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lenreli · 4 months ago

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with a glimpse of your teeth [1/2, Dreamling, E]

[AO3]

CW: Violence, blood, gore, knife play, kidnapping.

Also for dreamling bingo - B3, Endless Family get along!

E, 10.2k. After the unfortunate demise of their parents, life goes on. Continuation of endless pawns playing a fixed game!

The months after the yacht are ― chaotic, to put it mildly. Alliances between guards cut, him and his siblings working on taking over the family business in a way that doesn’t cause them to want to kill each other. More than usual, that is.

And today, Dream’s been stuck with meeting some of the other head’s other families, the dark wood of the huge table, soon filling up with the likes of Morningstar. At least Dream has Hob, who’s currently leaning on the table near him at the moment.

“Not looking forward to it?” Hob asks, glancing away from his phone and Dream huffs, sliding down in his seat as he leans closer to the other man.

“Desire’s better at this, but they’re doing something else today,” he replies with a pout. Hob huffs, and a hand comes up to pet his hair, twirling it between Hob’s fingers and Dream leans into the touch. “Maybe I’d do better to not kill them with some incentive,” he purrs.

At this, Hob pockets his phone and smirks, “one successful murder and you’re so cocky,” Hob says softly, leaning down to press their foreheads together momentarily, and Dream lets out a gasp as Hob tugs on his hair, forcing his head back. “Starting a war that big would be too much even for you and your siblings to handle, so try not to.”

Groaning, his head thunks against the top of the chair, frowning as Hob continues to stroke his hair. “That’s not an incentive.”

“The only incentive going through my mind right now is shutting you up as my cockwarmer,” Dream swallows, mouth drying as he leans into the other’s hand, fisted in his hair as he presses his face into Hob’s thigh, looking up at him.

“Now?” He asks, arousal pooling as he nuzzles at the other’s clothed thigh, face going up ― until Hob grips his hair, dark eyes looking down at him.

“No, you have a meeting soon. If you behave,” Hob says, sliding out from under him and Dream whines as his face hits the wood. There’s a tug to the back of the top of his suit, pulling him back into a seating position as a finger, two presses into the pulse of his throat. “And it wasn’t using your mouth, pretty as it is,” Hob whispers, eyes flicking down and Dream shivers, arousal flaring. “Now be a good little mafia boss for me and you might get what you want.”

Rubbing his eyes, there’s the sound of people outside the room as Hob leans against the wall behind him, and Dream takes a few calming breaths as he tries to get into a mindset that can deal with people.

Dream looks around his art room, some of his paintings put into crates as he’s waiting for more blank canvases to be delivered, finally managing to find some time for his art after the craziness of the past few months. Checking his paints and brushes, he sits on his chair as he blinks at the paint canvas currently on his easel.

And now with his art room like this, he realises that he’s not in the mood for art. Groaning, he looks at the ceiling and walks out of the room, making his way to his own room and picking up the latest book he’s reading, sitting on a chair to go through a few chapters to pass the time.

Focused on reading, he faintly hears his door open, and glancing up to see familiar pointed shoes, he goes back to his reading, curling more up onto the chair―

At least, until his book is taken out of his hands, “hey!” He scowls as Hob puts the book onto a table nearby, pages down flat.

“Weren’t you meant to be doing art today?” Hob asks, eyes bright―and Dream blinks, looking at a spot of blood on Hob’s neck.

“Apparently not,” he answers, looking to see if he could see blood anywhere else on Hob―which, there doesn’t seem to be. And not that he gets long to look before he’s tugged into a kiss, biting at his lips and Dream’s heart races, grabbing onto the other’s shoulders.

Hob pulls him as they kiss, clothes being shed as he’s guided to the bed, a leg in between his as Dream focuses on biting the skin around the edges of the other’s shoulder harness, the faint smell of sweat and musk intoxicating.

A knee presses against his hardening cock as he sits on the bed, hands going down to knead into Hob’s chest hair as he bites more marks around the black harness―until his breath is pushed out of him and his only contact with Hob is the hand gripping onto dark chest hairs. “What?” He asks, brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself still under Hob’s bright gaze.

Hob tilts his head as he settles on top of his hips, and there’s a familiar sound of a switchblade―before it’s put into the bed next to him.

“My bed!” He scowls, glaring at the blade as he hears a bottle cap opening―”Hob,” he chokes out as cold fingers enter him, stretching and pressing as Hob pulls off his pants. Gasping, he shudders and twitches―moving closer to the blade, near the join of his shoulder and neck. Grabbing onto Hob’s hair, he brings his other hand up to the blade, red hilt glinting in the light.

“Don’t touch it,” Hob says softly, crooking his fingers and Dream cries out, shoulder almost grazing the blade as he twitches, hand jerking away to clutch the sheets. “Such a squirmy little thing,” Dream can only cry out as Hob hits his prostate, thoughts vanishing under the onslaught of pleasure.

“My,” he chokes out, words meaningless as Hob adds another finger, entrance stretching even more around the other’s fingers, “bed.”

Hob scoffs, leaning down to bite at a nipple and Dream ― squirms, can feel the cold edge of the blade near his shoulder, overtly aware of it as Hob continues to stretch him open, occasionally brushing against his prostate. “Like you won’t just use this to get a new one anyway,” Hob says, pressing into that spot enough that Dream sees stars, trying to curl up under Hob―and failing, only feeling the light brush of the blade against his neck.

Time falls away under Hob’s hands, under the stubble and lips on his chest as he tries to keep himself still. Hob, on top of him, makes various considering noises as an orgasm gets wrung out of him, heart beating wildly at how close the sharp edge of the blade ends nicks into his throat as he comes.

A weight lifts off him and he blinks to find Hob at his neck, a dark shirt pressing against his neck as the blade gets taken out of the bed. “You like my squirming,” he mutters, voice slurring as he slowly comes back to his body, skin tingling as Hob chuckles.

“Wanted to see what you’d do,” Hob says with a shrug and a grin.

Hob follows behind, a few paces behind as Dream opens the door to ― well, an apartment. For him, away from the main grounds, and he smiles at his art on the walls, the black fixtures of his new penthouse apartment. After being under his parent’s thumb, it’ll be nice to have more of a space for himself only. “Do you have an apartment?” He asks, walking up to the wide windows to look at the people milling about below.

“I do. Sometimes I even get to sleep in it,” Hob answers, and there’s a crunch, chewing and Dream looks over to see Hob biting into an apple, taken from the fruit basket in the kitchen.

“Can I see it one day?” He wonders, sitting down on the black velvet sofa as Hob leans against the other side of the sofa, taking another bite of his apple.

Hob blinks, tilting his head as he thinks, “I don’t see why not.” Hob moves away, opening the fridge as he eats more of his fruit. “Very small place for you, I’d think.”

“Well, it’s mine, and I get to come to it whenever I please, so the size of it doesn’t matter,” he points out proudly, getting up to look at one of the two rooms ― this one turned into a miniature of his art room, supplies and more blank canvases.

“Really?” Hob says dryly and Dream goes to his other room ― black sheets on a four-poster bed. And his paintings of Hob on the walls.

“My apartment,” he says, smothering a smile as Hob raises an eyebrow, brown eyes narrow as they look at him. “You don’t agree with my tastes?”

Hob gives him a withered look, scratching his head, “I’m just not interested in staring at art of me while I fuck you.”

Dream huffs, face feeling hot with how candidly Hob speaks of it, “well, maybe it wouldn’t be you doing the fucking,” he points out petulantly, the words meaningless as Hob crosses his arms, gaze turned scrutinizing. “Especially not after what you did to my bed.”

“I can make it two-for-two if you want,” Hob whispers, and his pulse jumps as Hob’s hand digs into his jaw.

“Those sheets are very expensive,” he says with a frown, walking backwards as Hob presses into him, pushing him towards the wooden column of the bed. “They’re silk. No knives,” he orders, head arching up by Hob’s hand.

“No knives, then,” Hob says into his ear, stubble scraping against his throat, the hot line of Hob’s body against his as he holds onto the other’s hips. “Dream,” Hob whispers ― and there’s a pressure on his throat, Hob’s hand cutting off his air and he wheezes, a hand coming up to grab Hob’s wrist as the pressure increases―

Until it doesn’t, and he chokes for breath as a knee presses into his groin, into his slowly hardening cock. Dream shivers, whining as Hob nips at his neck, sensitive.

“Let’s hear how well you scream in this new place of yours.”

“Which colour?” He asks Delirium as she looks over the palette of neon shades, make-up brush in hand as he does her eyes.

“This one!” She points to a neon green and Dream nods, his sister closing her eyes as he applies the eyeshadow to one eyelid, the other already having a matte orange on it. “I like your scarf. Could use more sequins and glitter though.”

Dream sighs and adjusts his scarf, hiding the ― well, handprints. Hob does enjoy ravaging his neck, which of course he doesn’t mind, but it’s not something he’d like to show his sister. He’s already heard enough from Desire, and then they complained that they’re going to an orgy sometime because of jealousy or something. “It’s alright. All done,” he says and Delirium’s eyes open, mismatched blue and green staring at him.

Delirium looks at herself in the mirror, “mother does it better,” and Dream grimaces. She was told what happened, but sometimes she just ― doesn’t remember. “Can we play with the fishies now?”

“Anything you want,” he says, suppressing a wince as Delirium grabs his wrist, pulling them over to the huge aquarium in her quarters. Delirium pokes the glass, some of her brightly-coloured fish swarming close as she smiles.

Their dinner, usually very punctual, is five minutes late. It’s nothing to worry about, but with the sudden influx of a few guard’s leaving, gets everyone’s attention. At least until Desire goes back to their phone, and Death to hers.

The minutes pass in silence ― and then Hob walks into the room, which Dream, of course, immediately pays attention to as their dinner finally arrives. The chef looks shaken up as she announces it, but Dream doesn’t pay it any mind as Hob stands behind his chair, fingers digging into the back of it.

With the chef’s announcement done, Hob speaks up before they dig into their food ― except for Desire, “there was another poisoning attempt,” Hob says and Dream freezes, along with the rest of his siblings as they look at each other. And then to Desire.

Desire swallows their bite, scowling, “it wasn’t me! If I wanted to do that, then it’d be Dream’s food only,” they say, batting their lashes.

Hob sighs, arms going to rest across the back of his chair, fingers caressing the back of his head and Dream scowls before taking a bite of his food. “They’re right, in this case. It was an attempt on all of you, and we do have someone to talk to.”

Despair, sitting next to her twin, blinks and raises her hand, the other one twirling her food absent-mindedly with a fork. “Can I help?”

Dream looks up, Hob’s surprise a momentary thing across his face, “sure. We can keep them stewing until you’re done.”

Despair smiles.

A week later and Dream has finished a very tiring meeting, finally getting to relax as he sits on the big chair in his art room. Picking up his artbook and a pencil, he sketches mindlessly, ending up with Delirium’s curly hair and bright smile.

“Your sister is brilliant,” a voice says and Dream blinks, confused to see Hob smiling widely at the door.

“She is?” He asks, confused as Hob stalks closer, bringing him into a deep kiss, sketchbook wedged between them.

“Despair. She works so beautifully, even Cori probably wants lessons,” Hob purrs, fingers gripping his hair and Dream squirms as Hob sits on top of him, cock filling up from the weight, even as his mind skips over the other’s words.

“Can we not talk about my sister like this?” Dream asks, affronted and Hob laughs, eyes dark as his sketchbook is thrown onto the floor. Nimble fingers start unbuttoning Dream’s shirt, nails scratching down his chest and he shivers.

“Fine, but you should be very proud of her,” Hob whispers, pointer finger pressing into the dark hair above his pants. Dream swallows a sound as the finger tugs the edge of his pants.

“Of course,” he chokes out, mind swimming with the way Hob is only ― watching him breathe and twist, a solid weight on his thighs. “How long do you plan to stare?” He asks, voice low and rough as he pokes Hob’s side, who doesn’t react.

“Until I’ve decided,” Hob answers, eyes zeroing in on his chest as Hob’s other hand comes up, fingers tugging a nipple and Dream chokes on his breath, blood rushing quickly down south. “Or maybe until you’ve had enough,” Hob says with a tilt of his head, a nail digging into his other nipple and Dream cries out.

“Hob,” he whines, panting as his head lolls onto the chair, and Hob hums ― and there’s a brush, pressure against his crotch, and he takes a deep breath, pleasure coiling at the feel of Hob’s arse pressed against him, and Dream grabs onto Hob’s hips in desperation, mind swimming.

“You haven’t nearly enough yet,” Hob scolds lightly, the hand near his crotch swiftly undoing them―and then making their way up his stomach, nails scratching up as Hob leans down to bite his neck, another new sensation to add and Dream moans.

“So you’re going to torture me?” He wheezes, unsure of how he got the words out between all the pulling and tugging.

“I’m sure you’ll like it,” Hob whispers, licking up his adam’s apple. Dream shivers, fear and pleasure twisting as a hand makes it’s way back down to his crotch―then goes back up, nails digging into hips as he tries to―keep a presence of mind under the onslaught of sensations.

“Hob,” he pleads, brain sinking into the feelings, into the over-stimulation as Hob abuses his already red nipples, as the other hand doesn’t go near his cock, the familiar scratch of the other’s beard against his neck, the stinging of fresh marks put over old ones.

“You haven’t even started screaming yet,” Hob whispers into his clavicle. Shuddering, Dream holds on tighter as Hob continues―

Out of all the things he wasn’t expecting, opening the door to Hob’s apartment was ― art, on the walls, as well as what looks like manuscripts and scrolls. They look like they should be in a museum, the mediaeval art in golden frames, the manuscripts and scrolls in sealed glass cases. “These are,” he frowns, staring at a scroll full of Old English in bafflement.

