#because even people that say they want to take things slow don’t really fully get what I mean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

five-and-dimes · 4 months ago

Text

Skin Deep

Dreamling Bingo Square D2: Bar Fight

Rating: Explicit

Ship(s): Dreamling

Warnings: Implied past rape/non-con (not explicit or described)

Hob has a routine for how he uses his tattooed, biker aesthetic to coax people into his bed, and tonight he knows who he’s going for the second he steps through the door. The man at the bar is just Hob’s type- lithe and pale, artfully messy black hair framing his face. Despite the warmth of the bar, he’s fully covered up, a black turtleneck hugging his body and leather gloves covering the hands tapping away at a laptop. Hob wants to peel the fabric off of him, wants to see that pretty white skin blush beneath his mouth.

Hob has no idea what he's getting into, but he knows it'll be worth it.

Read on AO3

The thing is, Hob knows what he looks like.

He likes what he looks like- thick set and strong, muscle and fat filling him out, abundant body hair, and numerous tattoos and piercings adorning him. With a leather vest and a motorcycle parked outside of the pub he owned, he looked like every tough biker stereotype, only offset by his wide grin and friendly demeanor.

Hob likes the way he looks. In part, he’s not ashamed to admit, because he is a lot of people’s type .

Specifically, when he walks into the pub, he is usually guaranteed at least one stuffy, buttoned up patron who secretly wants a little excitement in their life will look up and stare a little too long to be subtle. It’s too easy, the way Hob will sidle up to some nine-to-fiver, “just unwinding after work,” they explain, and Hob offers to buy them a round, and they ask Hob about his tattoos, and then Hob offers them a ride home if they don’t mind riding on the back of his bike, and by the end of the night he’s got the nice quiet secretary who “doesn’t do this normally, really,” moaning in his bed.

Tonight, he knows who he’s going for the second he steps through the door. The man at the bar is just Hob’s type- lithe and pale, artfully messy black hair framing his face. Despite the warmth of the bar, he’s fully covered up, a black turtleneck hugging his body and leather gloves covering the hands tapping away at a laptop. Hob wants to peel the fabric off of him, wants to see that pretty white skin blush beneath his mouth.

When he approaches, he is confident that he will get exactly what he wants. The stranger looks like the type that needs to relax, and Hob is more than willing to offer his services. He gives the bartender, Johanna, a quick look, wagging his eyebrows and nodding towards the man with a lecherous grin. Johanna rolls her eyes, but says nothing. As much as she gives him shit for his habits, she still keeps her mouth shut about him being the owner of the New Inn, so when he goes after someone sitting at the bar, she treats him like just another regular, and not her boss and longtime friend.

Sliding onto the stool next to the stranger, he swings his body around until he can lean backwards against the bar top casually. The man glances at him out of the corner of his eye, eyes narrowing slightly, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Hob.

“Hey gorgeous,” Hob drawls, nodding at the nearly empty glass of something clear that sits to the side of the man, “Can I get your next round? I find that drinks taste better when they’re shared,” he winks.

“No thank you,” the man responds without hesitation, continuing to type away without sparing Hob a second glance.

Hob grins wider. He loves when they play hard to get.

“Well that’s a shame,” he spins in his seat, facing forward and gesturing to Johanna even as he continues speaking to the man next to him, “You look like you’ve been working hard. Everyone can use a break now and then.”

Johanna places his usual order- a simple whiskey on the rocks- on the counter in front of him, not bothering to linger. Hob takes a slow sip, letting the taste wash over his tongue and maybe swallowing a bit more prominently than is strictly necessary. The man continues to ignore him, but when Hob slips his leather jacket off his shoulders, he catches the man’s eyes darting towards him. Icy blue eyes roam over his arms, muscular and hairy and tattooed, and Hob doesn’t see any lust or want, but he does see curiosity. And he can work with that.

“Like what you see?” He asks teasingly.

The man huffs, turning his eyes back to his laptop, but Hob leans forward and continues, “Might seem crazy, sitting and getting stabbed with needles for hours, although to be honest I barely felt it,” he flexes subtly. The stranger doesn’t see it, so he keeps chatting, “But I like them. Getting to decorate myself however I want, make a statement, tell a story.”

The word ‘story’ pulls the man’s gaze back to him, staring at Hob intently, and he grins, “I could show you more of ‘em if you want,” he says suggestively.

Next to him, the man arches a perfect eyebrow as he drawls, “Does that line actually work on anyone?”

“You’d be surprised,” Hob shrugs, “But the more important question is, is it working on you ?”

“No,” he responds without missing a beat, and despite not being the answer he was hoping for, it is so deadpan and blunt and utterly unexpected that Hob cannot help but burst into laughter.

“Wow, you don’t pull your punches!” He puts a hand over his chest theatrically, “It’s always the quiet ones that stab you when you aren’t looking.”

“You were looking.”

Hob laughs again. Oh, this guy is a riot. Hob feels something in his chest, a little flicker of flame that he has to beat back down until it turns back into lust.

“You’re right, I was,” he concedes, looking the man up and down blatantly as he licks his lips, “And for good reason. A pretty thing like you here all alone? That’s asking for the exact kind of trouble I specialize in.”

The laptop slams shut, but it feels more like a door being slammed in his face.

“Well then,” the man drawls, “I will save myself that trouble, and find somewhere else to be alone.” As he stands to gather his things, he catches Johanna’s attention. When she approaches, he slings his bag over his shoulder and gestures between his drink and Hob, “Put it on his tab.”

It’s official. Hob is smitten.

“You know I’m good for it,” he grins, waving his fingers at the stranger’s back, watching as he leaves without a second glance.

When he straightens in his seat, Johanna is raising an eyebrow at him, “I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you strike out.”

“Nah,” Hob smiles wider, leaning his chin against his hand, “I think it’s gonna be the slowest I’ve ever succeeded.”

Hours later, Hob goes home alone, but he barely notices. He’s too distracted thinking about the beautiful stranger from the bar.

~~~

A week later, the stranger is back. He doesn’t sit at the bar this time, instead occupying a small table for two in the back corner, laptop once more in front of him and a glass beside him, his clothing concealing him just as it had before. Hob feels an excited little leap in his chest, forcing himself to stop by the bar to grab a drink instead of beelining straight for the other man. When he does approach, he notices that the second chair is pointedly occupied by the man’s messenger bag. Grinning, he casually grabs a chair from another table, pulling it up and seating himself at the man’s table confidently.

The scrape of the chair against the floor makes the man jump slightly, head snapping up and blinking in surprise as Hob settles in across from him.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

His eyes narrow, spine so straight it almost looks painful, “It seems like you are the one incapable of staying away.”

“Can you blame me? I’m surprised no one else has tried to catch your eye.”

“Everyone else seems capable of taking a hint,” his eyes return to his computer, but his fingers don’t move.

“Everyone else is a coward,” Hob quips, taking a sip of his drink as he leans back in his chair, “The best things in life take a little work.”

“Is that what this is?” The man raises an eyebrow, “Work?”

“It’s a fun puzzle. Like the NY Times crossword. It’s only fun when it’s hard.”

“You do the New York Times crossword?” The disbelief in his voice is blatant.

“I’d do it in pen if I had the actual paper,” Hob brags, “But I make do with their app.”

“You do not look the type.”

“Oh, so now we’re profiling, eh? What’s that saying about books and their covers?”

“You have put far too much effort into your cover for me to believe you don’t want me to make assumptions.”

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?” For a moment, he leans forward to rest his chin on his hand, before abruptly sitting up. He doesn’t want to look like he has a schoolgirl crush after all. “All this and we still haven’t even introduced ourselves,” he holds out a hand, “Robert Gadling, b ut my friends call me Hob.”

The man doesn’t take his hand, simply raising an eyebrow, “Are you sure they are friends and not bullies?”

“Hey, it’s a perfectly fine nickname!” Hob laughed, “Old family name, who am I to break tradition?” He drops his hand, raising his own eyebrow in return, “I take it your name is better?”

“Do you actually care?” he fires back, “You don’t seem the type to remember it the next morning.”

“Again with the assumptions!” Hob shakes his head, and tries to grin, but is caught off guard to find that just a little of his mock offense is real, “I’m not an animal. I’ll remember your name and make you breakfast the next day.”

Across from him, the man leans back in his seat, and for the first time Hob gets the sense that he has his full attention.

When his eyes drift over Hob’s body, it doesn’t feel like judgment, but it doesn’t feel like lust either. Just like the last time, it feels like curiosity.

“I will not be going home with you,” he declares finally, looking Hob straight in the eye, “regardless of whether you remember my name or make me breakfast.”

“Bummer,” Hob responds easily, “I’d still like to know your name.”

There is a long moment where they simply stare at each other. Then, the other man slowly and gently closes his laptop, not the slamming door of their last meeting.

“Next time, perhaps,” he says, gathering his things once more.

Hob grins, “Next time, then.”

Watching the man leave, he gets the distinct sense that he just passed a test.

He goes home alone again, and he doesn’t even care.

~~~

The third time, Hob is there first. When he had arrived he had immediately descended on a sharp-dressed businessman who looked like he’d run his hand through his hair a few too many times, tie loosened enough to undo the top button. Everything about him screamed that he’d had a long day and could do with some fun. Hob was good at fun. He was in the middle of telling the man all about how freeing it felt to ride a motorcycle and how he happened to have an extra helmet when his stranger walked in.

He enters like a shadow, a silhouette just barely offset by the paleness of his face. As he approaches the bar, his eyes flick over to land on Hob where he’s still got one hand playing with the man’s tie. There is a barely perceptible purse to his lips and a look in his eye that can only be described as disappointment before he looks away.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, my friend just walked in and- I just need to- it’s complicated, sorry, hope the conference goes well,” he scrambles from his seat, nearly knocking the chair over in his haste. He’s pretty sure he’s given the poor man whiplash, but he can’t bring himself to feel too guilty. The fact is, this man was just a distraction from the one who’s really been occupying his thoughts.

When he reaches the bar, Johanna is just placing the man’s drink in front of him. She gives Hob a pointed look, as though she knows he fucked up. Hob just shrugs. What can you do?

Slipping into the seat beside his stranger, he puts on his best winning grin, “Fancy meeting you here. Weren’t planning on saying hello?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he replies smoothly, opening his laptop and waiting for it to turn on.

“You could never interrupt,” Hob responds a little too honestly.

He sees the man’s hands clench into fists on the keyboard, “You should go back to him,” he turns his head to glare at Hob out of the corner of his eye, “You already know I will not give you what you want.”

“Still no name then?” Hob quips.

“We both know you want more than just my name.”

Hob doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

“I suppose that’s true,” he drawls, “I also want to know what you’re always typing away at.”

There is a heavy sigh in response, “You are persistent, Hob Gadling.”

“One of my best qualities,” he leans forward, grinning widely, “Got you to remember my name, didn’t it?”

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Hob swears he sees the man’s lips twitch towards a smile. And then, miraculously, he turns to face Hob.

“I am a writer,” he explains, “I am in the process of outlining my next novel.”

Hob whistles, impressed, “ Next novel, huh? Is that why you don’t want to tell me your name? Don’t want me fawning over the famous author?”

“I use a pen name,” he states plainly, “I simply enjoy watching you struggle.”

“Should’ve known,” Hob shakes his head with a laugh, “What genre do you write?”

“Fantasy.”

Hob is a little bit terrified of the feeling blooming in his chest, “For real? That’s amazing! So is what you’re working on now the next in a series, or do you write standalone novels?”

The man seems surprised by the question, but turns to face Hob more fully, “I have written standalones before, but this particular story is the third in a trilogy.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re so focused on your outlining. Gotta make sure you wrap everything up properly.”

“Indeed.” There is a pause as he seems to consider something before asking, “Are you a fan of fantasy?”

“Oh absolutely,” Hob replies gleefully, leaning over and holding out his right arm. Winding around his forearm is a serpent-like beast, waves around its body and a delicate compass by its head, stylized like a monster drawn in the waters of a medieval map.

“Always loved stories of monsters and magic,” Hob explains. Once again, he sees his stranger’s eyes sharpen at the word “story”. “I especially love old sailors' stories, ‘ here there be monsters’ , sirens and leviathans. We don’t know nearly enough about our oceans to convince me it’s all fantasy. But to avoid sounding totally off my rocker I’ll begrudgingly use the word,” he winked.

“Fantasy realism, one might say,” the other man quips with a smile.

Hob likes him when he smiles.

“One might.”

The stranger refuses to tell Hob anything about his book, nose up haughtily as he claims he doesn’t want to give away any spoilers. But they talk about other books, and movie adaptations, and when he finally stands to leave, the man pauses for just a moment.

“Dream,” he finally says, voice grave and regal, “My name is Dream.”

And then he is gone again, leaving Hob to utter the name under his breath to himself, just to taste it.

~~~

“If you’re so anti-people, why do your writing at a bar? Why not just tap away at home?”

Hob had arrived a little later than usual this evening, and had sighed in relief at the sight of Dream sitting in the back with his laptop. He was tapping rapidly, barely sparing Hob a glance when he slid into the seat across from him. While Hob was used to the man giving him the cold shoulder, he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He’d thought after being given a name, they were making some kind of progress.

Dream narrows his eyes at the question, finally pausing in his typing to answer, “I am not ‘anti-people’,” he insists, “I simply do not enjoy strangers invading my space.” He raises an eyebrow at Hob pointedly

“Oh, I’m hardly a stranger at this point,” he grins.

“I know you as well as I know any actor,” he replies coldly, no hesitation, “skilled at your craft, and completely fake.”

That… hits a little too close to home, and Hob feels himself tensing, his own voice turning cold as he responds, “All the world’s a stage, sweetheart. Don’t pretend your high-and-mighty schtick isn’t its own act.”

“Perhaps you should worry less about the stage,” Dream snapped back, “and more about your audience.”

Rolling his eyes, Hob crosses his arms, “God, I can’t believe you pissed me off enough to quote fucking Shakespeare,” he grumbles, mostly to himself.

Dream scoffs, “I can’t believe you know Shakespeare.” Hob feels himself bristle, and Dream raises an eyebrow, “If you do not like my ‘high and mighty’ act, you are welcome to find another,” he gestures at the other patrons in the bar, several of whom Hob can tell at a glance would be his usual targets before he met Dream.

It strikes him, suddenly, that this is another test. Dream has been trying to scare him off since the moment Hob first saw him, and the moment he found a button of Hob’s to push he started slamming it. He thinks back to their last conversation, and something in him settles.

Maybe Dream had a point. He’s starting to understand his audience.

He allows himself to relax, leaning back in his seat with a smirk, “Listen, it’s not that Shakespeare is bad . And I’m definitely not saying he’s unimportant, from a historical standpoint. I just think he gets way too much hype.”

Dream blinks slowly, and Hob gets the impression that a lesser man would be gaping.

“Like, if I could just read Shakespeare, or watch one of his plays, and just experience it for what it is on its own? I probably wouldn’t be so bitter,” Hob explains, “But it’s the hype. Had to do a few too many essays on the guy in school and hear a few too many professors go on, and on, about him. He got built up too much and then couldn't live up.”

Slowly, Dream closes his laptop. Hob expects him to stand and leave, but instead, he folds his hands in his lap, tilting his head at Hob curiously, “It is not his work or merit that you dislike. It is the way you experienced it.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Hob shrugs. He nods his head towards Dream’s closed laptop, “You leaving me again?”

“No,” Dream answers carefully, “Now I’m interested.”

“In me?” Hob feels his traitorous heart stutter hopefully.

Dream grins slowly, “In your experience.”

Hob grins back, leaning forward on the table, “Lucky for you, baby, that’s something I’ve got plenty of.”

~~~

Johanna has taken to rolling her eyes dramatically every time she sees Hob practically skip over to Dream. Hob has taken to ignoring her.

He tells himself he likes the challenge. He tells himself it’s more fun seducing someone when it takes a little effort. He tells himself that’s the only reason he hasn’t gone home with anyone in months, why he’s taken to scanning the bar for the shape of a dark silhouette of a man instead of the shape of someone who might find him useful for a night.

He hopes if he tells himself enough it will become true.

“You know, you never answered my question,” Hob prods one night, a few drinks in and having coaxed Dream into closing his laptop while they talk, “Why come to a bar to do your work?”

There is a pause, and Hob is surprised to see that Dream seems to be truly considering his answer. “I do not like to be alone,” he finally answers, “not truly alone. In my empty apartment just staring at-“ he cuts himself off. When he continues, he is even more tense, “It is nice to be around people. In a crowd. Even if I am not a part of it.”

His voice is even and steady, but to Hob it still feels so… sad.

“Do you want to be a part of it?”

Dream dips his head, looking down at his gloved hands and tugging at the edge of his shirt sleeve, “I don’t think it matters what I want.”

“It matters to me,” Hob replies softly.

When Dream looks at him, his eyes are carefully blank, windows with the curtains drawn tight. “Are you sure?”

There’s a lot Hob’s not sure of. This isn’t one of them.

“Yeah, Dream,” he smiles, “I’m sure.”

Leaning forward, Dream rests his chin on one hand, and Hob can’t tell if he believes him or not. “And what of your wants, Hob Gadling?”

