#fluffbruary never ends

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 25

[day 24] [day 26]

prompts: breathe | offer | ignite by @fluffbruary <3

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

A/N: *loading dots* the... slowest... updates... ever... idk what you were expecting?! i AM a turtle?!

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

a 221b

He breathes out.

He follows the goosebumps caused by the carbon dioxide and oxygen mix coming from his lungs with his eyes.

Then his fingers itch to touch the bumpy skin; his fingertips almost not touching.

The man underneath him stretches and a noise is formed inside. It's a sound of content.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?”

“Deepening my analysis about the impact of my breaths on your skin.”

“You mean my goosebumps?”

“Horripilation, yes.”

“Nobody says that, you know.”

“Doctors say that. And I happen to know one.”

“But you aren't!”

Sherlock falls silent. So John turns around laying on his arm now, his upper body facing Sherlock. “What have you found out?”

“A variety of deductions, really.”

“Well, tell me about them.”

“First: Me breathing on your skin causes horripilation. Second: You like it when we share the air in between signs of affection.”

“It's called kisses, babe.”

“That's what I said, yes. Third: You like it when I breathe into your ear.” Sherlock whispers this into said body part. John stifles a shiver.

“You're such a tease.” The blogger growls and pulls Sherlock on top of him. They breathe the same air, hesitating, anticipating, until John gives in and kisses him lightly.

“Conclusion?”, he asks then.

“Conclusion”, Sherlock answers. “I am breathtaking.” Then he kisses him until breathlessness.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: i simply can't be objective with my own writing. i love it and hate it at the same time (usually tending to the latter). PLEASE: give me feedback!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence

[seiya-starsniper]

For Fluffy February 15 Dreamling

SOMEHOW, I managed to finish this before February ending 🤣🤣

Enjoy the shamless fluff anon!

Fluffbruary Prompt List || AO3 Link Here

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

“Oh! Let’s look at this stall, Hob!”

Morpheus looks up from his crafting table and is met with the sight of a couple in their early thirties approaching his shop. Or rather, the woman is dragging her partner towards his shop. Morpheus thinks he recognizes her, a thought that is later confirmed as he slowly recognizes the various pieces of her outfit from other vendors on the fairgrounds. She’s adorned in one of Lucienne’s gorgeous handmade corsets, and Morpheus is pretty certain her peasant blouse and skirt are from Matthew and Jessamy’s pirate themed shop. The flower crown expertly woven into her bright blonde hair confirms that the woman is definitely a dedicated attendee. One with plenty of money to spend.

Her partner though, he’s wearing a rented costume so Morpheus thinks it’s probably his first time here. She did call him Hob though. How period accurate for the Renaissance Faire. 

“Good morrow my friends,” Morpheus greets them, falling easily into his shopkeeper persona. “How may I assist the Lord and Lady today?” The woman giggles at being addressed as a lady. 

“I’ve heard,” she stage-whispers, holding her hand up to her cheek, “that you are the best jeweler in all the lands, good sir.” Her face is full of delight as she says this, and Morpheus cannot help but play along. 

“I dare say you have heard the truth m’lady,” Morpheus answers with his own conspiratorial smile. “Shall I show you my collection of wares?” he asks, gesturing to the glass display case just underneath his hands. The woman squeals in delight.

“Oh Hob, they’re so beautiful!” she croons as she dips her head to look at the jewelry displayed inside. She points at a few items she’s interested in, some necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, but decidedly foregoes the rings. Interesting. 

“Did you hand make all of these yourself?” the woman asks as she and Hob try on a matching set of Celtic knot necklaces.

“Aye, milady,” Morpheus answers. “We can also customize any piece, and also resize, if needed,” he adds. 

“Pretty handy,” the man, Hob, says, finally joining the conversation. He smiles at Morpheus, who feels his face grow warm at the compliment.

Though he hadn’t paid attention to the man as much as the woman when they’d first entered the shop, upon closer inspection, Morpheus realizes that Hob is quite attractive. He was maybe an inch or two taller than Morpheus, with broad shoulders and muscled thighs that were clearly on display in his rented Faire outfit. His chin-length brown hair framed a kind face with thick brows and a full mouth that looked like it had been built for laughing.

