and look at him, then avert your gaze to the table. 

“You didn’t...” you begin then shake your head. 

“What?” He prompts. 

“Nothing.” 

“Go on, sweetie, you don’t have to be shy with me. You can say whatever you need,” he leans forward as he crosses his arms over the table, “you know, your mom told me you’ve never really had a father figure. I’m here to help, to support you.” 

You nod and pick at your dry lip then stop yourself, hiding your hands under the table. “You-- that woman... she thought I—that we—you didn’t say no.” 

“Oh, I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he laughs. “It’s funny, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah...” you nod at your lap. “It is really... funny. No one would really want to marry me.” 

You cover your mouth as the thought slips out. You shake your head. Why did you say it? 

“Huh? Sweetheart?” He leans in even closer, “you don’t think that’s true, do you?” 

You shrug and peel your hand away, chewing on your sleeve as you slump low in your seat. 

“You’re a nice girl. Pretty too.” 

“I’m not,” you murmur into your cuff. “You don’t have to lie.” 

“Well who says you’re not?” He urges. You shake your head again. 

“Your mother?” He suggests. You shake your head harder. She would be livid if you told him that she did. He clicks his tongue, “well, however it is, don’t listen to them.” He reaches across to you, “hey, sweetheart, look at me.” You obey, trembling in humiliation, “you are very pretty.” 

[heich0e]

the suna where he asks if you'd have a baby with him

ask game: a christmas drabble from an established AU AU: wouldn't it be nice?

you've never been particularly good at giving people presents.

not for lack of trying, or lack of care—you want to be good at gift giving, but somehow you've just never quite mastered the skill. you're too indecisive to pick just one thing, so you always end up with a strange mismatched array of little gifts when the time comes, none of which have any particular connection to the other.

and that's to say nothing of your absolutely horrendous gift wrapping abilities.

before you started dating rintarou, christmas was always a real point of stress in your life. from picking out the gift, to tracking the item down, to trying (and ultimately failing) to wrap it in a way that didn't give the impression that a child had done it one-handedly. the stress that built up around the holiday often overshadowed any of the actual enjoyment you were meant to derive from it. and though none of your exes had ever explicitly called you out on being a god-awful gift giver, you knew that it was true.

thankfully, in that way that only rintarou seems to be able to do, that problem just... disappeared when the two of you started dating.

maybe disappeared is the wrong word, but that anxiety that you always used to feel cresting as the holidays drew near just never seemed to swell to the same point of misery as it used to. you never felt the same pressure to pick the perfect thing. to wrap it beautifully. to get it right.

because rintarou has this way of... reassuring you. of sensing when you're struggling and making things... easier. all without ever having to ask.

"i'm not big on gifts," he'd said to you, a full three weeks before your first christmas together. "wanna just go somewhere for the holiday, instead of buying presents? i've got some time off and have been thinking about going to kyoto."

and that settled it.

each christmas since then has passed similarly. either rintarou makes a plan, or very explicitly tells you what he'd like to get as a gift, and when the time comes, any of that stress that used to build up around the day just never even has the chance to take root.

but this year, there's a different sort of nervousness you feel about the holiday.

"my mom sent us a card," rintarou says, coming around the corner of your living room with a little red envelope in his hands. "she invited us to visit for the new year, too."

you shift in your seat under the kotatsu, looking up as he stands over you. "do you want to go?"

he sighs, slumping down onto the sofa behind you. "not really."

"we don't have to, then, if you really don't want to," you assure him, leaning back against the sofa so you're a little nearer to him. he inches forward on the couch cushions to close the gap even further. "but it might be nice to see your family."

rintarou isn't particularly close to his parents, who divorced when he was young. of his family members, the nearest to him is his little sister—and their relationship had largely been built once they both reached adulthood.

"last time we went to see my family my grandma tried to take you to a shaman to get you pregnant," rintarou replies dryly. "you sure you wanna go through that again?"

"i don't think the shaman was the one who was supposed to knock me up," you point out, and rintarou huffs out a laugh. you turn away from him a little. rintarou's grandmother was tired of waiting for great grand children and had tried to use shamanism to speed the process along—it had ended in an argument over a family dinner. "you two really are related, huh?"

"what was that?"

you peek at him over your shoulder.

"i think we should go to see them."

rintarou's brow quirks slightly at your words, and you lean forward so your elbows are resting on the edge of the couch cushion.

his eyes are always so green when you're this close to him, lined with those dark wispy lashes. so pretty. delicate and effortless in a way that would upset you if he wasn't already yours.

"you really wanna go?" he asks you quietly, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips when he speaks. you nod a little, and your lips brush because of the proximity—not quite a kiss, but enough to make him lean forward in search of one.

you pull away before he gets what he's looking for.

"and you can tell grandma that we won't need the shaman this year."

because she's already gotten what she wanted.

he blinks at you, and then his eyes widen, and before you know it he's sitting bolt upright on the sofa with a look of utter disbelief on his pretty face.

just like always, rintarou made gift giving easy this year.

only this time, the present is something you'll both cherish equally, because it's something you've been wanting, too.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Trey Clover - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Interior Hallway]

Trey: Next class is… Oh, alchemy. There's stuff I need to prep for the experiment, so I guess I should head to the classroom already.

[Silver approaches]

Silver: Hello there, Trey-senpai...

Trey: Silver, hi. What's up, why are you staring at me so intently? Do I have something on my face?

Silver: Trey-senpai, is there anything you wish you had right now?

Trey: That's an unexpected question. Hmm, what do I want…?

Trey: Oh, maybe an automatic flour sifter? It'll speed things up and will keep my hands from getting too tired. It'd make baking sweets much easier on me.

Trey: Also, I'd like an apron. I have a few that I can hang from my neck, but that might cause my shoulders to get stiff, so I'd like to try out new kinds.

Trey: Plus, they tend to get pretty dirty before long, so it's never a bad thing to have too much.

Silver: I see… That was helpful.

Silver: Thank you. I think Riddle will be pleased once he hears what you've said.

Trey: Hm? Why are you bringing up Riddle?

Silver: Yesterday, before we began our club activities, Riddle was pondering over what to get you for your birthday.

Trey: Oh, so that's why you asked me what I'd want all of a sudden. …But hey, should you have told me all that…?

Silver: He seemed to be stuck in a conundrum, so I thought perhaps I could help with suggestions. Is that a problem?

Trey: Uhh, I mean, I thought maybe he might have been trying to keep the gift a secret, since he didn't come ask me directly��

Silver: …Forgive me if I've done something terrible to the both of you.

Trey: Y-You don't have to look that grave!

Trey: I'm sure this'll help him, so you should try telling him it was something you picked up through casual conversation.

Silver: I understand, I'll try telling him that. Thank you, Trey-senpai.

[Silver departs]

Trey: Yeah. See you, then.

Trey: Silver is one strait-laced guy. A bit different from the way Riddle is, that is...

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Hallway]

Trey: Ah… It's already past 8PM. I have to start making my rounds to see if anyone's breaking any of the Queen of Hearts' laws.

Trey: I'll go check out the kitchen first. I'd like to think there'd be no issues, but…

Trey: It'd be bad if there was someone trying to steal a tart from the refrigerator again, even if it's only a slim chance.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Lounge]

Trey: So far, so good, for now. Next is the lounge. Hm? What's this smell…?

Trey: Hey, you two sitting on the sofa. What is that drink you have there?

Trey: Just as I thought, it's honey lemonade!

Trey: It's already 8PM. You planning on violating Queen of Hearts' Law Number 256?

[Heartslabyul Student A speaks up]

Trey: …Oh good, if you haven't actually drunk any, then that's fine. Make sure you pour it out before any issues arise.

[Heartslabyul Students A and B run away, Heartslabyul Students C and D arrive]

Trey: …Hm? Hey, you guys who just walked into the lounge, did I just hear you say "that turkey lunch was delicious"?

Trey: Do you remember the Queen of Hearts' Law Number 648? You forgot? It'd be bad if you violated that rule. Make sure you check if there were any others who might've forgotten, too!

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: Phew, somehow, we got through the day without there being any rule violations. Please, all I'm asking is for them to do better at not getting caught…

Trey: Now that I've taken a shower and freshened up with a good teeth brushing, guess I can just relax a bit in my room.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: Oh, yeah, I should answer the Headmage's survey before I forget. Let's see, it's about…

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Trey: Things we want improved…? I feel like I could take it or leave it. Hmm, guess I'll try to think it over while drinking some tea.

Trey: …Oh. Ah, right, I just brushed my teeth using fluoridated toothpaste.

Trey: I can't let the fluoride film dissolve. I'll just drink water instead.

Trey: Even if I were to just brush my teeth again, the washroom always gets pretty crowded around this time, so it's not really a good time to go.

Trey: Sigh… If there were at least a sink in my room, I could do it all here, even my flossing…

Trey: I'd like to put that in the survey, but there's no way they'd accept me asking for a private washroom…

Trey: …Then, doesn't that mean it should just be that every room should have its own washroom?

Trey: Yeah. That might be a necessary change to make sure that all the students have clean dental health.

Trey: Even now, whenever I try to hand them floss, or tell them to brush more properly,

Trey: There's a ton of guys who only do it halfway, giving excuses like, "it's causing a line" in the washroom.

Trey: But it'd take too much time to renovate every single room. If I want them to renovate something while I'm still here at this school…

Trey: Oh, I know. I should write in the survey that I want them to "widen the washrooms."

Trey: That feels a little more realistic than asking for a private washroom for each room, so this request might get accepted, right?

Trey: If this actually comes to fruition, I would be able to go brush my teeth on my own preferred schedule…

Trey: And none of my other dormmates would be able to use the excuse that they'd be holding up other people in line.

[knock on door]

Trey: …Hm? Who's that? One second, I'll open the door.

[Heartslabyul Student E arrives]

Trey: One of my packages got mixed in with yours? Sorry for the trouble. Yeah, goodnight.

Trey: Wait, is this…? Ah, it is! It's the recipe book I bought online!

Trey: It had good reviews, so it grabbed my interest. Hmm, let's see… The sweets I wanted to make was…

Trey: Ah, found it. This is the one, combining cream and caramel into a puff pastry. This looks easier to make than I thought.

Trey: I need to try making it tomorrow… Ah wait, there's supposed to be a lot of sweets at the birthday party tomorrow.

Trey: Guess I'll have to wait until at least the day after tomorrow to try and make it. Oh man, just looking at this book is giving me more and more things I want to make.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

[alarm rings]

Trey: …Ugh…

[Trey slaps alarm off]

Trey: …Shut up.

Trey: …Is it morning already? Hrrrngh… Ugh…

Trey: Yaaawn… Glasses, glasses… Mmm… It's not here… Where is it…? Ah, found it.

Trey: Nnnnggh… I'm so groggy… Uhh… What's going on today again?

Trey: Oh, right. Today's my birthday party…

Trey: .....................

Trey: …Ack! This isn't good, at this rate, I'll fall back asleep. I should go wash my face and brush my teeth…

Trey: Mmm, I feel like my brain's finally working.

Trey: I only planned on skimming it, but I ended up staying up late reading through that recipe book

Trey: I'm not a morning person, so I was trying not to stay up too late… Guess I can't get carried away like that.

Trey: Alright, guess it's time to get ready for the day. I'll pull out my mirror and start with sunscreen… Oh, oops.

Trey: That was close. I still had my glasses on, I should take them off.

Trey: That reminds me, I remember when I once forgot to take off my glasses and took a shower with them on.

Trey: All the other guys in the dorm couldn't stop laughing at how my lenses fogged up, that it was a running joke for a little while after that.

Trey: Okay, I'm done applying it. This sunscreen is pretty easy to apply, so it helps me get ready faster.

Trey: "Do you find daily maintenance troublesome? All the more reason to pick and choose the exact items you use!"

Trey: …Or so Rook said, when he gave me this. It's definitely different than the one I used to use, that's for sure.

Trey: Guess I'll just buy the same thing again once I'm out. Oh, right. I need to do something for Rook to pay him back for this, too.

Trey: Okay, next are my eyebrows. I'll use a pen to gently give them shape…

Trey: …When I look at my eyes this way, it really looks like I have a mean glare.

Trey: Cater did say once that a lighter-colored eyebrow mascara could help give a gentler feel. Maybe I should try that next time…?

Trey: Nah, nevermind, it's not like I tend to glare whenever I'm wearing my glasses, so I can just leave it. If anything, it'd just be a pain to add more to my makeup regimen.

Trey: All it needs is to look good, right? Oh, and I should paint on my suit before I forget…

Trey: Back when I was a freshman, all my clovers tended to be asymmetrical, or distorted, or just plain misshapen…

Trey: Now, I'm able to draw it on pretty quick and cleanly. Guess I've just gotten better over the years. …Alright, I've finished applying everything, so now I can put my glasses back on…

Trey: As for my hair… It looks like I have a bit of bedhead. Maybe I shouldn't've been wearing a headband like this?

Trey: But hey, I should be able to fix that with a bit of brushing. I just have to be a little careful here… I guess this'll do.

Trey: Once I get changed into my school uniform, I guess I'll head to campus a little earlier today. After all, there's someone who's waiting to give me a surprise.

[Main Street]

Silver: Good morning, Trey-senpai.

Silver: I was able to inform Riddle of our conversation yesterday. The present he chose is…

Trey: Hey now, you don't have to say anything else! I'll save the surprise for when I actually receive the gift.

Silver: I see. I understand. Well then, I hope you have a good birthday.

[Silver departs]

Trey: Thanks. Sorry for all the trouble.

Trey: I'm perfectly happy if I can just have a peaceful day, sure… But I guess I can still get excited about getting birthday presents.

Requested by @farfalla049 and @sakurakudo.

[yandere-yearnings]

'I'm your rag. You can tear me up.'

Laurent Sanchez, a man whose name is well-known — though not for the reasons one would expect. The line of work he was thrust into from a young age has ultimately made him a man of few morals, yet even those with their heads pressed to the barrel of his gun can't help but fall for his irresistible charm. It's astonishing how his smile remains pure, whilst framed with blood and viscera.

Being as hollowed out as he is only means it’s that much easier for him to hold onto his shortcomings, and they fill him up and fester inside while he loses himself somewhere between switching from façade to façade. Burden and blame are so deeply interwoven into his very being, Laurent doesn’t know what face to show you when you first begin to unravel him. Though he remains unable to ask for love when he knows you’re seconds from seeing his decay, and despite every darkness that defines him, you take the pain away. You’ve become a drug to him, and now he’s scared to admit that he can’t live without you.