Hob’s mouth moves on autopilot, “I’m a simple man, with simple wants,” he grins running his tongue across his lips suggestively.

Dream shifts in his seat, leaning away from Hob, “Less simple than you think, I believe.”

Raising an eyebrow, Hob can’t help but question, “Me or my wants?”

He can only watch as Dream stands, going through the motions Hob has become so familiar with from each time he decides it’s time to walk away.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

~~~

Hob has no idea how Dream always manages to do it. One minute Hob’s sliding into the stool beside him at the bar, rattling off cheap pickup lines that make Dream huff and glare.

And the next, he’s rambling about the worst essays he ever read back when he was a history teacher.

“I literally gave them outlines. My office hours were practically 24/7, and these punks still handed in papers with my name spelled wrong in the header and describing the 20s as ‘Ancient History’.”

Beside him, Dream’s lips twitch towards a smile, “I suppose it depends. Which 20s were they writing about?”

“Har har,” Hob rolls his eyes, “You’re hilarious. Prehistory is important, you know, and very different from medieval times, which is very different from Ren Faires, but even that was hard to drill into some of those kids’ heads.” He gestures enthusiastically with his hands, “And history is interesting ! Obviously I couldn’t go as in depth on every subject as I wanted too, but you would think just the sheer amount of time I was trying to cover would catch their attention. Imagine being too young to buy a pint and someone tells you we’ll only be covering 3000 years of history? Like, it’s mind blowing to me.”

Dream is giving him his full attention, something soft on his face, “It is a shame they did not appreciate your knowledge.”

His heart skips a beat, and with it Hob is suddenly struck by the fact that he has been rambling for most of the evening about literal ancient history that no one alive cared about. How did that even happen? How did Dream always manage to fluster Hob to the point of falling back on his old, nerdy habits?

It’s uncomfortable. He wishes it felt unfamiliar, but the truth is it feels too familiar, and he has no idea what to do with that. These are someone else’s habits.

So he takes a step back.

Shaking his head, he grins sharply, “Honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Make a better living owning a pub than I ever did as a teacher. Plus here I have the added benefit of beautiful patrons.” Next to him, Dream frowns, furrowing his brow as Hob leans forward to rest his chin on his hand, biting his lip as traces a finger over the cuff of Dream’s coat. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months now. What do I have to do to get you to shed a few layers, huh?”

Dream tenses so quickly and so sharply, Hob almost imagines he can hear his bones creaking. He jerks his arm back away from Hob, sliding to his feet to put even more space between them.

His eyes are cold and glassy. Angry and frightened and hurt.

“Do you want to know what the last person who saw me naked did?” His voice is clipped, slamming his laptop shut and gathering his things into his arms before hissing through clenched teeth, “They didn’t care when I said stop .”

Hob thinks it would have hurt less if Dream had simply stabbed him.

“Dream, I…”

The other man nearly runs from the building, one hand gripping his bag while the other clutches his coat closed, as though there was any risk of skin showing through all that fabric.

“Dream-“ Hob stands as Dream opens the door, calling out, uncaring of the other bar guests, “Dream!”

“You sit your ass right the fuck down, Gadling.”

Hob has known Johanna for most of his adult life, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her sound so sharp.

His voice wavers as he looks between her and the door, “But, I just want-“

“Do you really think following him outside, at night, after what he just said to you, is going to make him feel better?” Johanna interrupts. She doesn’t sound angry, exactly, just… strict. She’s not messing around right now.

And she’s right. Hob knows she’s right, and he finds himself collapsing back into his seat like a puppet with its strings cut. “Fuck,” his voice cracks, and he puts his head in his hands as if he could hide from the past five minutes.

“Look,” Johanna sighs, crossing her arms, “I’m gonna give you some tough love. You’ve been batting your eyelashes at that man for months now, and you know what I’ve noticed?”

“That he hates me?” Hob mumbles miserably.

“That he hates your act ,” she corrects sternly, “But every now and then you loosen up and forget whatever stupid script you’ve written for yourself to get into people’s pants, and it’s like,” she scrunches her nose in distaste, “like he lights up a little. Like a stray cat crawling out from under a car, or, whatever. Something stupid and sappy like that.”

Furrowing his brow, Hob glances up, hardly daring to hope, “Really?”

“Really,” Johanna answers definitively. “He actually likes you . Even if you don’t.”

Hob opens his mouth, but closes it without saying anything. There’s nothing he can say that Johanna doesn’t already know.

“Even if that’s true,” he responds slowly, “there’s no way I’ve got a shot now. Not after…” he waves his hand vaguely before dropping it back onto the bar with a soft ‘thud’, “...y’know.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Johanna shrugs, pushing Hob’s drink towards him, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

~~~

Hob waits for over a month.

Thirty-three days, technically. But who’s counting.

Normally Hob visited his own pub once or twice a week, taking care of any official management business at home. But for thirty-three days Hob goes to the New Inn every night. He sits in the back where he has a clear view of the door and he waits. If anyone approaches him he tells them the other seat is taken, he’s waiting for someone, they’ll be here soon he’s sure. He ignores the pitying looks, and the number of nights Johanna has to silently switch him to water instead of whiskey, and the way a not small part of him wants to give up and fall back into his routine.

He keeps waiting.

And then, on the thirty-third night, Hob doesn’t even make it inside the pub. He stumbles when he sees the dark figure leaning against the wall beside the door to the pub. Dream is a thin void in the shadows, a silhouette with just the slightest spots of color where his cigarette casts a faint glow on his face.

He steps forward cautiously, like approaching a stray cat. Desperate not to scare him off again.

“Hi,” Hob says, barely audible as he exhales the word.

Dream looks at him, and he looks so tired , “I couldn’t decide whether to go in or not.”

Nodding, Hob looks down in shame, “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“I don’t know who you are ,” Dream continues, voice strained and frustrated, “Sometimes. You seem so…” Hob can’t tell if he is struggling to find the words or to say them. Finally, he clenches his eyes shut and admits softly, “Sometimes you seem so safe .”

Hob wants to cry.

“You can be so kind, and funny, and- and someone I want to be around,” Dream rushes on, “And then all of a sudden you go back to being someone who just. Just wants something from me that I can’t give.” He drops his cigarette, grinding it out under his boot as he whispers, “You give me whiplash.”

Johanna’s words ring in his head, about Dream hating his act, and it only just now occurs to him that of course Dream wouldn’t be able to tell which part was the act. All he knew was that Hob had two different sides that he couldn’t seem to settle on. How terrifying that must have been.

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, looking at Dream even as he doesn’t look back.

“I don’t understand your persistence. Even before…” Dream trails off, waving a hand vaguely, “Just. Before. Always, I guess. People do not find me worth the wait.” His lips twist in a mockery of a smile, “Surely you have noticed. I am stiff, and awkward. I can be prideful, and cold, and… generally off putting,” he says, with a note in his voice that tells Hob he is quoting someone, “I am too much work for far too little reward.”

“Bullshit.”

Dream’s head snaps up, brow furrowed in surprised confusion, and Hob rushes to get the words out, “That’s absolute bullshit. I know I-” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “I know I started things off all wrong. I know when I first walked up to you I was just another asshole looking for a hookup. But it’s not work to get to know you. It’s not a chore to treat you with respect. I’m not waiting for anything, even if I’ve been shit at showing it. I’m not putting up with all these moments between us just to get to the sex. I want the moments in between, want whatever you’re comfortable with.” His hand twitches at his side, wanting so badly to reach out but not feeling like he is allowed just yet, “I’m excited just to see you. There is no work, no reward . Spending time with you is a gift .”

Dream looks at him, searching his face before swallowing thickly, “You are much bigger than me,” he states bluntly, and Hob has never wanted to shrink so badly, “If I wanted you to stop something, I could not make you. I would just have to trust that you would listen.”

His eyes are challenging and questioning and desperate, and Hob feels his heart break. “I get it,” he chokes out, “I… I know you might not believe me yet, but I would. I will , I will always listen to you. You’re in charge, you can choose the pace, or, or if you even want anything more than this at all, and I’ll only ever be grateful to have met you. Even if you walk away right now and decide you never want to see me again… I’d be sad, yeah, but. I’d still be glad to have met you.”

There is a long pause, Dream considering his words with a look of uncertainty. He thinks about Dream’s words, I don’t know who you are , and takes a deep breath, decision made.

“Can I… can I show you something?” He waits until Dream glances up at him to start tugging at his own shirt, waiting until Dream nods hesitantly before shrugging off his leather jacket and tugging his shirt over his head. He grips the fabric tightly in one hand, and almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of being nervous at being seen shirtless, given how often he used to spend naked with complete strangers. But he knows this is different.

“A lot of these don’t mean anything,” he begins, gesturing at the tattoos covering his skin and the metal studs through his nipples, “After a certain point I was just filling up space, trying to complete the aesthetic. But some of them still, y’know. Say something about me.”

He points at the tattoo on the right side of his stomach. His tattoos blend together, so few people notice the individual images unless he draws attention to them. Normally, he doesn’t want to draw attention to them.

Dream blinks, lips parting in surprise at the tattoo Hob normally prefers goes ignored, “Is that,” he asks slowly, “a Pokémon tattoo?”

Hob grins bashfully, “Ah, I was wondering if you’d recognize it.”

Nodding, Dream stated easily, “Eevee.”

“Yup. Always was my favorite,” here Hob lets himself be a little enthusiastic, let himself start to shrug off the instinctual embarrassment, “I mean, the fact that they can evolve into so many different things, all depending on their environment and how they’re raised. It’s poetic,” he says determinedly.

He is rewarded when Dream looks to be fighting back a smile, teasing without malice, “It is a children’s cartoon.”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t cry during Mewtwo’s speech in the movie.”

“I never saw it.”

Hob gasped, clasping his chest dramatically, “That is a crime!”

Dream lets out a small, soft exhale, the closest to a laugh Hob has ever heard, and it makes it all worth it. So he continues, twisting to point at the intricate text across his shoulders, decorated like an illuminated manuscript.

“You’ve already heard me ramble on about Chaucer, so this one shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.”

It’s a tattoo he doesn’t often see himself, only ever catching the edges of the decorative ropes out of the corner of his eye. But he still knows it well: “ Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury”

“There was a time I thought I would get my doctorate in Medieval literature and language, and I was honestly excited to do my dissertation on The Canterbury Tales.” He still thinks about it sometimes. More, he privately admits to himself, since meeting Dream. As though that part of himself that he had given up on was still clinging inside him. “It… didn’t end up happening. But it’s still something I’m passionate about.”

Moving on, unable or unwilling to dwell, he lifts his right arm, pointing to a tattoo hidden on the inside of his upper arm. Leaning in to get a closer look, Dream’s lips twitch towards a smile.

“It’s so…. cute,” he says teasingly, “I would not expect that.”

Hob can feel himself blush, glancing down at the image of a pink and orange cartoon cat holding a strawberry, “Yeah, yeah. I had a cat named Strawberry growing up, and a friend of mine drew this for me after she passed. I don’t usually draw attention to it cause it does, y’know. Clash.”

Dream hums thoughtfully, “No,” he says confidently, “I think it fits well.”

The words are so simple and yet they make Hob’s breath catch in his chest. Turning around, desperate to move on before he loses his nerve, he points a finger at the next tattoo. When he looks over his shoulder, he grins at the sight of Dream biting his lip, very clearly stifling a laugh. Hob laughs too, as he’s learned to when it comes to this particular ink.

“It seemed like a good idea when I was drunk,” he laments, remembering picking the gothic font for the word “Harder” tattooed on his lower back. “You wanna know something funny though?” Hob turns back around, continuing when he sees Dream’s eyebrow raised questioningly, “I’ve only bottomed once since getting that tattoo. Guy saw it and proceeded to listen to my ink instead of me. Not-“ he rushes to elaborate when Dream sucks in a breath, “not like that . He was an asshole, and it was some of the shittiest sex I’ve ever had, but he never crossed any lines, promise.”

Dream relaxes minutely, nodding in acceptance, and Hob’s heart warms at the other man’s concern for him. It gives him just enough courage to move on.

“This one is… hard to talk about.”

He points to his left bicep, Dream tilting his head slightly to take in the tattoo of a magic eight ball. A sliver of the eight at the top and a reading at the bottom that says ‘Try Again’, a large field of solid black separating the two and forming a nearly perfect circle.

“It’s a coverup,” Hob admits softly. “I was nineteen. Got mixed up with a bad crowd. I wish I could say I was just stupid but… the truth is I was mean . I was selfish, and cruel, and bigoted. Enough so to get a fucking hate symbol tattooed on my arm.” Hob has to close his eyes, breathing past the shame, “I’m not that person anymore. And maybe I can’t undo the harm I did in the past, but the least I can do is not walk around and make other people see something that makes them feel like shit.”

It’s a time in his life he hates thinking about, preferring to pretend it never happened. As though covering up the tattoo could erase the fact that he was ever such a shitty person. When he glances up at Dream, he thinks there might be a hint of judgment, a fraction of what Hob himself feels, but there’s also… acceptance. Not of the past, not the person he once was, because that person was unacceptable. But acceptance of the present. He looks like he knows Hob better and is not thinking less of him for it.

And so he keeps going, hand drifting to his chest, “This one is hard to talk about too, but for a different reason.”

It’s cliche. It was cliche when he got it, and Eleanor teased him relentlessly but fondly, but Hob had no regrets. On his chest, over his heart, are three doves, with three dates beneath them.

“I got the first two after I married Eleanor.” Dream’s eyes snap up to his, surprised and confused. Smiling sadly, Hob points to the first of three dates under the birds, “One for each of us and our wedding date. Super sappy, but I didn’t care. And Eleanor loved to tease me but I know she loved it too.” His fingers drift over to the third dove, “I got this one added after Robyn was born.” He taps on the second date, “I had this image in my head, of getting a whole flock tattooed on my chest, of running out of room and filling every spare inch of my skin with my family.”

His voice cracks on the last word. He presses his palm flat over his chest, over his heart, over the tattoo, as if he could press it even closer. When he moves his hand a minute later, he simply slides it up just enough to show the third date.

“Drunk driver,” he chokes out, “I wasn’t even there. Eleanor had been picking Robyn up from a friend’s house. I was getting dinner ready for when they got home. It was still warm when I got the call.”

It hurts less now, the pain dulled by time. But it’s still there . He thinks about telling Dream about how he had considered getting this one covered up too. Not even with a picture, just a black hole over his heart where his family used to be. He remembers how Johanna talked him down, told him to wait a week, two weeks, a month, and then suddenly he realized that he didn’t want to cover them up. Because his heart wasn’t a black hole. He was still here, and he would carry on, and he would carry them with him. So he simply added the third date instead.

Hob thinks about telling Dream all of this. But after the fourth time he opens his mouth and nothing comes out, he feels soft leather against his skin. Dream places his gloved hand over Hob’s, resting against his chest, and slowly intertwines their fingers.

That little bit of contact is all it takes for the dam to break. “I thought that they were it for me,” he confesses, “I thought that I was done. I dropped out of school, only barely managed to keep myself above water, bought this pub through grit and luck. I knew I had to survive, had to keep living, but I thought I was done loving .”

His voice cracks again, and he realizes that he needs a minute to compose himself or he’s going to shatter before he even gets to the important part.

Dream gives him that minute. Silent and steady, stroking his thumb against Hob’s.

Finally, he is able to take a deep breath, and he continues, “I got into this routine. Puffing myself up and mastering every line and pose to have a little fun, casual sex, because I thought that was all I wanted. I don’t… really know what to do without that script. When I want more than just sex.” When he looks up, Dream is staring at him with watery eyes, jaw clenched. “I haven’t felt like this since Eleanor,” he admits, not as ashamed as he thought he would be, “And it’s terrifying.” He lets out a watery laugh, “Sorry for fucking it up.”

The hand over his grips a little tighter, and Dream looks like he has made a decision.

“You didn’t fuck it up.”

Hob isn’t sure if he wants to insist that he did, or just say thank you, but before he can make up his mind, Dream is leaning in to kiss him. His eyes flutter closed, his focus narrowed into the soft press of their lips, and the way Dream’s free hand drifts up to rest against his neck.

“Take me home with you,” Dream murmurs against his lips, and Hob feels it like a gut punch.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, I meant what I said-“

“And I meant what I said,” Dream interrupts, carding his fingers through the hair at Hob’s nape. “If you would rather not, that is fine. But if you are so willing to listen to what I don’t want, be willing to listen to what I do ,” he places a pointed kiss at the hinge of Hob’s jaw, making him shiver as he repeats himself, “Take me home with you.”

Hob exhales shakily, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. You’ve certainly never been shy about telling me off before,” he laughs, and feels it catch in his throat when Dream’s tongue chases the motion, “To my place. And we can figure out the rest together, yeah?”

“Yes,” Dream pulls away reluctantly.

Pulling him in for one more kiss, Hob can’t help but grin mischievously at him, “As long as you don’t mind riding on the back of my bike. I have an extra helmet.”

Dream steps back, and Hob misses the contact already, “Lead the way.”

Once Hob has put his shirt and jacket back on and they are situated on the motorcycle, Hob glances over his shoulder, and allows himself to be a little flirtatious, “Hang on tight, sweetheart.”