“Just some things I’ve picked up,” Hob says as Dream looks around, a bookshelf filled with various texts about history or lock-picking, fiction and non-fiction as Hob sits on his red sofa. “I do actually have hobbies outside of my work.”

“Do you have the Dead Sea Scrolls around here, too?” He asks dryly, walking down a hallway and seeing more scrolls and manuscripts on the walls on the way to Hob’s bedroom.

“I think I have a replica in another storage vault, actually,” Hob says from the doorway as Dream takes in Hob’s room, quite plain compared to the rest of the apartment. Aside from the bed and another bookcase, there’s a stainless-steel box, brushed silver at the end of Hob’s bed, and Dream reaches forward―until a hand on his wrist stops him. “I wouldn’t do that,” Hob breathes into his ear and Dream swallows.

“Would it kill me?” He asks as his hand gets pulled closer to him, and Hob sighs.

“It’d kill both of us,” Hob points out, reaching forward to put a thumb on the box ― which opens up, revealing a variety of weapons, neatly ordered and sectioned. Knives, blades, wires and ropes, vials and syringes, handguns and what looks like larger guns, broken down into their component parts to fit inside the box. Hob closes the box, which clicks shut and Dream leans away from it as Hob sits on his bed.

Opening the built-in wardrobe, he’s unsurprised to see the suits Hob wears for his job, a variety of harnesses. And, well, Dream blinks at the burst of colour next to the suits, looking at a yellow jumper as he tries to imagine Hob in it, or any of the other colourful clothes next to it. “I thought you just had,” he doesn’t complete the sentence, embarrassed to finish it. What, that he only wore suits exclusively, which he realises is absurd.

“My normal style isn’t black, unlike you,” Hob says, then sighs. “Not that I get much chance to actually wear normal clothes. Well, there’s always undercover work.”

Dream nods, brain trying to wrap what he knows of Hob as he touches a bright blue shirt. And how much he doesn’t know. “Why all the history?” He asks as he sits next to Hob, the quilt a simple and colourful patchwork, another incongruous thing that makes up Hob.

“It’s interesting, learning how people were before today. Maybe in another life I’d be a boring history teacher.”

Scoffing, Dream lightly kisses Hob, then another as he sits on top of the other man, “even if you were, you’d never be boring,” Dream sighs, melting on top of the other’s body, Hob’s arms winding around his waist as they continue to kiss.

“If you say so,” Hob whispers into his mouth.

If there’s one thing Dream is grateful for, is that none of his subsequent kidnappings followed the formula Burgess’s did. Desire had rusty old chains and a damp, ancient room. And this time, his wrists are bound in chains, up above his head, tied around the steel beams of the small warehouse he’s in, surrounded by those who kidnapped him.

He doesn’t appreciate the ache in his shoulder blades though, from being strung up like this. The many people around, seeing him like this, also doesn’t help.

In between irritation that a certain “bodyguard” hasn’t razed through the place yet, is Dream wondering if the people coming after him are because he’s a middle child. Perhaps the logic isn’t sound, with the aching pain of his shoulders and biceps and lack of anything substantial since yesterday, but―

There’s a commotion, the people around him getting out their guns as the two near the door collapse onto the floor. And then more, groups of two, out of nowhere and Dream’s heart jumps, looking around for something familiar.

And eventually finding it on the steel beams on the middle level of the warehouse. Smiling, he watches as Hob takes out more of the people, and there’s a gunshot, the other people finding Hob on the beams. Hob scowls and puts away whatever knives he was using, then swings down from the beam, onto a man’s face, a deep cracking sound making Dream flinch as the man’s head hits the pavement, crushed under Hob’s feet.

Hob leans down, taking the man’s handgun and shooting the two people closest, too fast for them to react and Dream watches, enraptured and blood rushing south as Hob uses up the gun ― then gets out one of his switchblades from his jacket.

Even as Hob swiftly cuts down people, the only spot of blood Dream can see is on the sole of a pointed shoe as Hob makes his way closer, the veritable army of people in the small warehouse down to ― three. Two. And one, which is right next to him as Hob sticks the blade into the man’s eye, and there’s a piercing scream as it’s dragged down his face, his throat― and he stops, flopping to the floor as the blade leaves him.

Hob is ― standing there, taking out a black piece of fabric to clean his blade, a down turn to his lips and a particular darkness still in his eyes, that makes Dream’s insides twist with heat. “Hob? Aren’t you going to free me?” He asks, chains rattling as he tries to drift closer. The other man raises an eyebrow and turns away, walking towards the other end of the warehouse to retrieve his other weapons. “Hob?”

The only sounds are the fleshy sounds of knives being taken out, the tap of Hob’s shoes, the chains keeping him there as his heartrate spikes.

“Hob. Free me,” he orders roughly, and tries not to let his growing terror show as Hob comes up to him, an eyebrow raised.

“Why? You paid for this, after all,” Hob says flatly.

Fuck. Fuck. “I don’t know what you mean,” he croaks, tensing as Hob leans into him, eyes dark as fingers ― spotless of blood, even with all the gore and carnage around them ― tug open the first of his dress shirt’s button. “Hob,” he pleads, voice cracking as Hob steps away, hearing as Hob ― steps behind him, and even if it wasn’t the shoes, it’s his shirt being pulled out of his pants ― and the cold, flat feeling on the end of his spine.

“The way it was only me who found out, the money which I eventually traced to one of your shell companies,” Hob says, and Dream shivers at the breath on his ear, “if you didn’t want me to know, you’d have to try much harder than that. So. Why?”

“I―I don’t,” the knife taps against the vertebrae and Dream gulps, mind trying to get a hold of the familiar terror and arousal mixture. “I,” he tries again, sighing as the blade stops, on the vertebrae above. “I wanted to see you work,” he offers quietly.

There’s a huff, and Dream can almost see the way Hob smirks, and Dream lets out a whimper as an arm goes around his hips, the clink of chains ― and the cold blade, still against his spine as a nose presses into his ear and hair. “And did you have fun?” Hob asks gleefully, fingers digging into his hips, “was I a good spectacle for you?” Hob’s voice is sharper and Dream shudders as the flat edge of the knife continues up his spine.

“Y―yes?” He answers, dick throbbing even with fear running through his veins, mind pulling up if that knife just slipped―”I, Hob, I’m―” Hob’s arm pulls him closer to the blade and he grips onto the chains, pulling himself away from it. “I won’t do it aga―”

There’s a bark of laughter right next to his ear and he represses a flinch, and he shivers as warm hands unbutton his pants, “I don’t care if you do it again. I just have a few notes,” Hob says, voice slipping into a faux cheerful tone as the hand near his pants circles back around ― and the flat of the knife presses into his spine until he twitches away.

“Notes?” He wheezes, squeezing his eyes at the sudden cold at his hole, two split-slicked fingers entering him roughly and he whines, head arching back onto Hob’s at the pain.

“Now, I do like the way you’re tied up here,” Hob offers, tone now conversational and not like two callused fingers are painfully stretching him, “but for some variety, I think maybe you should let one of them plug you up. Or you do it yourself somehow,” Hob hums and Dream cries out as fingers brush his prostate, the pain burning.

“I―ah―back pocket,” he chokes out ― and he sighs in relief, going lax in the chains as the fingers leave, no doubt finding the packet of lube in there.

“But really,” Hob continues, and the knife moves, the blade and handle pressed flat against his back as lubed fingers enter him once more, “if you keep wanting to get yourself kidnapped, I’m thinking of a video for ransom next time, of one of them forcing you to lube yourself up for me.”

Dream gulps, dick twitching and he tries to say something, but another press against those nerves makes the words fall out of his head.

“And it’d give me extra incentive to do this again,” there’s a sigh and Dream writhes, pleasure overtaking pain and terror as Hob puts another finger inside, “and of course, I’d kill the one who watched you first,” Hob nuzzles his ear, stubble scraping along it as the knife vanishes from his back. “And really? Only twenty people?”

Gasping, Dream can only manage vague moans and whimpers, choking on air as his pants are pulled down to his thighs.

“Only twenty,” Hob punctuates the number with a twist of fingers and Dream wails, cries echoing throughout the warehouse, “you insult me.”

“Please,” he pleads, voice broken and breathy, twitching in the chains, and he whimpers as another hand grabs his throat, near his jaw and ears, “please.”

“I don’t know if I want to free you yet,” Hob whispers, nails pressing into his throat and he whines, his shoulders twitching from the pain of being held up, and another finger enters him ― four, at his hazy count. “After all, you paid to be like this, and I should get my money’s worth.”

Dream wails, cock twitching as his orgasm rushes up to him ― and is stopped by Hob’s hand, the stopping of it, and the feel of Hob’s hand making his body flare with toomuchtoomuchnotenoughmorenomoreplease.

“Fifty thousand, you paid for this,” Hob says into his ear, and Dream can only twitch as another finger goes into his hole, and he whimpers as five fingers stretch him, relentlessly pushing the nerves into blaring pleasure-pain. “What do you think that was? Ten thousand? Maybe less?”

“Hob,” he begs, the only word he can manage.

“I don’t know. Getting fucked may cost you extra,” Hob says, and he can feel teeth against the shell of his ear as Hob tugs him closer, and he sobs, eyes wet at the feeling of a hard cock brushing his arse.

“Please, anything, yes,” Dream slurs, chains rattling as he tries to get closer to Hob’s cock, even with it being clothed, and even with the many fingers still inside him. There’s a squelch and Dream whines, fingers leaving him empty ― and Hob moans, a hot length entering him and lighting Dream up inside with pleasure.

Dream can only sway in place, an arm going around his waist as the other pulls his head up, throat straight and aching as Hob nips at neck, and Dream twitches, sinking into the way Hob breathes against him, the other’s cock fucking in and out of him brutally, even with the way it slipped into his loose hole.

He shivers, another orgasm making it’s way through his body ― until Hob stops it, and Dream keens. “HobpleaseIpleaseletme,” he babbles, the words just a stream of consciousness, brain only pleasure, the way he’s being used.

Hob groans, biting his ear as Dream continues to plea, then there’s a bite to his ear as Hob comes, leaking out of him. Dream whines, cock still hard and twitching, neglected as― he crumples to the floor, chain cut off as it pools to the floor. “A week, I think,” Hob says, his pointed shoes showing up in Dream’s periphery. There’s a tug on the chains still around his wrists as Hob pulls him up, feet pushing his legs apart.

Dream groans, mind blank as Hob tugs down his pants more, and there’s a wet feeling on the edge of them―blood, from the corpse near him.

Hob hums, and there’s a hand on his jaw, pulling it up as he stares into Hob’s eyes, “you’re pretty deep in there. Just look at me,” Dream leans into the hand, brain fuzzy as there’s a sudden sting on his inner thigh, like a cut and he furrows his brows, looking down to see Hob’s hand, a blade―and the cut, the knife so close to his cock. “Time for us to go,” Hob says, pulling him up with the chains, other hand doing up his pants.

―

“Deep in where?” He asks, voice slurred as he comes back to himself, finding himself in his room. And what feels like a bandage around his thighs, shoulders and wrists aching a lot less then he thought they would as he groans, face full of Hob’s chest hair.

“Subspace,” Hob replies, stroking his hair and Dream sighs, feeling the quilt on top of them. “A firm hand and you go right under.”

Dream blinks, twitching his hands as he realises they’re still there, as he pats Hob’s chest and remembers his last partner, how they’d take him to that space every time, leaving him afterwards, and how horrible he’d usually feel the days after. “Huh.” Mind still coming back in pieces, helped along by the warmth of Hob, the hand patting his hair, “when did we get back?”

“A while ago. Just relax, I’m only done with you for today.” Dream whines, nose pressing into dark hair as he moves up to bite at Hob’s collarbone, making Hob chuckle. “No more,” Hob says, voice soft as fingers continue to twirl through his hair, as he feels Hob’s other hand caresses his spine.

“But I’m still,” he frowns, voice muffled as he tries to place it, the burning desire in his veins muted, but still there.

“Tomorrow,” Hob says with a sigh. Dream groans and licks more of Hob’s collarbone, trying to elicit a response ― which he doesn’t get.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Desire says ― whines, and Dream blinks, trying to get some thoughts together, away from hot skin and―”Dream!”

“Yes?” He asks, still not looking at his sibling as he adjusts the shirt collar around his neck, fingers brushing against the harsh red marks on his throat. He vaguely remembers a meeting, which seems to have ended and left only them.

“You’re more spacey than usual,” Desire says, and he becomes more present as there’s a poke against his side, then more until he scowls, chair scraping as he moves away from Desire’s pokes. “What’s that master of yours been doing to you?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, face feeling hotter as Desire raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Aren’t you meant to be with Despair?”

His sibling pouts, resting their face on their hands, “she’s having fun with all that down in the skeevy bits in the basement. Last time I went there was all blood and bone,” Desire says and Dream scrunches his nose at the picture Desire paints. “I’m happy for her, but I just can’t. I prefer keeping my hands clean, you know. At least, of blood and gore.”

“Naturally,” he says dryly and Desire hmph’s, leaving him a shove and Dream can only watch blankly as Desire gets out their phone, touchscreen keys clacking.

It’s been three days, and Hob has decided to drive Dream insane. A week, he blearily heard Hob say before he passed out. It’s the fourth day and Dream wonders how he’ll survive, getting out intact.

The first day, Hob smiling, stubble scraping his stomach as he goes down, hot mouth swallowing him fully, orgasm being sucked out of him―he wishes.

Second day, Dream begging and pleading as Hob fingers him for hours, other hand around his cock, stopping him from coming as he gets increasingly more desperate and incoherent, with Hob only smiling and laughing, biting at his shoulder and neck―

And yesterday, kevlar rope around his neck as Hob takes out the butt plug he put in the day before, the lack of air and Hob fucking him roughly, and the complete lack of―

A hand, callused and familiar, touches his neck, thumb grazing across the sensitive marks and Dream heaves, brain sparking and collapsing with the touch as he curls into it, grabbing onto Hob’s wrist as his skin tingles. “Hob,” he breathes, cock hard and leaking ― constantly, but even more with Hob’s touch.