And oh, that smile. Hob smiled with his entire face, creasing his brows, eyes, cheeks, and mouth all at once as he appreciates the look of Morpheus’s work around his neck in the mirror. It makes Morpheus’s fingers itch. He wants to dress this man in the finest jewelry he could craft. He wants that smile, that radiance, that warmth, to be directed at Morpheus instead of the woman he’d come here with, even though she’d done nothing to deserve such a fate. But Morpheus has never been looked at the way Hob looks at his girlfriend. He’s rather certain he hasn’t seen many men look at any of their partners that way. It tugs at Morpheus’s freshly broken heart, and he has to force himself to refocus his attention on her instead of her partner, who seemed to have his own gravitational pull.

They eventually leave with the matching necklaces, and the woman, Eleanor, signs up for his mailing list, promising to buy more jewelry on his website. Morpheus believes her too. In addition to the necklaces, she’d bought a set of earrings and bracelets for herself, insisting that Hob not pay for her purchase. Her independence makes Morpheus smile, despite his jealousy. He wonders if next year, he might convince them to upgrade to the engagement, or even the wedding bands. 

Morpheus forgets all about the couple by the end of the day, but he feels a sense of melancholy and longing that he cannot quite explain as he packs up his shop for the night. He wonders if maybe he should take up Matthew and Jessamy’s offer for drinks tonight. If only to break out of his monotonous routine. 

It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting at home for him anymore, after all.

Morpheus doesn’t recognize Hob at first when the man wanders into his shop a year later with a rowdy group of friends. They’re all clearly drunk, and Morpheus is curious as to what about his shop could have possibly caught this group’s eye.

But then he sees the Celtic knot hanging from Hob’s neck, resting on a very hairy chest, and recognition dawns on Morpheus.

“I’d recognize that pendant and chain anywhere,” Morpheus greets with a smile, which causes a rowdy set of encouraging shouts and playful ribbing to erupt from the group. 

“You do, do you?” Hob asks, his words only a little bit slurred as he smiles at Morpheus, a tankard of what smells like mead and beer in his hand.

“I do,” Morpheus answers with his own smile. “But it seems to be missing its partner. Tell me, where is the Lady this lovely afternoon?”

Morpheus knows immediately he’s asked the wrong thing when Hob’s face falls.

“Oy mate, don’t bring up the man’s ex like that!” one of Hob’s friends scolds Morpheus, which makes Morpheus wince. A small chorus of boos erupts from the group as well.

“Ignore them,” Hob says, waving at his friends to shut up. “They mean well but I walked in here wearing one half of a set, it only makes sense you’d ask.”

“Still,” Morpheus insists. “I’m sorry about—er—” Morpheus is horrified to realize he has completely forgotten the woman’s name. 

“Hah!” Hob laughs, clearly amused rather than offended. “Her name was Eleanor. I’m Hob by the way.”

“I know,” Morpheus says, then winces again. 

“Do you, now?” Hob asks, with a cheeky grin. He places his tankard of unknown alcohol on Morpheus’s display case and then leans on it. “You remember my name, but not Eleanor’s?”

“She called you by name multiple times, and Hob isn’t exactly the most common of names used when taking on a Faire persona,” Morpheus says, hoping that his explanation doesn’t sound nearly half as creepy as he feels.

“I know, that’s why I picked it,” Hob grins. “I do use it outside of here too, you know.”

“You do not,” Morpheus replies, aghast. What man in his right mind would willingly go by the name Hob and risk endless jokes on doorknobs and stoves?

“I do,” Hob says with a wink before he bows dramatically. “Professor Hob Gadling of the Medieval Studies Department of XX University, at your service, my good sir.”

“Oy Hobsie, stop showing off!” one of Hob’s friends calls from a different part of the shop. Morpheus hadn’t even noticed they’d dispersed to look around, he had been so entranced by Hob’s reappearance.

“Yeah, are you buying anything? You’re the one that wanted to come here!”

“Ah, is the good sir looking for something new?” Morpheus asks, slipping back into character, and hoping to hide his embarrassment. “Mayhaps something to help ease a broken heart?”

“Something like that,” Hob answers, sheepishly, his fingers fiddling with his right ear. Morpheus tries to show how entranced he is by the motion. “Listen I was wondering if—uh—well, you know—if there was time—”

“He wants to know if you’re single and ready to mingle!” one of Hob’s friends shouts, followed by a loud chorus of agreement. “And if you’re into men!” another one adds. 