There’s many things in this world that Laurent can protect you from, but he is not one of them.  So he runs from you, the sole person his tired heart feels safe with, and builds a wall on time and excuses. Praying the distance will change your mind about him, finally make you come to your senses about who he truly is and what he’s done. He’s no good for you, Laurent is worn and weak; if you disregard his sacrifice and show up at his door again, he really won’t be able to fight his feelings for you any longer.

'Use me to wipe up all your messes, and then wring me out.'

[wilhelminyard]

part 3 of the foxes being brutally honest and insulting people to their faces because they are SAVAGES

NEIL :

"I figured he was an egocentric maniac who was so desperate for his own glory he refused to see the potential in anyone else"

"tell me you're not that stupid"

"I might have been a little more considerate if I'd known how stupid you are"

"you being an asshole at heart means I was right about your chances. you do understand by now that your cowardice is what's keeping you and andrew apart, right?"

"you're a spineless asshole. you let the world happen to you and don't bother to fight back. you let other people dictate how you can live your life and who you can spend your time with. remind me why you put up with your mother's abuse for so long. did you actually love her despite her madness, or were you just too afraid to walk away?"

"what do you think?" "I think fuck you"

"your false bravado helps no one" "neither does your cowardice"

"you already walked away from him once knwoing what riko would do to him in your absence. don't do it again. if you don't protect him now, his death is on you"

"die free or die a failure. the choice is yours."

"I'd ask you how it feels but I guess you've always known what it's like to be second, you worthless piece of shit"

ANDREW :

"is your learning curve a horizontal line?"

"a privileged child like you has never seen the real world"

"I've had enough of your stupidity to last me a week"

"I'm volunteering my opinion" "don't. children should be seen and not heard"

"you're stupider than even I gave you credit for"

"you have a problem wherein you only invest your time and energy into worthless pursuits"

"you're a different kind of suicidal. didn't you figure that out in december? you're bait. you're the martyr no one asked for or wanted"

"I hope you two are miserable together"

WYMACK :

"anyone have ideas on how to make neil look a bit less like a battered wife?"

"I can't tell if you're being obtuse to fuck with me or if you're really that dumb."

"I need you to derail that one-track fucking mind of yours for two seconds"

"great. kevin's turning into another you. that's just what I needed."

"get washed up before your stench kills me"

KEVIN :

"we need you on the court but not if you're going to drag us down with you. in the shape you're in right now you'd be a complete waste of our time."

"even if you'd stepped it up when I told you to a year ago, you would have no chance of beating them. there is nothing at all you can do this late in the year. they are better than we are and they always will be"

"stop acting like a spoiled child"

"you've got a thing for controversial teams, I think, but I like this one much better than the last one" "they're mediocre at best but they're easier to get along with"

NICKY :

"do you get off on being such a debbie downer?"

AARON :

"it wasn't the drugs that made him crazy"

"I'm walking away and pretending I don't know you"

"I want to drink and pretend I don't know any of you"

MATT :

"good to see you're still fuck-all crazy"

"one of these days you have to let me hit kevin."

ALLISON :

"you are on messed-up child. you come by that naturally or did your parents do that to you?"

"seriously you guys? it's like you don't know us" "we try not to"

RENEE :

"I tried taking you off his hands at one point. andrew refused on the grounds he wouldn't wish you on anyone except a mortician"

[revelboo]

Metroplex? 🥺

Big baby needs love.

He does

I Can Feel You Pt 13

Metroplex x Reader

• “I don’t know why I bother, no one ever listens,” Ratchet says, startling you awake from where you’d been drowsing after losing Metroplex again and you flush. Because he had told you to stay away from the drone and you’d spent the night in its lap. “Other Cybertronians don’t listen, why would a human.” Sitting up in the drone’s lap still cocooned in your blanket, you guiltily avoid looking at Ratchet as he wanders around the medbay making a lot more noise than is probably necessary. Clearly annoyed with you, so it’s a surprise when he drops an MRE at your feet and then stomps off.

• Drifting, he dreams of you. The way you’d felt in his arms, the warmth of you and the way you fit against him. Hates putting that worry on you, to ask for even more than you’ve already given him. But you’re all he has, the only one who’s bothered to even try to reach out to him. It’s getting easier to keep a thought hooked in the drone. Hearing through it as he gathers his strength. Can hear you talking to Ratchet, trying to convince him to go with you down into his interior.

• Looking up at Rachet as the medic grimaces, you wish Metroplex would wake up again. Explain it to Ratchet, because you’re just a human. They don’t take you seriously and you know it. Usually don’t really mind even though it makes you so lonely, but right now? You need his help. Metroplex needs his help. “We’ve explored down there, but haven’t been able to find anything to explain what’s wrong,” he says, freezing as the drone curls an arm around you, servos splayed against your hip. Under you, the drone slowly moves, lurching upright and dragging you with it, your legs dangling. “Is that Metroplex?” Ratchet asks and you wordlessly shake your head, not knowing how you know, only that you do.

• Exhausted, he sinks into his dreams of you, losing connection with the drone. In his dreams, you’re back in that hidden, guarded space. Can feel your warm, bare feet on his interior as you tip your face up toward his spark, letting that light play over you and illuminate you until you don’t seem half real. Unfurling the protective petals of that node in invitation to connect again. Tendrils uncoiling to snare you as soon as you touch him, he sees your arm lift, soft fingers hovering over him. And then his plating under your feet caves in with a wrenching pain, pulled apart by that yawning wound inside him. That ruined space bridge arcing with malevolent light as you fall with a soundless cry and there’s nothing he can do.

• Dangling as Ratchet tries to pry its arm loose, the medic swears as the drone takes an uncertain step, then another. Dragging him with it as it strides out of Medbay and you see the ground shift, opening to reveal a path like it had in your home that night Metroplex had led you to him. “I told you not to mess with it,” Ratchet snarls as you struggle to wriggle loose. It’s not hurting you, but you can’t get free either. But it’s taking you underground. To Metroplex and you stop fighting. “It’s okay,” you whisper, not at all sure. “It’s taking us to the problem.” That has to be it. Glaring, Ratchet strides alongside the drone as it carries you down into the darkness.

Previous

Hard to learn the workings of

This lonesome charade

I'm filled with hesitation

Staring down the tide

It pulls you apart

It stabs in the dark

It carries away

I'm starting to see

The problem with me

Is everything

I can't wait to find you, I really hate that I'm alone

I got a flurry of words

But I got nothing to say

And why does everything

Always end this way?

If I asked you to let me go

Would you hold on, would you hold on?

I try hard to let go but the pull is too great

Consumed with the promise

Of one last chance

Are you holding on?

Cause I'm still holding on

[arizariia]

I think we need more fanfics of Clark being adopted by the Waynes after he lands on Earth and becomes Bruce's brother. Think about the possibilities. Clark would be able to use his wealth to go against Lex Luthor to make the man even more bitter. Conner's situation could be even more dramatic since it would cause a literal rift in the family. Krypto would be dog brothers with Ace. We could also just like explain that while Bruce leaves to travel the world, Clark goes to the Fortress of Solitude. Wayne Enterprises could have an even easier time excusing Bruce's behavior since sweet himbo Clark is more of the face of the company. Dick taking the name Nightwing has even more significance due to it being something his uncle told him about. Jason would have been saved since why wouldn't Clark keep an ear out for his nephew?

You know, like things like that.

Oh, and in this AU, Bruce and Clark, during their pre-teen to teenage years, would have been nightmarish for Alfred. I like the idea of Bruce being just like Damian when he was a child and Clark being just like Jon. That was their dynamic first.

Bonus addition: In this AU, Dick's adoption is even more meaningful to Bruce, who would see Clark in Dick. When Bruce sees Dick mourning the loss of his parents, Bruce sees his brother crying over the loss of their parents. It helps that the two look rather similar.

It's even more impactful if Clark hasn't come back from the Fortress of Solitude yet, so Bruce is really lonely at the time when it happens.

And then imagine Bruce getting really upset at Dick for not following his orders and calling Dick, Clark. Imagine how Dick's eyes would widen and how Bruce has a look of dread across his face. Imagine Bruce trying to apologize, and then Dick runs away and locks himself in his room.

[pricegouge]

alright.

cw: price x trans!reader. no gendered terms used so you can be trans in any direction you want. attempted deadnaming.

he knows something's amiss the second he opens the door to the pungent, chemical scent of too much cleaning product.

it's not that you don't keep a tidy house. some clutter, maybe, but only enough to feel homey, and he's never once found fault in the level of dust or dirt build up, even with his heightened standards after so many years in the service. but this level of cleanliness, the pristine shine of counters, and the cheery scent of orange peel and anise in the simmer pot on the stove. it could only mean one thing.

you're nowhere on the ground floor, though his search reveals more bleached grout, shampooed carpets. john calls up the stairs for you sweetly, a warning of his approach just a much as a barometer by which to gauge your response. he's never shied away from conflict, but he's only made it this far in life by being smart, never going in half-cocked, or with bad intel. he curses silently when you don't play along, either not having heard him or just outright ignoring him.

it's not looking good for him, that's for sure.

"sweetheart?" he tries again, beginning the ascent to your shared room. abject fear doesn't set in until he hears you banging around, taking out whatever pent up aggression you still haven't worked out on his things, by the sound of it. he scrubs a palm over his whiskers, checks the calendar on his phone to ensure he hasn't missed an important date by mistake. he doesn't truly start to panic until he hears you mutter an honest to god 'lousy good for nothin'.'

whatever he's done, there's nothing for it but to take your anger on the chin and start groveling.

you don't even give him time to greet you when he opens the door, spinning around to level him with that same look you use on the boys when they're being insufferable. it transforms you into some wild thing, fiery and tempestuous with sweat caking your hair to your temples and your breath puffing your chest up. he's half a mind to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he's a little afraid you'll make him swallow that swiffer duster if he does.

"dove -?" he tries and you huff before he can even finish, turning away to continue your tirade, mumbling incoherently all the while and he must have a death wish cause he follows after you, hands gentling on your shoulders even as you try to shrug him off. "love, look at me, please. what's wrong? hm? have i done something?"

cagey and stiff, you fight him even as he envelops you, hissin' and spittin' the whole way.

"it's nothing, john. can you -?"

his eyebrows nearly escape the confines of his forehead. "nothin'? that why you damn near polished a hole through the dining table?"

a sputtering sound, somewhere between a cough and laugh. it's all he needs to breathe a bit easier. if it had been something he'd done, you'd have mouthed off about putting a hole in him next time. he guides you to the bed, shoves the wadded up pile of dirty linens you'd clearly intended on laundering up the mattress to clear a spot for you. the smell of febreze wafts around you as you sink into it, not an inch of the house having eluded your wrath. "alright. it's alright now. c'mere, look at me," he coos, waits for you to abide before giving you an overly sweet smile. "now, what's happened?"

you sag, cut strings, the tension in your spine leaving you entirely the second he guides you through one long breath. unexpectedly easy, as if you wanted to be settled and soothed. "got a holiday card from my dad," you grumble, voice muffled somewhere in the pocket of his neck and shoulder.

he hums, the nature of your frustration starting to take shape. your father - absent the entire time he's known you, at least, though from what he gathers that hadn't been a recent development even back then. you exchange texts sometimes, often laugh when he forgets your birthday. chew john's ear off when the man has the nerve to say you're absent from his life when you fail to wish him a happy easter. he waits for you to elucidate. offers some semblance of a truce when he waits too long. "that was nice of him?"

a scoff, some wriggling. you produce a folded up drug store card with a chicken in a santa hat printed on the front. "misspoke," you croak, shoving the card into his hands. "he wrote someone a holiday card."

john sighs, presses a kiss to your scalp as he drops the card right back onto his lap. he doesn't need to open it to know what he'll find, though he's honestly surprised you'd even bothered to tell your father, not when you speak with him infrequently enough that him knowing your preferred name even seemed to matter. but it was your call and if you'd done so, only to have your wishes ignored, he'd half a mind to find this man and unload some built up issues he'd been collecting and ignoring ever since you'd first asked him to leave it.

"oh sweetheart," he murmurs, follows it with your preferred name because he wants you to know how much he likes it. "i'm so sorry. but you know who you are, even if he doesn't accept you, and -."

he stalls out when you squirm away from him, pluck the card right back up from the floor where it had fallen to press it, open, into his face. you're angry again, stalking around the room before he even realizes you've stood.

"you're sweet, but too optimistic, john." the accusation nearly levels him, not one that's ever been laid at his feet. it's a shock that only festers, bottom giving way when you continue, "that motherfucker wishes he'd deadnamed me."

well. doesn't that just pique the curiosity. he's not sure what he expects to find when he uncrumples the card. a medical bill, maybe - your father deciding that all these years of separation ought to be repaid literally. maybe the fool had gone and had another kid, sent you the ultrasound like you were all still one big happy family. he's decidedly not expecting to see the damn thing addressed to someone else entirely. so much so that he nearly asks who it's for before taking a second look, reading it over again.

wrong name. wrong deadname. a slight variant of your legal, christian name. and not even a matter of getting you confused with another family member because as far as he can remember, no one in your extended shares this name. and he can certainly remember more of your family than your damn father can. no, the man had simply forgotten what was on the birth certificate he'd signed. close, though.

"well, he's got the first syllable right," john hedges, folding the card carefully closed along the same seams you'd pressed into it. you don't find him funny, barely even acknowledge he's spoken as you continue to pace. he tries again, casting desperately for an excuse he knows the man doesn't deserve. "is he... unwell?"

"he's fucking fine, john. he's just an ass."

"he's getting up there," john counters, standing, creaky kneed, to trap you in his arms again. "you haven't seen him for years, right? maybe he's -."