Hob’s hand trails down to his collar, taking him out of the chair and Dream follows almost blindly, seeing the black of Hob’s suit and the brightness of his eyes as Hob leads him ― wherever.

“Please,” he croaks, uncaring of anything else as he’s taken into a small room, bright with windows, and he can only obey as Hob pushes him to the floor.

“Soon,” Hob teases, smiling down at him and Dream whines at the rough tug to his hair, lighting his brain up with pleasure-pain as a leg, a pointed leather shoe gets put between his legs, and Dream cries out as the shoe presses into his arousal.

“Not soon enough,” he breathes, body collapsing onto Hob’s leg, fingers clutching desperately at the other’s thigh, hiding his face near the other’s crotch as Hob huffs, leaning against the wall.

“Oh Dream,” Hob coos, the hand in his hair going down to his jaw, and he can only whine as a thumb touches his bottom lip, his body moving onto Hob’s shoe, his ankle without his input, brain flaring with constant pleasure ― and the way he knows it’ll end today.

“Please,” his voice cracks and Hob shushes him, tugging him up by the jaw and he shivers at the change of angle, the point of a leather shoe pressing into his cock. He’s only nerves and bundled pleasure, bordering on pain as he grinds into the other’s shoe―

And can only gasp as once again, his orgasm is ripped away as Hob tugs him up by his neck, nails digging into the rope marks. “Not yet,” Hob whispers, eyes dark yet sparkling and Dream shivers, unable to stop the strung-out whine as Hob kisses him lightly.

The other days go by in a haze, and Dream’s just lucky there’s no intensive meetings as he tries to focus on ― anything but Hob, just the thought of him enough to heat his blood. He does manage to do some abstract paintings, full of red and black, hazy and tense like he feels.

The day after, the weight of Hob on top of him, his fingers making Hob moan as they brush against the other’s prostate, strong hands eventually guiding his cock into Hob. Having a simple black cock ring put onto him after Hob’s come, who leaves him with a peck to the cheek.

And the next day, waking up with Hob in his bed ― who wasn’t there that night, as he gasps awake at warmth and wet around his cock, and for all he knows, hours of lapping at his cock and balls, still unable to come due to the cock ring, but red and leaking in Hob’s mouth, bringing Dream to an edge of insanity he wasn’t aware of as he screamed and pleaded―

Then, of course, Hob leaving. He didn’t get out of bed that day, only aware of the passage of time with Hob coming back with meals and drinks as he did rough scribbles in his sketchbook, or read a book.

He only notices the paintbrush he’s holding is shaking with the way it splatters against the canvas, and he takes a deep breath, putting it down, stomach twisted in anticipation for whatever torture’s in store. His face and neck feel hot and Dream briefly considers putting his head through the canvas, the still wet paint would be cool, right?

Grimacing, he rubs his throat, feeling the warm skin under his hand before he gets his phone out, finding it almost midnight, and Dream has a brief worry that Hob’s hurt somewhere―

―More likely wanting to drive you insane, he reminds himself, the thought calming the spike of worry as he groans. Staring at the canvas blankly, he gets up, chair scraping as he walks out of the room, wound-up tight as he makes his way back to his room, avoiding the other guards, and a brief glimpse of Death in a room, phone to her ear.

Taking his shoes off, he settles on his bed, brain caught up in hot skin and dark eyes as he drags his hand down his chest, shutting his eyes as he gets out his dick, aching and red, leaking in his hand as he starts to slowly stroke it. Groaning at the cock ring still around the base, he takes it off with a sigh, whining as he continues to lazily rub his dick, pre-come making it smoother as it gets smeared with his fingers, arching into the sensation.

Huffing, he pushes his pants off as he strokes, his own fingers nice ― but lacking, the pleasant feeling of an incoming orgasm seeming to move further away, even with his hard and aching his cock is. Biting his lip, he thinks of the metal tang and musk of Hob, of rough hands as he drags himself to an orgasm, the only sound in his room, his breathing and the slick slide of his hand as he gasps, thinking of scratchy stubble along his throat.

He whines, orgasm still out of reach, insides twisting at how much Hob has power over him, even when he’s not there, as he strokes himself roughly, the precipice of it still unattainable.

“Please,” he whispers, moaning as he tries to get over that edge, but nothing seems to reach as he cries out, arching into his hand in frustration―

And his knees hit something solid. Opening his eyes, he’s shocked at Hob sitting on the edge of the bed, his knees against Hob’s hip.

“Hob,” he croaks, straightening himself on the bed, hand leaving his cock under the other’s dark stare. “Please,” he asks, frozen as Hob continues to look, eyes dark as they trail up his bare legs, to the plain black shirt on his chest, the gaze almost tangible as it makes him shiver.

A hand, Hob’s hand, moves onto his thigh and he lets out a whine, cock leaking at the simple touch. “I was enjoying the show,” Hob whispers, fingers dancing up his inner thigh and Dream traps the hand between his thighs.

“I can’t,” he breathes, twitching as fingers brush against his cock, feeling out of his mind with desperation and renewed pleasure, even with Hob only having on his thighs.

Hob smiles and takes his hand away, and Dream swallows down a groan and a pout as the hand is put next to his leg, making Hob loom over him. “Of course you can,” Hob says, other hand gripping one of Dream’s, intertwining their fingers as it’s guided to his cock, making him keen as the combined touch strokes him.

Then Hob pulls his hand away and he cries out, the surging frustration making his eyes water, “can’t,” he breathes, unable to even feel embarrassed, only absurdly twisted up with frustration and pleasure. “Need you.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” a hand grabs his wrist, the other’s eyes black and depthless as they stare, as his hand is guided past his balls, and he twitches and whines as a finger, sticky with pre-come, is put inside himself. Hob lets out a breath, gaze hungry as Dream twists the finger inside, eventually adding another one as his stomach flutters, orgasm feeling more in sight with Hob watching.

His hole, still loose from the week, accepts his fingers easily enough that he adds a third in, and he gasps, throwing his head back as they brush across his prostate. Keening, he chases the impending orgasm, adding a fourth finger as he can feel Hob lean closer, breath on his thigh ― and a hand on his hip, digging into it, another spark of sensation.

“Beautiful,” Hob breathes, voice even lower and Dream moans, crying out as he fingers himself, mind sliding away as a particular press on that spot inside makes him see stars, orgasm crashing into him ― and, after a moment of the weightlessness, he looks down to see Hob’s face covered in it, in his beard and hair and Dream’s spent cock twitches, come leaking out at the view. Hob only blinks and uses his free hand to wipe some of it from his forehead, sucking his fingers clean.

“People always forget that I do remember what they say,” Delirium says, putting a mahjong tile in the center of their game, and Dream blinks. When he came into Delirium’s room with her table impeccably set up with rows of mahjong tiles, he knew she was in one of her better days.

“Like what?” He asks, taking his turn as he looks over his two rows of tiles, eventually putting it on the one inside.

“Like that you all plotted our parent’s death,” Delirium chirps with a smile, and Dream freezes, eyes going wide. “None of you told me,” her voice isn’t angry, but Dream winces anyway, guilt twisting.

“I… we didn’t worry you. And. Well,” he stops, picking up a tile for his turn and fiddling with it as he discards another, putting it in the center. Maybe you would’ve objected, he doesn’t say.

“I wouldn’t have. They were going to take me away,” she says with a frown and Dream’s guilt eases, just a little. The door opens and Delirium smiles. Dream, facing away from it, turns around, blinking to see Hob coming over.

And then he feels only a little bit of offence at the way Hob goes to Delirium, putting a hand in front of his mouth to whisper into her ear. “Still, I… apologise,” he offers, eyes narrowing as Delirium nods and smiles. Confused, he has no idea what to say as their game continues, Hob watching from his sister’s side, occasionally whispering something to her.

“Mahjong!” Delirium says with a giggle, taking the rack of tiles closest to her to show them and Dream scowls at Hob’s pleased smile as the completed row lays flat.

“You’re helping her,” he accuses, “and you,” he points to his sister, competitiveness burning within him, “still have one row to do before you win.”

“I’m more giving her suggestions,” Hob says with a shrug and Dream continues to scowl, trying not to be swayed by Hob’s sparkling eyes.

“This is the one you’re one with, yes?” Delirium says, eyes going over her remaining row of tiles and Dream nods, “I like him. Much nicer than the other guards.”

Dream sniffs, “yes. He’s alright when he’s not helping you win,” he mutters and Hob’s eyebrows raise, leaning against the table.

“So you don’t think she could win on her own, then?” Hob says with a grin and Dream goes back to scowling as Delirium blinks, leaning forward.

“I didn’t say that, she’s great at playing it, but this seems a bit excessive,” Dream pouts, and he can only watch as Delirium and Hob laugh, trying not to join in with their infectious happiness as picks up a tile.

Dream stares at the blank canvas, still ― accusingly blank, even with the hour of working out what he wants to paint, an itch building under his skin to finally do it―

Except, the warm weight under him, an arm around his waist as Hob is on his phone, and his cock, spent and soft, keeping him full of the other’s come, and Dream finds it increasingly hard to concentrate, the white of the canvas mocking.

Blinking, he stares at the brush in his hand, no paint on it at all, so he pokes Hob’s arm with it. “Hob,” he says, definitely not whining as he moves, jostling the cock inside.

There’s a sigh against his bare shoulder, his shirt left on the floor somewhere as Hob marked up his neck, with Hob still in his suit and shoes, the feel of cotton against his back as Hob’s head rests on his shoulder. “Weren’t you going to paint?” He asks, eyebrows raising at the canvas.

Huffing, Dream relaxes against the other’s chest, his own prick hard in his pants, which were hastily tugged down just for the important parts, “Hob,” he doesn’t whine, though it’s definitely in his tone, and he bites back a gasp at teeth biting into his shoulder, Hob’s other arm joining around his waist, tugging him closer.

“Always so needy,” Hob whispers into his skin, and he cries out as Hob’s hand goes under his pants, roughly stroking his dick. Moaning, arching his back as fingers play with his slit and balls, pleasure building as he feels Hob’s cock start to harden, filling him up even more and he whines, reaching back to grab a hold of the other’s hair. “You didn’t even start.”

A sound gets torn out of him as Hob pulls him flush, hard cock pressing against his prostate and whatever he planned to say disappears as he holds on, mind crashing at the teeth and tongue on his throat, the hand on his cock.

Having Hob’s cock in him, even soft, helps his orgasm come much quicker, and there’s a huff in his ear as he comes, fingers on his cock pressing the cockhead and he shivers, panting as his cock dribbles even more.

“I do have an idea,” he gets out, head still scrambled by coming ― and still feeling the hard cock, not moving, but still in him, “but I kept being distracted.”

There’s a nibble to his ear as he pants, loose-limbed as Hob licks up his neck, stubble scratching against it, “and you had all this talk about being able to handle this,” the teasing tone makes him shudder, Hob deciding to keep his cock pressing against his prostate ― and Hob, pulling out his semen-stained hand to take one of his, intertwining it and putting it against his stomach, where he can almost feel it. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you more time.”

Dream stares at the cafe around him and feels ― incongruous, even with a plain black turtleneck and black jeans with boots, as he watches ordinary people go about their day. And he’s nervous, waiting for Hob to appear.

Mainly because from a certain point of view, with him asking for Hob to arrive in his normal clothes, like it could be a date.

That he wants it to be a date, which seems absurd but also wonderful, nerves a ball in his stomach as he looks at what’s on offer. Hob chose the location.

The cafe is warm, wood and plants hanging from pots, and Dream gives a side-eye to the clear case showing a variety of desserts, and he thinks about which of them he should try once Hob actually―

A familiar sound, Hob’s voice, makes his head whip up, and he takes a deep breath at seeing Hob near the door. Chatting with someone, smiling brightly as he describes something, hands gesturing. As Hob points his way, the apologetic smile is broadcasted easily as Hob makes his way through, ending up talking to someone else a table away.

Dream blinks, brain almost not registering the blue dress shirt and green cargo pants that Hob’s wearing over the way that he apparently knows the people here. His regular cafe? Dream thinks.

A knock against his boot shocks him out of his thoughts, Hob done with catching up with people and sitting across from him, their feet touching under the table. “Hello,” he breathes, brain lagging as Hob smiles, leaning in to kiss him, softly―but leaving with a bite against his bottom lip.

“Not what you expected?” Hob asks, eyebrows raising.

“I―I don’t know what I was expecting,” he chokes out, coughing afterwards as Hob laughs. Feeling his face heat, he ignores it, “what would you recommend here, then?”

Hob tilts his head, a head reaching out to hook a pointer finger underneath the edge of his sleeve, “I’ll get something for you,” Hob says, leaning in to give him another kiss. “Stay here.”

As Hob gets up to join the queue for ordering, Dream sees a pair of ratty sneakers, white and green and old, and Dream tries to wrap his head around it. At the way Hob is just so ordinary, would look past him if he hadn’t seen him take down buildings of people single-handed.

Dream wonders how Hob has probably hidden knives under his normal clothes, how he smiles so easily as he strikes up a conversation with the person in front of him in the queue. Soon enough, Hob joins him back at the table, grinning brightly as he puts down two plates. “Coffee’s on the way,” Hob says as he digs into his own dessert, a slice of red velvet cake.

“Thank you,” he replies automatically, staring at the slice of key lime pie in front of him, eventually taking a bite and humming at the sweet-tart of it. “Not what I expected either. Isn’t there anything English on the menu?”

Hob chuckles, “there are. But all their things are also sourced locally, if your English sensibilities are feeling hurt,” the other man says, raising an eyebrow in challenge and Dream scowls.

“Don’t you consider yourself English?” He frowns, and Hob laughs even harder. “What?”