It backfires when Dream slides his hands around Hob’s waist, kneading at the soft flesh of his stomach before tightening his grip. One hand is braced just below his pecs, his thumb just barely brushing against where his right nipple piercing can be felt through his shirt.

Hob doesn’t believe in miracles, but it might be the only explanation for how he gets them to his flat without crashing.

~~~

Once Hob closes the door behind them, he has no idea what to do next.

He knows he needs to trust Dream to be honest about what he does or doesn’t want, but he’s so terrified of messing it all up again.

Luckily, Dream doesn’t seem to mind taking the reins, and Hob finds himself pushed up against his own front door as Dream kisses him firmly. His hands rest on Hob’s stomach, pressing and gripping and pulling him closer until their hips are flush together. Hob was hard the entire ride here, but now he can feel Dream’s answering arousal pressed against him. All he can do is moan against Dream’s mouth, arching his back against the door to shrug his jacket off. Dream pulls back just enough to do the same with his own coat.

It strikes Hob that this is the first time he has seen Dream with even that one layer removed. No matter how muggy and warm the New Inn got, Dream always kept his coat tight around himself. There isn’t much difference now, at least not visually. He still has his turtleneck, the sleeves falling past his wrists over his gloves, his jeans. He is still a black shadow standing in Hob’s entryway, even without his coat. But Hob knows it's important. Knows it deserves another kiss.

When Hob kicks his shoes off Dream once again follows suit, though he is forced to take a moment to loosen the laces before revealing his predictably black socks. In between every motion they return for kisses, constantly drawn to each other, each kiss getting deeper and hotter and more desperate.

“Dream,” Hob moans, the name muffled against the man’s lips, “Tell me what you want? Anything you want, anything at all,” one hand cards through wild black hair while the other grips a sharp hip bone, holding him as close as possible.

There is a soft hum in response, Dream looking up at him through dark lashes as he takes a moment to consider. Then he takes half a step back and holds out one of his hands. It reminds Hob of a king presenting his hand to a subject, and so he cannot resist taking the offered hand and bending his head to press a kiss to the covered knuckles.

He’s rewarded with a soft huff of laughter, and when he raises his eyes, Dream is smiling at him, “You may remove it, if you would like,” he says with a note of teasing.

Hob grins, straightening, and takes his hand in both of his own. Reverently, Hob tugs at the fingers of the smooth leather, well worn and soft. He slides it off Dream’s hand gently, and feels his jaw drop almost comically when he is granted the sight of intricately tattooed skin.

The top of Dream’s hand is decorated with a thick black outline of a cathedral window, similar designs running down the tops of his fingers. He turns Dream’s hand to look closer and finds himself gaping at a black starburst in the center of his palm, rich black specks splattering out to the edges of his palm. The ink is so thick and saturated, it feels like he can barely make out Dream’s skin beneath it.

His staring is interrupted when Dream silently offers his other hand, waiting expectantly. He is no less in awe when he removes the remaining glove and finds matching tattoos, holding both of Dream’s hands in his own as he admires the cathedral Dream has made of his skin.

“Take me to bed,” Dream says bluntly, “and I will show you more.”

Swallowing thickly, Hob can’t resist leaning in slowly, kissing Dream again when he doesn’t pull away. No matter how stoic Dream may try to appear, Hob knows he can’t rush this. Hob doesn’t want to rush this.

Once he has kissed some of the tension from Dream’s body, he begins carefully walking backwards towards his room, still holding Dream’s hands. Still kissing him thoroughly. He stumbles a few times over his own clutter, but it’s worth it to be able to taste Dream’s soft breaths of laughter against his mouth. In the bedroom, he moves them deliberately until the backs of his knees hit the bed. Reluctantly, he releases Dream’s hands, letting himself fall back onto the mattress with a little bounce, crawling back until he can sprawl out among his pillows, head propped up enough to gaze at Dream. For a moment Dream stares, blinking slowly like a cat. Hob grins, patting his lap in invitation, and that gets Dream’s lips to twitch towards a smile. He climbs onto the bed gracefully, settling to lightly straddle Hob’s thighs.

As soon as he’s close enough Hob is leaning up to kiss him again. He’s never disliked kissing, but ever since Eleanor it’s just been a means to an end, a detour from what he was really looking for. But now, he feels like he could kiss Dream all night, just kiss him, and he wouldn’t even notice the time passing. He could get lost in the softness of Dream’s lips, the bite of his teeth, the taste of his sighs.

But then he tugs at Hob’s shirt lightly, questioningly, and Hob is all too happy to let those gorgeous, tattooed hands explore his skin. It is strange to pull his shirt off for the second time in as many hours in completely different contexts. This time his shirt is tossed carelessly to the floor, and Dream does not hesitate to cup Hob’s pecs, massaging his flesh and running his fingers through the thick hair obscuring the art. Hob can’t help but moan, almost embarrassed by the sound until he sees the way Dream’s eyes darken with want.

A whine escapes when Dream pulls back, but he is distracted from the loss of Dream’s hands when he sees him deftly pull his turtleneck off, his hair falling wildly around his face when the fabric is released from over his head. He is expecting it this time, and yet it still comes as a shock to see miles of richly inked skin.

Much like his hands, all of Dream’s tattoos are solid, heavy black. His entire chest is taken up by an elaborate, upside down castle. Tall spires and towers reach from his upper chest down to the dip of his ribs. Around his collar bones, the image becomes distorted, black waves like water ripples, like a mote wrapping around his shoulders. On his stomach are three black stained glass windows, thickly framed with countless patterns and pieces inside, the line work thinner and yet so dense it still hides the pale skin it is drawn on. Hob catches glimpses of wings wrapping around his sides, and in the center of his throat is a solid black outline of a gemstone, the barest lines left open to show the cut of it, with black lace patterns wrapping around his neck like a choker.

“I was held for a month.”

Dream’s words startle Hob from his revelry, ice water running through his vein as he looks up at Dream’s carefully blank face.

“I lived with my sister. The man wanted her. He had been stalking her, but when he finally sent his men after her, they made a mistake. And they grabbed me instead. So he decided to make do with what he had. He stripped me bare.” Here, Dream pauses. Ducks his head, closes his eyes, steels himself for the next three words. “He. Hurt me.”

It’s something out of a horror novel. The type of tragedy you hear about on tv but doesn’t feel real. But the pain on Dream’s face is very, very real.

“Afterwards, I could not handle the sight of my own skin. I could not handle the idea of someone else seeing my skin. I could not stand the thought of being forcibly exposed again. It was a struggle to shower, to change my clothes, anything where I would have to see myself. It is still hard, sometimes. So I decided. I wanted a covering that could not be taken from me.”

Looking over Dream’s tattoos with this knowledge, Hob understands. He can see the way the swathes of black form a cloak around him, shielding him. He imagines sliding his hands beneath the ink, parting it like fabric to reveal marble white skin. He imagines Dream pale, and vulnerable, and alone, and he wants to cry. He wants to wrap Dream in more fabric, cover him with his body, and protect him from the past.

“It was not easy,” Dream continues, “the process. I had to uncover my skin in order to cover it with ink. But I was,” he stops, and he softens, just a little, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I am . Lucky. To have a trusted friend who is a tattoo artist. Who was willing to work with me, and allow me to have sessions in a private room, and to hold my hand when I could not breathe.”

He looks down at his own arm, at the heavy black shapes that twist with the movement of the limb as he raises it up to hold in front of himself, “It helps,” he states plainly. “Even if my skin does not feel like it belongs to me anymore. The ink, at least, is mine.”

Someday, Hob will cry for Dream. Someday he will let the pain he feels for this man well up and spill over because Dream deserves to be cried over. But right now, he reaches up to Dream’s raised arm and twines their fingers together, tugging him down gently until he can press a kiss to the soft skin of his inner wrist.

“It’s all yours,” he says, voice full of wonder and awe, “All yours, all beautiful.” He lets out a huff of laughter, “Here I’ve been going on about my own tattoos, and you’ve been walking around as a masterpiece the whole time.”

Pulling his hand free of Hob’s grasp, Dream shakes his head, “No.” He leans back, resting his palms on Hob’s stomach, eyes roaming over the colors and lines adorning his skin, fingers tracing each picture idly, “If your body is a collection of stories, then mine is the Library of Alexandria. It’s all just ash now.”

Hob isn’t entirely sure of what to do, and simply bursting into tears doesn’t feel like the best option. So instead, he sits up slowly, pushes himself up until he and Dream are face to face and chest to chest, and then he wraps his arms around him. He hugs him firmly, but not so tight that Dream could not pull away if he wanted to. But Dream stays still in his arms, hands still pressed between them as Hob cups the back of his head with one hand while the other strokes up and down his spine.

“You are so much more than ash,” he whispers into his hair, “and I’m going to do whatever I have to to prove it to you.”

For a long moment, he just holds him, and he thinks it might be enough when he feels the way Dream sighs and sinks into his arms. But eventually, Dream pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing against Hob’s.

“You can start by kissing me again.”

Hob can do that.

It’s an easy slide from soft back into heated. The embers that the sorrow had damped reigniting with each tug Dream gave to Hob’s chest hair, each earring Dream catches in his teeth. Hob lays back against the pillows and pulls Dream on top of him again, reveling in the way their bodies fit together. Hob moans loudly when Dream twists one of his nipple piercings, and then pulls an answering groan from Dream when he grazes his teeth over inked collar bones.

His hands drift down to the sharp jut of Dream’s hips, his thumbs brushing over feathers and flowers before ghosting towards the button of his jeans. He has barely brushed the metal there when black lined fingers wrap around his wrists.

“No.”

When he glances up, Dream is still flushed and panting, but he’s not looking at him, his head turned to the side and wild hair obscuring his eyes. He is not tense, exactly, but not relaxed either. He seems like he’s bracing for something.

Hob’s heart hurts, but he manages a small smile, “Alright.” He lets his hands fall back onto the mattress. Dream hesitantly raises his head, expression carefully neutral as he looks down at Hob.

Humming, Hob questions gently, “No to undressing, or no to touching? Or no to both?” He keeps his voice light, hoping to convince Dream that any answer is okay, because any answer is okay. Hob meant what he said, and if Dream needed him to prove it he would, anytime, as many times as he needed.

Blinking, Dream glances down again, letting the fingers of one hand brush against Hob’s chest softly, tracing the lines of the Clippership on his right pec. Hob watches and waits as Dream bites his lip, brow furrowed as he carefully considers his answer.

“I think. I would like for you to touch me more,” he finally replies, glancing up through long eyelashes, “but. I do not wish to remove any more clothing.”

“Not a problem,” Hob grins, bringing a hand up to cover Dream’s, craning his neck to press a kiss to his sharp knuckles. “Can I touch you under your clothes? Get your pants open just enough to get my hand inside? Or would you prefer I touch you through your jeans?”

There is a slight hitch in Dream’s chest, and his eyes glisten as tears well in his eyes. For a terrifying moment Hob is afraid he has said the wrong thing, but then Dream is leaning down to press their lips together. Their hands are trapped between their chests, still clasped together, and Hob can’t help but moan at the feeling of Dream’s smooth chest pressed against his, at the way he grinds down to press their erections together.

When he finally pulls back to breath, Dream has mostly blinked the tears away, “You may put your hands inside my jeans. Just. Try not to push them down too much.” His voice is breathless, and still a little shaky, but the nervousness has been replaced by want, and Hob doesn’t think he will ever be able to deny this man anything.

“Whatever you want, love,” he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Dream’s hair, tugging him back down for another kiss. Being pressed together makes it a little more difficult to get his hand between them, to fumble with Dream’s jeans, but his gut tells him that Dream needs a distraction, and Hob is all too happy to provide one by sucking on his bottom lip, just a hint of teeth to the kiss.

When he finally gets his hand into Dream’s pants, Dream lets out a stuttering gasp, His prick is rock hard and burning in Hob’s hand, and when he brushes his thumb over the tip he can feel the precome leaking there. He gathers up the bit of wetness with his fingers to smooth the next stroke, relishing in the jerk of Dream hips and the hitch in his breath.

“ Yes ,” Dream exhales, his entire body writhing against Hob’s, the sharp points of his bones kneading into Hob’s flesh in a way that yesterday he wouldn’t have expected to be pleasurable. But tonight, he thinks he could come just from feeling Dream slide against him.

He starts a slow pace, mouthing at Dream’s jaw as he strokes him, “Like that, sweetheart?” Hob’s words are strained. They are so close together that his knuckles press up and down his own cock through his jeans with each stroke, rough and hard and exactly what he needs right now.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dream chants, voice gravely with lust, and he dips his head to latch his mouth on one of Hob’s nipples.

Hob lets out a sob as Dream’s tongue toys with his piercing, “God, you feel so good,” he slurs out, breathless and he hasn’t even been touched yet.

Apparently Dream can read his mind, or maybe just the desperation in his voice, because suddenly his hand is pawing at Hob’s fly. His back curls, putting a little space between them without separating their hips, allowing him to flick the button of Hob’s pants open. Hob lets out a shuddering sigh of relief at having even a little more room for his cock to breath, but the sigh quickly turns into a voiceless cry when Dream wraps cool, slender fingers around him.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” a part of him is worried he’s going to come from just that one touch, but somehow he keeps it together, even when Dream pushes his briefs down enough to grind their cocks together.

With Dream arching over him, he’s granted a view of the space between them. Lifting his head breathlessly, he sees the soft pink head of Dream’s cock revealed through his open jeans, framed by the tan skin of Hob’s hand wrapped around it. Most of his cock is covered by Hob’s hand, but as Dream thrusts into his fist, Hob catches the barest glimpse of the shaft. And he sees a hint of ink.

He doesn’t mean to tighten his grip, but he does, his hand spasming as he moans helplessly at the beautiful man on top of him. Dream whines at the feeling, rutting a little harder as he drops his forehead onto Hob’s shoulder, “Gonna make a mess on you,” he warns, breathless as the head of his prick smears precome through the hair on Hob’s stomach.

Hob’s pretty sure his neighbors hear the moan he lets out, “ God , please do.”

His words are enough apparently, because with a few quick stutters of his hips, Dream is coming over Hob’s hand with a sharp gasp, thick spurts landing in hotly across Hob’s belly and chest. As his orgasm tapers off, he grinds down hard on Hob’s cock, pressing his pelvis and Hob’s own hand against him, and then it’s Hob’s turn to come undone, adding to the mess between them with a long, drawn-out cry.

Hob’s not sure how long it takes him to come back down to Earth, his body still singing with pleasure and his breath slowly evening out. But when he finally opens his eyes, which he doesn’t even remember closing, Dream is still hovering above him, his own breath still a little quicker than normal. Dream is looking down at him, watching him with those sharp blue eyes, and when he sees Hob looking back at him, he smirks. And then, without breaking eye contact, he runs one finger up the center of Hob’s body, from the tip of his softening cock, up his belly, all the way to his sternum, drawing a trail through their combined spend until his finger is coated in it.

And then he licks his finger clean.

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob moans, one hand coming up to cover his face, trying to laugh but just sounding desperate, “Have mercy. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

When he spreads his fingers to look up at Dream, he finds him smiling. He looks relaxed, and mischievous, and happy, and Hob would do anything to make him smile like that every single day.

“My apologies,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. He rolls smoothly off of Hob, moving to lay on his back as he tucks himself back into his pants and straightens his jeans, “Our come just compliments your tattoos so nicely.”

Hob covers his face with both hands this time, trying to muffle the sound of his embarrassment and lust, “Menace. You’ll be the death of me.” He hears a soft chuckle, but they fall into comfortable silence, both of them coming down from the adrenaline of their climaxes. When Hob turns to look at Dream again several minutes later, he is staring up at the ceiling, hands folded laxly on his stomach.

“You can stay the night, if you’d like,” Hob offers, his voice a whisper so as not to break the peace, “I can sleep on the couch if you’d rather not wake up next to someone.”

Dream’s head snaps to look at him, his eyes wide with surprise. Hob looks back evenly, not taking it back, but not overexplaining either. Just gives Dream time to decide what to do with it.

“...May I have my shirt back?”

“Yeah, of course,” Hob replies immediately, sitting up with a groan and a wince at the increasingly uncomfortable mess on his stomach. But he ignores it for now in favor of reaching over the side of the bed to scoop up Dream’s turtleneck, handing it back to him easily. Dream silently slips it back over his head.

“…Is it really that easy for you?” Dream asks after a long pause, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his sleeves, “You are not… disappointed? With tonight? With... me?”

Hob feels his eyebrows reach his hairline. And the thing is, he knows what Dream is talking about, even understands it in a distant way, and so he knows he should probably respond seriously.

But the thing is, Hob knows what he looks like.

“Dream,” Hob speaks slowly and gestures at the drying come coating his abdomen, his spent prick still hanging out of his open pants, “do I look like I’m disappointed?”

For a moment, Dream just blinks, eyes wide with surprise as he stares down at Hob’s chest. And then he is slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle actual giggles , and Hob is so in love he can’t help but laugh with him.

“I think,” Dream says once he has composed himself, “that I would like to spend the night with you. In bed together.”

Hob smiles so wide his face hurts, “Lovely,” he says, “lovely, lovely.”

There is an easy peace between them as they move around the flat. Hob wipes himself down and then finds a spare pair of sweatpants. Dream changes into them in the restroom while Hob rushes to put fresh sheets on the bed, because that’s how badly he wants to impress this man. He thinks it might have backfired when Dream exits the bathroom to find Hob struggling with the fitted sheet. His face flushes, feeling embarrassed and incompetent, some small part of him feeling like somehow this will be what runs Dream off for good.

But Dream just smiles fondly, and moves silently to the other side of the bed to assist him, and everything feels right for the first time in a very long time.

When they pull the clean sheets back to slide under the covers together, Hob feels something inside of him settle as Dream curls shyly against his side. He pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him loosely, and smiles to himself when he hears Dream sigh softly and melt against him. He is lithe and lanky, and Hob can feel the points of his bones through the layers of soft fabric covering him. Hob is soft flesh and muscle, wearing only his boxers.

They fit together perfectly.