"he's fine. called him to thank him for the card," you scoff, take a minute to resettle yourself before speaking again. "i was thinking maybe the same thing, you know? not unreasonable. but he's completely fine. even asked to speak with his girlfriend, just to be sure she hadn't noticed anything either. fit as a fucking fiddle. just forgot what he fucking named me."

without the distraction of cleaning, or pacing, or cursing, your frustration has nowhere to go except tears. he holds you, presses kisses to your crown. calls you by your name - your real one, the one you chose - just to make sure you know someone remembers it, he supposes. honestly, he's at a bit of a loss. not something he's overly used to, people's ability to surprise him having long since worn off. but this is a new one. or, at least not one he's equipped to handle. fathers forgot their kids all the time. forgot to go home after that trip to the store, forgot to call on their birthdays. his own old man had forgotten plenty in his time, too. but he's still fairly certain the man would have been able to recall what he'd named his son right up until the day he'd died.

by the time you've calmed down you're ready for a shower. he'd join you, but he hears the way your stomach growls, food evidently forgotten all day. so he pulls the curtain closed on you after one last kiss and picks his way to the kitchen where he starts first by sifting through the trash, finding the merry red envelope addressed to the wrong person at the bottom, buried under all the waste you'd excised during your cleaning spree. he takes a picture of the corner, tastefully crops out the name that had given you so much grief. sighing, he returns everything to the bin and washes his hands, careful to ensure he won't accidentally scald you.

the rest of the evening moves easier. there's nothing that can be said and you both know it, so you don't. he can let it settle as long as you want, doesn't mean to keep scratching at a fresh wound. so you eat dinner in relative silence, and you sit in relative silence when he lets you use him like a pillow on the couch after, your favorite comfort film playing softly. and that's fine. the next bit he can do alone, anyway. got your father's address tucked safely in his pocket already.

he just thinks someone should make sure the man's okay, is all.

and if i write a comfort fic where your daddy as hell boyfriend takes care of you after you open a card from your flesh and blood father to find it addressed to the wrong fucking name, are y'all gonna be super chill and never ask what inspired it?

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 34 - All Blends 5

Summary: REUNIONS

Peppermint Tea Masterlist-> HERE

As promised, you and Katakuri travel back to his island first thing in the morning. It’s just the two of you and part of his crew, but the trip doesn’t take too long. You can’t help but feel relieved to get off the main island, Sweet City, you were informed, and away from Big Mom, herself. The woman had sneered and salivated during the short amount of time that you had to be in her presence this morning. The emperor truly disgusted you and the further away from her you could get, the better. 

Komugi Island is interesting to say the least. You didn’t think that the doughnut Katakuri told you about would be quite so big, but it was definitely its most distinguishable feature. The two of you had made small talk during the trip, keeping the conversation light and not too deep since, hopefully, you would be reunited with your boys by the end of the day. 

Once on shore, you ask him if it would be okay if you could stay outside to wait for Shanks and Mihawk. The beach reminded you of your little island, and Hank was having fun running and rolling around in the sand. Sukuna had elected to stay in your arms, but you didn’t mind. Katakuri had shrugged and told you to do what you wanted, and he would be on the lookout for the Red Force. That had been hours ago. 

You lay on the sandy beach, and try to put together just how long it’s been since you’ve seen either of your boys. You know it’s been more than a month. Just the trip from your island to Whole Cake had taken forever it seemed, and that wasn’t counting the weeks after you had sent them both away. You frown and rub your swollen belly, staring down at the bumb that seems to grow bigger and bigger every day. 

It’s harder for you to walk now, and you tire far easier than you used to. You think that you were around the 28 weeks mark when you had told them to leave, so maybe… 34 weeks now? The thought makes you freeze in the sand, eyes going wide as you stare down at yourself. Fuck. You could give birth in the next couple of weeks. 

The books that you’ve read said that the average pregnancy lasts from 38 to 40 weeks, any earlier than that and the baby would be considered premature. You swallow harshly and curl your legs up to your belly as best you could. You’d never wanted the feel of their arms or the heat of their body more than in that moment. Even with Sukuna and Hank by your side, you’ve never felt more alone. 

“Please, please get here soon. I need you,” you whisper to yourself, and close your eyes, begging the sea and the wind to bring Shanks and Mihawk back to you. 

----

The sun is setting by the time Yasopp spots Mihawk’s little ship coming in on the port-side of the Red Force. Shanks is there to greet both of them when they climb up the ladder, smiling at Perona and laughing when she sniffs at him and then floats away, content to do her own thing. There is an awkward lull between the two men when they come face to face, but Mihawk barrels over it when he grabs the redhead by the arm and drags him past his crew and to his quarters where the warlord shuts and locks the door behind them. 

Shanks stares at the other man, grunting when Mihawk strides forward and grabs him by the face. They stare at one another, each one taking the other in. 

Mihawk’s usually impeccable facial hair is overgrown, hair covering his cheeks and making his beard thicker than usual. There are heavy bags under his eyes, and the normally put-together man just looks tired. Shanks doesn't fare much better. His scruff is thick and unruly, making him look more like a scallywag and less like a beach bum. His red hair is lank, flat atop his head instead, and Mihawk smooths one hand up from his cheek to push his hand through that red hair, pushing it away from the other man's face. 

“You let yourself go,” Mihawk murmurs, and Shanks gives him a helpless shrug, a world-weary smirk painting his lips. 

“I could tell you the same.” 

Dracule rolls his eyes, and then he is stepping into the redhead’s space, slotting against Shanks like he has always belonged there. The emperor raises his hand, and settles it around the warlord's hip, tugging him closer and tilting his head so that it rests in the crook of the other man's neck. Mihawk winds his arms around him, holding the redhead close and finally feeling himself relax after that awful day when you called. 

“I'm sorry, Mihawk. I'm so sorry any of this ever happened. It's all my fault,” Shanks whispers, tone thick with emotions, and Mihawk just holds him tighter like he should have back on your island, “I'm nothing but a fool, and irresponsible, but I can't lose you, either of you. I'll beg for the rest of my life for your forgiveness if I have to, but I won't leave.” 

Mihawk curls his hand around the base of Shanks’ neck, lips turned down in a frown as he shakes his head, “The fault lies with both of us. She sent us away because I was too much of a coward to tell her the truth about our past. She was taken because you were too scared to tell me about your blunder. Why didn't you tell me?” 

The redhead buries himself closer to Mihawk, seeking the familiar warmth that he had missed like the grass missed the rain, “It's like you said. I was terrified that you would hate me for it. That you and _ both would hate me, and I would never see either of you again. Everything was just going so well, and eventually I just… forgot I even messed up in the first place.” 

Mihawk tightens his grip on the other man, needing to get what he was about to say across to Shanks. 

“Both of us have to stop keeping important things quiet. _ has always been open with us, and it is a dishonor to her if we keep it up. No more secrets. No more hiding away from fear of rejection. Nothing.” 

Shanks nods, eyes clenched shut as he holds his lover as tightly as he can against him, “No more secrets.” 

A tension seems to bleed out after that, and the embrace they share becomes softer. Mihawk threads his hand through red hair and tips Shanks up and away from the crook of his shoulder. He leans in, lips meeting the other man’s and sighing in delight when Shanks offers himself up immediately to the kiss. It's been so long, that they take their time, exploring and familiarizing each other like a set of new lovers. 

Before the exchange can become too heated, for the two men had fallen back into Shanks' chair, the warlord perched in his lap, thighs pressed tight to one another's, Mihawk pulls away to rest his brow against the redheads, “We should clean up. I don't want our treasure to see us like this.” 

Shanks smiles, one easy and agreeing, then tilts his head to the side, eyes darkening with arousal, “Shower with me?”

Mihawk can't help rolling his eyes skyward, but he still stands and waits for Shanks to lead the way to the bathroom. They strip each other, the warlord making quick work of his lover's shirt, pushing it from broad shoulders and dropping it to the floor. His coat and shirt followed and then Dracule hooks his thumbs into the elastic of the redhead’s pants and pulls them down. Shanks plucks at the string that holds his lover’s trousers, lips curling into a smile when they fall and bunch around the warlord’s feet. 

The water is hot and soothing when they step in, and Mihawk can’t help but think back to the night back on Gloom, the heat of Shanks’ mouth around his cock, and the feel of his blunt nails digging into his thigh. But now wasn’t the time to think about things like that, not when you were so close yet so far away. They would get you back and then escape to your island where they would stay and rebuild your home from the ground up. They would never leave you alone again. 

Shanks lathers up a rag and begins to scrub his lover’s back, swiping it up his spine and then gently over his shoulders, cleaning away days old sweat. Mihawk takes over after a while, telling Shanks to turn around so that he can clean his front, rubbing the soap into that tan skin until he smells less like a bar and more like the man Mihawk loved. 

They trim and manicure their facial hair and then dress in clean clothes once they are done, both feeling far better than they have in the past couple of weeks. Mihawk dons his hat, and Shaks pulls his cloak over his shoulders before he steps forward and draws the other man in for a swift kiss. 

“Ready?” 

The warlord nods as he fixes his coat, “Let us go.” 

Once topside, they noticed Perona, red-faced yelling at someone over a snail transponder. Brow furrowing, Mihawk stalked forward, Shanks trailing behind him. 

“You’re too late, Tomura. We’re already at Whole Cake, and we are supposed to get her soon.” 

“What? How? I don’t see Big Mom giving my sister up so easily.” 

The snail transponder is yanked out of her hand, and Mihawk glares down at it, “One of the Charlotte sons allowed _ to contact us. He is handing her over to save his family, I think it would be best if you left this to us, Vice Admiral.” 

Tomura snarls wordlessly over the call, and Shanks can’t help but smirk at the sound of the navy man’s frustration. 

“Fine. I’ll be waiting back at the island then, you better make sure my sister stays safe.” 

Ca-lick 

Mihawk huffs and drops the snail back into his daughter’s waiting hand, “What an unpleasant man.” 

Shanks snickers beside him, before he sobers up and focuses on the island in front of them. Spotlights shine this way and that, highlighting the giant food that towers over the building that he can spot further inland. It’s a sight to behold, but the pirates aren’t there to awe over the giant sweets. No, they are here to get you.

The snail begins to ring again, and the two men stare down at the transponder when it morphs into the now familiar visage of Big Mom’s son, Katakuri. 

Ca-lick

“Come to the southern shore. I’ll meet you at my personal bay.”  

----

You jump when Katakuri makes his presence known when he clears his throat. You are still on the beach, your clothes, given to you by him from one of his many sisters, are full of sand, so you dust yourself off and then give him your attention. Hank stands close by, a silent, furry pillar of support that you eagerly tangle your fingers into. Sukuna lays across your shoulders, tail lashing back and forth as he stares at Katakuri with annoyed golden eyes. 

“They’re here,” He murmurs and nods his head out towards the black sea. You squint, but your eyes aren’t good enough to see much of anything this late in the evening. Regardless, you still feel excitement bubbling up in your chest, happy tears coming to your eyes, and you have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from whimpering like a child. However, despite the joy you felt, you couldn’t help the sudden nerves that threatened to overwhelm everything else. 

Katakuri stared down at you. You’d told him a little of what happened between the three of you, he was a better listener than a talker, after all, so he could understand the hesitation that seemed to surround you. Feeling uncharacteristically kind, he crouched down and reached forward, weary of the two guards who glared at him. He gently patted the top of your head like he would do for one of his siblings when they were upset.

“They will be happy to see you.” 

You can’t help but send him a grateful smile, eyes wet as you reach up to squeeze one of his fingers, “I know, and I’m excited to see them. I’m just nervous. It’s been so long.” 

Katakuri pulled away and then offered you his hand to sit on like he had the other day, and once you were comfortable and surrounded by your animals, he began to walk along the beach, “Do not worry. It will be fine.” 

The trip to his personal docking bay doesn’t take long, but it feels like it takes a lifetime to you. You are so nervous to see your boys again, but the thought of being able to hold them close, to be able to kiss them and feel their hands on you again, makes it a little better. You hope that Mihawk had taken what you’d told him to heart and hadn’t been too hard on Shanks over you being taken. You don’t think you would have it in you to mitigate anything between them right now. 

The closer the two of you got to the docks, the better you could see the approaching ship. The Red Force was dwarfed by Katakuri’s personal ship, but it still cut a striking figure as it sailed closer. You were practically vibrating in place once you were sat on your own two feet, and Hank whines beside you, pacing back and forth when he recognizes the ship. You can see three silhouettes standing at the bow, one with an achingly familiar hat that makes your heart clench in relief. 

Neither Shanks or Mihawk wait for the crew to finish tying the ship off. Once they are close enough, they simply flash to the docks with a burst of haki, wanting to get to their treasure as quickly as possible. You start waddling as fast as you can to meet them, and then finally, you are surrounded by your boys. 

They wrap themselves around you, Shanks pressed against your back so that he can wrap his arm around your belly. Mihawk’s arms wind around both of you, holding you tight to his chest as you press your face against his olive skin. You can feel tears soaking your hair from Shanks, but Mihawk doesn’t cry like his two lovers. Instead, he begins to whisper sweet nothings, his lips pressed against your temple. 

“Don’t ever let me tell you two to leave again,” you sob against the warlord’s chest. One of your hands clutched his coat, and the other wraped around Shanks’ wrist, needing to anchor yourself in their presence, “I don’t care how upset I am. I don’t ever want to be alone like that again. I’m so sorry.” 

Mihawk huffs and Shanks lets out a wet laugh, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Treasure. We’re the ones who are supposed to be apologizing.” 

You shake your head, uncaring, “I don’t care about what happened anymore. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Mihawk and Shanks let it go, for now, they would sit you down and the three of you would have a long talk about this later. You look up at them, eyes wet but happy, “Can we get out of here, please?”  

The dock creaks when Katakuri steps over to their little ground, and they look up when the giant of a man begins to talk.

“That would be best. I wouldn't be surprised if someone has already told my mother of your presence. You should hurry.” 

Not wanting to leave your side, but needing to, Shanks presses a kiss to the top of your head and heads back over to his ship, ordering his men to get the ship untethered so that they could get out of here. Katakuri was most likely right, so if they didn't hurry, Big Mom would send her own ships out to greet them on the open sea. Hank bounds after him, elated to see his second favorite human, and Sukuna steps between his human and the male who had saved him, rubbing himself against Mihawk’s legs before giving the warlord a look that screamed why did it take you so long to get here? 

You stop yourself from following after your boys, tugging at Dracule's hand when he goes to lead you away. You look up at Katakuri and gesture for him to come closer. Curious, he bends down, and you lean close so that you can press your lips to his cheek before you pull away with a grateful smile. 

“Thank you for keeping me safe, Katakuri. Maybe we'll meet again under better terms.” 

You watch as he blushes, and his lips turn up in a bemused smile as he rises back up, “Maybe one day.” 

You scoop Sukuna up in your arms and then allow Mihawk to escort you down the dock where the Red Force and its captain wait. They help you up the rope ladder, and despite your winded state once you get on deck, that doesn't stop the delighted smile that paints your face when the crew erupts in cheer at seeing you. Perona is at your side in a heartbeat, pulling you in for a careful hug and burrowing her tear-stained face into your shoulder. 