“What the flying fuck Davey!” Hob turns and shouts at his friends, who all laugh and raise their glasses to a toast. 

“Get your man Hobsie, so we can keep getting drunk!”

Hob groans and hides his face in his hands, muttering something about ‘worst wingmen ever’ and Morpheus cannot help it. He bursts into laughter, and has to clutch at the cash register behind him for support.

“I don’t suppose we can forget this whole thing ever happened?” Hob asks, once Morpheus has caught his breath. His face is red with embarrassment, and Morpheus wonders if the man blushes so prettily on other parts of his body as well. 

“I’m afraid not,” Morpheus answers, shaking his head solemnly. “But my evening is available after the Faire closes tonight,” he adds with a wry smile.

Hob’s entire body perks up immediately. “Seriously? You’re interested?”

“As long as you intend for us to be alone,” Morpheus answers, his eyes falling to Hob’s posse behind him. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Hob exclaims, nodding eagerly. Morpheus cannot help but smile as Hob’s friends continue to tease him while they exchange contact information and make plans to meet outside the Faire grounds later. He even manages to make a few sales from the group. Morpheus wishes Hob could stay longer and that they could talk more, but the post-lunch crowd that spills into the shop dashes those plans for now. 

Hob doesn’t miss an opportunity to show off again though. He takes Morpheus’s hand and kisses it, bowing deeply, and causing the rest of the shop to coo and cheer at the romantic display.

“I shall miss you dearly, beloved, until we next meet again,” Hob declares loudly as he exits the shop with his friends.

“You’re seeing him tonight you dingbat!” Morpheus hears one of his friends laugh.

After the post-lunch crowd leaves, Morpheus sits at his crafting table, looking over his in-progress projects, and wonders if custom jewelry is a bit too much for a first date. Hob had worn the Celtic knot necklace though, and it was clear he needed a replacement.

Rubies, Morpheus decides. Hob would look good in rubies. Morpheus readjusts the setup of his table and gets to work, mentally counting down the minutes until he’d be able to see Hob’s smiling face again.

[to-thelakes]

rainy day

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after getting caught in a torrential downpour, frank's apartment offers some comfort

warnings; fluff, mentions of frank's trauma, a subtle friends to lovers vibe

notes; another day, another fluffbruary one-shot! i honestly am having so much fun with these, it's ridiculous. i was also fully intending to write for more than frank castle but i am on such a frank castle kick, i'm such a lover for this morally corrupt man! also, i had to try really hard for this not to go sexual because there's an alternate ending where this went smutty instead (maybe i'll come back and write it...) but for now, we are going full fluff and this was a little less pre-established relationship and more of a moving into a relationship. but anyway! excuse the rambling i hope you enjoy day three <3

ao3

It was absolutely tipping it down and like the clever person you are, you didn’t have an umbrella. Or a raincoat for that matter. You had been at work all day and the sun had been bright that morning. You had assumed you’d be safe from the downpour but you were wrong. As you stared onto the street, you considered getting a cab but that would require more effort than it was worth.

Plus, you were heading to Frank’s place and he only lived a few blocks over. It wouldn’t take long to get there realistically but you knew that you were about to get soaked wet through. There was no avoiding it and so, you charged forward into the rain.

The streets were still bustling with people from the after-work rush and you had expected that maybe others umbrella’s would provide you some relief from the downpour; you were wrong. Everyone else’s protection seemed to just soak you more. The run-off from the umbrellas soaked you to the bone as you rushed through the streets, weaving through the slow walkers.

The sight of Frank’s apartment was a relief and you ducked under the entrance before slipping inside. The warmth of the lobby made your skin heat up, the warmth fighting against the biting cold. Droplets of rain were running down your face and your clothes were sufficiently soaked. You looked like a drowned rat.

When Frank opened the door to you after you left the elevator, he paused for a moment. Then his face cracked into a smile and your lips morphed down to a frown. You crossed your arms over your chest, staring up at him, unimpressed.

“Don’t,” You warned him and he let you slip inside the apartment. You discarded your sopping wet suit jacket onto the side table while Frank closed the door. He was watching you, your white t-shirt practically see-through thanks to the rain.