~~~

The next morning, Hob awakes to the feeling of Dream’s fingers running gently through the hair on his chest. Even half asleep he has the presence of mind to appreciate the feeling of Dream’s bare fingers touching him.

“Morning, darling.”

Dream startles a bit, but settles just as quickly, “Good morning, Hob.”

Hob rolls onto his side to face Dream properly, and they end up nearly nose to nose. Dream still has one hand resting lightly against Hob’s chest, the other curled under his chin, absentmindedly rolling the end of his sleeve between his fingers.

“I want to take you on a proper date,” Hob blurts out, “Y’know, dinner and a movie. Or something. Hell, you can pick what we do and I’ll just pay and carry your things. I just. I want to treat you right.”

Dream stares at him, looking surprised, and Hob keeps rambling, “Or not. If you don’t want to. I mean, even if you don’t I’m still probably going to get a tattoo for you. To match the one on my heart.”

He didn’t actually mean to say that last part out loud, and he’s positive it was far too much for a ‘morning after’ talk. But then, before he can get too caught up in his own catastrophizing thoughts… Dream is laughing. A full, proper, full body laugh, though it sounds rough and unused, as though he is laughing through a mouthful of broken glass.

It’s beautiful.

Dream kisses him, clumsily because he’s still smiling. He leans their foreheads together, and says, so earnestly Hob thinks he might cry, “I like it when you are sappy,” he pulls Hob close, tucking his head under Hob’s chin, “and I would love to go on a proper date with you.”

Hob tightens his hold on Dream, “Excellent,” his face hurts from smiling so much, “I’m going to spoil you.” Hob thinks he needs it.

He feels Dream hum against his throat, and then he is wiggling free of Hob’s grip, leaning back to look at Hob with a raised eyebrow, “But first,” he smirks mischievously, “I was told I would be provided breakfast in the morning.”