Shanks begins to shout orders to get the ship underway, and once Perona pulls away, she and Mihawk lead you to the captain’s quarters. You assure them both that you are okay, but Mihawk isn't satisfied until he can get his hands on you after his daughter has made sure you are okay for herself. He kneels in front of you, taking you in, golden eyes flickering everywhere like he doesn't know what to look at first. 

Overall, his angel looks tired. Bags under your eyes and hair swept up in a bun that hangs lank at the back of your head. Your eyes are bloodshot, most likely from all the crying that you have done, but Mihawk still thinks that you are the most beautiful creature he's ever laid eyes on. He holds your face like he had held Shanks earlier, then leans forward to press his brow against your own. 

“Mihawk,” you whisper, and he opens his eyes to meet your own. This might not be the best time, but you can't hold it in any longer. Not when you know that life can change in the blink of an eye, “I love you.” 

The warlord feels his heart pound in his chest. He’s known for a while now that you loved him, you had to because he was sure that you felt the same thing that he did for you, but hearing it was something else entirely. A sureness settled over his shoulders, and neither of you heard the door shutting behind Mihawk when he murmured. 

“I love you, too.”

*notes* Sorry if this seems anticlimactic. I honestly struggled a lot with this chapter. Timeline wise, it makes sense cause Luffy shows up like a week later to break shit. Hope you enjoyed!

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom @mfreedomstuff @caniseethefourthsword @olenoname @glitterystarfishfestival

[psychoticallykind]

Jegumas Day Twenty-Three - Family Gathering

Warnings: Racism, Walburga Black, Orion Black

2,399 words

@noblehouseofgay

Sorry it's a bit late, but I hope you'll like it.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you completely sure about this?” Regulus checked again. “We don’t have to. It’s okay.”

James squeezed his hand. “You said that you wanted to give your parents a chance.”

“I was drunk,” Regulus protested.

James shook his head. “You were maybe tipsy, and you were sad. Because your parents haven’t had the chance to accept you, and you wanted to try. You wanted to hope, Reg, and we agreed on that.”

“I know,” Regulus mumbled. He stared at the house - the house he’d grown up in. The house he’d learned to be seen and not heard in. The house where he’d been berated and insulted and reprimanded in.

They’d sent him an invitation. Not Sirius, though.

They knew James was coming.

His mother had written that she was happy he’d responded.

She hadn’t mentioned James.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” James reminded him. “But I’m okay with this.”

Regulus took a deep breath. He’d wanted this. He’d needed this.

He needed to give them one chance to make things better. He needed to know, beyond a doubt, that walking away was the better choice.

“You’ll tell me if you need to leave.”

James nodded. “And so will you.”

“Right.” Regulus nodded, taking another breath. “Okay. Let’s - yes. Let’s go in.”

“Okay,” James replied softly. He held Regulus’s hand all the way to the door.

Regulus stared at the doorbell for a second. “Could you please ring it? I don’t think I can.”

“Of course.” James squeezed his hand again, reassuring him as the bell chimed. “Is it okay for us to be holding hands when they open the door?”

“Um.” Regulus tried to think clearly. “I don’t know. I - maybe not at first. Is that okay? They won’t be used to it.”

James let go, giving him a warm smile. “Of course it’s okay. Whatever you need.”

The door opened, and Regulus was a little relieved to see Kreacher again. “Kreacher, hello.”

The house-elf smiled. “Master Regulus.” He did a small bow. “And Master Regulus’s guest.”

They’d talked about this. James wasn’t supposed to speak to Kreacher - Kreacher wouldn’t like that.

So Regulus introduced James. “This is James Potter. He will be joining us for dinner tonight.”

Kreacher did a small nod, stepping aside to let them in. “Kreacher will take your coats, Master Regulus.”

“Of course.” Regulus tried to breathe a little easier. It helped that James was doing everything Regulus had asked - not looking directly at Kreacher, not smiling in thanks, not addressing him directly. He knew it was probably hard for him. James always talked to the house-elves at school. He knew most of them by name.

“Regulus.”

Kreacher left as Walburga came in. Regulus hated that he felt a little relieved at seeing her.

“Maman,” he greeted.

Walburga gave him a polite smiles, turning to look at James. “Mr. Potter.”

“Madame.” James gave her a polite smile in return.

Regulus had given him so many instructions for tonight. James had been nice about it - had practiced with him, even. Call her Madame, not Mrs. Black. Call my father by sir. Don’t interact with Kreacher. Be confident, but not arrogant. Have pride but don’t tell them why. Don’t compliment the food, compliment the house. They might be rude, it’s okay to be passive aggressive. Call me by my full name while we’re there, no endearments or nicknames.

“I don’t believe we’ve formally met,” Walburga said.

James kept his smile. “I hadn’t yet had the honor, no.”

Don’t shake her hand, Regulus thought silently. Don’t make the first move.

James didn’t reach out to shake her hand.

Sharp eyes took in James’s outfit - it was perfect, Regulus knew it was perfect. James had picked it out, but Regulus had gone over it. Changed it once, had James try that on. And then he’d changed it back, because the first one had looked better.

“I suppose now you have,” she finally replied. Her eyes moved back to Regulus. “Your father is on his way down. I suppose you remember where the dining room is.”

“Of course, Maman.” Regulus followed her to the formal dining room, walking through familiar halls.

It was oppressive, he thought. Intimidating. All wealth and power and not a speck of humanity to be found.

Orion arrived just as they did, and didn’t say anything at all. He gave a glance at Regulus before sitting down.

He didn’t acknowledge James’s presence.

James pulled Regulus’s chair out for him, but didn’t kiss him on the cheek the way he usually would.

“Thank you,” Regulus said softly.

James’s smile shifted into something warmer. “You’re welcome.”

Regulus noted Walburga tracked the interaction with a frown.

“Kreacher will bring out the first course,” she told them. No sooner had she said it than it had happened. Regulus thanked the house-elf as he always had, thankful when James didn’t even glance down.

He really was doing very well at this.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Walburga told James. She sounded like she was being sincere, but Regulus knew the edge in her voice. This was a test. “It’s one of Regulus’s favorites.”

James gave a slight nod. “I’m sure it is. Regulus has always spoken highly of his time here.”

That wasn’t true, and everyone knew it. But Regulus had instructed James to pretend.

“As he should,” Orion spoke up for the first time. His eyes focused on Regulus, intense and with that hint of disappointment Regulus had grown up receiving. “He was given everything a child could wish for.”

Except love, Regulus thought. And safety. And acceptance.

“You must have been very generous parents,” James agreed. “I remember he always started school with supplies of the highest quality.”

“I’m sure you weren’t struggling either,” Walburga responded smoothly. “Considering who your parents are.”

James’s smile didn’t waver. “You would be correct. I’ve never known what it’s like to struggle financially.”

“No,” Walburga agreed. Her eyes lingered on James’s skin. “You would have had other struggles.”

It was very obviously about the color of his skin, and Regulus felt his heart drop.

This had been a terrible idea.

“I did,” James told her. His hands were folded carefully in his lap, but Regulus could see how hard they were gripping. “Not as a young child. Truly pureblooded families have no interest in wasting their time on matters such as race, as I’m sure you know. But in muggle society, see, they believe the color of your skin has an impact on your importance as a person, and some of those beliefs did unfortunately infiltrate certain wizarding bloodlines.”

Oh.

Oh, okay. Regulus had not seen that coming.

He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of James or deeply concerned with how genuine he’d made that sound.

Walburga seemed surprised. “You don’t believe your genetic abnormalities to be shortcomings?”

“Oh, of course,” James agreed. “My vision is most certainly a shortcoming. It’s most troublesome.”

That wasn’t what she’d meant. But Regulus knew - and so did she - that pointing that out would be blatantly impolite.

“I see that you’ve chosen him for financial security, then,” Orion said, giving James a look that said in no uncertain terms that he thought James was a bit stupid.

“James has many wonderful qualities,” Regulus responded evenly. “Beyond finances, which I have no need of.”

“Are you working?” Walburga asked.

“No,” James said politely. “I have begun to take responsibility over a few family projects, and that keeps me quite busy.”

It was exactly what Regulus had taught him to say.

Walburga’s smile faltered for a moment, and then she glanced at James’s plate. “Have you lost your appetite, Mr. Potter?”

Oh, this was a very bad idea. Very bad. They should leave.

“Not at all,” James said smoothly. “I was just caught up in the conversation.” He picked up his knife and fork - the correct one, thankfully - and started on his plate, taking small bites.

Regulus watched his mother watch James, catching the disappointed flicker in her eyes. She’d been hoping James would mess up.

“Your English is very good,” Walburga commented. “I imagine it was not your first language.”

He was going to need to buy James so much chocolate after this.

“No, that was Hindi.” James didn’t appear upset, but Regulus knew he was. “Then Spanish, English, Korean, and French.”

“French last?” She asked.

“Of course,” James replied. “Given that French is not as commonly spoken, my parents and I agreed that it wasn’t a priority.”

“Commonly spoken languages,” Walburga replied, sharp. “Are for common people.”

James didn’t flinch. “I see.”

“Do you?” Walburga’s eyes flickered to Regulus. “Or are you going to continue charading as someone worthy of my son?”

“Maman,” Regulus responded. “James is worthy. He has done nothing to offend you -”

“His existence offends us,” Orion interrupted. He gave James a scathing look. “He is an aberration, Regulus. A stain on pureblood culture.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Walburga soothed. “We’ll find you someone suitable. We can even find a male candidate, if that’s what you truly desire.”

Regulus felt sick. “What?”

“We’ve indulged you,” Walburga replied. “We’ve allowed it into our house, and engaged in polite conversation. I don’t see how anything else is expected of us. Come back home, darling, and let us fix this for you.”

“Fix..” Regulus trailed off. “Fix what? My relationship?”

“Fix everything.” Walburga smiled, and maybe it was supposed to look kind but it really, really didn’t. “We’ll reinstate you in the family business. We’ll reintroduce you to polite society. Everyone will understand a rebellious phase, dear, it happens. And we will locate an appropriate partner of equal standing for you to have intellectual conversations with.”

Regulus took a deep breath. “This was a mistake.”

“It certainly was,” Orion agreed. “You’ve tainted our table with this worthless -”

“No.” Regulus cut him off. “No, you do not get to call him things.” He stood up, taking a deep breath. “We are only here because he agreed to give you a chance to be decent human beings. He has been nothing but polite, and you have been terribly rude, and there is nothing wrong with him. He is smart and kind and wonderful.” He turned to James, meeting his eyes. “And I am so sorry for bringing you here and letting them treat you so terribly.”

“Regulus, think about this, dear,” Walburga tried. “I know this seems like a good choice now, with the excitement of young love. But he will leave, and -”

“I’m not leaving.” James spoke up, meeting Walburga’s eyes. “Ever. I’m here. Your son has full control of whether our relationship ends or not.”

“And it’s not,” Regulus clarified. He took James’s hand. “We’re leaving. Happy Christmas. I don’t think I’ll be back again.”

He led James back down the hallways, taking their jackets from Kreacher and going outside. He made it four houses down before James pulled them to a stop.

“Regulus,” he said softly. “Hey. Put your jacket on, yeah?”

Regulus shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “That was so stupid. What did I think was going to happen? That they would somehow magically be decent people? That they would accept you? Of course they didn’t accept you!”

“I - please just put on your jacket.”

The tone caught Regulus’s attention, setting off alarm bells, and he turned to look at James’ expression.

It was subtle - James was good at hiding when he was upset. But it was there, in the tightness of his smile and the caution in his eyes.

Regulus ran through what he’d said, panicking a little. “James, I didn’t mean - I just meant that they never accept anyone. I didn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you. There isn’t, James. You’re perfect.”

James nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Reg, jacket. It’s freezing.”

“I don’t care.” Regulus lifted James’s chin, urging him to meet his eyes. “Jamie. I’m sorry. That was awful, they were awful, and I was awful to let them be awful. There’s nothing wrong with you. I need you to know that.”

James looked uncertain, and Regulus hated that. “Okay.”

Regulus didn’t move. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” James protested. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Nothing, really. I just - it’s been a while since I had to deal with that. And - I don’t know.” James pressed his lips together, swallowing hard. “I don’t know, Reg, I know that none of it was true and they were just being cruel but it’s - I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no.” Regulus felt his heart break, gently brushing away the tears that had started falling. “It’s okay. That was a lot, and you handled everything perfectly, James.”

Hazel eyes, bright with tears, flickered with hope. “Really?”

“I promise,” Regulus assured him. He pulled James into a hug, wrapping him up tight. “I promise. You’re perfect, mon soleil. You’re perfect and I love you and I am so sorry I let them say those awful things to you.”

“It’s okay,” James mumbled.

Regulus shook his head but didn’t let go yet. “No, it’s not. I don’t agree with my parents. The things they implied and said to you were unforgivable, and so is my tolerance of it. I won’t let it happen again, Jamie. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” James told him. He pressed a kiss to Regulus’s shoulder. “You’re always forgiven. And you did stop them.”

“Not soon enough,” Regulus replied. “I never should have gone back in there.”

“Did it help?”

Regulus frowned. “What?”

James pulled back a bit to look at him. “Did it help? Do you feel better about leaving?”

“Is that why you agreed?” Regulus asked, melting from the amount of affection pouring through him. “So that I would feel better about my choice?”

“It certainly wasn’t to hear their opinions on my culture,” James replied, managing a small smile. “So?”

“It helped,” Regulus admitted. “Because that was awful, and I know I did the right thing.” He pulled James into another hug. “Thank you. I can’t - you mean so much to me. Thank you for doing this.”

James held him just as tightly. “I’ll do anything for you. Absolutely anything, Reg. You deserve that.”

He pulled back. “Now please, put on your jacket.”

[backseatsoldier]

Home for the Holiday

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader/You CW: Mispronunciation of Gaelic words; CUTE MUH-FEKKIN' FLUFF! Author's Note: Happy holidays to ME- and all of you! Thank you for reading and engaging. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season <3

For Christmas I decided to send myself "home". As in Scotland, the place I'd never been but that I was always drawn to. It always felt like home, so why not treat myself for the holidays, you know?

Somehow, my gift to myself led me to Fiona - the owner of the bed and breakfast I'm staying at - inviting me to her White Elephant party. I suppose the theme of the party helps. I don't know anybody attending so I just need to get a silly gift to (hopefully) make people laugh. Everything was fine and going smoothly... until now.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!"

I'm now on my knees on a snow-covered sidewalk and trying to scoop up my White Elephant gift after running directly into...