“Want that change of clothes?” He asked. You nodded your head, meeting his gaze. His smile had softened away from amusement and he disappeared to his bedroom while you walked over to the kitchen.

“Want a beer?” You called, hearing Frank shuffle around in his dresser drawers.

“That bad, huh?” He teased as he appeared in the doorway with a pair of your leggings but one of his shirts. You instantly noticed it as you turned back, narrowing your eyes suspiciously, “Dunno where your shirt is.” You rolled your eyes and returned back to the fridge, grabbing two beers. You opened them, taking a swig of yours before you traded Frank the beer for the clothes.

“Can I use a towel?” You asked. He nodded.

“Go for it, sweetheart.” You took another swig of beer before disappearing into the bathroom. Frank watched as you trailed water through the apartment and he couldn’t help but be mildly amused. Your friendship had always been a strange one to Frank. You knew him, you knew everything about him and you had to drag him back from the edge more than once and yet, you were still here. He was grateful for that but he’d never admitted that to you.

He took a swig of beer before he picked the jacket up from the side and wrung it out over the sink. He then discarded it over the heater. Once he was finished, he grabbed his beer again and took a seat on the couch. Usually, he’d turn on the TV but he could hear you in the shower. The water was pattering against the wall and he could hear your music blaring. Even when you were in his apartment, you had no shame in blaring your own music. 

He could hear you singing along too. You weren’t the greatest singer but he enjoyed listening. Something about your presence seemed to soothe his agitated soul. When he was with you, the world seemed to slow and he had never expected it. He had never wanted to find someone else after Maria and Beth, he knew that he always got people hurt. Yet, you had quite literally wandered into his life and proved him wrong just like Beth had.

Now you were in his shower, in his apartment about to put on his shirt and he felt at peace. The constant need to be on guard had slipped away and even though the vigilance would never truly disappear, it didn’t feel as pressing as it usually did. Part of him was terrified that you’d get hurt but his life had been quiet for months. There was nobody on his back, nobody out to kill him and so he felt content knowing that for once, you both might be safe.

“Frank,” You called his name, standing on his bath mat completely naked, “I need a towel, you didn’t have one in here,” You called. You heard him chuckle on the other side of the door before you heard footsteps. The apartment was creaky and old and you had memorised which creaks indicated he was near his bedroom, near the front door and near the bathroom. He was outside the door. He knocked gently.

“Open up,” He said. You shuffled to be stood behind the door before gently pulling it open. Your wet hair dripped onto the tiles as you stuck your face out. He held the towel towards you and you grabbed it, giving him a thankful smile. Then you closed the door.

A soft breath escaped your lips and you dried yourself off before slipping back into the new set of clothes. The shirt smelt just like Frank and you couldn’t help but relish in it for a moment. You had also used his body wash so you were surrounded by the smell of him. You glanced at yourself in the mirror and realised that you were grinning; properly grinning.

You felt like a teenager who had just been caught but instead, you were crushing on your best friend. Your best friend who was a widower, your best friend who was terrified of letting people in in case they got hurt. Your best friend that could love you back but would never want to admit it because he didn’t want to lose you.

With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your face with your hands before you turned to the door and headed back into the living room. Frank was lounging on the couch while you picked your beer back up from the kitchen counter.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked, turning his head towards you. You took a sip of beer, nodding your head.

“Still a little cold,” You mumbled as you stepped back and checked Frank’s fridge again. Usually when you came over, one of you cooked for the other but his fridge was run down which meant that it might be a takeout night, “Do you want pizza tonight?” You asked curiously, turning around to find Frank standing behind you, “Jesus, Frank.” He couldn’t help but grin and he took another sip of beer before he placed it down.

“Come ‘ere,” He said, opening his arms up for you. You stared at him for a second before letting yourself be wrapped up in his arms. You were freezing and he was radiating heat. You buried your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him as he held you close, “Gotta keep my best girl warm,” He mumbled. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you chuckled softly.

“Your best girl, huh?” You teased. You felt the rumble of agreement in his chest and you looked up at him. You met gazes and you were grinning, like a love-sick teenager, “I could get used to that.” His head tilted ever so slightly to the side and your gaze was boring into his.

“Yeah?” He asked. You nodded.