Hob was planning to cook for him anyway, but first he has to tackle him, and pepper his face with kisses until they are tangled together in a mass of limbs and laughter and ink.

~~~

A year later, Dream stutters through an explanation, even as Hob tries to interrupt with reassurance that he gets it.

It took some time, but Dream has shown Hob all of his tattoos by this point. The towers and trees along his legs, the birds and dragons spanning his back, the strange bone-like mask running down his spine. Hob has had the honor of pressing gentle kisses to all of them.

“It’s different,” Dream explains now, desperately, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or-... I don’t know, I know it’s silly, but I just-”

“ Dream ,” Hob cups Dream’s face in his hands, thumbs resting softly on his lips to silence his anxious rambling. “Love, it’s okay . I promise, it’s okay. I get it.”

And he does. He thinks it makes perfect sense that even after being allowed to see Dream’s body that he wouldn’t want Hob in the room when he is being tattooed. It’s different, he thinks, being seen in the safe intimacy of their home, versus a sterile shop where- willingly or not- he is experiencing pain. Or course he wants the comfort and familiarity of being alone in the private studio with his best friend.

Some of the tension melts from Dream’s frame, though he still has a touch of nervousness in his eyes, and so Hob leans in to kiss him softly. He lifts one of Dream’s hands and presses it to his chest, to the spot where, under his shirt, a fresh tattoo rests. Dream had helped him design it, a solid black silhouette of a raven, wings spread as it flies in the space below the image of three doves. He knows part of Dream’s concern is that Hob will be offended, because he was allowed to sit beside him and hold his hand while Hob got the tattoo dedicated to Dream.

But he also knows it’s different .

“I’ll be there to pick you up when you’re done," he says casually, "I’ll even bring you one of your ridiculous coffees.”

Finally, Dream smiles, relaxing as he finally seems to believe Hob’s words.

“I love you,” Dream whispers against his lips, and Hob will never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you too. Now go, before Lucienne has my head for making you late.”

That night, back in their shared apartment, Dream lifts his shirt to show where his stomach is wrapped in Saniderm. Hob’s eyes well with tears as he sees the vibrant colors beneath the clear plaster. The three stained glass windows on Dream’s abdomen, previously just stark black outlines, have been filled with a gradient of color. Bright oranges, purples, reds, yellows. A sunset or a sunrise shining through the windows.

“For the light you brought back to my life,” Dream had explained when he first told Hob of his idea. Hob had cried then. He cries now too.

Once their respective tattoos are healed, he knows neither of them will be able to keep their hands or mouths off of them, the visible proof of how they’ve changed each other. But for now, they settle for curling up together and kissing everywhere else.

They leave behind little love bites in the scant spaces between tattoos, until every spare inch is filled in.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #my art #human au #Goddamn this turned into a beast

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solselah · 10 months ago

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✨SECRETS ?✨

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

PILE 1 : So someone wants to tell you

SO BAD that they are scared of intimacy & being Open !! For them it doesn’t matter WHO you are it has been a persistent issue for them in life. They are trying their best to hide this from you , you can tell they don’t want to sabotage the beginning of something Amazing! They are holding back communicating to you that this is an issue they deal with. They tend to run when things get a little hard & they are TRYING to hold that back from you! They just don’t want to have to move on because of it. Honestly your understanding would touch them in a way they never felt before , prompting them to at least try to be transparent!! They are afraid of the karma they will receive from keeping this from you !! You can always ask to have a conversation and see how that goes as far as I see , it can go pretty well & encourage healthy habits!!

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

PILE 2:

Awee this is so adorable !!!

You have a lover or crush who secretly is in love with you (Too?) but the love where it’s so Mushy so sweet & pure!! They speak to their guides & ancestors/God about you!! They explain to them that you take such good care of yourself & Your just the definition of love for them! They leave this a secret because they want the seduction to like never END ! It just spices the dynamic up 100% they secretly watch you , definitely does not seem weird more so like if you’re walking by they are checking you out! they are looking for sure! You’re what we would call a

“secret lover”✨

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

PILE 3: soooo …. I’m getting two scenarios one is that There is some one intending to do magic on you !! I’m getting their name starts with the following

(N,L,S,U,D,C) for this next scenario you could be practicing mirror magic or Doing beauty spells which currently help your self love journey out 100%!!

I’m also seeing someone could be jealous of the results of these spells … it seems to also be some form of mirror magic / Beauty magic they want to “Reverse” I truly hear that someone is jealous of your looks! You’re looking like a baddie always / your looking handsome always & they really just can’t take it! The energy I’m feeling from them is Very bored & Powerless! Like this attempt to Put magic on you … or attempt to reverse yours!

this persons magic WILL NOT dare leave the 3D haha ! Little do they know your ANGELS are on GO ! & you have this natural connection to KALI MA who has been fighting these battles alongside you those that you can’t see fully ! Don’t you even worry. This persons magic is so petite & kind of already Got blocked by their own guides 😬 that’s how you know it’s petty!!

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

PILE 4:

The secret being hidden from you is the change you’re about to go through !! I’m not permitted to say too much but I will say it will have everything to do with public scenery , Party scene , and entertainment!! You will be stepping out a zone you haven’t left since maybe high school or even middle school for some !! This will change your personality and character for the better !! People wont even recognize your maturity and new zeal for life !! I’m so excited for you to experience this change and enjoy it as much as you can !! Later in life things will slow down in the sweetest way! For those who have been apartment hunting and looking for a HOUSE , this is coming in sooner than you think!! Also quick reminder to Someone make sure you Update your important information

License , certificates , Paper work etc , you may have someone who wants to double check so I would even make some copies if possible! Its always Beneficial to be over prepared than to be unprepared in totality. :)

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Hope you enjoy ✨

IG: @soleccentric

#pick a picture #pac reading #pick a card #spirituality #love #tarotdaily #tarot reading #connection #culture #pick a pile #universal #pick a deck #pick a photo #tarotcommunity #tarot #oracle cards

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jolalibrary · 22 days ago

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so, i know i hinted at it, but in november—my secret project is—I’m writing an original story.

I mentioned last month that I’d be around less in november and all of that still stands, workload, assignments, but I was cagey about the secret project—for absolutely no reason other than I am terrified.

this isn’t the first time I’ve written an original story (although was YA), but that time I did have a lot of personal things happen all at once, leading me to have a large mental health slip that now feels attached to me writing original, hence my fear. so, this is the first time getting “back on the horse”, so to speak and writing a different genre.

im sharing also to offer a preemptive apology if i seem off, more anxious and even more slow than I have been at getting back to people.

while I know I’m in a much better place, that I’m prepared health wise, have good people in my corner and a story I’m really excited about, my brain is slow to fully take that in. even as I just share this I’m anxious, and likely will be for the rest of this week. but some info for you:

this is a complete original story, so no fanfic works will be amended or taken down

it is a adult romance, because of course ✌️

it does have text messages (heheh)

I do want to stress! I am still writing fanfic (vampire!javi and blue and frankie will still be posted in november), I just will be slower.

and while I don’t wish to make this into a thing, I have being sneaky, and i think it’s also good for me to say what I’m doing to hold myself accountable, and have a place to run to and hide if I need it, while keeping those who support me in the loop—and explain why things might be slow.

anyway, I have rambled, i love you all, wish me luck 😂

#jo’s thoughts #jo writes an original #<- fucking terrifying that tag im telling ya #jo psa

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oddballwriter · 10 months ago

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Valentine's Day with the Moon Boys

Warnings: None that I really know of. To be fully honest I can't think of anything at all but if there is any then just let me know.

Author’s Snip: Happy early Valentine's to you all! 💘

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Steven Grant

The literal archetype of a Valentine

Steven gets you a mixed bouquet of your favorite flowers and some other flowers that mean something in flower language in regards to love, a gift basket of your favorite candy and snacks, and a handwritten card that is basically a love letter

And he gets you two a spot at that fancy restaurant you like

It's literally how you see a couple celebrating Valentine's Day in the movies

He's happy about any gift you got him too but honestly he, and the rest of them, love spending the day with you the most

Cliché? Yeah. But it's true. Steven loves quality time and being with you. And Valentine's Day makes it a bit more special even though they all love you year round

He also gets a bit giddy when you call him your Valentine even though he's your boyfriend/husband, it just makes him blush a little

Marc Spector

Marc is the type of person to complain about Valentine's Day and goes on the whole "It's just a way to sell overpriced chocolate and stuff." but he'll be damned if he doesn't do something with you either

He hates the commercialization of the holiday but he's your Valentine regardless, them's the rules

Marc also doesn't really like the whole fact that everyone is in all the restaurants to have dinner because then there's no parking and it takes a long time to get seated

If you want to actually go then he sucks it up because it's still nice to go out with you, but he actually prefers ordering from the restaurants and eating at home

You guys honestly have more power and say over things if you order delivery from there. If you want to feel fancy then you guys can get the fancy plates and put the food on them, buy some wine or whatever dress the dinner table with a cloth and candles, dress all fancy, and just eat there.

No loud chatter of other people or a waiter to come in at the wrong time and ruin the moment between the two of you.

Maybe you want to slow dance after eating. And you can just do that. You can just walk into the living room put on some music and gently slow dance and sway for as long as you want.

It's honestly so romantic with it genuinely just being the two of you together with no interruptions

Jake Lockley

Jake might be the one who takes you on a "normal" date, as in it's like all your other dates or it's not your typical "Valentine's Day" type of date. But he makes sure that it still feels special in its own way.

Like you do to the same diner and spot that you usually do but there's just this air to it that makes it so deeply intimate and romantic in its own way that only you two feel

I do like the idea of Jake basically "running away from a day" with you where you two just hop into his car and drive somewhere, sort of go on an adventure

I honestly don't know how to describe it other than you guys just go somewhere and there's just this type air to it that makes it something that isn't just the fact that it's Valentine's day

Like idk maybe you find this clearing that has a nice view or you just drive someplace specific

Something that later on down the line becomes "your spot"

You guys are basically having your own Rapunzel and Eugene on the boat moment or any type of moment where its just very much a loving/falling in love scene except you guys are probably falling even deeper in love

Taglist: Applications open

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader

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munsonsmixtapes · 3 months ago

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10 Blah Blah Blah sounds soooo good, can it be like, 1992? lol i just love 90s club music

Eddie Munson x dom!fem!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) oral (f receiving)

based on the song Blah Blah Blah by Kesha

If there was one thing about Eddie, it was that he was a yapper. The man loved to talk all the time, especially when he was nervous. And that was what you made him, nervous. He was honestly just surprised that you had even spoken to him, very sure that he was out of your league.

So he was throwing back beers like they were water and was yapping away, not even entirely sure what he was even talking about anymore. Something about Lord of the Rings? And you seemed so disinterested, almost annoyed with him and there was no way he wss blowing his shot with the prettiest woman in the club.

You scooted closer to him in the booth, your thighs touching his as you moved your hand up to play with his hair. You twirled the strand around your pointer finger and Eddie wondered how you knew that he liked that.

You were staring him down with that look that he knew so well. The one that people always put on to show that they were wanting to take things to the next level. And your eyes were moving to his lips, and you moving even closer.

"D-did you know that-" he was about to rattle off yet another fact, but you cut him off, pressing your pointer finger to his lips.

"Blah, blah, blah," you rolled your eyes. "You're really cute, hon, but you talk a lot. Meet me in the back at the jukebox if you're willing to zip your lips." With that, you stood up from the table and headed to the back of the club, Eddie's eyes watching your every move.

And he was quick to follow you like a lost puppy, losing you in the crowd, but still able to see the top of your head as you kept moving. He really liked you. He loved that you were bossy, willing to do whatever you asked because to his core, he just loved being told what to do, not wanting to make any decisions.

He watched you lean against the jukebox and wondered why it was even there since there was music blaring through the speakers. That didn't matter, though. Eddie was just looking forward to getting some action, something he hadn't gotten in ages.

Once he approached you, you were quick to grab him by the shirt, pulling him and pushing him against the jukebox. He let out a gasp at the sudden movement, but was eating it up, loving how you just took control and he was fully prepared to bend to your every command.

"You ready to be quiet, pretty boy?" You asked and all he could do was nod. "The only thing I want to hear you say is my name when I make you cum."

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, his eyes widening. You pressed your lips to his feverishly and he was quick to move with you, his lips slotting between yours. Your hands moved to his hair and you tugged on it as you slid your tongue into his mouth.

He immediately let out a moan and you chuckled against his lips, already feeling his cock hardening against you. You had him right where you wanted him and he was so quick to submit, wanting to do whatever you wanted him to.

“Already hard for me, hm?” You asked as your hand pressed against the spot and he groaned in response. “Don’t worry,” you bat your eyelashes. “I can help you out.”

“Please,” he begged against your lips and you took no time to spit into your hand and stick it down his pants, giving his cock a few slow pumps, wanting him to beg for more, needing it.

“Gotta beg me, pretty boy,” you said, bringing your hand to a stop, seeing that he was already close and that made you want him to beg even more. "C'mon, beg." Your pumps started up again and he was whining now, throwing his head back. His hands pressing against the machine, causing you both to jump.

Shania Twain's Man! I Feel Like a Woman blared from the machine, your hearts racing in your chests. You turned to him, seeing him clutching his, trying to catch the breath that he lost. Without a word, you took him by the hand and led him through the crowd. Eddie almost wanted to ask where you were taking him, but didn't want to ruin the moment by talking again.

He followed you all the way to the entrance of the club then out onto the street deciding that he would have followed you just about anywhere if it meant that he got to spend more time with you. He had only known you for a few hours and was already so down bad for you. That had to be a record of some sort for sure.

You led Eddie out to your car and took no time to push him against it, your lips finding his again as your hands pressed into his stomach, slowly moving down to the hem of his shirt. His arms hesitantly moved up to your neck and he wrapped them around it, pulling you even closer to him as your tongue slid into his mouth once again. You then opened the door to the back seat and pointed to the interior.

“Get in,” you commanded and he nodded furiously.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a smile and slid in the back seat as you followed him, closing the door behind you as you sat next to him.

“I’m on top,” you told him as you pinned him down to the seat. He looked up at your and you could see lust glazing over his pretty brown eyes. He just nodded furiously with that goofy grin on his face. It seemed that he didn’t care what you did, just as long as he got railed.

You reached to the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head before letting it fall to the floor board. You then kicked off your shoes then straddled his waist, running your hands along his torso, all over his tattoos that intrigued you. You pressed your lips to his collarbone, peppering his chest on kisses before moving lower, wanting to show some love to the scars that lined his torso.

You kissed all the way down to the spot right above his jeans and began to unbutton them. Eddie helped you pull them down, seeing his cock straining against his boxers. Just from the outline, you could tell it was huge and felt drool pooling in your mouth as you found yourself wanting to see what he tasted like.

You pulled down his underwear and his cock sprang free and you couldn’t help but stare at it, wondering how the fuck it was going to fit inside of you. Well, there was only one way to find out. You grabbed a condom from your purse and opened it before rolling it onto him. You then practically ripped off your dress and then settled yourself onto him, so grateful that you had decided not to wear any underwear.

You began to ride him, your hips bucking against his as you did so. You watched him come undone underneath you, his mouth opening wide as moans spilled from it. His hair was splayed out on the seat and he just looked so…pretty.

“Fuck, so good,” he moaned and you continued your actions, picking up your pace.

“Yeah?” you asked, your fingers digging into his wrists. “You like that, pretty boy? Look at you,” you let out a chuckle, leaning down so that your lips were ghosting over his. “Coming completely undone for me.”

“Don’t stop,” he whined. “I’m so close.” You picked up the pace, going as hard and fast as you could, seeing his back already arching in pleasure as he let out an almost scream.

“Coming already?” You teased him. “Well, I guess I’m better than I thought.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed, his back hitting the seat again as he came down from his orgasm. And you continued, wanting to get off as well, wanting him to see just how much you were enjoying what was happening.

As you continued, he bucked his hips against yours, finally getting the confidence to make you feel something. And from the way you were moaning as well, it seemed like the mission was accomplished. Your hands squeezed his wrists even more and he swore that he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

He continued to buck his hips against yours, watching you moan and whine on top of him, looking like something straight out of a porno he had watched. God, you were so hot that it was unfair and if you were going to keep that up, there was no fucking way he was going to make it out of there alive.

A scream ripped through you as you reached your orgasm, feeling it continue to build inside of you as Eddie bucked his hips against yours again and again, pounding into you as best as he could to the point where you were wailing.

“So fucking good,” you cried as his pace slowed, Eddie eating up every single look on your face and sound coming from your mouth. This was like something out of a dream for him. The only reason why he was sure that he wasn’t was because he could feel his cock inside of you and the sounds you were making were so real that it had to actually be happening.

As you came down from your orgasm, you pressed your lips to his in a heated kiss, taking exactly what you wanted from him and he was pliant to your touch. Your tongue slid into his mouth for a third time and he grabbed onto your hips, bucking against you once again. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it with his lips, loving to hear the sounds being muffled inside his mouth.

“Want to taste you,” he mumbled against your lips. “Please let me taste you.” The words came out more like a whine and now wanted to give in. You felt yourself getting even more wet as you thought about his mouth on your cunt.

“Want you to sit on my face and let me lick you clean.” You liked his sudden confidence, feeling the need to let him know how hot you found it when he took control even though him being a whiny submissive did it for you too.

“That can be arranged,” you smirked and you grabbed onto Eddie’s hands, letting him help you down onto his face. “But I think we should take this somewhere a little more comfortable.” You pressed another kiss to his lips then grabbed your dress, slipping it over your head before climbing off of him.

You then got into the driver’s seat while Eddie cleaned himself off, disposing of the condom and getting dressed. He then got into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt before you pulled out of your parking space, practically flooring it as you sped down the street. He was in shock from how fast you were going, but he was kind of into it, wondering how you looked so hot while driving.

You sped down the highway like a maniac but Eddie didn’t mind at all, although he would have preferred if you drove a little slower so he could have more time with you. Maybe it was just because you were different from all the women he slept with, but he was beginning to think that maybe he was falling in love with you. Or maybe it was just the after effects of the alcohol that was convincing him that he was.

Your car pulled up to a small cottage and Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, deciding that it didn’t look like somewhere you would have lived, but he liked it nonetheless. You both got out and headed to the door that you unlocked with haste, feeling more of your slick running down your legs because of your desperate you were for him.

You both abandoned your shoes at the door along with your purse then took him by the hand, leading him up the stairs to your room. As soon as you got through the door, your lips were on his once again. Your hands wound into his hair as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, causing you to let out a whine while tugging on his hair.

He bit down once more and a moan fell from your lips. You then lied back on the bed as Eddie got down on his knees in front of you. He spread your legs wide, noticing just how wet you were and feeling drool pooling in his mouth as he thought about getting a taste of you.

He lifted one of your legs and pressed his tongue to it, slowly licking up your thigh to clean on the slick that had run down it. And you had tasted better than he could have ever imagined. You let out a gasp at his actions and now suddenly wanted him to put his tongue anywhere he could get it.

He licked up your other leg and then without a warning, he began to suck on your clit, taking his time, really wanting to make you feel good. Not only was that a priority to him always, but he was also hoping that if he was that good that you’d fuck him again.

Your hands found their way into his hair once again and you gave it a tug as he got to work, flicking his tongue back and forth along your clit along with sucking. Your eyes closed as another moan left your lips as he moved to your slit, flattening his tongue against it as he licked across it slowly, wanting to savor the taste.

He then introduced his teeth, letting them slide against the sensitive skin and that seemed to unleash something in you as your back arched, another loud moan falling from your lips. He liked the sounds you were making, so he let his teeth slide a few more times, your hands tugging on his hair so hard being the indication that you were enjoying it.

For the finale, he shoved his tongue inside you, swirling it around slowly, still wanting to savor the taste, deciding that he could have done that for hours if you had let him. And he was hoping you would next time. If there would have been a next time. His tongue hit just the right spot and an orgasm ripped through you, his name falling from your lips.

He swirled his tongue one more time then removed himself from you, grinning to himself as he watched you come down from your orgasm. He threw himself onto the bed next to you, both of you out of breath from what you had just done.

To Eddie’s surprise, you rolled on top of him, resting your head on his chest, letting out a contented sigh. His arms hesitantly wrapped around your waist while your hands rested on his shoulders. After doing all that you had done, Eddie had to admit that it was odd to be doing something so innocent and wholesome, but there was now way in hell that he was going to pass up snuggling with you.