"Alright, lass?"

Fuck me... he's a local.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ok," I assure him and I reach for the goofy gift.

"Is this... a..."

Before he can finish his question, I'm desperately shoving the joke gift - a Highland Cow tail butt plug with a pretty Christmas bow attached to the end - back in the bag. Why couldn't it have been in a discreet box?!

"It's for a White Elephant party," I say quickly once it's back in the bag.

Finally, I look up.

Oh, he's... painfully pretty. That just makes this worse.

"What about this guy?" he asks with a lopsided smile as he holds out the Highland cow plushie I bought myself.

"He's... for me," I say quietly and gently take the plushie back, tucking him into the top of the bag.

"Got a theme going there, lass," he chuckles.

"Figured... it might make my life a bit easier to stick to some kind of theme, y'know?" I offer softly and stand, hugging the bag to my chest.

"You sure you're alright? Didn't hurt yourself or the coo when you fell? And I'm sorry too. I wasn't paying attention."

I shake my head quickly.

"No, no I'm ok. So is the, uh, cow," I tell reassure him with a small smile and brush some snow off the cow's fuzzy head. "I should, um, get going. I'm sorry, again. And... nollag kridel."

"Nollaig Chridheil, lass," he chuckles knowingly.

"Oh my god," I whisper as my head falls and my eyes go wide. I didn't even pronounce it correctly! Without another word, I turn quickly and fast-walk away.

"You made it!" Fiona exclaims and throws her arms around my shoulders. "Get in here," she says as she pulls me into her house. It's literally just a private entrance to the bed and breakfast.

Within a few moments I'm in the building, my (wrapped) gift is under Fiona's tree, and a cute elf hat has been placed on my head. Fiona gently sets me on the couch next to- oh, no. Nonononono-

"Oh, so you're the surprise guest Fi was raving about," Painfully Pretty laughs loudly as I beg whatever higher power for a black hole to swallow me up.

"Yeah," I give an awkward laugh, "that's me. I guess."

"You two know each other?" Fiona says as she hands me a hot chocolate.

"We bumped into each other yesterday in town. And the Highland coo," he chuckles.

I should have wrapped the cow. I should have wrapped the cow. I should have-

"Oh, that adorable plushie you walked in with? I was wondering where you got 'im. Cute little Christmas sweater and all," Fiona laughs - very similarly to Painfully Pretty.

Conversation shifts off of me and to other guests who are still arriving by the minute. Soon enough, Fiona's living room is packed full of people and one dog. His name is Riley and we made fast friends. I, admittedly, have been hiding in the corner hanging out with him most of the party so far.

"Time for gifts! Johnny, help me get these piled in the center of the room," Fiona demands of Painfully Pretty. Apparently his name is Johnny.

Once all of the gifts are piled where Fiona wants them, we all migrate to the surrounding furniture. She gives us the rundown for how the gift exhcange works and we all begin drawing numbers from a Santa hat. When it's my turn, I grab a random gift and begin opening it.

It's a... Highland cow in a holiday dress and crown.

"Aw! Now your other guy's got a friend," Fiona announces excitedly.

I smile softly at the plushie and smooth out her dress.

"Yeah, I guess he does," I agree and smile at her.

"You should name them," Johnny suggests with a soft look in his eyes.

"I think I will," I nod and smile at him.

When the exchanges comes to an end, Johnny lingers in the living room with me.

"I was hoping you'd be the one to choose her," he says quietly. "Was worried she would be chosen and unappreciated until Fiona dragged you in here."

"You... brought her?" I ask, looking up from the plushie in question.

Johnny nods with a gentle smile.

"Glad the lad won't be lonely this Christmas. It was nice to meet you, officially," he says softly, lopsided smile lighting up his face.

"It was nice to meet you too, Johnny. Thank you for Christy." With a small smile, I hold up the plushie and tap it's nose to the end of his.

"Nollaig Chridheil."

"Yeah, I'm not trying to say that again," I insist with a giggle.

He laughs loudly.

"Why not? It was so cute when you said it last time."

I can feel my face warm at his words and his smirk.

This year's Christmas gift to me might turn out better than I originally expected.

Scottish Gaelic Translations (per Google Translate, apologies if incorrect!)

Nollaig Chridheil - Merry Christmas

CoD Christmas (Meet) Cuties Masterlist

[shini--chan]

Can I have yandere Germany and Prussia with a reader who is hyper sexual? BUT she hates them so she kinda finds another way to keep herself uhhhhh occupied- I am sorry if this is too straight forward!

Yandere Hetalia (Germany, Prussia) - Nymphomaniac

Trigger warnings: sexual disorder, gore, non-consensual operations, sexual punishments

Prussia wouldn't tolerate such behaviour at all. At first, he'd just think that this is you being hedonistic because your mind has been poisoned by modern bullshit. As such, you would just be locked away in the house. Cold showers and sparse meals for you for the next few weeks. If you like being naked so much, why not take all your clothes away. Additionally, he would fetch your flings and kill them in front of you. Perhaps he'd slit their throat(s) so that all their blood would spray on you. The thought here would be to shock you out of your hypersexuality. 

Should that not work, then he would mark it as an addiction and treat it as such. That would mean a field trip for the two of you. No other people in the radius of a few kilometers and you would be reliant on him. Thus, you could learn to love him and trust his judgement. Also, with you being so focused on survival, you would have the time or energy to indulge in your addiction 

If all that fails, then he would have you sterilised. There wouldn't be a word lost about it towards you, and the most warning you would get would be only getting water for 24 hours before that. Chances are, that you would be even that lucky - he could have your stomach emptied at the hospital or also order you to be bound to a head. Siring children wouldn't be a priority and castrated pets are more agreeable and easier to handle anyway. 

With Germany, it could go several ways. Should he become the sole subject of your libido, then he would be overjoyed. Both of you would travel along a downwards spiral where you would feed into each other's behaviour. Welcome to hell. Ludwig wouldn't be above using your addiction to make you bow to his wishes and forcing you to stay with him. 

Should you sleep around…well. He would have a breakdown and you'd be locked in his cellar. The dude would be sent to the other side of the country and you'd be shown the breakup text. If he'd catch you red handed, then he would beat the offender black and blue. You would be shackled to a wall and put in a chasity belt. In the case that he'd be feeling particularly wronged, he would put a vibrator in you and leave it running for two days or three. That should surely put you off sex for a while. 

Else, a lobotomy might be on the table. It would pain him to erradicate your personality, yet sacrifices would have to be made so that the two of you can be in a functioning relationship. Of course, maybe the threat of lobotomy would scare you into behaving. Speaking of threats, he could also go the route of telling you that the lives of your loved ones are on the line if you don't stop being a slut. Somebody's life, or your pleasure, which would it be? 

[halfagonyandhope]

I would love a canon divergent post war obitine where Satine survives and they find each other again! (btw I love your work!)

She spends the days working through grief as she waits for him.

Corsin is a beautiful planet, just closer to Mandalore than it is to Coruscant, chosen for its location on the Hydian Way hyperspace lane. Satine knows the reasons she and Obi-Wan had selected the planet for their eventual rendezvous will be precisely why the Empire soon takes notice of it, but she also knows she and Obi-Wan will have left Corsin far behind by the time the Empire's forces arrive.

Satine runs a hand through her hair, still startled by its short length. She'd cut it dramatically and then dyed it before leaving Mandalorian space. Bo-Katan had even helped her obtain colored contact lenses before she'd escaped the planet, before she'd escaped Imperial occupation.

She wonders vaguely what Obi-Wan will think of the new darkness in her eyes.

She knows she didn't have a choice, that remaining on Mandalore would have been a suicide mission. She knows rationally that if she's going to be of any help to her people, she must do so from afar. She knows that sentiment toward her clan after the smear campaign against her - and after Bo had refused to obey Imperial rule after the recent Siege, only to be bested a few short hours later - is not kind.

She knows this, but knowing it doesn't make it easier to take.

Satine rises in response to a quiet knock on the door of the room at the inn she's rented. She recognizes the knock, but she is cautious, and she draws her blaster, doubling checking that it's set to stun.

She checks the lens through the door and then throws the door wide, allowing the cloaked figure inside before locking the door behind them.

A fraction of a second later, she throws her arms around Obi-Wan.

There's suddenly a soft cry, and Satine jumps back, startled.

Obi-Wan shifts his cloak, revealing a swaddled infant, and Satine freezes.

Obi-Wan pulls his hood down and shoots her a sad smile. "Padmé and Anakin's son," he whispers.

Satine holsters her blaster, still uncomprehending. Then she reaches a hand to move the fabric away from the boy, seeing bright blue eyes stare back at her.

Her eyes flash back up to Obi-Wan's, and she takes in his buzzed hair, his freshly shaven jaw - he's clearly taken similar steps to hide his identity.

She's suddenly sad he no longer has the beard she's grown accustomed to.

"They're..." She tries again. "They're gone, then? It's true?"

Obi-Wan nods once, curtly, and doesn't elaborate further.

Satine pulls him into her arms, this time mindful of the baby he holds. She wants to cry when she feels Obi-Wan rest his forehead against her shoulder.

"What's his name?" she asks.

"Luke," he responds, his voice rough, and Satine pulls back slightly.

"May I?" she asks, noting the exhaustion in his eyes, and when he nods, she takes Luke from him.

It's natural, she thinks, the way the baby fits in her arms, as it had been when she'd held Korkie all those years ago. She smiles down at Luke, and then her gaze flicks back up to Obi-Wan.

"He may make traveling easier for us, actually," she notes. "No one will look twice at us. They won't suspect we're anything but a family of refugees."

"We are a family of refugees," says Obi-Wan sadly, but there's a warmth there that makes Satine's heart sing. He breathes in. "I have so much to tell you. So much has happened."

She holds his gaze. "We have time now," she says, and he nods, pulling her close, his arms surrounding her and Luke.

Satine brushes her lips to the crook of Obi-Wan's neck, and his hand cradles the back of her head.

[lenreli]

ash on the sun [Dreamling]

[AO3]

Sequel to damnation keeps me alive, with merman Dream and vampire Hob! :D

E, 9.4k, Complete. Dream returns to land, and to the vampire that helped him.

-

Honestly, Dream wasn’t expecting to go back to land after he captured Burgess. It was easier to think of ― using Hob, the vampire who crossed his path, helped free him.

And then, at the Strid he was in his familiar water, can taste home under his scales, and as Hob smiles down at him― 

He promises to return, even with every part of him that screams to forsake the land above. 

-

The Bolton Strid, as humans call it, is labyrinthine, Dream constantly clearing out dead bodies and his own things. 

And after his recent capture, Burgess in a small bubble of one of the larger caverns, kept alive by magic and nutrients from the deep sea. Unlike when he was held by Burgess, Dream doesn’t show his face, preferring to watch from holes in the caverns as Burgess begs and pleads, throwing out wealth and riches and other worthless things. 

Dream almost feels tempted to visit him, just once. To say that his riches are no more, that his mansion has become a hollowed, burnt-out shell. That no-one is looking for him, cares for him.

However, this time, Dream has all the knowledge, all the power, and so he sits quietly as Burgess continues his cries, the sight of it making up for every moment kept away from his home, all the hellish time away from water and himself, his tail and power as Burgess lorded over him. There was his tail, for their move ― which got interrupted by a greedy vampire―but his tail was more for bondage, keeping from running, magically bound in other ways. 

The time was short, by his standards, yet it felt double that with every agonising second. 

And even with his freedom, his home, Dream misses ― Hob. The vampire’s cool skin, the warmth of it once he’s fed, the feel of his beard, the scrape of fangs, or his talented fingers. Even something like the way Hob smiles, bright enough that he never has the need for a sun anyway. 

-

Hob’s home is smaller than he thought it would be, always surprised to see the little semi-detached house compared to well, Hob’s personality. But at least it’s a good place to lie low, to gather intel on Burgess. 

The sun is near the end of setting while he reads one of Hob’s many fiction books ― until arms go around his chest, locking him in place and Hob. Breathes deeply, nose going into the waves of his hair. “You’re smelling me,” he intones flatly, befuddled, and expecting a bite at least. Maybe some overly-cheery greeting for what is essentially the crack of dawn for a vampire.

“You smell like sunshine,” Hob says, voice muffled and half-asleep as Hob takes another deep breath, arms crushing him even closer to the vampire's chest. 

Dream blinks, something soft welling in him, which he ignores. “You are an odd vampire,” is all he says in reply, going back to his book as Hob hums and takes deep sniffs of his hair and throat. 

Dream’s only meant to be in and out of the house, and it makes sense that this was more for a spot to lay low, but Dream gets distracted, the earthy smell of Hob still in place. 

The note Hob left for him is easy to see, the cardstock on the middle level of a bookcase, with fewer books than before. However, Dream ignores it while he looks around, comforted by memories of Hob cooking in the kitchen, of a dent on the staircase bannister from one particularly rough bout of fucking.

Dream sighs, slowly crawling onto Hob’s bed once he reaches the bedroom, refamiliarising himself with the scent of it all, blackout curtains shutting out the sun that’s outside. 

Shutting his eyes, Dream―thinks of nothing, memories rushing in him like the river. He misses Hob. And soon, he’ll see him again, which gives him a burst of energy to get up, almost-running down the stairs until he reaches the bookcase. Some of the books he was reading aren’t there.

At Hob’s home, most likely, and he smiles as he picks up at the envelope, thick cardstock opening to reveal an address, and part of a map, torn out with a place circled, arrows pointing to it, and Dream can almost imagine the excitable way Hob did it. 

-

Dream compares the address, the map to the building in front of him. It’s not big, not levels upon levels, but surrounding it is acres of forest, of a river nearby, which Dream notes to see how it connects where he lives. 

The house itself is only one level, and Dream unlocks the door with a twist of magic, relaxing into the familiar scent of Hob. Looking around, he finds a bedroom, a living room, all with rustic furniture, and in the bed’s case, a four-poster with thick curtains, a dark green to match the matching blackout curtains on the windows. 

All of Hob’s books are in another room, filled with bookcases and a small desk, and Dream spends some time reading the spines of books, noting which ones he’d like to read as he finds the books he was reading at the other house, piled high onto the desk.

The kitchen is well-kept, jars of pickles and preserves, bread and jams. Hob’s always happy to go on about how he’s met other vampires who can’t eat, and how he’s lucky that he skipped however that worked, always enjoying his food. 