“I’ve done too many things for this country to ever consider myself patriotic about it. I live here, I’m British, but,” he shrugs, “now I look after a mafia family who are quite up themselves sometimes,” Hob mutters, twirling a forkful of red velvet before eating it.

Dream scowls, unsure what to say in reply that wouldn’t cause a scene, or that wouldn’t cause Hob to leave or something worse, which means he just screams inwardly for a few moments. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. Hob smirks around his fork.

Thankfully, their coffee arrives soon after and his knee jerk feelings vanish with a sip of his caramel latte. Hob, to his surprise, also has a latte, which is chocolate ― and Hob lets him try.

Hob leans forward, legs hooking around one of his shins as he finishes off his cake. “Something’s off,” Hob says casually.

“Off?” He frowns, looking down at the key lime ― or himself.

“No. Something else,” Hob tilts his head, brown eyes looking past him, “we’re being watched.” Dream turns his head―or tries to, considering the hand on his cheek, stopping from doing that. “Not there. And don’t look. You’d be a horrible spy.”

Dream scowls, “well, by who then?”

Hob scowls and there’s a scraping, metal on porcelain as the hand on his face goes to his jaw, gently tugging it open to feed him a bite of his pie. “Don’t know. It’s more a feeling than anything else, but it’s kept me alive all this time.”

“Wonderful,” he replies sarcastically after eating his bite, resisting the urge to pout as Hob tugs him into a kiss. That, at least, makes him feel less miserable at the apparent eyes on them.

“Don’t worry, we can go to my place after,” Hob breathes, eyes darkening and Dream swallows, blood rushing at the heat in the other’s gaze.

After, Hob seems to forget the news he shared as he talks about coffee, while Dream only half-listens, feeling unseen eyes on his back as he occasionally offers his own opinion, relentlessly tearing into a napkin due to nerves. Dream, for the tiniest bit, hates how casual and relaxed Hob is as they get up, Hob intertwining their hands as they walk out of the cafe, Hob pointing out other favourite stores as they walk the few blocks to Hob’s apartment block. “You’re very tense,” Hob remarks and Dream gives him a glare.

Hob sighs as they go up the stairs to his flat, Dream holding onto Hob’s hand tightly as Hob checks something at his door, then nods and opens it, Hob pulling him in and cornering him against the door, lock clicking under his back as they kiss.

Nails dig into the tense muscles on the back of his neck and Dream resists the part of him that wants to sink into that space as Hob devours his mouth. “Relax, they haven’t gotten inside, and the windows are closed,” Hob breathes and Dream opens his eyes, body relaxing a fraction at the blinds blocking the windows, as he reaches up to pet the other’s beard.

The hands on his neck move down to his shoulders, and his mind slips a little into that place at the thought of Hob pushing him onto the floor, arousal rushing through his body as a leg slips in between his. Hob briefly presses against his cock, then he whines as the kiss ends, following blindly as Hob tugs him away from the door.

Dark eyes light him up as he manages to swoop in for another kiss as his hands go to the other’s thighs, and he lets out a relieved huff of breath at the familiar thigh holster underneath the horrible green cargo pants. Finally reaching Hob’s room, he whines as arms go under his arse, pulling him onto Hob’s lap as they kiss and rut against each other, clothes being thrown off as an afterthought.

Dream shivers at the feeling of Hob’s hard cock pressing against him, desire building up, a base need with how much he wants Hob inside, whining desperately into the other’s mouth. “Need you,” he breathes, a hand in Hob’s chest hair, the other holding onto the thigh holster, gripping at warm skin and hair.

“I have a better idea,” Hob answers, tugging his hand off his chest, “with those fidgety fingers of yours.” Hob’s eyes are dark and his cock twitches as his hand is guided between them.

Dream wakes with a sour taste in his mouth, sinuses burning―which, Hob definitely did nothing to make that happen, considering he’s pretty sure Hob and he didn’t even talk the day before, and the fact that he’s not comfy in Hob’s bed tells him nothing good, and he definitely didn’t pay for this one. Opening blurry eyes, he’s in a familiar room, ornate fireplace crackling with fire, chandelier as ornate as always.

Surrounded by armed people, with Lucifer Morningstar looming above him, made even taller with the way he’s cuffed to the chair, can feel the steel chafing against his wrists. “Lucifer.”

“How nice of you to join us,” they sneer. “Your dog was quite the trouble to come quietly,” they nod to the left and Dream scowls, aching head turning to find Hob glaring at Lucifer, a slash across his temple, blood dripping down his face and jaw, teeth bared in a bloody snarl. And many people holding him down, along with cuffs and ropes, keeping him to the chair. Dream doubts that even all that would be able to keep him there if he didn’t want to be. “It was very rude.”

“Is this because of how we ended things?” He asks bluntly, not in the mood for the games, “or did you forget the attempted murder?”

At this, there’s a scuffle and shouting and more people move over to where Hob is ― trying to get to Lucifer, presumably. “Of course not,” they say smoothly, cheek twitching as they cross their arms. “I simply think that the Endless territory is simply too big, and needs a trim.”

Dream blinks, tilting his head as he considers. Especially with the latest poisoning attempt, the people following them… “as you say,” he replies, shaking his bound wrists. “Why even handcuff me? You know I’m nothing compared to him,” he says, motioning to Hob, and Dream has a moment to marvel at the weirdness, seeing Hob bloody at all, dripping down onto the collar of his suit.

“It does seem to be a preference for you these days,” Lucifer purrs, eyes flickering down his body and Dream sneers. “Fine. Your dog,” they spit the word, “is tied up more securely than you anyway, and we can talk about this civilly.” They motion and the cuffs are undone, and Dream sighs as he rubs his bruised wrists.

Frowning, Dream pats his torso, then hides his surprise at how he can still feel his harness ― and the gun in it. And it’s not like they’ve managed to take any of Hob’s weapons off him, or Hob would’ve been stripped by now, with what he knows of how Morningstar works. Arrogant, he thinks as he rests his arms on his legs. “And what? Will the negotiating happen before killing me, I hope?”

Lucifer gives a small smile, pleased, “it’s the easy way,” they raise a hand and the sound of many guns being cocked makes Dream twitch, even though he still feels confident―mainly because of Hob, “or the hard way.”

Swallowing a sigh, he stands up, crossing his arms, putting one under his suit jacket to grab a hold of his weapon. “And if I don’t, let me guess,” he frowns, “you did like choking me,” he states. “One last time before I die?”

“If you go about things the right way,” they say, honey-laced poison of their tone as they put a hand under his jaw, nails pressing into it as Dream freezes, gripping his gun tightly, “then you won’t die at all.” Dream chafes under the hold, the smug way Lucifer smiles ― which turns into a frown as he pushes the other’s arm away with his, flicking the safety off the gun as he aims it up at Lucifer’s head. The sound of Lucifer’s people aiming their guns is clear, even with the way they hold a regal hand up, keeping them from shooting. “How disappointing.”

“If only I cared about your opinion,” he says, the muzzle of the gun pointed to the middle of Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer heaves a sigh, hands held together at their waist.

“You won’t shoot me, Dream, don’t be ridiculous,” they scold, like Dream’s a misbehaving kid, so sure of themselves, of their people. Much like Dream’s parents were.

Dream lowers the gun and Lucifer smiles brighter, mouth opening―and he shoots Lucifer in the leg, making them kneel to the floor with a pained gasp, eyes wide in shock as the muzzle presses into their forehead. “Maybe I wouldn’t have, before,” he concedes.

“If you shoot me again,” they hiss, glaring up at him, hand on their leg, red spilling out from underneath it, “you’ll be dead before the bullet’s done killing me!”

Dream cocks back the hammer, the tension choking as Lucifer glares daggers at him, can almost feel the guns trained on him. He tilts his head, hairs on the back of his neck standing up under the scrutiny, “you really should’ve kept those focused on my,” he pauses, frowning, “dog, as you put it.”

Suddenly, there’s shouting and gunshots, and Dream keeps his eyes on Lucifer’s shocked, turning horrified expression as there’s more shots, and the people closest to the door crumple to the floor, the sound of people gurgling to death behind him. A callused, bloody hand covers his own, and he relaxes as the gun fires, Lucifer collapsing to the floor, bullet between their eyes.

“You kept it,” Hob says, sounding awed as Hob pulls him closer by his hand, dark eyes focused on the weapon between them.

“Of course. You gave it to me,” he smiles, looking around at the bodies around them, then at the cut on other’s forehead as he puts away his gun, flicking the safety off. “You’re―” his words become a moan as Hob kisses him, hands framing his face, thoughts vanishing under the possessive way Hob’s kissing, like Lucifer’s ghost can still see it as he whines, leaning into the other’s body. He pants, mouth tangy with Hob’s blood, “you’re hurt,” he breathes.

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dream of the endless #lord morpheus #hob gadling #writing #not sfw #2024 dreamling bingo #a bouquet of knives #i return!! to they #i love them

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the-guilty-writer · 2 years ago

Text

Never Grow Up

Agent Rossi-Reid

Anthology Masterlist

David Rossi x daughter!reader, Spencer Reid x reader, Criminal minds x BAU!reader

Summary: The role Gideon played as Rossi-Reid grew up.

A/N: This is sad. This is really sad. I don't apologize. Embrace the sad.

Based off Taylor Swift's Never Grow Up

CW: typical criminal minds talk of murder, very sad and angsty

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Your little hands wrapped around my finger And it's so quiet in the world tonight Your little eyelids flutter 'cause you're dreamin' So I tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light

---

Dave looked down at the little bundle of blankets that rested in his arms. It was a big day for the newest Rossi family addition- the team had come over to meet you for the very first time. It had been a lot for Dave, too. He thought profiling was the hardest, most time consuming, soul-sucking, job in the world, but you had proved him wrong. Turns out that the hardest, most time consuming, soul-sucking job in the world was being a parent.

But the joy you brought him made up for it all.

For about an hour the BAU agents had passed you around and Dave was grateful that after all the action you were dozing off in his arms, one of your impossibly small hands wrapped around his pointer finger. He smiled tiredly, knowing he had to put you down in your crib soon before he spent another night admiring your adorably tiny features. He sighed quietly and sent you down, hoping that you wouldn’t wake up. Your eyelids fluttered- hopefully with good dreams- but other than that you didn’t stir.

He walked over to turn on the nightlight; it was a gift from Gideon. The tiny plastic sparrow illuminated the room the perfect amount, but Dave couldn’t get over his closest colleague’s strange fascination with birds. Of course, you loved the little plastic bird- when you awoke at night you’d cry at first, but by the time your dad got to your room you’d be goggling at the feathered figure.

“Mio Passerotta.” It slipped out before Dave even had a chance to think about it. The Italian nickname was common enough that no one would think it was odd, but it felt more right than that. Gideon had named his son Stephen, in honor of Dave. It only felt right that your term of endearment- something your dad had thought about more than your actual name- was an ode to his friend. “Sogni d’oro, my sparrow. Ti voglio bene.”

---

To you, everything's funny You got nothing to regret I'd give all I have honey If you could stay like that

---

“Uncle Jason!” Your little legs carried you towards Gideon’s desk as fast as they could. “Uncle Jason look!”

“What is this?” he said in an exaggerated voice as you handed him a piece of paper and climbed into his lap. Your preschool and daycare were closed due to a holiday, but work never stopped at the BAU, meaning your dad had no choice but to bring you into the office. None of the agents minded- you brought a joy to the space so pure that it almost made the horror of their jobs disappear, even if it was only for the day.

Lucky for them you were now three years old and had recently discovered a love for drawing and coloring, which meant scrapped preliminary profiles that were blank on one side could be recycled into canvases for your artwork. Gideon couldn’t decide if it was right or not- having you put images of rainbows and butterflies on papers that had lists of victims names on the other side- but he tried not to think too hard about this.

“Wow!” Gideon held you steady on his lap with one hand and your drawing of… something… in the other. “Is this for me?”

“Yes!” You smiled up at him. “It’s a bird cos you like birds.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll hang it right here.” He tacked the picture up on the bulletin board that sat on his desk, next to the other three drawings of birds you had done that day for him.

“I should draw one wearing a hat!” you giggled. Gideon wasn’t sure what was so funny about the idea of a bird wearing a hat, but it made him chuckle anyway.

“(Y/N)!” your dad called for you.

You turned to Gideon. “I have to go, but I’ll be back!” You ran off towards your dad’s desk.

Gideon watched to make sure you didn’t fall. He opened up the file he had been so careful to close before you came over. Inside were pictures of young women with your same hair and eye color, each assaulted and murdered in cold blood. With a heavy heart, he looked over to you, innocently drawing another picture with your crayons.

Oh what he would give for you to stay like that.

---

You're in the car on the way to the movies And you're mortified your mom's droppin' you off At fourteen, there's just so much you can't do And you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots

---

Aaron Hotchner was a man known for his calm and cool demeanor, but he was also known for his ambition, and occasionally that ambition made him more excited than normal. Recently, his ambition had led him to become an agent at the BAU. It was something he’d wanted since he first heard about the unit, and though he managed to make himself look poised on the outside, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was probably shivering in his suit. They really should warn the new agents that the basement, which served as the unit’s headquarters, could go from being a sauna one day to the arctic tundra the next day.

The heavy metal doors of the BAU opened, letting the cool air from the hallway sweep across his desk. He shook off the need to chatter his teeth and went back to his paperwork. It was beginning to feel tedious, doing the grunt work of all the agents above him. He knew that next week he would get to start looking at actual cases. After a few months he would be allowed to consult on simple profiles over the phone with small police stations that called for help. Maybe even if he worked hard enough he could make it into the field before he hit his first year-

“Agent Hotchner, over here!” Someone called to him from the outskirts of the space, where the senior agents had their desks. He suppressed a groan at the idea that another file would be added to his seemingly endless pile, but when he looked over at the person who had called him, they weren’t holding out a file.