“Do you want to stay the night?” You asked. “I could definitely go for another few rounds.”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a sigh, raising his fist in the air in victory before you snuggled further into him. And Eddie decided that he’d yap all night long if it meant that you’d shut him up like that again.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff

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quinn-pop · 1 year ago

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let’s do some autistic meta knight headcanons!! over explaining my interpretation of meta knight yet again wooooo

this orb has NO idea how to talk to people!!! outside of work anyway. a lot of this is partially due to upbringing (suppressing his emotions all the time) but he does not know how to express emotions, like…at all.

this goes into a few things

1. yeah talking is hard. even after figuring out what he wants to communicate he will struggle. conversation can be so overwhelming, especially under pressure. he will need time lol

2. because of that, forming connections is hard. i really don’t think meta is much for shallow relationships, and certainly not early in the timeline. which also means he has very little experience with friendship. so a lot of the relationships he did have went kinda neglected, and issues that probably could’ve been worked on by talking became…*cough romk* escalated.

3. honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if meta convinced himself he couldn’t feel emotion (anymore) until like. katam-ish. he tried very hard lol

vulnerability is terrifying. (though this gesture here is also just comforting, like his little cape cocoon thing he does.)

unmasking—yeah im taking the mask thing very literally here—is a big deal and a very slow process for mk. i’m sure he has a lot of feelings on that lol. it served as a way to ensure no one could ever, y’know, see him.

i can’t say i think he’d ever fully ditch it—there’s always gonna be some days that are more stressful than others and if having it could help him get through it, it just makes sense. mainly when working.

it really is about vulnerability. granted, i don’t think he has the most expressive face (in my head every astral just tends to stare at things) but i doubt he has much control over it. can’t fake a smile but also can’t hide it. probably blushes easy because yeah, astrals; just look at kirby’s face.

just the idea that someone might be able to read his expression and know what he’s feeling before he’s ready for them to (or even understands it himself…) yeah he doesn’t want that

but emotional turmoil aside, i think his mask also hides a lot of his stims

remember that whole “suppressing your feelings” thing? yeah turns out that ignoring half your instincts isn’t a good idea. so in true meta knight style, he tries to stim as subtly as possible

1. he has the least control over his wings, so they will flick and twitch on their own. they’re usually a good indicator of how he’s feeling, not unlike the body language usually seen in cat ears and tails lol. flapping is also an extension of this of course, though he probably suppresses it more.

2. this also effects when he takes his wings out. pretty much every time he’s excited or nervous it just happens. kinda makes me wonder if his wing cape ordeal might also go into the suppression thing… (i’d say yes, but using a cape is also very comforting so it’s not necessarily a bad thing)

3. going back to the mask thing; he stims a lot underneath it. think like biting or pursing your lips. he bites his tongue and clicks his mouth. that sort of thing. his mask also makes it harder to notice that he is constantly sighing, humming, grumbling…all that

one nice thing about the mask though is that it helps a little bit with lights!!! woo

(look at him and his magically floating glasses)

sensory stuff—i think he’s mostly bothered by light and sound. maybe a bit of texture. he’s pretty sensory avoidant and perfectly happy standing off to the side not touching anything.

the one exception to this is physical affection, which is, despite all of this, most of how he shows affection. it’s a lot easier to hug someone than to try to explain your feelings for them, after all.

i think he would like pressure though. so that’s probably part of it. and i’m pretty sure there’s some connection in here to fighting (dang, is that the only way he knows how to get his energy out?)

anyway, pretty much all of this is in contrast to kirby, who i would gladly nominate as the champion of Doing Whatever He Wants. he might pick up a few bad habits, but he will never mask the way meta knight does. he might not understand how he feels, but he’s in tune enough to express it…usually.

this is a very good thing for meta because it helps him to do the same thing. kirby’s so energetic, it’s hard to not want to stim with him. it reminds meta to be kinder to himself and explore his own emotions. he can also help kirby understand themselves, so this connection is very important.

yeah, at the end of the day, everything kinda just boils down to kirby and mk as parallels

this is the conclusion i promise

to me, meta’s arc is about growing stronger by growing kinder, and this is mostly by learning to be kind to himself. letting himself be a person again, loving and understanding other people, and eventually, letting go of all the expectations placed on him and doing the things he’s always wanted to do…

autism headcanons are fun for me because it’s cathartic to write, but at the same time, it just makes sense in this sort of narrative. meta is, to me, inseparable from these things. and so is kirby! that’s a dynamic that’s a lot of fun to play with, and it’s at the heart of my kirby interpretation.

if you actually read all this WOW thank you

#i almost considered not posting this on a wednesday but then i wrote everything and uhhh yeah i think i gotta so #happy cringe day wednesday #for as many notes as i have on these characters i really don’t talk about it much #but meta knight is a special case because i am terrible at subtlety and he wouldn’t be meta knight without it #so this is to contextualize some things #because of what ill have in the next few days haha #basically these are just things i consider when writing meta #but a lot of it is subtextual and i dont know how well it comes across #kirbyposting #kirby #meta knight #headcanons #autism headcanon #this is practically an essay lol oops #i have like 2/3 of a fic that explores most of this in a way i probably won’t do again #but we’ll see if i ever finish it #god kirby concepts are so fun to chew on #i overthink everything i make so much lol

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genyasbf22 · 3 months ago

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Genya having a crush on a Male! Reader (rewrite)

Note: I changed the ending part at 4 am because I realised it was rushed…..enjoy your daily dose of doomed yaoi

Trope: angst

PS - Reader is a minor !! Please don’t be creepy thank you very much

You always knew what you were. You never really was attracted to women, and honestly, you didn’t really care. When someone asked you if you had a fiancé/girlfriend, you had no problem telling them you weren’t into girls. You were very much aware that being attracted to the same gender was only gonna cause you problems, not being able to marry, not being able to have kids, not being allowed to love your partner in public.

But who cares ? You were a demon slayer. Love didn’t matter. You were gonna die sooner or later, so finding love wasn’t your priority. You had friends anyways, very good friends. One in particular.

On the other hand, Genya Shinazugawa had no idea of what sexuality was. He was always taught that men falls in love with women. I mean, its normal right ? Never in his life he has imagined that maybe, men who loved other men and women who loved other women existed. When he grew a little older, he vaguely heard of homosexuality. And don’t take it to heart, but it grossed him out at first. Boys who likes boys ? That’s so weird…why on earth would someone refuse to love a girl and date a man instead ?

You two met a long time ago, before you officially entered the demon slayer corps.

It was the final selection. You were about 14 years old. You had to stay in those dark, hostile mountains for 7 days, trying your best to survive against demons. You saw multiple people your age getting killed, and to be fully honest, you struggled keeping your calm (which was understandable).

While you were trying to figure out if a demon was following you, you saw a tall, black haired boy from afar. He looked around your age, and you wanted to team up with somebody to feel safer. So you came up to him. It caught him off guard that you talked to him at first, He was probably expecting to work alone.

He refused to team up with you at first, assuming that you were ”too weak” and that ”you’ll slow him down”. How rude, why would he assume things about you when you two didn’t even know each other ?

For some reason, he ended up accepting anyways.

Nothing special happened during those 7 days. You two barely spoke to eachother. Just slaying demons and trying your best to survive.

Sometimes though, you could notice him staring at you for a little too long. But you didn’t pay much attention to it.

After the final selection, You said goodbye to Genya, telling him to be careful out there, and to take care of himself. He simply ignored you. What was his problem ?

Month later, you saw Genya again during a mission. What a coincidence you thought, maybe it was a sign for you two to become friends ?

You tried your best to be as patient, as nice to Genya as possible. He ended up ”tolerating you” enough to stop him from yelling at you all the time (which was a great start !) After achieving several missions together, you two slowly grew closer. Your personality matched his surprisingly well. You learned a lot about him, and he learned a lot about you. Genya started to open up to you about his brother and his struggles, asking you for advices. You were always very patient and made sure to tell him that you’ll always be there for him, which he was grateful for. He never told you, but you were his first real friend and his best friend, ever.

But things started getting weird. Well, i wouldn’t say weird, but complicated at least.

It was the first time in a long time Genya hadn’t met someone who showed so much interest with him. You were always carefully listening to whatever he was saying, the spark in your eyes never leaving. It flattered him a lot. He admired you so much, the way you fight, the way you spoke, the way you act with people. There was a desire in him that wanted to become closer to you. The more he hung out with you, the more he wanted you to spend time with him.

He didn’t know what that feeling was at first, obviously. He thought it was nothing but pure platonic appreciation. For him, being jealous whenever someone gets a little too close to you was completely normal. For him, his heart thundering in his chest whenever you complimented him was nothing but ordinary. For him, feeling his cheeks burning when your face was too close to his was a common thing. It’s normal right ? Boys don’t like boys. People like that are absurd. He’s not one of them. He’ll never be one of them.

One day, Genya had a big fight with his older brother, the wind Hashira. You hated that man. You hated the way he treated your dear friend. You had warned Genya about Sanemi a lot, telling him to never say anything about him eating demons. You knew damn well what he could do, and you wanted to do anything to prevent that from happening.

But Genya just didn’t listen. You knew he was stubborn, so when you saw him bleeding from his cheek after returning from the wind Pillar’s domain, you weren’t surprised.

You were anxious, you were tired, but you couldn’t be mad. Not at him. Genya was devastated from what just happened, he needed your presence and your support. You knew his relationship with his brother was putting him into a lot of pressure, the only thing you had to do was to find a way to cheer him up a little.

You didn’t have much time to do something for him. It was evening, shops were closed, so you couldn’t buy him any watermelon, like you usually did. It didn’t really matter anyway, Genya needed your reassurance, nothing else. So you helped him clean his wound and stayed with him for the rest of the day.

The sun was set, the night was slowly rising. You had to go home soon. You looked at your friend one last time. He looked back at you.

He loves you, you love him. It was pretty obvious, but ignoring that feeling was easier. You knew Muzan was going to attack the corps sooner or later anyway, you’ll probably die soon, but why does it matter ? So many thoughts running in your mind, oh how you wished life was easier.

You stare into Genya’s eyes. How perfect this man is. And suddenly your hand feels empty, aching to hold his. Suddenly you want to grab his face and kiss him, feel his lips against yours, fully love him the way you always wanted to.

But you can’t do this, you can’t do this to him, you can’t ruin you two’s friendship you knew he cherished. So you stay quiet, suddenly avoiding his gaze, looking down at the floor. You say goodbye, you tell him to take care of himself, to stay safe. He smiles slightly, waving at you.

And you’ll never know, you’ll never know how much he wished you could’ve done it, you’ll never know how much he craved your affection. You’ll never know how much he adored you, how much he needed you.

- - -

Author’s note: I’m sorry 😭

#genya shinazugawa x male reader #genya shinazugawa x reader #genya x male reader #genya x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kny x male reader #kny x you #kny x y/n #doomed yaoi

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pedrostylez · 1 year ago

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Don't

pairing: Joel Miller neighbor!au x fem!reader

summary: No outbreak, not canon in the slightest, Joel Miller as your neighbor growing up. You've returned home from grad school for winter break and Joel sees you in the bar

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count:2k

warnings etc: No outbreak Joel, no Sarah, age gap (like maybe 10-15 years) mentioned but not defined, fingering, dirty talk, angst, anger, drinking, alcohol, and food mentions

A/N: I've set this up to be focused on the smut and angst as much as possible, but there is a back story if it is wanted...I just can't seem to keep things short if I give the whole shpeal ya know? Anyways, I'm nervous when I post anything Joel but we are going to just roll with it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, darlin’.” He groaned, shutting the door with his foot as he pushed you into the bathroom.

The bar was dark, humid with the growing crowd of older men just getting off their shifts to have a couple drinks with their friends. You saw Joel when he walked in, t-shirt splattered with black tar and arms dusted with dry concrete as he stepped up to the counter and asked for a whiskey.

You didn’t really expect him to see you in the corner with your friends, who were all fixed on finding someone for you to go home with. They had been up your ass about finding someone for you, watching you cry over your previous boyfriend in the dorm room until you ran home to sulk there.

It had been easy to find comfort in Joel when you returned home.

And when he locked eyes with you after hearing your one friend laugh too loud, his neutral expression grew dark before taking another sip of his drink, turning to his coworker, and continuing his conversation. He was a master at ignoring you.

But now he was in front of you after following you to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Feeling like a cornered animal, palms sweating with anticipation of what Joel might say to you, you tried controlling your heartbeat.

“What?” You said just above a whisper, glancing at him and then turning around to the mirror.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at you and leaning against the door. “You can’t just come to the bar I’m at.”

You shrugged, picking at your nails for a moment before reaching into your purse. “I got here first. And I didn’t know you would be here; Shelby picked the place, not me.” You say quickly, pulling out a chapstick and looking in the mirror at yourself.

This wasn’t the club like at school, you didn’t have much to fix about your appearance. You weren’t even really all that drunk, only a couple drinks sipped on while your friends chatted away and pointed out people they thought were your type. You had only come because you knew Joel frequented here. You could be done quickly with applying your chapstick and checking your hair, but Joel made you want to take your time.

Joel stepped up behind you, looking at you in the mirror as one hand ghosted down your arm. You shivered at the feeling, pulling away slightly before subconsciously leaning backward into him. “We shouldn’t have done what we did.” He amends, locking eyes with you through the mirror and pulling his hand away. He lets you lean on him, his slow breaths expanding his chest and brushing against your shoulders.

You look down at your purse, picking yourself upright and away from him in an attempt to feign further innocence. You really weren’t the planner of this-you just didn’t tell your friends no when they were suggesting the bar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joel.”

You snapped your eyes up to him quickly to watch for his reaction. His jaw clenched for a moment before a small smirk climbed up his cheeks. “So we’re on the same page then darlin’.” He drawls, tilting his head around to look at your face. “Nothing can happen again.”

Your breath hitched as his hand hidden from the counter squeezed at your hip, turning to look at him fully. If he was going to say nothing could happen again, you were going to pretend it didn’t happen at all. You stood your ground. “Nothing happened to begin with Joel.”

Like a faulty lightbulb in your dad’s garage, Joel’s face blinked from satisfied to annoyed quickly, trying to control his emotions. “You sure you want to act that way darlin’? Instead of just admitting that we shouldn’t have done it?” He doesn’t wait for your reply as he spins you, pushing you to sit on the counter and allow him to slip between your thighs. “Acting like I didn’t fuck you? Is that easier for you?”

You closed your eyes at his brashness, fingers tightening around the strap of your purse. He was the one that said it shouldn’t happen again. He was the one that was upset you were in the bar with him. He was the one–

“Open your eyes,” Joel says softly, breaking you out of your thoughts and slowly lifting your eyelashes up to him. His face is still stern, but his stare widened as if he wonders what you’re thinking. “You have to stop.” He breathed across your cheek, hand reaching up to slide his fingers through your hair.

You sigh out “I’m not doing anything,” as his fingers curl, pulling at your locks. Your head is tilted back, heart thrumming with anticipation of what he is going to do. Your next inhale is all Joel–dirt and sweat and the malt whiskey on his breath, maybe some of that shampoo you left at his house a couple weeks ago.

“Don’t act like we didn’t.” He confirms, pulling your head to the side to expose your neck. “Even though it was wrong, darlin’. I don’t think I can stand for you just pretending it didn’t happen. Does that make it easier for you?” He is mumbling against your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

You barely nod, wanting to lean into his mouth, to let him mark you. But you know you can’t-not after the falling out you and Joel had when he told you it can’t happen again. “It didn’t happen.”

You feel more than hear the growl that bubbles out of his throat, the way he quickly presses his lips to your neck and sucks into your skin to leave a blooming red mark has you wincing. His intention is clear; to make you always remember him, even if it hurts you.

A big part of you is willing to let it happen.

His fingers are sliding down your stomach, the friction from your shirt onto your skin leaving a blazing trail. The humidity in the small bathroom seems to increase as his finger sticks to the now exposed skin just above your pants button.

Joel pauses long enough to have your eyes flicking to his, biting the inside of your lip to see if he is going to pull away. His eyes crinkle with his smirk, fingers fully dipping into your jeans and forcing open the button and zipper.

He passes the back of his index over your slit, hot on your skin as he shushes you when you gasp. “You’re okay baby, just wet for me, huh?” He waits for your response, wiggling his finger back and forth to make you squirm away from him. His other hand pressed into your hip pulls you closer, urging you to stay put. “Don’t move away from me.”

You sigh, shutting your eyes tightly to hold back a moan at just the connection. You’ve been wanting to reach out to Joel ever since he told you it couldn’t happen again but held back with the hopes that he would make the first move. Now here you were, desperate for his touch. “Please, Joel.”

Joel pulls his hand from your waistband, yanking down your jeans to your knees before pressing his fingers back to you. Now the pad of his thumb is over your clit, sliding down to your hole to collect the wetness you’ve left and bringing it back. “Don’t pretend that this didn’t happen. It’s the best thing you’ve had.” Joel growls out, pressing harder on your clit.

He’s not asking for a response, but you’re nodding at him anyway to let him know that he is, in fact, the best you’ve had. You feel light headed when he leans forward to connect his lips to yours, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip hungrily before pushing his way into your mouth.

You swear he’s only kissed you to keep your moans at bay as he pushes two fingers into you at once, pausing once he has them completely surrounded by your fluttering walls. “So needy, darlin.” He sighs, beginning the slow pump of his hand, thumb going back to circling your clit.

You groan in frustration at his words, wanting him to stop teasing you. But it’s like he has read your mind, bringing the hand that was keeping your hips from moving up to your jaw, wrapping tightly around your neck to keep you focused on him. “I know baby, I know. I’ll let you finish, don't worry.”

It continues like this, his fingers pumping into you, his thumb circling your clit, your hips meeting his hand with an obscene wet sound that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Joel’s mouth is agape, watching your face while his breath fans over your chin. He won’t let up, keeps encouraging you.

That’s it sweetheart.

So good for me, aren’t you?

You aren’t allowed to forget me this time.

Fuck, you’re so wet for me darlin’.

You reach your hand forward to dig into his forearm around your neck, your orgasm apparent and on the edge of letting go. Joel knows, smiling at you and leaning down again to connect his lips with yours like he knew the sweeter contact that he has deprived you of would make you tip over.

He bites down on your lip as you feel your vision cave in, black surrounding you to the point that you have to close your eyes and try to breathe through it, hearing Joel groan and push his fingers all the way in and hold you in his hand.

When the fog has lifted, his fingers still inside you, he pops off your mouth and releases your neck slowly. “Careful, darlin’.” He murmurs, holding you by the side of your neck as you lean toward him unconsciously.

You blink at him, whining as he slowly removes his fingers from you and brings them to his lips, and sucks on them. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as they trail down from his tongue, wiping them on the hem of his shirt.

He watches you for a moment, chest heaving and adjusting himself before stepping away. It is suddenly cold in this bathroom, the lights too blue, the tile too white. “No more.” He sighs, running the same hand that was just inside you through his hair. Something deep in your gut warms at the thought that he won’t know why he still smells of you later. “We can’t keep doing this.”

You scoff, hopping off the counter and holding on to the edge with white knuckles, hoping to not wobble in front of him. He reaches for you anyway, and you bat at his hand. “You followed me in here, Joel.” You turn back around to the mirror, glancing at him quickly before fixing your hair. There is an obvious glow to you, flushed and not fully put together, but you would pretend. “I’m allowed to be in the bar you’re in.”

Joel sighs, shaking his head and rubbing his neck. He looks stressed, regretful. “I’m too old for you.”

“Fine.” You snap, turning back to him. “Then let me move on how I want.”

He rolls his eyes at you, tilting his head. “What? You’re going to go cry to the other neighbor John then? Let him fuck you next?”

You feel tears prick your eyes at his assumption, but anger flushes your skin as you shove past him and out the door. You don’t owe him an explanation, and you sure as hell aren’t going to defend your case.

You already have, and that’s the real problem. This conversation has been in circles with Joel all of winter break, and you’re tired of it. You step to move to the main part of the bar from the bathroom hallway when Joel has wrapped his fingers around your arm, pulling you back to him. “I didn’t mean it-”

You snarl at him, making his eyes go wide, hand dropping your arm. You put your hand out, creating space between you. “Don’t.” You say quietly, firmly, before turning back around and heading over to your friends to let them know you were leaving.

You weren’t going to stick around for Joel’s sorry excuse this time.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller neighbor au

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somenerdfromwhatever · 2 months ago

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I haven’t seen The Owl House but can we just talk about how Disney did this show dirty?

Let me preface this by saying that, as of the time of me writing this, I have NOT seen The Owl House in its entirety l yet. I could be in the progress of it after posting, but honestly as an outsider looking in given the entire Season 3 fiasco, Disney did this show dirty.

Like three specials only? Nothing more nothing less? With that happening due to outcry because originally it was going to get canned after the release of Season 2?

I don’t think it was a fair deal to end with three specials. Season 3 should’ve gotten the fanfare it deserved even with the outcry. Like, it is the weakest compromise possible even with mass support.

I’m going to paraphrase some bits of what I addressed to people on discord and additional information I learnt.