Eventually, Dream heads into the bathroom, light spilling out from glass doors and Dream tilts his head, staring at the small bathtub, can see Hob luxuriating with some wine or a book as the moonlight streams in as he soaks in the bath. 

Which does seem like a good idea at the moment, and so he turns the taps, watching it slowly fill as he waits for Hob to come back.

-

The first thing he’s aware of ― is Hob. His voice, particularly, speaking in another room as Dream wakes up, body pleasantly sore. Groaning, he curls more under the duvet cover as Hob talks, and Dream shivers at the the twinge of his inner thigh, can still feel Hob’s dark eyes looking up at him, showing his fangs before they bit down.

“You’re up!” Hob chirps from the door, and Dream only has a split second of seeing him before Hob is next to him, teeth nibbling the shell of his ear, “I’ve been looking into a new bathtub,” Hob says with a smile, and Dream’s brows furrow, leaning into the other’s hand as his hair is petted. 

“Already?” He asks, voice raspy. 

“No time like the present!” Hob shrugs and smiles, joining him under the covers. Fingers twirl around waves of his hair as Hob looks down at him, other hand propping his head up, “I’ve been talking it over, and obviously I should have it,” a pause, and Dream narrows his eyes, “a garish bright yellow,” Hob completes with a nod. Dream can’t help the way his face scrunches in disgust, and Hob starts to chuckle, “kidding, kidding! It’s black. And big.” 

Dream huffs, relieved as Hob tugs him into a soft kiss, explorative and leisurely. “I would not abide by a yellow tub, Hob Gadling,” he chides in between breaths, hands going up to caress the brown-grey of the other’s beard, content with the simple kisses and touches. 

“And you never will,” Hob says, tone fond as Hob’s hands trail down his chest and stomach, with Dream’s arousal spiking as they dig into his thighs ― and the bite still healing there. “Want to do anything in particular today?”

Fluttering his lashes, he tugs Hob down, fingers going to the hair on Hob’s chest, “I’m not sore enough, I think,” he says quietly, making Hob let out a whine, sharp fangs scraping down his neck. The feel of it is enough to make his cock harden. 

“No?” Hob asks, voice lower and deliciously rougher, matching the black overtaking Hob’s brown eyes. 

“I want to feel you for days,” he coaxes, pulse throbbing wildly under fangs on his throat, and Hob keens, “and days, and―” 

He moans, words cut off as fingers enter him roughly, still loose from earlier, and he shudders, pressing up against the heat of Hob’s body. “We can do that,” Hob says off-hand, and Dream whines as fingers press his prostate, body already edging into over-stimulated with what they’ve done earlier.

“Yes, yes,” he chants, one hand scraping up Hob’s back as fingers relentlessly twist and press inside, and Hob swears, duvet sliding off them as Hob quickly moves ― fingers covered with lube as they enter him again and Dream moans. 

-

“And why are we walking when you can have a car called for us?” Dream asks as he leans onto Hob’s side, thinking of the many streets back to Hob’s house. 

“So spoiled already,” Hob says with a laugh, pulling him as they walk along, “we just sat down for hours at the theatre! Plus, it’s nice out. For once.” Dream huffs, happy to look up at the cloudy sky, moonlight showing through them. 

“You didn’t mind the rain yesterday,” he points out, body still aching from their frolicking in the rain. Or, Hob’s porch, and Dream sighs, can still feel the press of Hob’s fingers inside his slit for hours, Hob unable to stay away as Dream writhed and came, can still feel the fingerprints on every inch of him. 

Hob groans, fingers slipping under his blouse to press into his hips, “Dream,” Hob whines into his ear, making him smile as Hob pushes him against a nearby wall, “probably would’ve been easier to do this in the car,” Hob mumbles before kissing him, and Dream shivers as hands trail up his sides. 

“It’s not too late to call for it,” he whispers, pleasure rising with the way Hob forces him against the brick. To his disappointment, Hob grazes his lip with a fang then pushes off, making him whimper at the loss. “Hob,” Dream doesn’t whine. Or pout, feeling bereft as Hob looks at people walking by. 

“The human world has its issues, us doing this in public being one of them,” Hob hisses quietly, jaw setting as Hob tugs him by the arm so they can walk along. 

Dream scoffs, “so? Their lives are nothing compared to―” Hob’s glare shuts him up, unused to seeing him being so serious. Even with Burgess, he was more relaxed. 

“I like living in the world, Dream, and I'm not going to jeopardise myself, or you, even if we can just kill them because their lives are nothing to ours,” Hob hisses, eyes flashing a red to match the venom in his tone. 

Gaping, Dream blinks and nods, feeling he misstepped somewhere with the way Hob is staring at him. “I apologise,” he breathes, and can feel nails digging into his bicep as Hob continues to stare ― then let's go with a scowl, walking faster in front of him. Walking quickly to catch up, he grabs onto Hob’s wrists, stopping them, “truly. I am more used to, I didn’t mean to,” Dream bites his lip, words falling off. “Please. I’m sorry,” he settles on pleading, something he knows to articulate then whatever mess he was trying for. 

“They may only be here for a short time, but they’re still meaningful. Like the play we just saw,” Hob says flatly and Dream grimaces, “and,” Hob huffs and scrubs his face. “This is why I don’t like hanging out with other vampires,” Hob says. “That, and the constant my long life is a curse and everything’s horrible complaining they do.” 

Dream purses his lips and doesn’t say anything as Hob holds onto his arm, continuing their walk in silence.

-

Dream ― withdraws. He doesn’t mean to, but Hob’s words get under his skin, and without all the daring adventures of revenge, of the sex. 

He’s like the vampires Hob doesn’t like to be around. Which, as the logic follows, means once Hob discovers that, won’t want to be around him. 

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Hob says from behind him and Dream twitches, putting his head deeper in the book he’s reading by moonlight. In the forest. “Everything okay?” Hob puts a jaw on his shoulder, and Dream can feel the concern radiating off him, and Dream melts into Hob’s embrace, head resting on Hob’s shoulder as Hob encircles him. 

“I,” he pauses, words and emotions still a tangle in him that he doesn’t know how to dislodge. “I just wanted some time alone.” 

“I could leave, then?” Hob asks, voice hushed. Dream shakes his head, relishing in the warmth of Hob’s body. “The bath should be coming soon,” Hob mentions and Dream smiles, going back to his book. 

“Did you get it jewel-encrusted?” He asks dryly, considering it’s been over a month since the order was placed. Hob laughs, nose pressing below his ear. 

“These things take time, especially with the size I wanted, and plus I wanted black taps, which added time on for ― other reasons. I’m not sure, but it’s what they said,” Hob explains, can feel him shrug, eventually making a considering sound. “Should I have gotten it jewel-encrusted?” 

Dream huffs, shaking his head, “don’t be ridiculous, Hob.” The vampire just hums, considering, and Dream puts a hand back to tug on Hob’s hair until he lets out a pitiful ow, “no, Hob.” 

-

Of course, the only way to go on is to take everything that’s given before the inevitable terrible end ― which is easy, considering how much Hob drives him to pleasure. Like right now, where Dream can only grab onto Hob’s hair as Hob brings him to his― 

Second? Third? He lost count, the constant warmth and pressure of Hob’s mouth on his cock driving him to madness. “Hob,” he whines, shuddering as a tongue licks the underside of his cock, tongue flicking out to press into his balls, and Dream lets out a broken moan, orgasm unstoppable. “Hob!” 

Hob moans around his softening cock, dark eyes staring up at him, nose pressing into his pubic hairs, and he can feel Hob smile more than see it ― and he gasps, fangs suddenly around his cock and he tugs ineffectually at the other’s hair. 

Hob’s mouth leaves him and he cries out, a string of saliva connecting him to Hob. Dream swats ― pats Hob’s hair, adrenaline draining and exhaustion setting in from what he’s sure was Hob on him for an hour. At least. “How’re you feeling?” Hob asks, fang scraping up to his hipbones, with all Dream can do is whine. 

“Hob,” and say his name too, voice thready, and he whines at the fangs scraping up his skin, can feel the blood rushing to meet the barrier of him. 

“No complaints?” Hob says, smiling. “Though, you always do have one,” Hob mutters, mouth travelling up to suck a nipple. Dream moans, legs curling around Hob’s body as he paws at Hob’s throat, thumbs pressing into stubble. 

Whatever word he tries to say ― Hob’s name again, most likely, is derailed into a scream as Hob bites into him, close to his collarbone, the pain and pleasure crashing as his cock twitches, trying to fill again as Hob feeds from him, nerves spasming near the other’s fangs. Hob leaves him, and he whines, pushing Hob’s forehead, wanting to heal it quickly. “Don’t,” he slurs. Hob pauses, staring at him. 

“Really?” Hob huffs and kisses up his throat. 

“Want to feel it,” he hums, patting at Hob’s beard and wincing at the bite. “Can still feel you,” he can feel it, the way Hob’s fangs carved into his muscles, into his nerves, wants his skin to heal over it, a reminder. Hob whines and nips at his throat. 

-

Dream stumbles into Hob, laughing as he’s twirled around, Hob humming off-key. “You’re ruining the concert,” he complains, and a foot swipes under his, making him hold onto the other man more strongly. “At least hum Danse Macabre on-key,” he scolds. At least Hob does that, making their terrible dancing in the forest surrounding Hob’s place more bearable. 

The humming ends as they stop near the river, and Dream relaxes into Hob’s hold, the rushing water nearby soothing. “Feel like a bit of a swim after such a rousing night?” Hob says, grin shining in the half-moon. 

“Of course,” Dream scoffs, going to take off his short velvet jacket ― before Hob moves in, undoing and unlacing the layers, Hob smiling brightly as he holds out a hand for him to step out of his clothes. Dream happily helps Hob out of his clothes, the pile of Hob’s embroidered blue coat and waistcoat joining his own. 

Both naked, Dream goes in first, spending a few moments fully submerged as his tail swishes around him. Coming out of the water, he looks up at Hob, who’s sitting on the edge of the river, feet submerged. “What are you still doing out here?” He huffs, crossing his arms and putting them on Hob’s thighs. 

Hob smiles, a hand coming up to pat his cheek, “just appreciating you,” he says. 

“Hm,” Dream frowns and slides under the water, grinning as he tugs Hob into the river by his legs, Hob squawking as he does. There’s sputtering as Hob surfaces, Dream still grinning, “much better,” he purrs, leaning closer to caress Hob’s wet brown hair, tail winding its way around Hob’s legs. 

“Well fine, now I’m appreciating the pretty scales I can feel,” Hob points out, arms going around his shoulders as they kiss. 

“Stop that,” he tugs on Hob’s hair.

“I can play this game all day, every day. I will find something good to appreciate you every day until the Earth dies,” Hob declares with a laugh. Dream stops, heart beating quickly, even with the light-hearted way Hob says it. And Hob, of course, notices, brows furrowing.

“That’s ridiculous,” he croaks, mind failing to wrap around Hob’s claims. 

“You always say that,” Hob says, dark eyes staring softly even as his heart slows down to something more reasonable. “It’s like you’ve never even met me.” 

Dream blinks, brain still reeling as puts his face into the wet patch of hair on Hob’s chest, tail sliding down and hooking onto Hob’s ankles as they float. 

Hob begins humming Danse Macabre again, fingers coming up to stroke his hair, conversations unsaid ― and Dream is glad for it.

-

Of course, that’s just how Hob is. Over their time together he’s seen Hob strike up friendships while outside the theatre, on the street, while in a vinyl store. Always with a kind word and smile ― and those same things used for getting close, to torture out information while they were searching for Burgess. 

It doesn’t mean anything, Dream tells himself. Hob’s just like that. 

Dream stares at the black jewels on the tap of the bathtub. The one that Hob got him because he mentioned it. 

“Those came with the taps,” Hob says defensively, sitting down next to the large black tub, close to him. “How is it?” 

Dream hums, stretching out his tail fully in the tub, which he finds nice, “spacious.” 

“So, you approve then?” Hob asks, leaning on his side of the bath as he gets out a book, seemingly content to stay there while Dream is in the bath. “I picked up a job while you weren’t here, I should return to it sometime.” 

“What, being a vagrant is not enough?” Dream asks, resting his head on his arms, which are on the edge of the tub. “And what job is this?” 

Hob chuckles, “just a grave keeper. Nice to look after people’s resting places. But I mean, I can resign if,” Hob pauses, looking at him with big brown eyes. 

Dream rolls his eyes, taking a strand of Hob’s hair to touch, wet fingers touching Hob’s temple. “I can find ways to amuse myself, Hob. Do this grave keeping then,” he says, watching a bead of water make it’s slow way down Hob’s face, eventually reaching the soft stubble of Hob’s beard. 

“I like keeping myself occupied. Crime is usually one of the easier ways, but sometimes I get a respectable job,” Hob mutters, looking back down at his novel. 

Affronted, Dream caresses Hob’s face, gently turning the other’s face until Hob’s eyes are on him again. “Hob,” he pouts, a finger trailing to touch the soft bristles of the other’s beard, down to pink lips, “surely you have better things to pay attention to then a book.” 

Hob smiles, eyes crinkling as Dream puts a finger into his mouth, can feel a hot tongue and blunt teeth as he pulls Hob closer. The book shuts, the sound final, “do I? Like what?” 

-

Dream’s unsure how Hob appeared like this ― giving Dream a moment of fear before he saw that it was Hob. Though, Hob was less… bloody when he left the house, what seems like buckets of it splashed over him, eyes a deep red instead of their usual brown. “Hob?” He asks, alarmed as he gets up from the chair. “What happened?” 

Hob blinks, seemingly coming back into awareness, walking closer to him in a way that’s wrong. Feet dragging, chest pressing forward, like a puppet in his skin, a shambling corpse. “I wish I could say this blood was mainly someone else’s,” Hob rasps, and Dream freezes as hands grab his biceps. 

“What―Hob?” He freezes, used to Hob’s casual touches, but this―isn’t it, and this close he can gashes on Hob’s face. On Hob’s hands, dripping blood, can see white bone of Hob’s cheek, skin and muscles hanging from his face. 

“Was gathering intel and ran into some,” Hob stops, and Dream swallows, can feel his blood rushing as Hob hovers near his neck. 

“I could have helped,” he says with a scowl, annoyed with Hob’s lone-vampire act ― and more easy to embody than the part of him that wants to shiver and tilt his neck into Hob’s mouth, can feel the bits of Hob touching his clothes, his skin. “This is about what happened to me with Burgess,” he reminds Hob, voice acidic. 