“Yeah.” Your head rested back against his chest. There was something different about it this time, though. He was holding you just that little bit tighter and then he leant forward and pressed a kiss to your hair. Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you couldn’t help feeling so adored.

<3

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary, Day 6

February 6: tie | embarrassment | dessert

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling

Rated G

-----

It's the middle of the afternoon when his stranger shows up at the New Inn, a smile on his face, naming Hob friend. Apologizing for his absence.

"Welcome," Hob says, shoving his marking into his satchel. "Let me get you a glass of wine."

His stranger sits silently as he asks Katie for another pint and orders a glass of Malbec.

"The good one," he clarifies, and she grins.

"Got it, Robbie," she says, with a curious glance at his companion, and then they're alone again.

His friend is still watching him, that smile on his face, and Hob can't help but take a moment simply to look. He thinks about asking why they didn't meet in 1989, why he was left adrift and alone, but it doesn't matter. Not really. He's here now.

"What were you working on when I arrived?" his friend asks, his gaze shifting briefly to Hob's satchel before anchoring firmly on Hob's face once more.

"Marking," he says, and his friend's brow furrows. "Checking my students' work," he adds. "I'm a professor now! Me, can you imagine?"

And then he's off, the familiar rhythm of their past meetings suddenly returning. He talks for so long that his voice falters. There is so much to tell his friend about. X-rays and the space race, vinyl records and the internet. With a word to Katie, he switches from beer to water, and keeps going.

His friend is no more talkative about himself than usual, but he seems more engaged, less... dour. He asks questions, and is more expressive than Hob has ever seen him. Hob even thinks he tried the wine Hob chose for him, though the nearly full glass now sits on the table between them.

He is in the middle of explaining the miracle of organ transplants when his stomach growls, loud enough to be heard from across the table even in the busy pub, and he breaks off in embarrassment.

"Pardon me," he says with a laugh.

"I have kept you from your evening meal," his friend says, shifting in his seat, and Hob lunges, half-desperate, as it looks like he might rise. His friend stills, eyes widening a fraction.

"No, no! It's fine!" Hob says, lowering his hand from its aborted grasp. Please don't leave! He takes a moment to breathe, to calm himself.

"We have shared a meal before," he reasons, though of course, his friend has never eaten. He has remained while Hob has eaten, though, and that's what he's hoping for now. "We could do so again. If you'd like."

His friend nods his agreement, so quickly that Hob thinks he might not be the only one unready for the evening to end.

He orders a steak and ale pie, and when Katie asks his friend for his order and he declines, Hob asks for two forks. His friend raises an eyebrow at that, and Hob simply grins. One day, he'll find something that tempts his friend - his need to feed those he cares about is strong. Stronger still because his friend looks like he's missed a fair few meals recently.

If he even eats. Perhaps he lives on words. Heaven knows Hob has given him plenty of those.

His meal arrives, and he breaks the crust of the steaming pie, smiling as he inhales the aroma of the thick gravy that wafts out.

He has eaten a few bites in between his words when his friend shifts in his chair, reaching for the fork in front of him.

Hob watches, fascinated, as he scoops up a small bite of beef, a morsel of crust, and a tiny bit of gravy. Those petal pink lips part as he tastes it, head tilted like a bird's as he considers it.

"It is pleasingly savory," he pronounces as he sets the fork down again, and Hob grins.

"That it is, friend," he says in agreement, applying himself to his meal and his tale.

"Dessert then, Robbie?" Katie asks a few minutes later, as she brings him another glass of water and sees the remains of his meal.

Hob debates for approximately three seconds. "Yeah, go on then."

Katie laughs as she picks up his plate. "The usual?"

"Please, and two forks."

There's so much more to tell his friend about - there always is - but Hob feels mostly talked out. This is by far the longest his friend has ever lingered, and he can't ignore the ache of the knowledge that soon, their meeting must end.

Unwilling to prematurely give into the melancholy that always arrives after these evenings, Hob pushes it away and says, "The kitchen here is fantastic. In some ways, pub food is the same as it's always been, but some things are so different now..."

He's in the middle of explaining gastropubs and fusion cuisine when Katie approaches their table once more, and he breaks off.

"Ah, thanks, love," he says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as she sets down their dessert. "Butterscotch bread pudding with vanilla bean ice cream and housemade whiskey caramel sauce. It's absolutely the best thing on the menu. It's won awards."