I’m surprised there wasn’t more of an active effort to fight back against the cancellation since it first blew up upon announcement. Like “doesn’t fit the branding?” Didn’t Gravity Falls face something similar? By that logic, this doesn’t make sense at all. I feel like Disney’s “brand theming” excuse is really dodgy, and it seems like there was some foul play involved. But I didn’t see the fandom actively pushing back, even the creator, who did speak out about it. (Note: I haven’t been on Twitter for over a year and a half, so I might not be fully aware of everything.) If I watch it and it’s as amazing as people say… given how I am passionate about things in this world, I won’t let Disney live this down. It’s like treating art as a joke just to fill their pockets and the corruption the industry has over artists. We saw this last year with the strikes and given the current state with the companies running the industry nowadays (the streaming bubble, and that the whole cartoon mass purge thanks to Max)... artists are now having their creativity die out because of industry folk like Disney.

If there was pushback, I’m glad there was at least some effort to score these three specials. But if this is how far it went, it feels like an unfair compromise. Three specials aren’t enough, honestly. Even if they’re good, it doesn’t negotiate anything at all as it still feels like Disney did this show dirty. Let me be clear here as well: I am NOT beating down anyone who has taken the effort to get this. Why the hell would I do that? I'm happy you guys managed to get your voice out there and left and impact. Those three specials were hard fought, I just wish there was more because honestly, it isn't enough. And if the resentment I'm seeing is anything to go by a year later, I say keep fighting. I am also not beating down Dana, the showrunner. Dana is an amazing creator, and the fact that she stood her ground at all with her cast and crew is incredible. My problem is with the corporation, with Disney, and how they put her in a position where that fight couldn’t be won in the way it should have been. I understand the fight it takes to get your foot in the door of the industry. If I were to turn around and beat down someone like Dana, who fought for her vision just like I’m fighting for mine? I would never live that down. It would stain me for life. Considering the industry itself is small and how I am going into it in post-production, sometime down the line, I will be faced with working with her. The last thing I want is burning a bridge inadvertently. I can understand why she acted the way that she did with her crew, it's just with a lot more vocality and support, things might've been different.

Like I don’t get Disney’s thought process here. You have a big, popular show, and then you “old yeller” it, giving it this slow death and then dragging it out with this… in my honest opinion; weak compromise. That is scummy and why us artists and creatives need a reform to the entertainment industry where we drive the vision and what Disney and others do come second.

At best, it did what it was supposed to do. At worst… it’s not enough.

With everything that the fanbase done including the cast, crew, and even Dana, while I'm happy they managed to end it, I feel like there should have been more active effort. I do notice there is still a lot of resentment and I mean A LOT OF RESENTMENT. I noticed a lot of the fandom got a hashtag trending, some fanart mailed into Disney itself, but I'm surprised there isn't like a full on physical protest. Online can only do so much. Like imagine a D23 but everyone is in their cosplay of the show with signs having references to whatever the show has going on. I mean, sure, it is unheard of, but consider the compromise, how it was censored in other countries, maybe even how mistreated it got during the making of Season 3. Go to the heart of where decisions are made. If you feel strongly about the compromise, take that energy and turn it into real action. As an outsider who is about to come on, I feel you so much. I hope the show is really good when I watch it, but in case if I don't, you guys really deserve better. Honest. I could be wrong in all this there's more to the story then I realize, so please go easy with this. Thank you.

#the owl house #owl house #toh #toh season 3 #disney #disney animation #walt disney #the owl house amity #the owl house luz #the owl house hunter #toh spoilers #toh disney #the owl house spoilers #the owl house season 3 #disney toh #dana terrace #dana terrace didn't deserve this

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solarwonux · 2 years ago

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Business Proposal || knj (2/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, namjoon is pretty much not the nicest dude lol (will add more as it progresses), kinda sugar daddy au but not really. It will make sense I promise.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 9k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

a/n: Hello, this is longer than I expected it to be, but anything to get the story moving. LMK your thoughts and if you want to be added to the tallest! Enjoy!

m.list

prev || next

“I thought you stopped smoking.”

Jungkook jumps at the sound of your voice, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. The burning cigarette in between his index and middle finger. He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it and closes it, shaking his head. He looks out into the backyard, and takes another puff of his almost gone cigarette.

You sigh and go to stand next to him, leaning against the porch railing as you stare out into the same backyard. Silently wishing it was Spring again. Mrs. Jeon and Lia’s backyard always felt magical. Filled with flowers and greenery that always made it feel like a dream. But in the winter months it was barren and depressing. Nothing exciting grows except for the Lenten Roses in a pot next to the last porch step.

“Bad habits die hard.” He shrugs, taking another puff. “You should know.” He looks over at you, blowing out the cloud of smoke in your face.

You cough, fanning the cloud away. “You’re an ass.”

“Sometimes you ask for it.” He shrugs, throwing the white stick on the ground and squashing it with his boot. “Shouldn’t you be inside, gushing about wedding dresses and invitations with mom, while dad kisses Namjoon’s feet for once again being the perfect son.”

He stuffs his hands into the pocket of his pants. You sigh, coming to stand next to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. “Don’t be like that.” You whisper. “You’re lightyears a better person than your brother.”

His chest shakes with a humorless laugh. He has the urge to push you away but you’ve always been the only one with the ability to see through the perfectly curated images he and his brother have built over the years. “It’s always the same. I’m always the degenerate, the one who broke the rules growing up while Namjoon followed them. I’m the one who dropped out of college but he’s automatically the better son because he didn’t, and is now working on his PHD. While I work at a small flower shop, with a freelance photography job on the side. I’m the leech they can’t seem to get rid off.” He lets out a shaky sigh before pushing himself away.

“Jungkook d–”

“No, don’t say anything because you’re helping him knowing very well what he’s done to you. You’re feeding into what they want, and you can tell me it’s to benefit yourself. But how many times did I offer to help you pay out your student loans? How many times did I offer to help you find a better job? And you never took it because you wanted to do it yourself and I respected that boundary. But now that he comes back and offers you the same things with an added marriage proposal on top. You suddenly decide to take up on the offer.” He rants, running a tattooed hand through his long hair. “It fucking sucks because I know he’s going to hurt you and I don’t know if I can be there for you when he does because even if I have never had any sort of romantic feelings for you. I do love you and it hurt so much seeing you so broken and not being able to do anything about it.” He paces, invisibly mapping out the situation with his hands.

“And I can’t even fully hate him either because he is my brother and not many people understand our relationship but I know he loves me. He just has this weird ass way of showing it, and if he hurts you again, I’ll be put in the middle and I don’t want that because I can’t leave you alone and I can’t leave him alone either.” He breathes out, dropping his head feeling defeated.

It’s everything he wanted to tell you yesterday at the flower shop, but he didn’t want Yoongi to see him like this. Truthfully he wasn’t going to let you know either, but seeing the happiness on his parents' faces made him feel more bitter than usual.

You walk to stand in front of him, placing your hands on top of his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Jungkook clicks his tongue in annoyance before shaking his head in disbelief. “I know a part of you still loves him and I know that part will fall for him the second he starts acting like the old Namjoon again. I can’t stop you and I can’t stop him either.”

“You out of all people know that I’m not the same person I was then and you know why. You’re right the person that loved him is still inside here but she knows better. I won’t fall for him the way I did then and what happened that night won’t happen again.” You say, hugging him tightly again. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but I can take care of myself.” You whisper, rubbing his back lightly.

He sighs, finally hugging you back and kissing the top of your head gently. “I wish it was Jimin instead.” He adds, making you laugh a bit at the end. That was a whole new can of worms you didn’t want to get into.

At least not now at your fake fiance's parents house.

“I was scared.” He admits, burying his head into your neck. “When you called me and told me to pick you up in tears. I honestly never wanted to kill anyone more than I did that night.” He whispers. You blink away the tears forming in your eyes. Jungkook’s never been honest with you about what he felt that night. You never asked because you were scared of knowing the truth. And now that he’s voiced it you can’t help but feel your heart break all over again.

“I’m sorry, I did–”

“No, don’t be sorry it’s not your fault that he–”

“Am I interrupting something?” Namjoon’s curiosity breaks the two of you apart in an instant. Quickly you wipe away the fallen tears from your cheeks. You step away further from Jungkook while he does the same, avoiding eye contact with the older man as if you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Namjoon has always had a wild imagination, hence his profession of choice. And right now his imagination is running him up a road he knows he shouldn’t go down. He had been looking for you for at least fifteen minutes, and when he heard your voice along with Jungkook’s voice coming through the patio screen door. He couldn’t think straight, especially not after hearing his little brother be so vulnerable, but he also couldn’t help but wonder what else the two of you were talking about.

As far as he’s concerned the infamous fight between the two of you happened in your old bedroom. Your parents were out on a date and he had come over so you could look over one of his essays. He left your house in a hurry, getting on his bike and pedaling as fast as he could to get away from your house with his heart pounding against his throat.

Had you gone somewhere else after?

Now, he needed to know, only because his curiosity would not let him forget until he knew. It was one of his fatal flaws. Probably the most annoying one.

“Um, I know you came with Kook but it would be weird now if you left with him.” He too feels weird, especially because the two of you looked like you’ve just stolen three cookies out of the jar before dinner. He hates it, it only feeds the little curious demon inside of him. “I have to be somewhere at five so I came to tell you that I’ll take you home but we have to leave in like fifteen minutes to beat the traffic.” He nods, scratching the back of his neck before taking a look between the two of you, and it suddenly hits him like a truck.

Wait, were the two of you secretly seeing each other. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wait, but what about that Jimin guy? Hold on, were you seeing the of them at the same time, hol–

“It’s fine we are done here.” Jungkook looks over at you, giving you a smile to ease your overwhelming anxiety, and walks to the entrance, patting Namjoon’s arm before heading inside.

There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, before you decide that it’s been long enough for you to go back inside too. Before you even get the chance to move, Namjoon speaks up, burning his stare into yours.

“Are you seeing each other?” He voices out, finally giving in. He regrets it because the look on your face makes him realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“You’ve been saying a lot of stupid shit lately.” You shake your head, taking it as your sign to leave. If you have to be in a car with him for an hour. You might as well save your energy. His genetic material is full of nonsense. “I’ll wait for you inside.” You say walking in and leaving him alone in the barren patio.

He can’t help but wonder about a lot of things. All of them start and end with you.

Namjoon is driving.

It’s a view you never thought you would ever see. Back when the two of you were friends he had very strong opinions about driving. The one time you asked after he showed up at the coffee shop drenched in rain water.

He said, “The world will be better without me on the road.” He laughed running off to ask the workers for a towel.

“What?” Namjoon says after stopping at a red light and looking over at you. One eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, it’s just strange.” You shrug. “I never thought I’d see you driving.” You point out, watching as the red light turns green. He steps on the gas, making a smooth right turn and glances over at you. A smirk painted on his features.

“I got tired of biking everywhere.” He says, leaning his right arm on the middle counsel. “This is also more convenient than asking JK to drive me everywhere when it rains or snows.”

You nod looking out the window. “What happened to priding yourself in having a small carbon footprint and world peace or whatever?”

Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head “I still bike most of the time just not to moms house or when it rains. As for the world peace thing. I don’t think being off the roads will stop wars.” He pulls the car to a stop and looks over at you again. Now that the two of you are alone he can’t help but think that maybe you did get a little prettier than what he remembers. Though you still don’t compare to all the women he’s ever dated. Most of them being nepo babies or supermodels. You’re still quite attractive, maybe in another life he wouldn’t have thought twice about sharing a life with you. But you still weren’t the woman of his dreams. Though, the more he navigates through life he’s realizing that such a person simply doesn’t exist.

If they did he wouldn’t be here in the car with you.

“Oh,” you jump up as if you just remembered something important. And before Namjoon can begin to understand what was happening the light turns green again and he’s pressing on the gas pedal. “I forgot to give this to you.” You say, holding out your hand in his view of sight with his mothers ring.

“Keep it.” He says without missing a beat. You’re shocked and you’re about to fight against him, but he beats you to it. “We’re going to be spending lots of time together. It’d be weird if you didn’t wear it when we’re together.” He reasons. It makes sense but you hated every second that passed by in which you had it on.

In a few months it wouldn’t be yours anymore. Plus it just felt wrong to be wearing it knowing it will someday go to someone else.

“You can just keep it and then when we go to places together, just give it to me.” You nudge his arm with your open hand. He glances down at it before looking out to the road.

“No need, you’ll be moving in anyway.” He nonchalantly says, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t drop another bomb on you.

Moving in?

This whole deal was taking turns that you didn’t expect. You knew he offered you a house in which you honestly weren’t going to take. But you didn’t think you’d be moving in with him. From what Jungkook tells you his apartment is more of a museum than a home. And you like your little apartment. It was perfect for one person, it had everything you needed and it was close to two subway stations. It was absolutely perfect and the rent wasn’t crazy expensive.

Rent.

That’s another thing to take into consideration. Would he make you pay for rent if you did by some miracle agree to moving in, because you’re more than positive you wouldn’t be able to afford it. Not now with your passable income from the flower shop. Of course, that chapter of your life will soon come to an end, but even working as a professor in your prestigious alma mater wouldn’t be enough to pay whatever crazy amount his rent is.

“Hold on, that wasn’t in our deal.” You close your hand in a fist and bring it down onto your lap turning your entire body to face him.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “The cats out of the bag what would people think when they figure out we are engaged but not living together.” He pulls up into the parking lot of your apartment building and puts the car in park. He turns his entire body to face you, one hand gripping onto the steering wheel. “I don’t think you understand how crazy mom can be. She will be over unannounced every other day now that she knows we’re getting married. It’s best to avoid all those questions because they can get invasive.” He states, turning off the engine and opening up his door. He looks over at you. “I can’t stay long but I’ll walk you to your door.”

You were beginning to get annoyed with how nonchalant he was acting about all of this. For a person who claims this was all fake he seemed to be trying his hardest to make it seem as real as possible. You’re starting to wonder if you should set up some ground rules first before you make such a serious decision.

What if you do move in? When all this is over what will happen to you?

You have no doubt in your mind that he will kick you out the second he gets tired of this scheme. You have no doubt in your mind that he will begin to act like this never happened. It is what he does best. He crosses boundaries and when you make it known he acts like he didn’t and that you were in the wrong the entire time.

It’s what happened then, but this time it will be different. This time you’re determined to keep your guard up as high as a skyscraper. This time you won’t fall for his smile, his charm, his laugh or his heart. This time you’re going to put yourself first and to be able to do that you need to have a serious conversation. Set some ground rules before you can continue anything else.

“Namjoon, wait.” You say as he’s getting out of the car. He rounds the front and opens the passenger door for you.

“What, I need to be somewhere in fifteen minutes, let’s go.” He rushes out looking down at his Rolex then you.

You get down from his car, stepping to the side as he closes the door. “We need to talk about this.” You use your pointer finger to single the space between the two of you.

He lets out an annoyed sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We will, but not today. We can have lunch next Wednesday after you come in for training.”

“Namjoon I just don’t think you understand. You’re making all these choices without getting my opinion first. I understand you want your parents to believe that we are actually engaged. And I understand that you have a lot left to lose. But you’re not the only one in this. I get to have say in this too and I–”

Namjoon holds his hand out to your face, blocking your words from coming out. “I get it and believe me I would love to talk about it because we have a lot of things to discuss but I really can’t today. I have a dinner meeting with a coworker and I need to pick her up in—” he looks down at his watch and up, “-in ten minutes.” He finishes and starts walking in front of you.

A dinner meeting? On a Sunday? With another woman?

You don’t want to be that person. You firmly do believe that men and women are able to be friends without anything romantic and sexual happening between them. But he’s acting a little bit suspicious and you can’t help but wonder if he’s going out on a date.

God, you’re so annoyed it’s honestly becoming very tiring. And you’ve only been fake engaged for a few hours. You can’t begin to imagine what the next months will be like or for however long he plans to keep up the scheme.

He calls out your name. He’s standing in front of your building entrance, snapping his fingers to hurry you up.

“I’m not a dog.” You roll your eyes, and push past him. You press the button to the automatic door and hold your hand out before he can take another step. “And I don’t need an escort.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re going to be late for your date.” You state stepping inside, leaving him floored with your little outburst. He wants to follow you and tell you a few choice words, but the ringing of his phone keeps him from pressing the button again.

He can talk to you another day. Right now you’re right about one thing. He is late. Even if it’s not a date like you have just assumed. He hates being late to places.

In a relationship.

The little phrase next to yours and Namjoons name has been haunting you since you got the notification last night. Least to say you had not gotten a wink of sleep. You had messaged Namjoon asking him what it was all about. The two of you had not talked since Sunday and making your fake relationship official on Facebook for friends and family to see was definitely something you didn’t see him doing.

It had caught you by surprise. What surprised you the most was the comments underneath the status, offering you kind words and congratulations. The few “it's about time,” comments had set you off. You weren’t sure if it was because you were engaged or because the two of you were engaged to each other. It had your mind racing in all sorts of directions.

Yet, what really didn’t let you sleep was Taehyung’s messages and Jimin’s cryptic “it all makes sense now,” text you had woken up too.

Your fake fiance always prided in living a life away from the drama. And while he’s having a blast living a fantasy you were on the other end receiving nasty messages from your friends and what you assumed were women he had been with once upon a time.

It was all getting too much. You were supposed to be enjoying your last shift ever at Euphoria before you ventured off into the world for bigger and better things. But here you were blocking comments and ignoring Taehyung’s angry spam and Jimini’s nasty comments, with a knot at the base of your throat.

You’ve never hated Namjoon more than you did now. Since he was ignoring you, probably annoyed with your constant pleading to delete the status. You would have to wait until you saw him again next week to scream in his face.

What didn’t help was that Jungkook had called in sick, so you were stuck with the brooding owner, sending you a glare whenever he heard you sigh.

“Okay, out with it. What has you acting like the queen has died?” He cuts a stem off a rose, before placing it in the middle of a few baby breath branches.

You put your phone down, face down hoping it would somehow keep the notifications from coming. “First the queen has died. Second, Namjoon is so fucking annoying. I…ugh.” You let out a frustrated sigh. Probably the thousandth one of the day before putting your head in your head, cradling it.

The headache that you had woken up with after three restless hours of sleep was only growing to be worse. You hear the older man laugh before patting your back awkwardly. “I think this is the part in which Jungkook would be saying I told you so, but I still fully support you getting the bag you deserve, and unfortunately whatever he did is part of the consequences you just have to face.” He states proudly before retrieving his hand and going back to the bouquet he was working on.

You raise your head, hoping your glare would bury him six feet underneath the ground. “You’re no help sometimes. I don’t know why I even ask for your advice.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue before shaking his head, “You see that’s where you’re wrong. You didn’t ask for my advice. I’m just telling you the honest truth. Now if you can’t take it then you shouldn’t have accepted the deal in the first place.” He shrugs, wiping his hands on his apron before grabbing a pair of scissors. He goes to the ribbon wall behind him, taping his chin with the tip of them in thought.

“What did he do this time anyway?” He says getting a hold of a lavender one and measuring it before cutting it off.

You lift up your phone, opening it quickly and navigating yourself through the homescreen before clicking the bright blue app. “This! He did this without letting me know.” You extend your phone showing him the status.

He leans his head forward squinting his eyes before breaking out into a smile. “Congratulations, I knew the two of you would be perfect together.” He jokes, making you groan out in annoyance. He chuckles, cutting up some flower bouquet paper. “Jokes aside, that is an asshole move, but what else would we expect from the devil himself.” He says grabbing the bouquet and placing it in the middle of the pale pink paper. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Ugh, I know, I know, I know. I don’t need you to remind me.” You push yourself off the counter as soon as the bell to the shop dings signaling someone has walked in. “It’s the aftermath of his actions that’s sending me up the wall. I really ha–” You turn around putting your best customer service smile only for it to fade away the minute your eyes come into contact with ones you’ve grown up with.

The warmth they once held for you is gone, now replaced with stone cold anger.

“Jimin.”

“Do you want to explain to me what’s going on?” He pushes his way past you and walks to the aisle full of supplies. “Because the last time we talked you told me you weren’t ready to be in a relationship and as much as it hurt I respected that but now you’re here engaged. And to Namjoon?” He says exasperated. You follow him, thanking god the shop was empty because this wasn’t where you wanted to have this conversation.

You knew it would eventually come and you would have no other option but to have it. Yet, lately the world has been throwing curveballs at you left and right since Namjoon came back into your life. So, what else could you expect?