David Rossi, the senior agent who approved Aaron’s request to join the unit, was walking towards him. Next to the senior agent was you. Aaron had seen you before of course, but he had never taken time to really look at the 14 year old that came into the BAU around 4 PM every day. But now there was no doubt in his mind that you were David Rossi’s daughter- your facial expressions, posture, and the way you walked was nearly identical to your dad’s.

“Agent Rossi,” Aaron stood up from his desk as the two of you approached.

“Please, Aaron,” Rossi said. “Just call me Dave. Now, this is my daughter, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Agent Hotchner. Now, I have a flight to catch for an emergency case and the TSA is going to be a pain in my ass like they usually are.” He handed Aaron a key. “This is for SUV number 4 in the parking garage. Don’t crash it, but (Y/N) has to meet her friends in 25 minutes and the movie theater is 30 minutes away. Thanks.”

Dave gave Aaron a quick pat on the shoulder and then walked past him, his go-bag in hand, leaving the young agent alone with his daughter. Aaron honestly wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or not.

“Sorry you got put on babysitting duty,” you said, though you didn’t sound apologetic. “But we have to go.” You began to walk off.

Aaron blindly shoved papers into his brief case before following you out the doors of the BAU. “I’ll uh-” He looked down at his watch. “I’ll have to ask where the SUVs are kept-”

“No need.” You walked easily into the elevator and pressed a button. “I know this place like the back of my hand.”

You seemed confident enough in your manner that he didn’t question you. Aaron took a deep breath to try to compose himself. He was usually good at working under pressure, but something like this had never happened to him.

The elevator stopped and you walked off. Aaron followed you. Surely enough, you knew exactly where the SUV was kept. As he drove, you tried to get him to take short cuts to the movie theater, but he refused to listen. Still, you got there on time. He was about to pull up to it when-

“You can just drop me off here,” you said. The theater was about a block away. “I’ll just walk.”

Aaron shook his head. “Your dad trusted me and-”

“And I get made fun of every time I get dropped off somewhere in a government vehicle.”

Aaron looked over at you. The confidence that had shone through before dimmed just a bit. Aaron remembered being 14… thinking about all the things he wished he could do but he couldn’t. He knew that teenage desire to have independence; to be able to call the shots in your own life.

Honestly, he was experiencing a bit of it right now being new at the BAU- having this need to look good for everyone, wanting to impress those around him, hoping that they’d loosen his leash just a little bit…

“One day what the other kids say about you won't matter,” he said and pulled up in front of the theater to drop you off. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, my actual babysitter will be here soon,” you replied. “Thanks for the ride, Hotch.”

“Don’t call me that,” he retorted.

You smirked at him before shutting the car door. You walked into the theater, but saw that Hotch was lingering around, just to make sure you really were okay, before finally leaving.

You hurried out to the payphone in front of the theater and dialed the number. “He stuck around for an extra seven minutes,” you said into the phone. “Trusted me enough to follow me to the SUV but didn't budge when I told him it'd be quicker to take the short cut. I'd give him a B+. Maybe an A-.”

You knew that Jason Gideon was smiling on the other end of the phone. “I guess he passed,” your uncle said. “I'll be there to pick you up soon.”

You hung up the phone, your part in the BAU new agent hazing ritual complete. Agent Hotchner had taken enough command, trusted you but not too much, and followed through with your saftey.

Part of you wondered if there was more to the "test" than just a good laugh for Gideon and your dad. Maybe you'd find out one day.

---

So here I am in my new apartment In a big city, they just dropped me off It's so much colder than I thought it would be So I tuck myself in and turn my nightlight on

---

After finding the letter at Gideon’s cabin, you held Spencer for what felt like hours as he cried. You wanted to cry too, but the shock of it all was too much. It wouldn’t sink in, like your body and mind refused to accept that it had happened.

Spencer left for the bathroom to take a shower. You knew he was probably standing under scorching hot water, trying to wash away the pain of it, or feel something other than grief. Normally you would have gone in and turned the temperature down, but your heart wouldn’t let you.

Right now, all you wanted was some sleep.

You slipped on your most cozy pajamas, tossing your tear-stained clothes in the hamper. The entire apartment felt colder than normal. You went to tuck yourself into bed, but stopped before you could get comfortable. Spencer would get out of the shower eventually and being the gentleman he was, he wouldn’t turn on the light in an effort not to wake you. You slipped out of bed and padded over to the nightlight to turn it on.

The little sparrow had faded in color, but it was still your favorite nightlight. You went to flip the switch, but it didn’t turn on; and for some reason, you knew that it wouldn’t matter if you changed the bulb or not… it wasn’t going to light.

It would never light again.

Whether your heart or your legs crumbled first, you weren’t sure, but you were on the ground. Your body shook and tears fell, but you made no noise. You stayed there, on the cold wooden floor, your head buried in your arms and your legs tucked up to your chest, until a hand fell on your shoulder.

You looked up in the dark to see Spencer, and then turned back to the sparrow that had lost its light forever. He sat down next to you and let you lean into him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. It was his turn to take care of you now, and he knew that. Sometimes that meant asking you if you wanted to say something, even if you said nothing at all.

You looked at the bird in the darkness, remembering your life… your childhood room, the sound of the door opening when your dad got home, the way your footsteps had grown against the concrete floors of the old BAU headquarters, the wise words that Gideon always spoke. It was before your heart had been broken, before you had been hurt and scarred, before you had been deserted; back when everything was simple.

“I-” you started. “Sometimes I wish I never grew up.”

---

Taglist:

@doctorsteeb@saturnluvvr@padsfirewhisky@staygoldsquatchling02@mycoolusernamesstuff@reidstileschishiya

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #david rossi #rossi x daughter!reader #david rossi x daughter!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #the rossi reid

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4pfsukuna · 10 months ago

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Hi!! Hope you’re having a good day so far! I love this asexual!reader x jjk series. Every one of them has been fire!! Could you do asexual!black!reader x Choso perchance pls if you’ve got the time? Anything fluffy or maybe even a meet-cute. Would love to hear your thoughts/drabble. Thank you for all the works so far!!!! 💫

Girl dont make me cry! Also sorry this took 150years and its not my best work so if you want another one let me know😭😭

Drabbles to headcannon ft. Choso kamo

Sketching out the park in the yard of the apartment conplex you live in you sigh frustratedly tearing yet another page out the book.

“You must like trees” a tiny voice says next to you and you notice its one of your neighbors the energetic little boy with pink hair who youve swear youve seen kick through concrete.

“I just cant find the right color” you pout and his eyes widen at all the color pencils you have.

“My brothers good at coloring, he stays in the lines real good. We can ask him” he grins looking behind you and you see a stressed looking man nearly running toward you. His eyes soften when he sees you.

“Cho! She needs help coloring” the tiny boy beams unphased by his brothers distressed state.

Theres large amounts of cursed energy coming from you but you dont seem to be a threat.

“Yuji what did i tell you about running off” he huffs out his robes moving as swiftly as he does. Yujis eyes get watery and his bottom lip trembles.

“But oni-chan” he whines and chosos face instantly softens and you think the soft spot he has for his little brother is adoreable. He somehow convinces his brother to color your trees and you notice he isnt half bad.

“Your struggling because your using one shade of red for the leaves when it should be three to capture how they fade into brown” he points out which you arent too happy to receive.

What? Youre an artist and youre sensitive about your work. You make an excuse to leave shortly after and head back to your apartment.

A few days later you hear a soft knock on your door and to your suprise find Choso and little yuji who smiles brightly at you.

“Oni-chann bought you colored pencils! Its the expensive ones” yuji beams excitedly holding up the gift bag and Choso jaw drops looking at his brother.

“Actually he seen a coloring book he wanted to get you…and i noticed i may have offended you the other night so its a peace offering” he speaks and you notice the marking on his nose you want to ask questions but it’s rude.

Your living room had been transformed into a art studio with paintings, paint, blank canvases pencils and loose sketches floating around and Yuji can help his self as he runs in looking over each piece. Choso is ready to apologize but you instead walk over to yuji explaining all the different artworks and hes shocked at the way he holds onto every word you say.

Its something about the way youre so good with yuji that makes something in him stir not sexual but its like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Yuji comes over every day after school… which means Choso comes over every day.

You start learning how he’s basically good at every thing cooking, drawing, playing instruments, origamii, baking, it actually pissed you off sometimes it was becoming a game of “anything you can do i can do better and make yours look useless” And you were losing.

It’s when he begins coming over without yuji that you enjoy spending time with him and you notice he’s alot more relaxed the pressure to be the best is gone.

He’s only trying to be the best to impress his little brother.

He enjoys doing little things to make life easier for you, taking out the trash, helping with dishes even keeps your company on wash day. It’s the day he collapses from exhaustion on your couch that you realizes he’s such a people pleaser for people he cares about.

And touch deprived. He falls apart when you place a hand on his forehead dark eyes void of anything just enjoying your proximity.

His favorite place is your lap where he lays his head and closes his eyes as you massage his scalp running your fingers through it, his 2 signature buns long gone.

It’s when you hear his soft snores that you turn down the t.v and set an alarm for when you have to get Yuji from school.

Choso never pressures you into anything sexual or even talks about it, why?

Hes our asexual king!

He’s happy with the quality time and returned acts of service the two of you give another. He gets his fill from watching you and yuji interact. He gets his fill when you see the tiredness in his baggy eyes and pat your lap for him to lay down.

He gets his fill when you ramble about your day and coworkers and the latest telfar Bag drop. He LOVESSSS going to the hair supply store and when you let him smell the hair products.

He knows better than to use it because he looked up hair type when you went on a rant about your hair having 2 different hair types.

He closed the window when it began talking about weave because you said you didn’t wear that and that yes your hair grew 36 inches over night and changed texture (you still giggle to yourself about it because he was either so gullible or too polite to ask)

Purposely leaves his hair ties so he has a reason to come back, though between Yuji and his great cooking skills he was always welcomed.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso x black!reader #choso jjk #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x y/n #choso x you #choso x female reader #jjk x black!reader #choso headcanons #Asexual choso #Asexual jjk #Asexual black reader

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deathscastleofficielle · 2 months ago

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Explanations! (and spicy takes)

Melix - Pretty obvious. "Canon" is a bit of a complicated concept for this fandom as I will soon be elaborating, so the most straightforward canon ship I can provide is the real life couple that actually got married and had a kid. (Christ I've been doing this shit for too long-)

Pigchair - If you weren't around for this, I cannot stress upon you how much Pigchair DOMINATED this fandom back in the day. Honestly I had a bit of a bone to pick with it for awhile because of just how assumed it was. But it's also kinda easy to see why it got so popular. Complete casanova falls for the shy nerd, it's a tale as old as time. It also kinda ignored a lot of Mr. Chair's more interesting traits and sorta made him the default uke but that's- that's for another time.

Pigzales - Again, if you weren't around for this you have no clue how prevalent this ship really was. Pigzales could almost rival Pigchair in popularity, but it was even crazier because I don't think those two were ever in the same room during the videos. If they were they certainly had no shared dialogue. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Pewdiephano - Yes, you could technically call this canon tragic yaoi, but mainly in hindsight. Intention can't truly be argued, but it's pretty obvious that Stephano's feelings for Pewds were not solely platonic. Even back during the fandom's height a lot of people loved to play up the tragedy of Stephano having unrequited feelings for Pewdie who was not only from another world but also kinda happily in a relationship. I am one of those people, don't ship the ship itself but love the drama. Especially when you add on to the reality that Pewds eventually had to move on from Amnesia, leaving Stephano with feelings that were never quite resolved.

Pigerta - Technically yes, this is canon-? At the very least, we know they've slept together and that Berta thought they were married, which Piggeh denies. Regardless important part is nobody fucking cares about this ship lmao. I literally had to make up a ship name for it. If Berta is ever used, her arc is mainly about learning to let go of Piggeh. No one cares about these two together.

Jenskull - As mentioned above, this fandom had a handful of ships that were just sort of default? Jenskull was one of them. I don't think it was as popular as some of it's counterparts, but generally speaking if Skully was used he was usually being shipped with Jennifer. This was mainly because they were outsiders to the Bros, Skully for having been replaced by Stephano and Jennifer for being Pewdie's favorite to mock. It's one of the few popular ships that still lives on to this day, mainly thanks to @thesucessorofficalnot. (Also quick note, his version of Skully is nonbinary which sort of retroactively makes this not a straight ship.)

Lisaby - This is mainly just a joke about how I basically started shipping Lullaby and Lisa, two generally obscure and underdeveloped characters, on a whim, but because they were generally blank canvases this has kinda caught on. Honestly though, I could have put any yuri ship here because the original videos certainly weren't passing the bechdel test.

Stephzales - One thing I'll say right now is I refuse to ever show an actual example of this ship. Not because I can't find it, I know exactly where to find it, but because I simply don't want to send any hate towards the artists. But yes, shipping Stephano with his twin brother was a thing. It was early 2010s Deviantart, we were all weebs and poisoned from some iffy anime tropes. Thankfully I was never into it, but it wasn't as reviled as it would be nowadays.

Piggephano - My beloved, and my hell. Piggephano is one of those ships that feels like it should have been more popular than it actually was, but for a multitude of reasons never got as much attention. (*cough* Pigchair's domination of the fandom and Pewdiephano being the more obvious ship for Steph when Pewds wasn't being shipped with his irl girlfriend or the groomer *cough*) Anyway I am one of those two fans. Technically most of the remaining fandom does like the ship, but I'm the only one actively shipping it.

Pigbro - Yes. Of all things, this was canon. Well if you count a hookup as canon. During I believe the custom story Through The Portal, Piggeh and the Bro truly meet for the first time, and they are instantly attracted to each other and begin flirting. Honestly, this is probably one of the most blatantly gay moments in the videos since most other instances of homoeroticism are either coated in plausible deniability or played off as jokes. So this is truly the most random of canon yaoi, not just for that but also because it's never brought up again and the fandom never really considered it much of an option.