Lifting the shot glass of caramel, he upends it, drizzling it over the pudding sizzling in its little cast iron pot. The ice cream is melting slowly into the top of the pudding, and the smell is divine.

Hob digs in and pops a bite in his mouth. It's too hot, burning his tongue, and it's absolutely worth it.

His friend picks up his fork and digs out a tiny bite to try, and Hob watches his eyes widen, his pleasure clear on his face in a way that has Hob shift in his seat. He's beautiful.

"Good, innit?"

He says nothing, but his fork dips again, lifts a larger bite this time.

Sweet tooth, then, Hob thinks. Got it.

He goes in for another bite as well, picking the thread of his words back up.

He's talking about the rise of the celebrity chef a few moments later, reaching for another bite, when his fork scrapes against iron, and he blinks and looks down. The little pot is empty, only a few drops of caramel sauce and a few smears of melted ice cream remaining. Hob has had maybe three bites.

He looks up, astonished. His friend looks back serenely, but there are spots of color, high on his pale cheeks. He sets his fork down.

Hob could not stop the smile breaking over his face for all the money in the world. His friend's lips twitch, the corner tucking into a tiny smile, and Hob notices there is the smallest drop of caramel sauce at the corner of his friend's mouth.

Hob entertains a very brief fantasy of leaning across the table and licking it off, tasting the sweetness of the caramel and his friend's perfect skin.

Clearing his throat and shoving the thought away, he sets his own fork down. They are not unfamiliar, these little moments of want that flash within him, whenever they share an evening. They are what sustain him in the long decades between their meetings.

His friend's gaze is sharp on his face, but those spots of color remain.

"I apologize for consuming your dessert."

"Our dessert, friend. Two forks, remember? I'm just glad you enjoyed it. Would you like another?"

His friend looks away, out the window long since gone dark.

"The hour grows late," he says, and Hob tries not to flinch. "And I have. Difficult work ahead of me. But. Perhaps we might meet again soon. To share this dish. Or perhaps another."

Hob's breath catches, his heart pounding. I will take you to every bakery and dessert shop in London, he thinks. England! The world!

"I would like that very much, my friend," he says.

"Dream," he says as he stands, looking down at Hob with the same smile he had when he first came in. "You may call me Dream."

"Good night, Dream, my friend," Hob says, trying not to choke on the emotion that swamps him. "I hope to see you soon."

"You shall, Hob Gadling. Good night, my friend."

Between one blink and the next, he's gone.

END

-----

Thanks to @fluffbruary for the prompt, and to the Morrison in Atwater Village for the best damn bread pudding I've had in my life.

[drjholtzmann]

going thru the drafts. this one was originally a fluffbruary prompt (whoops) but i chickened out

shower | blessed | layer

Dream is already in the kitchen when Hob gets home. Clattering through the door in a flurry of muffled curses and rustling fabric. He shucks off his coat and violently jabs it onto the coat hook, continuing to curse his way out of his shoes before standing upright again, flicking soaking wet hair back off his face. 

“Hello, stranger.” He says, aiming for casual but falling a little closer to perfunctory, unable to fully hide his frustration. 

“You’re –” Dream’s deep voice begins softly as Hob rushes to add, “I know – I’m late, I know.”

Dream, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders square, resting in one of Hob’s kitchen chairs, does not move to finish his sentence. 

“‘Light morning showers’, my eye,” Hob mutters murderously as he passes Dream and the kitchen table and continues to clatter on into the kitchen. “Fucking pissing down all afternoon! Shoes are soaked. Thought my jacket would be enough for light showers so I didn’t take a sodding umbrella, like a fucking bellend. The tube was disgusting – full of everyone trying to get out of the rain. So it was full of rainwater and the water-soaked public which, let me tell you, is a particular bouquet I don’t need to experience again in a hurry. Not at the end of a work day. I mean – you want some of this?” He pauses, wine bottle in one hand, glass in another, gesturing with the bottle towards Dream. Dream inclines his head. “I mean say what you will about the past,” Hob continues, placing the first glass down and grabbing out a second, “plenty of smells of all kinds. But at least we didn’t have fuckin’ Lynx Africa. A tube full of B.O., soaked woollen suits, stale air, muddy rainwater, all coated with the chemical tang of Lynx fucking Africa?” He gags and pours a generous, sloshing glass of red. “Adding insult to injury. Didn’t know how good we had it.” He spins the cap back onto the bottle with a metallic little hiss. “Anyway,” he places the second glass down in front of Dream. “How was your day?”  