“Sorry, won’t happen again,” at least Hob sounds rueful, even with his voice so dark, deep as a grave. “I need to―Dream,” Hob continues, nails digging into his arms and bringing him closer, body cool as it presses against him. Dream swallows, can’t even be angry at the blood getting on his clothes with his pulse racing even more, mind fraying at the way Hob said his name, like something out of a fantasy he’d never admit to. Hob’s body is cold, more like the dead and Dream bites his tongue at the lightest touch of fangs on his neck. “I’ve never had merman before,” Hob whispers, and Dream mentally swears, resists the urge to shiver, insides burning at Hob’s words. 

“If you must―” he doesn’t even get the last word out before there’s pain, and he gasps, holding onto Hob’s bloodied shoulders as pain ― and pleasure, riding on the edge of it as fangs sink in. Dream gasps, can’t hold back the shivers as Hob sucks the blood out of him, and his insides prickle, feels light-headed with the rush of it. 

“Huh,” Hob pauses, “salty.” Dream lets out a sound, forcing his eyes open so he can have a semblance of something as Hob continues. Dream notes, beyond the buzzing pain-pleasure-more, that the slashes on Hob’s face, on his skin close up, and Dream lets out another noise as Hob adjusts his head. There’s a plop of dead strips of flesh and gore onto the floor, but Dream can’t focus on that, only on the way they’re touching, Hob’s fangs inside. When did Hob put a hand on his head, a rough hand going in his hair? 

It feels like swimming, in a way, is all Dream can think, can feel blood under his nails as he grabs onto Hob’s shoulderblade, can feel the vampire’s body warming up with his blood as Dream floats in himself. 

Hob stops and Dream bites back a whine, shivering as a tongue laps at the bite, and he can feel the oddness of it as it heals, nerves and skin closing like it was never bitten into. “Sorry,” Hob says, more like himself this time, as Hob’s other arm goes around his waist, and Dream collapses into the other’s warmth, taking shuddering breaths as all those myriad of feelings begin to slowly fade. 

Dream nods, puts his face on a bloodied shoulder, can see cuts through Hob’s shirt with healed skin ― and he doesn’t want to let go, the wall of emotions he kept between himself and the vampire bled out of him, leaving only― 

Need. The attraction he kept pretending wasn’t there. The attraction to this impossible vampire who decided to try and steal from Burgess and freed a merman instead, happy to go along with Dream’s vengeance, opening his home to Dream. Who decided to be stupid enough to get intel alone and ran into whatever horror made him arrive like this.

Hob makes a sound, the hand in his hair moving it so they’re face-to-face, can see Hob’s furrowed brows, “I’m getting you all bloody, I should, we,” Hob moves, hands leaving his waist and this time, Dream’s the one acting on instinct. 

His mouth is on Hob’s before he’s aware of it, mind skipping over to his hands on Hob’s face, can feel smooth skin and rough stubble, can feel the other’s lips, the way he’s frozen before Hob hugs him again, kissing him back with sharp fangs, hands roaming up and down his back. 

And like the bite, the metallic kiss he feels all over, reaches into every part of him and makes him light-headed as he forgets to breathe, wrapped in the vampire’s bloody embrace. 

Hob seems ― aimless. Well, not that. The aim seems to be kissing him, regardless of the fact he’s against the doorway leading to the bedroom, beard scraping against the skin around his lips, hands roaming over his body, one hand ending up in the shorts waves of his hair. 

Dream whines under the onslaught, toes curling in his shoes as Hob kisses him, mouth tasting less of the iron blood that Hob drank from him, and Dream’s stuck between wanting more, craving an endpoint. 

Or the kissing, Hob nipping at his jaw and throat before swooping back in, Dream’s head still swimming from the bite as the vampire licks into his mouth, a hand going under his shirt, nails scraping up skin and Dream keens. His body is lit up with arousal, can feel it straining against his trousers, though Hob pays it no mind, apparently in the mood to kiss the life out of him.

-

“Do you want to go to the river?” Hob asks as they’re outside, Hob whittling away at a piece of wood with a knife. Dream blinks, confused. 

“The river?” He frowns, eyes still on the tiny, rough figure coming out of the wood. 

“For a swim?” Hob asks, also focused on his carving as more of the wood gets shaved off. 

The question is so out-of-the-blue that Dream is still going over it, “why ask?” He frowns, sitting closer to Hob so he can see Hob’s hands, seeing what looks like ― a tail, like his, and the knife stops, flat side resting on Hob’s thumb as Hob looks at him. 

“Well, it’s not like Burgess gave you a choice,” Hob says and Dream reels. Especially since he never gave Hob the details, only the broad strokes, and yet somehow Hob figured it out anyways. Which ― he’s lived among humans for ages, he’s sociable and―  

And, he realises like a slap in the face, that Hob’s always asked him. Ever since they met, always asking whether he wants to go into the water, if he wants to get out of the rain ― or to stay in it, Hob also staying with him, dutifully carrying him somewhere if he had a tail, happy to go along with Dream’s whims. 

“So, do you want to go to the river?” Hob asks again, like it’s simple. Like it’s easy, as Dream takes a breath, gulping down the emotions welling up, the mess of anger-grateful-affection-whatever else ― and Dream does want to swim, want to feel the currents and his tail. 

“No,” he rasps, testing out this ― which he already knows, as Hob nods and goes back to his whittling. A few more minutes pass and Hob glances up between his activity, Dream still thinking. 

“We should probably head inside if we want to avoid the rain then,” Hob puts away the knife and wood into his pants pocket, and Dream stands with Hob, looking up at the overcast sky, can smell the petrichor in the air. 

“And what if I said yes, now?” He bites out. Hob just blinks and nods. 

“Whatever you want,” Hob says with a smile, the vampire taking the whiplash with ease, unlike Dream, who just watches as Hob walks towards the river instead. Dream stands still, not. Love, bursting inside, but something close, something that could be. “Dream!” There’s a shout, Hob sounding amused, “Did you change your mind again!?” 

There’s no judgement or derision in Hob’s loud voice, just mirth and that makes Dream shake himself mentally, running towards the river, giving Hob a scowl as he undresses, throwing them at Hob and jumps into the water. Dream can hear Hob’s laughter, even as he swims to the riverbed. 

-

“Hey Dream,” Hob says, making him look up from the book he’s reading, Hob sitting on another couch, where Hob had stopped writing in whatever book he was writing in. “Can you do anything else with your voice, besides send people to sleep?” The question is asked like Hob just remembered, and Dream raises an eyebrow, thinking back to their visit to Burgess’s mansion.

“I do usually prefer sending people to sleep. However,” he smirks, starting a soft tone ― and Hob chokes, eyes widening. The tone changes, hypnotising Hob closer, drawing out more arousal from him, and Dream can almost feel the pull of water in Hob’s stolen blood, going downwards. 

Hob makes another choked sound as he reaches Dream, hands gripping at his shoulder desperately. Dream blinks, looking up as Hob wheezes for breath, swaying into him as Dream’s tone makes him harder, can see the bulge in the front of Hob’s trousers. 

“Dream,” Hob breathes, and he can’t stop the pride he feels, Hob forgetting that he doesn’t need to breathe usually only appearing after hours of orgasms. 

Lowering his tone even more, Hob shudders against him, trousers soon getting a wet spot, and Dream enjoys watching, nails digging into his shoulders as Hob pants, eyes dark and wide-eyed as they look down at him. Dream lifts a hand, his pointer finger stroking down the centre of Hob’s shirt, making the vampire shiver even more, letting out a broken whine. 

Hob keens as he undoes Hob’s trousers, pulling them down along with undergarments, revealing Hob’s leaking cock. A slight change to his tone and he’s pleased to see Hob’s cock twitch, leaking even more. Stopping the tone, he looks up as he licks his lips, “of course, I could never get the hang of the end of it, my sibling has bragged plenty abou―” 

He’s cut off as a hand in his hair moves him to Hob’s crotch, and he looks up with a raised eyebrow as he licks the head of it, humming at the pre-come. Hob moans, hand in his hair gripping it into a painful point, only relaxing as Dream puts his mouth onto the other’s cock. 

Of course, unlike Hob, he does need to breathe, but Hob’s yet to complain. Hob gasps, other hand going into his hair as Dream sucks ― and begins another tone, this one more for cooling down, making Hob shudder as it runs through him like ice water. “Tease,” Hob hisses, fangs on display as Dream looks up through his lashes. 

The tone is quiet and muffled as he licks and sucks, not wanting it to be over too quickly as Hob swears and begs, Dream putting his hands onto the other’s hips. Dream stops the tone and moans, loving the feeling of the other’s cock hitting the back of his throat, face pressed into hair and skin, musk all he can smell as his jaw begins to ache.

After that, it takes only a few more passes before Hob comes down his throat with a moan ― and Hob collapses on top of him, torso on his head, with the rest of him sprawled out on the chair he was just in. Dream swallows, cleaning off the soft dick in front of him, and Hob whines. 

Shaking his head, he makes his way under Hob’s sprawl, ending up with a head on his shoulder as he sits back into the chair, own aching cock neglected. “And what about me?” He asks, stroking a strand of grey-brown hair on Hob’s head, which flops over to give him a one-eyed stare. 

“Ask me again once my brain’s been regenerated,” Hob mumbles. Dream rolls his eyes. 

-

Dream wakes up to a door opening, which he groans at, looking up from his folded arms on the edge of the bath as Hob comes in, taking a sniff at his hair, “have you been in here all day?” Hob asks, voice hushed and Dream nods, brows furrowing as realises the water had long since warmed up throughout the day while he was sleeping. “Want some cooler water?” 

Nodding, Hob gives his hair a kiss and another sniff, smelling the sun that was on it as he takes the chain for the plug, emptying the water out. Dream only watches on in tired disinterest, brain not up for dealing with―anything, except being in the water. 

“What do you feel like for a meal?” Hob asks as the plug gets put back in, and Dream groans happily at the rush of cold water filling the bath up once more, Hob turning off the tap once it’s at a good level. 

“Fish,” he replies shortly, then stops Hob from leaving with a hand on his wrist. Sighing, he tugs the hand closer, pressing his forehead against the other’s hand, holding onto the other’s callused fingers. “Hob,” he frowns, the words coming with the way of still being half-asleep. 

Hob squeezes his hand, sitting next to the tub, but Dream keeps his eyes shut, feeling the warmth of the other’s body. 

“I’m not,” Hob’s other hand comes up to his wet hair, stroking it as Dream tries to put his incoherent thoughts into some sort of order, the words ready to be said. “I have lived a long time. Such a long time, and. Outside of the sex, and you, I am more. Melancholy, then you’d like.” 

“Dream,” Hob says, voice sympathetic as another kiss gets placed on his temple as Dream tenses up, “that doesn’t make a difference, to anything.” 

Furrowing his brows, he looks at Hob’s hand in confusion, “but those vampires you hate to be around ― who talk about how they want to die, I’m like them, I wanted to―” he clicks his teeth, licking his teeth. 

“You’re nothing like them! For starters, they always try to bring the mood down. Take them out to a concert and they’ll be complaining the whole way. You don’t do that, even if you don’t like it and you’re just humouring me.” 

Dream frowns, “but I,” he looks up, “the only reason I keep coming up here is so I don’t,” Dream swallows, “the only reason I kept coming to the surface was so I don’t just,” he purses his lips. “So I don’t just let myself sink to the bottom of the sea and let myself become a feast for the animals there,” he whispers, taking a deep breath at saying the thing that he’s thought about for centuries. 

“Dream,” Hob says softly, fingers stroking his cheek, “we all have bad days. I have bad days, I’m not going to hate you for that, least of all for those kinds of thoughts.”

Hiding his face in Hob’s hand, he swallows, shutting his stinging eyes, “but I―” 

“Whatever you’re thinking, whatever your brain is giving you is wrong. So I’m going to go and get some fish and cook you a magnificent meal while you just wait here, okay? It may not solve anything up there, but it’s what you want, so I’ll get it for you,” Hob vows. 

Another kiss gets placed on his hair, on his cheek and Dream gulps, regrettably letting go of Hob’s hand as he nods. “Ridiculous vampire,” he croaks when Hob’s at the door, sinking under the cold water as he wipes his eyes. 

-

“Dream,” Hob laughs, smiling as he’s cornered against the wall, thick curtain pulled to cover them more from the other box seats, “I didn’t get these seats for this,” Hob says, still smiling even as hands pull Dream in by the waist for a kiss. 

“Then why did you?” He scoffs, biting at Hob’s lips and beard, feeling Hob shiver as a hand goes under his shirt, the other one focusing on undoing the button of Hob’s waistcoat. 

“Thought it’d be better than having to deal with all the people,” Hob says quietly, and Dream pauses, looking into Hob’s eyes, Hob still treating him gently after his recent bathtub confession. He was wary about coming to the ballet until Hob mentioned the box seats. And he is annoyed by it ― and at the same time, he enjoys it, that Hob would put his mindset into account. “That, and I tend to fall asleep during ballet sometimes,” Hob's face is full of shame as he says it. 

Huffing, Dream’s fingers trail up Hob’s happy trail, “and yet we’re here.” 

“I don’t know, looked like you were enjoying it before this,” Hob shrugs, leaning into his hands with a hum, and Dream closes his eyes at the stubble pressing into his chin, arching his head as Hob nibbles his way down his throat. 

“I noticed another pair of men doing the same across the way,” he states, making Hob laugh into his throat. Dream’s fingers clench at Hob’s chest, can feel the warm laughter in his bones. 

“Well, thank you for at least pulling me out of view at least,” Hob says dryly, one of his hands going to tug at Dream’s hair, “there are places where I’m for putting on a show, but this isn’t one of them.” 

Dream pulls him into a kiss, deep enough to make Hob moan, or maybe it’s because of his hands going to undo Hob’s trousers, tugging his cock out and stroking it just as the sound of the accompanying orchestra fills the hall. He has half a mind for going back to his seat to watch the ballet, but he did prepare for going out, and having Hob writhing next to him is much more compelling. 

The anticipation builds slowly as they kiss, Dream pressing into Hob’s hairy chest, Hob tugging off his own trousers ― and they pause as they dig into his thighs, Hob pulling away from the kiss to stare down, dark eyes wide. “You,” Hob chokes, fingers gliding up his inner thighs, wet from lube, until they reach his entrance, and Hob takes a deep breath. 