Skullchair - If I thought Piggephano was obscure, it had nothing on Skullchair. I think this ship had like ONE shipper, and that kinda sucks because looking back it was actually a pretty sensible pair up. For starters, these two were actually stated to be friends in the videos. That might not seem like much, until you realize that very few of the Bros had established relationships. For as popular as Pigchair was, they rarely ever talked one on one, and when they did Mr. Chair was definitely uncomfortable around the pig. And then Stephano was just sort of hostile with everyone. So them being friends was already interesting. Add that they have a sort of kindred spirits thing going on, and you could get a lot out of this ship. Unfortunately not a lot of people even knew they were friends, I didn't until I had already started work on my fic which actually tanked the ship for someone I know, so yeah. Oof.

Barrelphano - All I'm going to say is that if you were around to see a certain artist's work of this ship before they deactivated, you get a sticker. I'm sorry for your trauma.

Anyway honorable mentions because I wanna ramble more about the history of ships in this fandom.

Jennipig - Not a particularly popular ship, but certainly a controversial one. I actually had a phase where I shipped this, and MAN if you shipped this you got dark with it. Everyone that shipped this was looking for violence on some fundamental level.

Jennphano - This was a very popular ship, but I would actually argue for the wrong reasons. It was mainly a pair the spares, if Jenskull wasn't in use then Stephano and Jennifer were being put together to keep them busy. Ironically, a lot of people didn't realize that they had canonically dated, as Stephano mentions in I think Baldo's Discovery that Jennifer is his ex and that she was "crazy." Despite this, it would actually be mentioned that they went on another date at some point during the events of Pewds' Last Of Us playthrough via a comment he left. As such this ship actually has quite a lot of fuel, but unfortunately it would be less "you don't know how beautiful you are" and more turbulent on again off again exes. So yeah, not canon enough to put under simply canon, people definitely cared about it, but I wouldn't say it was as outright loved as Jenskull was since again- most people were shipping Pewds and Stephano.

Skullphano - This was a ship I would have loved to mention, but it wasn't as popular as some of the others, yet it also slightly beat out Piggephano and Skullchair because I remember it being more of a known option back in the day. It's a ship with a pretty straightforward concept, Stephano and Skully hate each other, but that just means there's an enemies to lovers plot on a silver platter. My friend Tristara really ships this one, so I especially felt obligated to mention it.

And then I can talk about how pretty much all of the characters had some level of attraction towards Pewds himself but we'd be here all day.

I am also now realizing that Jennifer, Skully and Stephano is a feasible poly ship but I have other fish to fry so I'm just gonna have to leave that one there.

#also I can't prove it but I have a theory I wanna mention #I think Pigchair initially got so popular to mainly be a sort of companion ship for Pewdiephano?#you know give them something to do so they're not just third-wheeling those two #but then it blew up in popularity and kinda overshadowed the og ship #I could be wrong though I wasn't there for the EARLY early days #Meme #Pigchair #Pigzales #Jenskull #Lisaby #Piggephano #Pigbro #Skullchair #Jennipig #Jennphano #Skullphano #I only tagged a few of these ships for hopefully obvious reasons #author's notes

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dreams-of-cerulean · 2 years ago

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Yup. Playground is haunted. Haunted by Blank Canvases. Explains where they all disappeared to after they accidentally sundered the garage.

And now they’re scaring people with their building antics outside.

Nothing ostentatious. They’re building typical playground fare: see-saws, swings, jungle gyms, etc. Much better than their normal attempts at building things actually. And the equipment seem tailored to kids for the most part - at least to keep them safe.

For example, I see a BC spitting out an inordinate amount of the tire chips onto the ground: makes me wonder how many tires it ate to do that. Some are chewing through large planks to make more jungle gym equipment - which is probably why parents are so concerned. The rest are just playing on the equipment they created.

To the outside observer though, it looks like half of the children’s equipment are building itself or moving on its own.

There are a couple kids around - I guess their parents couldn’t be with them after school. Some of them seemed used to the Blank Canvases being there. There’s a kindergartener asking to be pushed on the swing, and the Canvases are obliging him. The more unfamiliar-appearing ones are daring each other to enter the obviously haunted playground.

I guess if they’re not causing problems beyond giving people a little scare - I can tolerate that. Just tell the concerned parents that there’s just a bunch of Casper the Friendly Ghosts around. Who knows. Maybe if I tell them this playground is probably the safest place around, all the annoying rumors would stop.

At the very least, I guess it’s better than them playing cursed card games at any rate. Or digging holes straight to oblivion.

Huh. Wait a second.

That’s our Shrine to Lost Things in the back. Why’d they move it here?

#online::Levant

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nameless-brand · 2 years ago

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I've been working on the guardianship paperwork while we were in Ikea. Chi was wandering around with my bodyguards Frank and Naveed, looking for furniture to buy.

And completely forgot all about the Blank Canvases , so when it was past sunset, they started appearing and roaming around Ikea. And naturally, when they roam around, they steal stuff, so...

Now everyone thinks the Ikea is haunted. Luckily, I explained to the BC's that they don't have to steal food for Chi anymore. Unfortunately, when I saw them carrying off floating chairs and toys and money, I remembered they operated on -exact- words.

I played the part of a scared customer while telling them to stop. Which worked surprisingly enough. And now Ikea offered to give me a 10% discount on whatever I bought. Couldn't really decide on whether accepting or not accepting the discount made me look more suspicious - and eventually settled on not accepting.

In any case, we're back in the Inn with a dozen Ikea chairs, a portable garden set-up, a table and a bookcase. A bunch of books in the car. We'll set things up tomorrow and maybe head to the home depot for gardening supplies since she expressed interest - I probably should've expected that.

She's finished reading to the BCs a math book. She's been reading off the explanations and questions. And the BCs are voting on what the answer is. Can't really say I ever found math fun, more a necessary evil. But apparently she and the BC's are having fun doing this.

#there should be more canvases than the 10 here though #I hope they all made it too #posting || ic

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tshirtmockup-bundles · 1 month ago

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T-Shirt Mockup Bundle Hacks: Tips for Perfect Apparel Mockups

When I first started designing T-shirts, I quickly realized that showing my clients a flat design wasn’t enough to seal the deal. They wanted to see how the design would look on an actual shirt. That’s when I stumbled upon T-shirt mockup bundles —and trust me, they changed everything. If you’re a designer or a budding entrepreneur, here are some hacks to make the most of these bundles and create stunning apparel mockups.

Choose the Right Bundle for Your Style

Not all T-shirt mockups are created equal. Some are minimalistic, while others lean towards trendy, street-style aesthetics. Think about your brand or the client you’re designing for. For instance, when I worked with a gym apparel brand, I picked a mockup bundle featuring athletic fits and sporty vibes. The designs looked right at home on the models, instantly connecting with the client’s target audience.

Customize Colors and Fabrics

One thing I love about mockup bundles is their flexibility. Most bundles let you change the shirt color and texture. If your design needs a vintage vibe, look for a bundle that includes worn or textured fabrics. For bold, modern graphics, go for sleek, solid colors. Play around until you find the perfect match that complements your design.

For example, I once created a line of graphic tees for a music festival. Using the bundle’s color-editing feature, I showcased the designs on vibrant tie-dye backgrounds and neutral tones. This variety gave my client the confidence to move forward with the project.

Keep It Real with Shadows and Lighting

Here’s a pro tip: pay attention to the shadows and lighting in your mockups. The more realistic they look, the more convincing your designs will be. Most high-quality mockup come with pre-set lighting effects, but you can tweak them in editing software to match the vibe you’re going for. A natural look sells better than something overly polished or artificial.

Test Multiple Angles

Sometimes, one angle doesn’t do justice to your design. A front-view mockup might not show off a unique sleeve design or back print. Use a T shirt mockup-bundle with multiple views—front, back, and side—to showcase every detail. Once, I pitched a design with intricate shoulder art, and using a side-angle mockup was the key to winning the client over.

Use Mockups to Gather Feedback

Before committing to production, share your mockups with your audience or clients for feedback. Social media platforms are great for this! Post a few options and let your followers vote. I did this for a limited-edition T-shirt design and was surprised by how much engagement it generated. It also helped me choose a design that resonated most with my audience. Blank canvases for your creativity: Explore our blank shirt mockup collection - visit now!

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winterfrozelifeoutoffall · 8 months ago

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LIGHTS ARE ON BUT NOBODY’S HOME

Alternate Exhibition text for Layo's gradshow, Jun 2024

1 In a dimly lit gallery, Layo sits. The set is mostly unfurnished, except for Layo's chair and several artworks. At stage right are two large frames leaning against the wall. Draped over one is a blank canvas, and the other has canvas wrapped around its stretcher bars. To stage left are two easels wrapped with translucent wax paper, either hung up or leaning against a wall. Both are collaged with cardboard and A4 printer paper, some scrawled with names. The room feels unfinished and incomplete, but not rushed or hurried.

2 A single spotlight turns on, swallowing the outskirts of the set in contrasting darkness, and revealing an anaemic expression on Layo’s face. Layo comes to and looks around at his exhibition; his mind wanders through memory lane as he stands up and paces through the installation, remembering and then forgetting things he wanted to say, reciting old words that have long outlived their context, only a glimmer of their previous lustre maintained through the phenomena of their utterance. Running lines, but the script is all wrong. Silence becomes him.

3 The magic of theatre, when done right, is the suspension of disbelief. The set, the stage and the actor reveal their artifice openly and foster a trusting rapport with the audience. This rapport makes possible the ‘play’, the enchantment that allows fiction to question reality without challenging the audience’s grasp on it. The disarming ambience of theatre is the dreamlike state Layo achieves through an ineffable spatial sensibility. Layo assembles quasi-ironic sculptures and canvases that gesture at being artworks without truly achieving that status. The set he builds is vacant of content but enriched with intent; ‘vacant’ in the sense that the works don’t seem to speak beyond their materiality, ‘enriched’ in the sense that they converge to transcend their materiality and establish a mood. Unlike a new-materialist, who uses the unadorned form to bolster the subjectivity of the object they are presenting, Layo diminishes the identity of his objects. The forms of his pieces are somewhat perfunctory - more about generating an ambience than revealing something inherent to their material, like repeating a name over and over until it just becomes a sound, more for the purpose of ritual than for trivial deconstruction.

4 The draft serves as his final form. His assemblages are quick and rough. He crudely obscures surfaces that have nothing on them to reveal. waxing and waning, stuck between deflection and reflection. Nothing is finished, everything is complete. He hangs a canvas up on the wall, but nothing becomes of it. He sets his stage for a play but there are no actors in it. A sobering thought emerges through the rubble, only to disintegrate in the barren mind of its bearer. Something borrowed. Something stolen. Something opportune. A blackened shroud, a hand me down gown of rags and silks, a costume fit for one who sits and cries. And when the dance is over, when the curtains are finally called, she’ll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door.

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starlitangels · 2 years ago

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Happy Birthday Gwen!

My birthday gift for the fantastic, wonderful @gwenifred! Hope you enjoy it! 1.8k words

—

Huxley beams as he opens the door. “Hey babe,” he greets, already holding his arms out for a hug. You go into them immediately. Huxley’s hug are always warm, secure, and safe. Firm but not overwhelming. Sure, when he gets excited he can get dangerously close to crushing vital organs, but he never means to.

“Hi Hux,” you reply.

“How’s your day been so far?”

“Busy, but not bad.”

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. Because now I get you for the rest of the night.” He chuckles. “Just you and me.” He kicks the door shut behind the two of you and kisses the top of your head. You tilt your head up to meet his lips for a kiss, rocking onto your tiptoes, but he doesn’t lean down. You’re about to pout when he bodily picks you up and sets you on the step stool he keeps in his kitchen for the express purpose of kisses with you. Heaven knows he doesn’t need it for anything else.

Standing on the step stool, you’re actually a couple inches taller than him. Maybe two. He built the damn thing himself with your height in mind. He likes to joke that he prefers to tilt his neck up for once to kiss you when he’s so used to looking down. Something about stretching out his muscles the other way.

You smile and lean forward. He meets your lips with his, both of you still smiling slightly on the corners of your mouths.

The kiss is sweet and gentle. Like Huxley himself.

When he pulls back, he’s smiling still. His eyes are warm. “Happy birthday, Gwen,” he says gently.

“Thank you, Hux.”

Bending, he scoops up your legs in one arm and holds you in the air, laughing good-naturedly at your surprised yelp. He carries you through his house to the back room. The one that he uses as a game room. He’s never been the type to have an “office” anyway.

The game room doubles as his plant sanctuary, but you notice it’s strangely devoid of his usual jungle.

Instead, there’s a tarp on the floor and the plastic folding table usually covered in board game boxes is spread with newspapers. Two tabletop easels are set up, blank canvases waiting, with a spread of paints and brushes between them.

“So,” Huxley says, setting you down. “We can either follow a Bob Ross tutorial on the game TV, or we can just go for it freestyle. Whatever you want.”

“You want to paint with me?”

He laughs. Hearty and deep in his chest. “I can’t guarantee mine’s gonna be any good, but I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Aww, Hux!” You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. He hugs you back, rocking back and forth.

And you lose vision as a T-shirt—way too big for you and smelling distinctly earthy—is shoved over your head. “Don’t want to ruin your nice birthday outfit,” he says through his chuckling.

You sort out the T-shirt so it’s on correctly. It dangles to your knees, but covers up the areas of your clothes that are mostly to get paint on them. Still, it’s acrylic so any stains should probably come out easy...

Huxley kisses the top of your head again. “Wanna follow a Bob Ross or just go for it with some music or a show playing?”

“If you’d rather follow a Bob Ross tutorial, you can, but I think I’m gonna just go for it,” you reply, picking up a pencil scattered among the brushes.