Plus Jimin has never been one to keep his emotions bottled up. It’s one of things you admire most about him. When he was angry he would voice it. When he was sad he would cry freely and explain why. And when he was happy and in love he had no shame in letting the whole world know. Which is why you couldn’t continue anything with him anymore. Even if he was the one that made you feel comfortable again in your body and encouraged you to explore things with him. You didn’t feel anything towards him other than friendship. It’s not like you didn’t try. You did the moment you realized he had fallen for you months ago. It’s probably why you prolonged cutting things off with him, but you couldn’t do that to him anymore.

Not when he had verbally confessed and was giving you everything he should’ve been giving to someone who didn’t view him as more than a friend. The two of you should’ve listened to everyone who said it was a bad idea, but both of you were stubborn. That’s something you aren’t afraid to admit. Unfortunately the decision the two of you made almost a year ago was now coming back to bite the two of you in the ass. Though for some reason it felt like you were getting the shorter end of the stick with everything that had gone down in the last few days.

Maybe you were cursed?

“Min I can explain.” You whisper yell, reaching out to him. He retracts, throwing his hands up and steps away from you.

“No, I don’t need you to explain anything to me. I saw what that man did to you and you went back to him after cutting things off with me.” He spits out, venom laced in his voice as he cards a shaky hand through his already messy hair. He stops for a second biting his bottom lip and looks over at you.

“Were you seeing him while we were together? Were you with me when he couldn’t be with you? Because I can’t even begin to explain how fucked up that is. Especially for someone like you but I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.” He rants, his hands shaking as he finds somewhere to put them to hide the visible anger he is feeling inside.

“It’s not like that Min, please just let me explain.” You plead, taking cautious steps closer to him. Gripping your apron tightly to keep yourself from crying. This is why you admired your oldest friend for the longest time. He wore his heart on his sleeve whereas you couldn’t let yourself cry in fear of looking pitiful and weak.

He takes one final look at you before shaking his head. “No, I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to stay out of my life.” He says before walking past you, bumping your shoulder with his and walking out.

This is what you feared the most. Losing him. You did have the intention of telling him what was happening when the time was right. This whole situation with Namjoon wasn’t something you ever intended on keeping a secret from both him and Taehyung, but of course you could never walk at your own pace.

For as long as you can remember nobody ever let you march to the beat of your own drum. Everyone around you always forced you to act whenever it was suitable for them. And right now as much as you were at fault too, you couldn’t help but blame Namjoon and his impatience.

Every day that went by, you realize how much this was inconveniencing you rather than benefiting you like you had originally thought.

“Now, I think this is the part in which Jungkook would say I told you so.” Yoongi speaks out from behind you.

You roll your eyes, shake your head and send him a glare. In a haste you untie your apron and rip it off. “I quit.” You say walking past the counter and throwing the fabric onto it.

Yoongi shrugs, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile in which it looks like he’s in pain instead. “Impossible when you only had five more minutes left of your final shift.”

That’s the last thing you hear him say before walking into the back and finally letting your tears fall down.

You’ve had your fair share of heartbreaks in the past.

When you were five you had your first boyfriend–Paul. A blooming relationship that lasted merely three days. On the first day of school he gave you a note with a poorly drawn flower and “I love you” written in the center. In his best five year old handwriting. On the second day he kissed you in the line on the way to Spanish class–dared by his best friend–Pedro. And on the last day, he played with you on the playground but on the way back to class he was holding hands with another girl.

Your first heartbreak.

Then you embarrassingly harbored a crush on him for three years after. In fifth grade–Christian had stolen your heart as soon as you saw his crooked smile and overly slicked back hair, but of course he had picked the prettier and meaner girl in class–Yuni.

Your second heartbreak.

Though, the infatuation didn’t last long, you forgot about him as soon as you entered middle school. But you remember your heart beating out of time when you saw him at Sunday school. You were in seventh grade. Your body was changing. You felt awkward as hell listening to a sermon while fantasizing what it would be like to hold his hand.

When you were fifteen on the other hand. All hell broke loose.

You fell out of love with a lot of firsts in your life, and everything felt so black and white. Things that made you happy. That you viewed as pillars slowly started fading away. It started with ballet, then it trickled down to your studies. You didn’t feel like doing anything, your feelings were confusing and you felt angry with everything and everyone around you. To add the cherry on top your crush of possibly four years broke your heart–Jung Hoseok.

He was perfect. He was tan, tall, and handsome. He had a beautiful smile with moony eyes. He was funny and smart and loved to dance. You had met him during your first dance practice back in seventh grade. All it took was a smile, a wink and a killer freestyle for you to fall head over heels for him. He was nice, he sat with you during lunch whenever Taehyung and Jimin had a different one. He helped you out with your math homework and he even cracked jokes about your favorite boy band at the time. He would ask you about your day and make sure you didn’t skip your meals.

Jimin and Taehyung were so tired hearing you yap about him twenty four seven and so they offered to help you out. The three of you came up with a plan on how to confess to him, but all of that went down the drain one Wednesday afternoon.

The tears didn’t start falling when you saw the self proclaimed bad boy holding hands with one of the popular girls from school–Harley. They came after when you ran out of the dance studio because Of course it had to be her. God had blessed her with the perfect genes. The perfect hair, the perfect smile, the perfect body, and she was a way better dancer than you. She was beautiful and you were a colorless painting next to her that lacked detail. You had acne on your forehead, and even if you had ditched the contacts and braces a year prior. Your hair was still frizzy, and your body wasn’t desirable. Your boobs were practically non-existent, your hips were too wide and your stomach wasn’t flat

It sucked because you seriously thought he could’ve been it. He had been it for a while. You pulled back. Curating a home in a fantasy world, caging your heart in. Despite your friends being protective over you like a little sister. Their protection was nothing compared to how locked up you had your heart. That is until you met Kim Namjoon–and that also ended in a disaster. After that you didn’t give a fuck, you let men come and go. Use you for their needs until one night you awoke from your slumber. Sadly it had already been too late.

Jimin was there to repair you brick by brick. He helped you rediscover yourself in more ways than one. He helped you feel comfortable in your body. Something that was so foreign to you it took lots of trial and error. Yet, you broke him.

Despite all the heartbreak you have experienced in your life. This had to be the one that hurt the most, because you hurt him, and nothing you do will ever bring him back to you.

All because you wanted to have the upper hand.

This is why you disliked Kim Namjoon. Just like he brought you back to life he had dulled you at the same time. He made you feel special but at the same time ordinary; and because of him–though it wasn’t his entire fault you were equally to blame–you had lost one of the most important people in your life.

In honor of such event you had been avoiding the world for the entirety of three days. On the fourth day–today–you had finally forced yourself out of bed.

It was your first day of training at your new job which meant you were going to be in the same room with your nemesis AKA your fake fiance. Listening to him brag about how much better he is at everything.

Everything was a shit show.

You purposely took the longer route, hoping it would work calming you down. The Cherry Blossoms were finally blooming, signaling the end of a bitter winter and the birth of a new chapter in your life. You had hoped that Jimin and Taehyung would have been here for the ride, after you explained everything. You didn’t get the chance too and now the two of them were acting as if there wasn’t a decade of memories between the two of you.

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your hot pink slacks. You weren’t going to be teaching yet, just observing some classes and following Namjoon around while he condescendingly explained what your life would be like as a University Professor.

Are you close? - N

You rolled your eyes at the message. You had been scheduled to come in at ten-thirty. It was ten on the dot and he was already rushing you. You begin to wonder if this is what it was going to be like the entire time the two of you will be together.

Don’t forget to wear your ring, we’re going to mom’s for dinner tonight. - N

The annoyed sigh made its way out of you before you could stop it. You hope that it won’t always be like this. Him making plans for you without consulting you first. Or him outing the relationship is such an irresponsible way without letting you know. If he was going to make every single decision for you, then you will call things off. You had taken the entirety of your night writing down a list of demands in order for you to continue things.

Well it was more of a list of things that annoyed you about him. A list in which you only hoped the two of you could come to a compromise. You don’t want to change him. Mostly because he is stubborn and doesn’t see anything wrong with himself no matter how many times people close to him have mapped it out for him. He won’t turn the other way keeping his ground. All you want to do is meet in the middle for however long he wants to keep this charade up.

One of my TAs is waiting for you at the front of the building. I’m assuming you know the way. She will show you around and I will meet you for lunch. Don’t be late. - N

The third text came in making you grip your phone tightly in your hand. Even when he wasn’t around he somehow manages to make you want to scream out in anger.

I’m five minutes away.

You reply, putting your phone away and ignoring the last text he sends you. You will not let him ruin your last few minutes of freedom.

Eunseo is amazing.

She immediately greeted you in high spirits and complemented your hot pink blazer and slacks combo. And offered to carry around your bag because to her it seemed too heavy, but you refused.

Despite having attended HYBE U almost a decade ago. It hadn’t changed much. There were a few new buildings to compensate for the enrollment capacity, and a carpark where dorms used to be. But other than those slight changes nothing had changed. Even the large field in between the common hall and the dorms was still the same. The trees always bloomed beautifully in the Spring. Though you couldn’t ignore the pang you felt in your chest while walking through the field with Eunseo as she talked about her classes and how much she looked up to Mr. Kim.

This was where you found out you were in love with Namjoon all those years ago. It was Fall, the foliage was at its peak and the leaves were just starting to fall down. The two of you had decided to meet here instead of the cafe that day to enjoy the weather a little more before it turned gray. There was a particularly strong wind and the leaves came rustling down landing on the two of you making the both of you laugh. The sun was shining in the most perfect way possible, his skin glowed underneath it and something inside of you turned.

That day all you could do was think about him. You fell asleep dreaming about his smile and woke up expecting his scent to cloud over you like a blanket.

It was so beautiful yet tragic and you had never turned back since then.

That is until he turned on you.

With the way Eunseo was describing him. You could almost picture him being the same way he was when he tutored you. According to Eunseo he was funny, kind and really cared about his students. He always went out of his way to explain the material in ways his students could understand, and listened to everybody’s opinion extensively. But he also challenged them and pushed them to work harder.

He loved his job and profession more than anything in the world. It’s something you always did admire about him. Even on late nights or when the stress was too much for him to handle. He always found a way to look at it in a different light. For some time you had wished he would’ve done that with you when you confessed your feelings to him. That night he was someone you had never known. It was like something switched off inside of him and he became the heartless jackass you’ve come to know about in recent years.

“You’re very lucky. He will be such an amazing husband.” Eunseo said bringing out of your long train of thought. You stopped dead in your tracks, surprised as she giggled at your reaction.

“H-How do you know.” You clear your throat, bringing your hand up to your chest and playing with the little aquamarine pendant you never take off.

“He told me before I went down to meet with you.” She shrugs, grabbing onto the straps of her backpack. “Don’t worry he’s only told me and I don’t have many friends to tell. So your secret’s safe with me.” She winks turning around and skipping away.

You shake your head and follow her trying to keep up as best as you can. Maybe wearing heels wasn’t the brightest idea, but it was your first day on the job. You need to make a good impression on your future co-workers. In which you hadn’t met yet, but you assumed it was because Namjoon would be the one to introduce you and he was currently in a lecture.

You jump when you hear your name being called from across the field. You turn around quickly as Namjoon makes his way to you. His beige trench coat blowing in the wind. The combination of his nike’s, light blue jeans, and airy button down shirt was more casual than what you expected. Even his hair wasn’t styled. He looked stress free or a normal person.

“Mr. Kim, I have taken care of her and now I am returning her to you in one piece. Just like you instructed.” Eunseo says from beside you. You look over at her. She’s wearing such a bright smile on her face. Her proudness over such a nimble task makes you chuckle. A moment you will never forget now because it’s made you realize how much you desire to inspire someone.

The same way Namjoon has inspired her.

“Thanks Eunseo.” Namjoon replies once he gets closer, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his coat. He looks you up and down, raising his brows before turning over to his student. “This doesn’t mean you’re getting extra credit or an extension on your next paper.”

“It was worth the shot.” She smiles, sending him finger guns making him laugh. She turns to face you, “It was so nice to meet you Mrs. Kim, I’ll be sure to keep on the lookout for your class next semester.” She says giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “I’ll see you in class Mr. Kim.” She finishes before turning around and heading down the path leading to the library.

“She’s not going to turn in her paper on time.” Namjoon says from next to you shaking his head. “But she’s one of my best students. Somehow her papers always manage to impress me even if I threaten to take away a whole letter grade for every late paper. It somehow motivates her to do even better and I can’t.” He sighs and looks over at you. “Did you find everything okay, I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you. I told the office to schedule you after my classes today but they refused. Even being head of a department has very little perks.”

You look around quickly to see if anybody was around. There were a few students making their way to classes but each of them were engrossed with their phones or notes or conversations amongst themselves. They weren’t paying any attention to the two of you. So, he didn’t have to act so nice. “You’re so strange.” You comment, widening your eyes and covering your mouth as quickly as possible.

Namjoon rolls his eyes before sticking his hand out for you to take. “And you’re so nice.” He retaliates. The slight pang of bitterness slicing through his words. You almost feel relieved that he was still in there somewhere.

“Thanks, you bring out the best in me.” You take his hand, watching as he interlaced your fingers with his, forcefully pulling you to walk.

“Whatever, let’s just go to lunch. I’m starving. We can talk about things then.”

Okay you take it back. HYBE U was definitely still not the same.

There was a whole dining hall with the bougiest restaurants that you one hundred percent would not have been able to afford when you were a student here. You assume that’s why it’s pretty empty, except for a few faculty.

Namjoon and you had been sitting in silence since the two of you sat down after ordering. Your mouth almost fell open when you saw an avocado toast for almost twenty dollars. Thankfully Namjoon had offered to pay. Now the two of you were waiting for your overpriced food in complete silence. You weren’t sure what to say if you were honest.

Hey thanks for the job, you're still an asshole though.

My best friends hate me because you ruined my life and now they think that what we have is real because you decided to make it official on Facebook. And like who uses Facebook anyway you old man.

In the end you settle for the nice quiet, listening to the ambience around you until your food arrives. The waiter carefully places your plates in the middle of the table and the two of you quietly thank him. Then Namjoon clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“I usually bring my own lunch but I like this place whenever I forget to cook.” He cuts the toast in half and puts one of them on your plate, and makes sure you get a piece of avocado too.

“You cook?” You tilt your head to the side, picking up your utensils and poking the soft egg in the middle, letting the yolk run.

Namjoon nods, placing some pasta on your plate. “Jin taught me a couple years ago.” He hands you a napkin and starts filling up his plate. You have no idea who this Jin guy is. Namjoon says his name as if you’re supposed to know already, but you’re curious. Namjoon was a genius but he was a complete incompetent buffoon in the kitchen. You can’t explain how many times you witnessed him and Jungkook fighting in front of you whenever you were over their house because he always burned the simplest things. It would stink up the kitchen and Jungkook would lose it because he always lost at rock paper scissors and ended up being the one to clean the kitchen.

“Who’s Jin?” You wipe your mouth, and take a bite of the pasta humming in delight. Maybe the price of the food was worth it.

“He owns the gym Kook and I go too. He sometimes comes over, you’ll meet him soon.” He clarifies.

You nod, letting the silence consume the two of you once again because what else are you supposed to say. Instead you just take another bite of your food.

Maybe if you prayed hard enough, Jungkook would waltz in and break the awkward air looming between the two of you. Of course you had things to say to him, but how were you supposed to bring it up if the conversation wasn’t going down the route.

“Kook’s mad isn’t he?” Namjoon puts down his fork and takes a sip of his water. “I saw him at the gym last night and he almost beat the shit out of me.” He chuckles like it’s no big deal.

“He’s not the only one.” You retort, reaching into your bag and taking out a sheet of notebook paper in a plastic sleeve and place it on the table. Not the most professional looking thing but you were short on time.

“Lo–” Namjoon starts, you assume he’s going to defend himself and his actions. But he doesn’t get very far because you immediately cut him off.

“No, I understand you want everybody to believe whatever this is.” You say pointing between the two of you. “But there’s not just one person in this act. You can’t keep making choices without consulting me first. The brunch was fine. I was able to come up with something on the spot. But the moving in is not, nor is the fucking Facebook status or telling your student or the dinner we have with your mom tonight.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, “It’s a stupid status is not a big deal.” He takes a bite of pasta. The nonchalance in his demeanor causes the anger you had somehow managed to push away resurface once again.

“It is a big deal Namjoon. Because of that stupid status, neither Jimin or Taehyung are talking to me. You didn’t give me the chance to tell them and finding out through the internet is a pretty shitty thing.” You try to reason. He pokes his cheek with his tongue and crosses his arms.

“Isn’t Jimin the guy you were with at the party? You two were pretty close.”

“He was my best friend. But because of your actions he’s cut off all communication with me.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing the two of you aren’t friends anymore. He looked pretty comfortable touching you at Taehyung’s place.” He says looking around then you. Yeah, you’re adding this to the list of dumbshit he says. Hopefully by the end of this you’ll be able to publish a whole book.

“Are you listening to yourself?” You say tapping your ears. “You sound so dumb right now.” You shake your head, suddenly losing your appetite. He does bring out the worst in you, and you’re beginning to regret ever saying yes in the first place. “Jimin and I used to fuck and sure things were a little rocky between us since the night of the party. But I still care for him. He's still someone important to me and you’re not respecting that. You outed our relationship to the whole world without consulting me first and you keep doing shit without asking if I am okay with it.”

“It sounds like you’re just looking for someone to blame instead of owning up to whatever you did to your precious Jimin.” He shrugs, digging into his avocado toast. You truly want to dump his iced americano all over his head, but your hushed voices are getting a bit louder and people are starting to take notice.

“You’re completely missing the point. This isn’t about me or Jimin’s relationship. This is about you not willing to see that in order for this to continue you need to include me in big decisions like that. I am my own person Namjoon. I have a life outside of this, and you can’t just expect me to stop it and be at your mercy whenever you need me. What if I had plans tonight?”

“Then you cancel them. This is important.”

“Fucking hell, are you not listening to me. I honestly have no idea how to explain this to you in an easier way or without sounding like a broken record. I’m not a doll Namjoon, you can’t wind me up when you need me. I am a fucking human being and you’re not treating me like one. If this continues I will literally call this whole shit off.” You pick up your fork and forcefully shove some pasta in your mouth.

“You can’t do that. You promised.” He accuses with his finger, furrowing his brows in anger.

You roll your eyes and swallow. “Just like you, I can also break promises.” You shrug before sliding your forgotten list towards him. “These are my rules, if you can’t follow them then I swear Namjoon I’ll call your mom and tell her everything, and it would totally suck I mean this job seems to be amazing.” You threaten crossing your arms in front of you.

He huffs, snatching the list from the table and reading them. This time you welcome the silence as you wait for him to finish. After what seems like his third run through he puts the list down again, your bubbly handwriting makes his head hurt a little. He could never understand why you always wrote in colorful pens and marked your i’s with hearts.

In his opinion it was overrated and you were a full grown adult, not a toddler.

“You can’t expect to change me. This isn’t forever.” He says like he’s reminding you. Despite you being his fake fiance he never really assumed you would expect him to remain monogamous. He was still a man with needs and he refused to touch you in that way.

“I’m not asking you too. I’m asking you to meet me in the middle and respect me a little more. I know you hate me but I’m not your biggest fan either. Yet, I agreed to this and I am here.”

He tugs his bottom lip in between his teeth in thought. He stares into his plate of food for what seems like hours. He could do that. Maybe things won’t be so unbearable if the two of you were just walking side by side rather than on opposite ends. He also can’t deny that you’re a little right, this was harder than he assumed. You are definitely not the pliant girl he knew once. Maybe this version of you excites him a little, but of course he won’t ever admit that to anyone. He’s already having a hard time admitting it to himself. If you’re going to ask him to meet you in the middle with your annoying list of demands then he’s going to ask the same of you.

Eye for an eye.

“Fine, but only if you agree to move in with me.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don't understand why I can’t just be at my place. I mean you just said this wasn’t forever.” You mumble.

“Ahh then I guess I’ll just rip this up.” He says taking out your sheet of paper and holding it out in front of him ready to shred it.

You panic and hold your hand out to stop him. “Fuck fine, I’ll move in with you.”

“Perfect, I’ll clear out the guest bedroom this week and you can move in on Saturday.” He smirks, and resumes to his meal.

Once again he’s won, but you will find a way to have the upper hand one of these days. “This is so dumb I still don’t understand your reasoning.”

There’s a part of Namjoon that also doesn’t understand it. That part of him he’s pushed away for years. It’s the part of him that wants you there with him. It’s incredibly selfish. He’s aware he’s asking too much of you already, but he hopes having you in his home will give him an excuse to come home. Lately, he’s been tired of just his plants and artwork receiving him when he gets home.

Yet, that’s something he won’t ever admit out loud either.

“It just makes things easier.” He shrugs, shutting down the conversation. Leaving you to wonder if his actions have more meaning to them than his words.

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