“Yes?” He asks, fluttering his lashes and Hob takes another unneeded breath before Hob kisses him in a flurry, fingers pressing into his loose entrance ― making Hob whine into his mouth. Hob presses him close, a hand digging into his lower back as Hob pants, fingers leaving empty ― and he only has time for a short groan before Hob’s filling him up, pre-come helping the slide along with the lube, and even then. Dream made sure that he can still feel the too-tight drag of it, the sweet resistance. 

Dream shivers as the kiss gets fangs, “fuck,” Hob pants, other hand gripping his arse, and they both moan at the feeling of it. Dream can feel him close to his prostate, but it’s nothing compared to the buzz of pleasure, Hob’s cock dragging across his walls making him gasp. “So beautiful,” Hob keens, cock sliding in and out slowly, sometimes hitting his prostate, driving up the pleasure in himself. 

Everything’s only Hob, the quiet breathless praise that makes him whine, the feel of him as he gets hand out from Hob’s shirt to hold onto his beard as they fuck, everything else nonsense and sound as the bliss topples and overflows, walls squeezing around the other’s cock as he bites down on Hob’s shoulder to muffle the sound ― and Hob comes not long after him. 

-

Hob stares at the crack in his curtains warily, giving Dream a doubtful look. “You’re insane,” he states, and Dream huffs, the strip of sunlight showing through the curtains between them. 

“Well, what would happen if it doesn’t?” He asks, which at least gets Hob out of the position he’s in, arms relaxing from around his legs, ending up on top of the crossed limbs. 

“Smoking, at first. And eventually, ash, very quickly after. I’d rather not regrow a hand again,” Hob says, and Dream’s brows raise at the again. “Though that was more cut off,” Hob mutters to himself. 

And really, this is more of an ― instinct, or maybe wishful thinking, that Hob could get to experience the sun that he always misses, more than just smelling the sunlight on Dream. That, and just remembering on a prior trip before Burgess, hearing some vampires who can go out into the sun talking. “Then I’ll take your hand away if it starts smoking,” he replies dryly, giving a look to Hob. 

Hob sighs, “well. Fine.” The vampire straightens, taking a deep breath as he puts his hand into the strip of sunlight. 

Nothing happens, and Dream squashes a smirk. 

Hob blinks, waving and wriggling his hand, “it’s just taking a while,” Hob says, not believing it ― apparently enough to stand up and open the curtains fully, revealing the heavy glass door. 

And still nothing happens, Hob in full sunlight. With nothing, no hint of smoke or burning. 

“Any moment now,” Hob says, and Dream raises an eyebrow as he stands up too. “Once I had to get back from a bar and smoked all the way home the day after, until I got inside.” 

“Apparently it can stop affecting some vampires the longer they live,” he remembers from that conversation, one vampire complaining to another that she wasn’t old enough as Hob stares, still uncomprehending. 

“Maybe it’s because―” Hob walks out of the door, Dream following, still no signs of smoking or ash as Hob stands outside, eyes on the rising sun. “I don’t,” Hob breathes, voice wobbly and Dream looks at him, tears falling from brown eyes as the sun continues to rise. 

There’s really nothing he could say as Hob lets out sobs, eyes on the sky as he sits on the grass, sun still doing nothing to the vampire. 

-

It’s been about two hours or so, since Hob’s gone out into the sun. Dream went back inside to get a drink and food before joining Hob back outside, dried tear tracks on the other’s face, brown eyes staring, unblinking, at the sky. Sitting next to Hob, Dream sighs and thanks whatever higher power that the morning is oddly sunny, not a cloud in sight. 

“Hob?” He says softly, and at his voice, Hob blinks, face turning to look at him. Dream has a moment, appreciating the vast browns and golds in Hob’s eyes, the way the sunlight makes the greys of Hob’s beard and hair even more stunning.

“You’re―” Hob blinks again, settling himself closer, sides pressed together, “can you get sunburnt?” 

“No,” he replies as a hand comes up to his hair, Hob staring at him with as much awe as he looks at the sun. Hob smiles, a thumb stroking his cheek, and Dream ignores the spike of affection in his veins. 

“If you were a human, you’d get sunburnt so easily,” Hob says with a laugh, leaning closer to kiss him ― muffling his offended huff, and Dream tilts his head, presses his nose into Hob’s cheek, taking in the other’s scent, the sunlight around him as they share a soft kiss. “You’re beautiful,” Hob whispers into his mouth and Dream swallows a whimper. 

Hands stroke and twirl the waves of his hair, and Dream loses himself into the feeling, the way it’s edging into too much, the reverential way Hob touches him, looks at him. 

“So beautiful,” Hob says, a hand going down his throat and the compliments itch under his skin, doesn’t know how to deal with it. “Can we―I want to see your tail in the daylight. If you want,” Hob rambles, brown eyes shining in the light. 

Huffing, Dream gets up, Hob coming with him as they slowly walk into the forest, “perhaps.” Hob manages to look away from him to stare at the forest, eyes wide at the sun and shade. Though Hob does always go back to staring at him intently, until the next thing distracts him. Their hands brush occasionally, Hob’s beaming face almost as bright as the sun above them as they reach the river. 

Once Dream starts undressing, Hob’s eyes remain fixed on him, greedily taking in his body as he steps out of them. “Hob,” he scolds lightly, and the vampire purses his lips, hunger at least being hidden, though not that well, from the way almost-black eyes stare at Dream. After hours of sun and Hob’s heated gaze, it's cool and refreshing as he steps back into the river, spending moments underneath the water before he breaks the surface. 

Kneeling on the edge, Hob catches him, a hand going into his hair ― and an arm going his waist as Hob looks at him, head-to-tail. Hob breathes, fingers clenching in his hair, “I can’t help it ― you’re so gorgeous,” the vampire breathes, “so fucking―”

Dream cuts off Hob’s praises with a kiss, grabbing onto Hob’s knees as the other man moans, pressing into his mouth. The arm on his waist moves, a hand to his back, caressing the back of his tail with callused fingers, the fins going down the back centre shivering under his touch. 

“So fucking beautiful,” Hob says in between kisses, “the most amazing―” 

He cuts Hob off with another kiss, this one more biting. Then he pulls Hob into the river, insides squirming as he tries to get Hob to stop talking. Hob moans as his tail winds around the other’s waist and legs, trapping them as Dream bites into his mouth, words muffled by Dream and the water.

-

Dream feels too many things ― so much love and affection, can fill it spilling out of him the more he’s with Hob, and there’s only an acceptable amount he can share before he gets terrified, wants to go back to the labyrinth he calls home. 

And of course, Hob accepts Dream’s desire to leave with ease, just say the word, Hob states.

Though, he’s not leaving yet, wanting to soak up more of Hob’s presence ― like how Hob’s recently been soaking up the sun, treating each morning fearfully, like he’ll suddenly burst into flames that particular day as he puts a hand out into the sunlight. 

Of course, Hob says that he’s okay with it, but considering the vampire’s bruising grip on his waist, the scrape of fangs, almost digging into his throat but not breaking skin. Hob’s other hand is over his eyes, nails digging into skin and Dream whines. “More,” he breathes, can feel Hob’s forehead pressing against the back of his neck. 

“More?” Hob asks, amused, fangs scraping down his spine and he shudders. Down one notch, two notches and Dream’s exhausted body twitches, his slit leaking painfully. Groaning, he presses up against Hob’s body, keeping him trapped on the bed ― with his tail flopping around, the tapered end of it before his large fins wrapping around Hob’s ankle weakly. “You’re falling apart,” Hob says softly.

Dream uses an ounce of energy to thrash up against the vampire more. “More,” he growls, voice thin ― and Hob complies, fingers pressing into his slit and he howls, the overstimulated pleasure-pain drowning his thoughts. Dream pants, desperately grabbing onto the wrist over his eyes with one hand, while the other is for tugging Hob by the hair, making him groan and nuzzle into his throat. “Yes.”

“See how it is,” Hob mutters into his skin, fingers hooking inside, easily finding that spot which makes Dream scream and see stars, tail weakly hooking around the other’s legs. Hob shushes, hands squeezing around his eyes ― and that’s when Dream notices the tears, before another wave of pleasure overtakes him, “Fuck,” Hob groans and he’s suddenly turned over, blinded the light and the way Hob stares at him as fingers slip out, making him whine. “I know, I know,” Hob breathes, voice sounding as wrecked as he feels. 

Something presses against his slit and freezes, looking down to see the tip of Hob’s cock pressing into him ― and he’s had Hob’s fingers, yes, his tongue ― but this they’ve yet to do ― and Dream lets out a choked sound at the sight, slit leaking as it slowly enters. 

“Holy,” Hob pants, and Dream lets out a ― tone, pulled from deep inside and Hob shakes on top of him, inside him, and a hand covers his eyes again. “Dream, Dream, Dream,” Hob chants, and another tone escapes him as balls and hairy thighs slap against his scales. The slow drag out feels like torture, his sound more mournful before Hob slams back in, fucking him in a way that makes him writhe and jolt. 

“More,” he croaks, hands scratching up Hob’s chest, up to his neck and hair, and he can feel his eyes roll back in his head as Hob shudders and whines against him. 

Dream’s existence becomes the prick inside him, Hob pressing him to the bed ― the fangs against his neck and he keens. Hob groans, almost in reply and Dream manages to get a hand into soft brown hair, tugging the vampire closer. And Dream is exhausted, but so aroused, can feel his emotions shorting out at the depth of his feelings, especially as Hob roughly fucks him.

“Tear,” he whispers, voice cracking over air ― and Hob’s other hand digs near his collarbone, healed flesh of Hob’s mark twinging. “Please.” 

Hob says something, but the words are incomprehensible with all his feelings ― and Dream yells, throat hurting from it. And from the sudden pain, fangs tearing down his shoulder, and Dream’s brain goes white. 

-

Dream wakes up to a bright light piercing his eyes as he licks his dry mouth, can feel the shape of Hob resting over half of him as he rubs his eyes. Wriggling his feet shouldn’t be a surprise, but it does when the last he remembered, he had a tail. Finally opening his eyes, he stares at the shoulder in front of him, scratches digging in ― 

“Don’t leave,” he vaguely remembers saying, like it was someone else, a mass of nerves and want, as unwilling to let go of Hob, and he winces as he slowly adjusts, can still feel Hob inside, the feel of it calming, even with Hob being soft. Looking around, he stares at Hob, face calm as he sleeps on the pillow, arm wrapped around him loosely, which he gingerly moves as he spies a large jug of water next to him. 

Confused, but also parched, Dream doesn’t question it as he grabs it, body twinging with various aches as he drinks it all. Dream groans and presses back into Hob, his arms going around the other’s waist with a sigh. 

Dream winces, the joint between shoulder and neck aching ― and he can feel it, fangs carved into flesh and muscle, can feel it close to his bones. He swallows, pulling away slightly as he covers it with a hand, pressing softly into the crags and tears, the marred flesh and a path of sharp teeth. 

“Could still heal it,” Hob says, voice scratchy and Dream flinches, staring at Hob in shock. Hob’s eyes are still closed, though eventually one opens half-way, shadowed by long lashes, “just saying.” 

Huffing, he presses his exhausted body closer to Hob as they entwine, and Hob lets out a tired groan as he puts himself on top, taking Hob fully inside him, arse twinging. 

“Of course not,” Hob mutters, sounding half-asleep and like Dream’s being ridiculous. 

-

The Strid is the same as it always is, even with him next to Hob, who is kneeling on a rock, and Dream misses him already. “Are you sure you don’t want to visit?” He asks, turning his hands over so their hands can press together, Hob squeezing them. 

Hob looks down at the river, not as scared as he was last time ― though, it being daytime also helps. “Ask me next time,” Hob says, smiling. Dream nods and purses his lips, the lower half of his face going under the water as he thinks about just taking Hob, pulling him down to the depths of his territory. 

He would’ve, before Burgess. And apart from the sick feeling he gets at his thoughts, there’s also the way Hob loves living ― his endless joy at the new days, feeling the sun on his skin, new inventions and things to learn, and taking that choice away would make Hob hate him, resent him. Dream is at least mollified by how Hob is less terrified of the Strid, remembering last time how Hob was more like a statue, staring down at the water like it’d grab him where he stood. 

“Will there be a next time?” Hob asks softly, still smiling down at him and Dream huffs, bubbles floating on the calm top of the river, hiding the miles of labyrinths and fast currents. Putting his arms on the edge of the rock Hob’s on, he rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, Hob,” he says and the vampire beams, perking up. “Plus, I do have to check on my new guest, aside from spending some time in my home.” 

Hob blinks and lets out an ah. “I forgot about him,” Hob mumbles, blinking. Dream chuckles, gripping Hob’s fingers as he kisses them. “Sorry,” Hob says after, wincing. 

“It’s alright,” Dream says quietly, wanting his voice to be hidden by the forest around them. Hob still hears him though, putting a hand on his face to guide him up for a kiss, soft and sweet. “As long as he fades into nothing, no-one mourning him, everything will be balanced.” 

Hob kisses his cheek, nose pressing into him, “it’s what he deserves.” Hob’s other hand holds his other cheek, brown eyes fond and concerned, “just come back, okay?” 

Dream swallows, Hob no longer talking about a visit, about a whispered confession―

“I think by the next time you come back, I plan to go to a beach. Get a big shell to put at the front door, with a key for you in it,” Hob says and Dream’s pulse spikes. 

“You could’ve just given me the key,” he says weakly, voice rusty. Hob gives him a confused stare, glancing down at the river, “I have magic, Hob.” 

Hob’s face reddens, “well, fine, I’ll just give you the key next time! I didn’t think―” Dream cuts him off with a kiss, hands on Hob’s beard as Hob follows him down, Dream’s face almost submerged before Hob pulls back with a gasp. He can’t stop smiling as he pulls himself back onto the rock, content as Hob reaches out to stroke his hair. “I’ll miss you,” Hob says, and Dream’s heart aches. 

“And I you,” he replies, holding Hob’s wrist as he presses kisses to his wrist, no pulse to be found, yet Dream kisses where it would be anyway. 

“Look after yourself,” Hob states, tugging him into another kiss, a line of it, making Dream gasp and hold onto Hob’s thigh with his free hand. The healed-over gash on his shoulder is where Hob ends up, and he shivers as the over-sensitive skin is bitten red, no trace of fangs to be found. 

Dream shudders and brings Hob in for another kiss, filthy and biting. Hob moans and pulls him up, uncaring of his clothes getting wet as Dream presses into his front― 

And Dream leans back with a gasp, disappearing into the Strid, his home before he decides to stay, to turn away from the water, the split-second impulse terrifying him enough to let the currents take him away 

[Fin]