“I’m gonna follow a tutorial,” Huxley decides. “I don’t think I could freehand anything.”

You smile. “That’s fine.”

He plunks around on the remote for his game room TV until he finds YouTube and brings up the Bob Ross channel with the full-length episodes and starts one. You smile fondly and start your own piece on your canvas. Your concentration is split between the art and Huxley. He looks so intense when he’s focused. There’s a crease of confusion between his brows that’s not usually there when he’s concentrating on something, but it’s cute. He’s cute.

The longer his tutorial goes on, the more he starts smiling. “Happy little trees, I like that,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself, as he paints. “Trees should be happy.”

Your focus drifts to your own canvas for a while, until you hear him swear—not terribly enthusiastically. Just a quiet curse of frustration.

When you turn, you see the streak of paint across the middle of the canvas, disrupting the landscape he’d been painting. The brush falling from his hand had also left some paint across his other hand that had tried to catch it.

“Dammit,” he mutters. “I ruined it.”

You reach for the remote and pause his tutorial. “Nuh-uh. None of that,” you say. “Remember what Bob Ross said?”

“Uh... which thing? The happy little trees?”

You smile. “Close. ‘There are no mistakes. Only happy accidents.’ You can use that streak and make it into something,” you say.

He scrunches his eyebrows. “Like what?” he asks.

You get out of your chair and lean against his arm, wrapping an arm around his shoulder while you inspect the piece. The streak was too wide to convincingly turn into another tree with the perspective of the others that he’d painted, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be something.

You pick up the brush you’d been using and put a dot of green on the end of his nose before kissing his temple as he laughs. “Make it a falling star,” you say.

“Uh... how?”

You start to explain the basics of how to turn the streak into a falling star with color theory and shapes—but you notice he’s just staring at you with love painted in every line of his face.

Embarrassment creeps up, but before you can turn away and stop talking, he takes his paintbrush and wipes it down your cheek. “Hey!”

He doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest. “You’re amazing,” he says softly. “I hope you realize that.”

“I—what?”

He shrugs. “I always think you’re amazing. Just... when you talk about things you love... I don’t know. It’s even more special. You’ve got this... this light in your eyes and a different kinda smile.” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “I love every side of you. It’s just special to see you brighten.”

The embarrassment is still present. “Thanks, Hux.”

He leans back a little to peer around you toward your canvas. “What are you painting?” His eyebrows scrunch as he realizes your canvas is turned so he can’t see it. “Wh... why...”

“It’s a surprise,” you say quickly.

He makes a face of acceptance as you sit back in your chair and start to paint again. His concentration face comes back as he tries to fix the streak into a falling star—and freezes as the doorbell goes off. “Op. That’s dinner,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind that I ordered delivery.”

“What’d you order?” you ask as he stands up. He pretends to try to playfully lean to see your canvas but you know he won’t actually peek.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if it wasn’t your favorite on your birthday, hmm?” he teases as he pops a quick kiss to your head and slips out of the room on feet too silent for how big and broad he is. “You comin’, Gwen?”

You hop out of your chair and dash after him. He’s already brought in the delivery bag by the time you get there and shut the door behind him. True to his word, it’s your favorite.

“I did make the birthday cake,” he says as he sets the bag down on the dining table. “But I thought delivery would be nice for dinner.”

“You’re the best, Hux.”

He makes a skeptical face. “No. You are.” His smile appears again, big and bright. “Let’s eat,” he says.

“I gotta wash the paint out of my brush first.”

He blinks, like he’d forgotten about that part. “I’ll do that,” he says. “You dish up what you want first. Then we can have cake and I can give you my present!” You share another kiss with him, not minding the paint on both your faces, and he goes back to the game room.

Maybe he peeks at your canvas, maybe he doesn’t. You’re not sure. You really don’t mind if he sees—it’s a recreation of how you imagined the hug you gave him to look like after he won gold at the E&E Games last winter—you just wanted it to be a surprise. You set out a plate for each of you and start to dish up dinner.

He returns to the table, wiping dampness from the bathroom sink off on his T-shirt. “Looks good,” he decides.

“Mmhmm!”

He dishes up himself and the two of you talk while you eat. About the academy, about magic, about how his post-graduation plans are going now that he’s done with school. You talk about friends and sports and whether the team Huxley always roots for is going to win the whole league this year.

The food disappears before you know it, and Huxley brings out the cake, and a wrapped package. “Cake first,” Huxley says, setting them both on the table. “I made the one you said you like. Had to call Damien to figure out what the hell the recipe was talking about twice, but he was good about it.”

“He still planning on the party next weekend?”

“Said he was.”

“Good. It’s been a bit since we all hung out.”

“Yeah, dude,” Huxley agrees. He cuts out a couple slices and you help him put them on small dessert plates.

“I told you not to get me anything,” you say as he passes you a fork.

“I didn’t,” he replies cheekily.

“You made it, didn’t you?” You eye the package.

He shrugs. “Those are the best kind anyway,” he says. “Apart from taking the time to paint with you.”

“You’re the best.”

“No. You are. It’s your birthday, and I wanted to show you I love you on your special day.”

You kiss him, both with traces of frosting on your lips getting smushed between you both. “I love you too, Huxley.”

“Happy birthday, Gwen.”

You move as though to kiss his nose, but remember the paint dabbed on it and scrunch your own. Huxley throws his head back and bursts into laugher.

#Happy Birthday Gwen!

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sociallyanxiouscryptid-writings · 2 years ago

Text

Anger Management Part 2

Part 1

I had an ask requesting for this continuation but I don’t know how to link it to that or let that person know or something so I am just going to post as a normal post and hope they see it!

First off, disclaimer: I am not 100% happy with this and feel like it’s kinda clunky and just not that great, but as I keep saying I am trying to do this for quantity of quality to just play around and practice. Hope its not too much of a disappointment.

I hate having too much in this part and yet always do, but if there is anything inaccurate with the sign language usage please let me know. I don’t know sign language personally yet but I do know about it and have watched and followed a lot of people online. But I am the furthest thing from an expert so education is welcome.

Anyway, here it is. Oh and previously name Mr Ratman is now Mr Badguy because I hated Ratman and thought I had changed it before posting so yay.

Villain woke up in complete warmth and comfort. It would have been easy to sink into it, ignore the day’s plans and just let the weight of the quilt keep him down and drift back to sleep. Except, he couldn’t think of what it was he was ignoring. No plan for the day came to mind. Villain reached for his phone, but the bed stretched on further then it should have. He opened his eyes, found white sheets and a blank wall.

This was not his room.

Villain sat up. He tried sifting through his memories, but his head ached, and frustration twisted in his stomach. Where was he? How was he here? What had happened to-

Supervillain. They stopped him from killing Mr Badguy.

He looked around the plain room, a bed, a dresser, and a small side table. Was he in their hideout?

He was slow to move, limbs heavy and weak. The quilt now felt like it weighed a tonne, but once it was off, he shuffled to the edge of the bed. In the first few moments frustration began morphing into anger. What game was Supervillain playing and why did they decide to play it with him? Why did they stop him? He had worked so hard, spent so long. He finally reached the end of a year long journey only for it to be ripped away from him like everything else.

However, as he moved something else crept in. The room around him was painfully silent, the door too. He expected someone to be alerted when he started moving, someone to be watching him but as he looked around, he found no cameras, nothing to suggest he was being monitored.

Suspicion, anxiety… fear sizzled against his anger, before slowly consuming it as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He was in Supervillain’s hideout, and he was still alive.

Why had Supervillain stopped him? Why did they take him with them? What did they want?

The questions swirled inside him, mixing with the fear and tangling. Oh he fucked up.

A new plan and a new drive fuelled Villain and he stood, bare feet pressing unsteadily onto the wooden floor. He waited, staring at the door. The seconds ticked by, and it remained closed, the world on the other side quiet.

Villain looked around for his shoes, frowned at a glass of water sitting on top of the dresser. His mouth watered at the sight of it, tongue sticking to the roof of his dry mouth. He ignored it, moved to the door. The silence made his ears ring, straining to hear any inkling of sound. But there was nothing, nothing but the sound of his own pounding heart.

“Get over yourself,” he hissed and opened the door.

The hallway was as empty as it sounded, the same wooden floor stretching out into a windowless path. There was no ambush, no menacing figure waiting for him. Instead, Villain felt like he walked out into a gallery.

A bad gallery in fact. Bad was harsh, but Villain had a hard time imagining someone like Supervillain would want any of this. There were photos of varying things, painted canvases, sketched drawings and even some digital art, a lot of it was impressive. But amongst all of that, for some reason, were kids’ drawings. Framed pieces of paper with barely recognisable scribble on them. A few were pictures of actual things clearly done by an older hand, but why did Supervillain have any of this? Was Villain somewhere else?

Villain stood there, staring, unsure of what to make it all when out of nowhere the smell of pancakes hit him. Fresh and hot, mixed with the scent of maple syrup and butter. Villains body felt uncomfortable as an intense hunger piled up with his dry mouth.

He took a step back. Weaponless, defenceless, he should be avoiding people, hiding. Searching for a way out of this unknown place. It had been proven to him that he couldn’t fight Supervillain. The ease to which they had moved compared to his clumsy body, he was simply no match, and anyone working for them would be too.

He needs to get out, and fast.

Villain turned and ran straight into a person. They barely flinched against the impact and Villain recoiled, heart in his mouth.

“Woah there kid,” Supervillain reached out with their spare hand and steadied him. “Didn’t think I’d scare you that bad,” they said.

Villain stepped back, mind scrambling for a plan, an escape, anything. What good would a plan do? He was a brand-new Villain, fresh out of the box and he thought he could somehow out smart Supervillain? This was it, this was the end.

“Hey,” their voice was gentle. Supervillain placed a hand on Villain’s shoulder, and he averted his gave. The hand moved and plucked his chin, raising it till he looked at them.

“I am not going to hurt you.”

It gave no assurance to Villain. This was Supervillain, the infamous Supervillain who had crippled and destroyed many organisations, had killed hundreds of people if not more. Their people were a force to be reckoned with, a force to fear.

Villain averted his gaze. He frowned. He had looked down towards the ground, in the direction of Supervillain’s other hand resting at their side. And in it, he found a spatula.

“Why do you have a spatula?” He asked before really think about it.

He looked up and Supervillain was smiling.

“I’m cooking pancakes, want some?”

Villain wasn’t given the opportunity to answer as Supervillain moved their hand back to his shoulder, wrapping it around both and guided him in his original direction.

“Everyone else has already started eating but Partner figured you’d wake up around this time so I made sure yours would be warm. The last one is just about done now.”

They walked around a corner and to an open door, Villain’s stomach growling louder as the smell intensified. He couldn’t think of the last time he had, had pancakes, let alone ones that smelt this good.

Villain’s eyes widened as they walked into the room. The room was an open kitchen and dining set up with a kitchen island separating the two. It was a nice kitchen with black marble countertops and an oven that would make any home cook jealous. But none of that was nearly as interesting as what Villain found at the dining table.

A woman was at the table, the same one who had helped Supervillain restrain Villain. And on either side of her, were two kids. One of them a baby, maybe a year old, sitting in a highchair with some mashed up food in a bowl and fairly well smeared across their table. On the woman’s other side was a toddler, maybe three years old, absolutely devouring some pancakes and fruit.

“Good morning Villain,” Partner said, “did you drink the water I gave you? Your mouth is going to be very dry.”

As she asked this she was already getting up from the table and moving into the kitchen. Villain opened his mouth but didn’t get to answer before she poured him a glass.

Supervillain had left his side at some point, now somehow over by the stove.

“You should have a drink,” Partner said, as she approached, “it will make you feel better.”

She pushed the glass into his hands. Villain wasn’t sure what else to do, so he brought the glass to his lips. The water was instant relief and reflex took over as he down the whole glass. Partner was right, he did feel better. Still very confused, but a little clearer. A little more stable.

Supervillain flipped a pancake onto a plate, holding it in one hand as they turned the stove off and pushed the pan to the back. It was such a mundane thing, such a normal everyday thing Villain couldn’t believe they were seeing Supervillain participating in it.

Partner took the glass back, without a word, going back to the kitchen to fill it and pick up the plate of pancakes.

“Have a seat,” she said, placing both items on the table.

Villain didn’t move.

Partner just smiled softly and walked back around to her side, sitting down between the two children again. The toddler looked up at Partner and tugged on her sleeve, grabbing Partner’s attention. When she had it, she held up her hand and made a motion with her right hand that took Villain a second to realise was sign language.

“Finished,” she signed.

“Take it to,” Partner did a sign Villain didn’t recognise and pointed to Supervillain.

The toddler nodded and manoeuvred clumsily out of her chair before toddling over to Supervillain who smiled brightly down at her.

“All finished?” They signed.

“Finished,” she signed and held up her arms.

Supervillain lifted toddler onto their hip and carried her over to the sink. They put the the plug in, helping the toddler put the plate down before leaning forward to allow her to turn on the tap.

“Get your step,” Supervillain signed, placing the toddler down. The toddler moved to the only unlocked cupboard at her height and opened it as Supervillain turned the tap to a warmer temperature.

“What,” Partner said from the table, “you expected them to live in a dungeon with minions running around doing their bidding?”

Honestly, a little, Villain thought. He at least hadn’t expected Supervillain to have partner let alone children.

Partner jerked their head towards the kitchen island. “Better eat your food before it gets cold.”

Villain glanced at Supervillain who was now busy helping the toddler wash her plate. Hesitantly, he walked to the table and sat down.

He drank some more, licked his lips.

“What was that sign?” Villain asked.

Partner looked up at him.

“You know sign?”

“Yeah, I had a friend in high school who was deaf. I’m not so fluent anymore though.”

Partner nodded, “that’s cool. The sign we did was for the word Zaza which is what the kids call Supervillain. It’s our sign for it at least.”

Villain glanced at Supervillain.

“Why am I here,” he asked.

Partner eyed him.

“We have a little bit more planned for Mr Badguy then you did, and if we didn’t bring you somewhere safe you wouldn’t have given up your revenge scheme so easily.”

He hadn’t. The moment he was out of this situation he planned to go right back where he started, if he made it out of here.

“What kind of plan?” Villain asked.

“Well for starters,” Supervillain said walking to the table placing a colouring book beside Partner, “not killing him.”

The toddler walked up behind them, continuing past them as she returned to her seat several crayons clutched in her small hands.

Villain shook his head, trying to regain some semblance of focus.

“He deserves to die,” Villain said not nearly as strongly as it was intended.

“He deserves worse than death,” Supervillain said. “And we have a plan that will not only do that but will enact the kind of change that you vaguely desire in and amongst all that anger and grief.”

Villain’s nails dug into his palm.

“I am not a child, don’t mock me,” he snapped.

“Oh, but you are a child,” Supervillain moved to sit in the chair beside Villain.

The fuming anger twisted with fear as the shadows around Villain turned sharp and dark.

“You are indeed a child, in fact you’ve barely been a legal adult for a year now and you are already trying to call war on people much bigger than you. You are so swallowed up by your grief and your pain that you are blinded.”

“I am not blinded,” he said.

“Look, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Once upon a time even I was the same. But if you don’t want to be just another of the brawlers who fight with no thought and hope for a good result, then you need to learn to control yourself. You need to listen to me, to let me help you.”

Villain frowned.

“You want to help me?” He said, his whole face joining the expression. “Why?”

Supervillain leaned back in their chair. “Because despite how the media portrays me, I am here to help people.”

A laugh bubbled up inside of Villain, but he caught it. That was so far from what he had been raised to know. Supervillain was always a device of chaos and destruction. They didn’t save people, they didn’t help. They wanted to watch the world burn and enjoy it.

That’s why Villain stayed as far away from their organisation as possible. He wanted change, real change, not to just bring everything crumpling to the ground. He wanted to help people.

“I don’t understand,” Villain finally said, not what he intended to say but he had no idea what else to say.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in,” Supervillain said. “The media and the council have done a fantastic job of sullying my name. It’s a problem honestly, but we make it work.”

Supervillain eyed him, watching all the micro-expressions in his face, the confusion, the conflict.

They sighed.

“Anyway, the main point is, we can’t let you kill Mr Badguy, and I would really like it if you hung around here, until we are sure you aren’t going to ruin any plans and get yourself killed.”

Villain finally met their eyes.

“Do I have a choice?”

They smiled. “Nope.”

That turned out long so I hope it wasn’t boring,

#villain #supervillain #not a prompt #fiction #fic #ficlet #writing #short story #writeblr #writing snippet #snippet #writing community #story #Domestic supervillain #sociallyanxiouscryptid

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s0ulm8s · 4 years ago

Text

boys like you (1.0)

✿ summary : alone and left in a mansion with nothing but your canvases and the dust slowly collecting on the window sills - a commission and a call from a childhood friend completely changes your life.

✿ genre : ot7 x f!reader, poly au, hybrid au, soulmate au, deer!seokjin, black panther!yoongi, great dane!hoseok, wolf!namjoon, calico cat!jimin, tiger!taehyung, bunny!jungkook

✿ warnings : mentions of death, maybe some mentions of assault, some fluff, reader is described as small (i.e smaller than jimin), slight age gap (reader is younger than jungkook)

✿ word count : 2.2K

✿ author’s note : i am inexperienced in hybrid aus, smut, and series so pls bare with me (not proofread yet)

✿ series masterlist! | 2.0

making yourself buckle down and work on the piece in front of you had proven to be more of a task than you had originally anticipated. the wide expanse of blank canvas you had stretched yourself 3 weeks ago, mocked you from the the sun room. it was only four days before you had to deliver your piece that you had really forced yourself to pick up a paint brush and do something useful.

the endless days spent alone in the vast building you now called home was doing a number on your psyche. the sheer loneliness seemed to eat away at not only your sanity but aided to your artist’s block - it was truly a gruesome cycle. locked away in an beautiful estate that you never asked for.

not only that, but working from home and having an all but nonexistent social life in a country you only permanently moved to a year prior was a fate worse than you had imagined.

you huffed, finally setting your small brush down on the easel, stepping back to assess your final draft. despite being so unmotivated and plum out of ideas, you were still proud of what you created - you had promised yourself long ago that you’d never sell a piece you abhorred, and you’d remained true to that promise thus far.

a blaring ring ripped you out of your critical trance trained on the landscape in front of you, startling you as your heartbeat quickened in pace.

“hello?” you answered, soft voice flowing through the other end as you anticipated the response from the unknown caller.

“yah! y/n! is that you?” the voice that responded was loud and excited, the baritone of it something you could never forget. a staple soundtrack from the summers you spent with your father in south korea.

“mingi? how’d you get my number?” you asked, a genuine smile flooding your face at the sound of his familiar laugh on the other end.

of course, the two of you had stayed in brief contact since meeting as children. but as you grew, you saw less of each other. three years ago he and his boyfriend, yunho, had successfully started their own rehabilitation and adoption center for hybrids. the first year was hard, but the business quickly gained popularity and as the creator - he’d been exceptionally busy since her permanent move to south korea. they had two permanent doctors on staff, kim hongjoong and park seonghwa, along with a 24 hour staff. the workers were really exceptional, but you had only ever met their core group when the business first started. which included: choi san, jung wooyoung, choi jongho, kang yeosang, the two doctors, and of course the two owners.

“you were commissioned by a friend of mine! which is actually why i wanted to reach out.” he answered happily as your breathing evened and heartbeat finally settled.

“it’s good to hear from you, really. what can i do for you?” you asked sweetly, and mingi only briefly thought about teasing you for your soft tone and giving nature.

“would you be able to come to the adoption wing today? i’m working here all day as we’ve some new hybrids ready to find a new home. maybe in about an hour? you could join me on my rounds and we could talk. i’d like to see you, anyways. i’ve missed you.” mingi spoke professionally, but his admission made tears prick at your eyes. he almost sounded like the sixteen year old boy who had stolen your first kiss when visiting your father that summer and the memory of when things were simpler stung in your chest. your cheeks flushed. mingi smiled at your silence, knowing he had flustered his best childhood friend. you narrowed your eyes briefly, as he had tried to convince you many times in the past to adopt a hybrid of your own - but you had declined, not entirely convinced that you could provide an exceptional life for another being. because even though your knowledge on hybrids wasn't nearly as advanced as mingi’s, you still knew the basics. they weren't just animals, they were human. and there was no guarantee there. there never was with humans. you hesitate.

“y-yes. i can come by, i’ve just got to swing by and deliver my painting beforehand.” you answered as you both agreed on the meeting the time. “oh, and mingi? i’ve missed you, too.” you said genuinely as he broke into a toothy smile. it had been ages since he’d seen you, and though he knew he could blame it on his work - he didn’t know how to face you after the death of your father. he couldn’t bring himself to be there for you, to see you so broken, and he had blamed himself for that everyday. it was a relief to hear you say it. you had always been so forgiving, sometimes to a fault.

after bidding your goodbyes to the tall boy on the other side of the phone, you quickly changed clothes into something not completely ruined by the muted pigments of your paint, loaded up in your small suv, and you were off.

the delivery of your piece went smoothly, no heckling or disapproving gazes from the wealthy couple, which made your trip to TWILIGHT that much faster. you pushed open the double doors connected to the building in the right wing, clearly labeled ADOPTION.

the smell of roses and lavender was strong in the reception area, the scent was welcoming and calming as you walked up to the front desk.

“y/n!” the dark haired boy behind the computer called, finally rolling away from behind the screen. kang yeosang. “it’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed, eyes scanning your face as he made his way around the counter and pulled you into a soft embrace.

“likewise, yeo! it’s been a while hasn't it?” you ask rhetorically as you stare up at his daunting height.

“mmm” he hummed with a nod, releasing you. “i'll let mingi know you’re here.” he called, returning to his place behind the sleek desk, paging mingi, and then proceeding to catch up with you.

the small conversation didn’t last long before a pair of heavy footsteps drug your gaze to the wide staircase, mingi barreling down them.

you braced yourself as the giant scooped you up into a bone crushing embrace, spinning your small frame around in a circle as he let out a happy laugh. your arms snaked around the man’s neck to secure your place and return the hug.

you giggled happily as mingi finally set you down in your original place, looking down at you excitedly. had he gotten taller? impossible. maybe you had shrunk?

after an exchange of excited greetings, mingi gestured to his clipboard before finally asking, “you ready?”

you nodded softly and followed close behind as he guided you down the halls of the adoption center. he gave you the rundown of their center, showing you the wide expanse of spotless rooms sealed in by plexiglass to show the hybrids ready to be rescued. he explained that most hybrids were separated by predator, prey, species, breed, etc. but many were grouped together with their respective packs. the rooms were quite lavish, but not very homey. but what could you expect from an adoption clinic? the point was to find homes.

you passed many show exhibits, watching intently at the small dogs or tall humans sitting in the rooms patiently, playing with one another or napping quietly. you cooed at a few.

“so i asked to see you because i’d love to have your art displayed in our business.” he propositioned, leading you into an empty room as the automatic doors opened and shut behind you. you nodded, heart lurching a bit as you recalled your artist’s block. you shook the thought away as you observed the room. it was large, littered with scattered pieces of nice furniture and random toys. “ideally, i’d love to have your pieces throughout the whole establishment but this is my main concern.” he finished, gesturing to the empty space on the large wall, the one you’re faced with when first entering.

“are you wanting a mural?” you ask, voice now stable and a bit louder.

“i'd like the piece to cover the majority of the wall, but i’d rather have it on canvas if that’s doable. in case it needs to be moved.” he explained as you nodded, taking in rough measurements of the space as mingi explained his vision for the space - effectively helping you circulate a few ideas on what you could create. you accepted his offer as he discussed payment and supplies with you, adding in an extra cost at the large measurement of the canvas you’d need custom made.

the air in the room grew a bit thick at the sound of a small beep, alerting the two of you to another door opening. your skin was now a bit hot and you suddenly became very aware of your surroundings. your fingers tingled a bit. usually a foreign feeling such as the one you were experiencing would send you into a panic, but it didn’t. if anything you felt quite calm as you looked on inquisitively at the distant thump coming toward the two of you.

“ah, it’s look like some of our hybrids are finished with their check ups.” mingi announced as you nodded lazily. he turned to you. “we usually send them into the lounge area for about an hour after routine check ups. helps them calm down.”

suddenly, you could pay no mind to mingi’s words as a black bunny rounded the corner, back foot slapping the tile exceptionally hard every so often as you smiled down at the creature happily. it stopped in it’s tracks as it’s gaze landed upon you, rearing up on it’s back legs, and tilting it’s head innocently as it examined you.

you knelt down to greet him, the bunny immediately approaching you and sniffing your hand before accepting you and nuzzling into you closer. mingi was taken aback as he observed the usually reserved and nervous rabbit.

“hello.” you cooed, stroking the bunny effortlessly, careful to avoid his ears and tail, briefly recalling how sensitive they could be. “what’s your name?” you asked as mingi coughed.

“this is jeongguk, he’s one of our younger hyrbrids. the youngest in his pack.” he told you as you picked the bunny up and set him into your small lap. mingi almost gasped at the interaction between you and the rabbit as you pet him happily.

your trance was interrupted at the light purr and brush of a small calico next to you. you instinctively reach out to pet him, as he rubbed into your hand. “and who might you be?”

“this is jimin, the two are in a pack.” mingi attempted to explain, trying to understand the absence of jimin’s usually protective behavior and unable to tell you the full story before you asked him something he was not expecting.

“and they’re ready to be adopted?” you asked softly, not even looking up at mingi as he stuttered. the idea of adopting a hybrid didn’t seem so far-fetched now at how taken you were with the two animals in your lap. you could handle the bunny and cat, without a doubt.

“y-yes but we only adopt out entire packs together and -”

“of course, i wouldn’t dream of separating them. is there anyway i could meet them properly, as soon as i possible i think -” you interrupt. starting to gush a bit, voice hushed and excitable.

mingi cut you off, “no, y/n. you aren’t listening. they aren’t just a pack of two.” he sighed, as your gaze finally met his. “in fact they aren’t just bunny and calico, they’re pack also includes that of a wolf, black panther, deer, great dane, and tiger... their pack has been hard to adopt out as it’s so rare for such a large mix of predators and prey... but they found each other and experienced a lot together... it was only inevitable. and we can’t separate them, we refuse to. and they won’t leave one another.” he finally finished explaining as your expression fell. you let out a breath. seven hybrids. all male. and three apex predators, at that. the thought of suddenly thrusting seven knew faces - seven new men - into your home was intimidating to say the least.

you looked down at the two animals in your lap, the bunny almost looked cresfallen. gauging your reaction as his big brown eyes stared at you expectantly. as if he knew you’d reject him. mingi continued rambling on about how many adopters had expressed interest in at least one of the pack but were never willing to bring in all seven. it hurt your heart as you watched on the bunny and calico.

the estate your father had left you was empty, though. begging to be occupied. you had more than enough room and were blessed with an untouched inheritance. maybe this is what you should use it for. you had always felt too guilty to spend it. but nothing seemed more right, which was a shocking realization to someone who never thought they’d adobt a hybrid.

“could i meet them? the seven of them? i’d at least want to give them a chance... truthfully, i dont think i can leave them behind.” you admitted softly, the bunny and cat both perked up, ears raised and twitching.

“of course. i can arrange a meeting and speak with them tonight... i’ll gather their files for you to take home tonight. can you make it back in again tomorrow?” mingi asked after a deafening pause of hesitation, mouth hanging agape before coming back into reality.

“i’ll be here.”

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