At this Dream stands, eyes passing over Hob’s hair, falling to his shoulders, then down to his feet. “You are wet.”

“Yeah. Did you not hear the whole vitriolic spiel just now?” 

Dream looks at him like he’s stupid. “You are still in your wet clothes.” He clarifies, emphasising each word even more than usual, his eyes glinting with mockery.

Hob swallows his mouthful of wine. “Yeah, well.”

“Your socks, at least.” Dream suggests. And Hob makes a show of rolling his eyes, putting his wineglass down, and slouching back to the door.

He bends to pull off his sodden socks, and they hit the floor with a wet and heavy splat. “Meugh,” his lip curls. His eyes slide back to Dream and he resists rolling them. “Happy?” He crows, arms wide.

“Are you?”

He wiggles his damp toes against the floorboards, head tilting to the side. “Better. At least.” He concedes. 

“You ought to get out of your wet layers.” 

“When did you become mother hen?” But by now Hob is struggling to keep up the fever pitch of his frustration, a smile starting to tug at his words. 

“If you do not want my help…” Dream turns his back on him, picking up his wineglass.

“No! No. Of course I do.” He’s still playing along with the teasing, but it’s true. Always. And Dream knows it. He turns towards Hob again, a smug little smile hiding behind the rim of his glass. Hob holds his hands out to his sides, letting them fall back against his thighs. “Help me?” 

Dream scoffs, but the smirk is still in place as he sets his glass down and walks over to Hob in the entryway. “How you survived centuries between our meetings I will never know,” he tuts, plucking at Hob’s unbuttoned overshirt, slipping it down off his shoulders, then free from each wrist. 

“Made a deal with a lady.” Hob parries back, but it sounds distant even to him, far too hypnotised by watching Dream’s movements to commit to continuing their banter.

“Mm. Quite.” Dream draws the neck of Hob’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger and, assessing that it, too, is insufficiently dry, pulls it upwards. Hob is pliant, and increasingly calm in his grip. 

Hob is shirtless for barely a second before there is a soft warmth sliding up his arms. Something that looks a little like a smoking jacket but feels more like a soft fleecy dressing gown has been conjured within Dream’s palm and his being fitted neatly across his shoulders. It feels like sinking into a warm bath. The warmth between sleep and wakefulness. The heavy-muscled heat of laying close to a fire for long night hours. And Hob can’t help the full-body contented sigh that comes out of him. He feels his shoulders relax down an entire inch. His head almost falls forward, eyes closed, ready to drop right off to sleep. 

“Is that not better?”

“Mm,” Hob shuffles closer. “Better,” he agrees, curling his hands into the sweeping lapels of Dream’s coat and, allowing his eyes to finally close, drops his head against Dream’s shoulder. 

“We are only half done.” Dream says after several seconds of silence and stillness from Hob. 

Hob huffs against his neck. “You just wanna see me in my pants. Cheeky.” 

“You’re impossible.” Hob can hear the smile in Dream’s words. Smiles in return, hidden against his neck, as Dream’s hands snake around his back and hold him in a warm, impossibly fond embrace. And Hob melts against him a little further. 

“S’me. Impossible. Wearing a robe my love just conjured from the ether. Which is very normal.”

“I only wish for you to be comfortable.”

“I am, love,” he promises, voice soft, all fight and frustration drained from him. “So comfy. 'n I promise I’ll take off the trousers in a minute.” He sighs, deep and cleansing. “Can we just go to bed? I know it’s still early but fuck I’d love this day to be over.”

Dream’s hands press tighter against him, soothing up and down his back. “You will hear no complaints from me,” he murmurs against Hob’s temple, pressing a featherlight kiss into his hair.

[adealiz]

@fluffbruary never ends! I'm a bit late, sorry, I've been very busy. But made a quick painting at last! (prompts : sunbeams, host, dance)

Uncropped version

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 20

[day 19] [day 21]

prompts: will be listed at the A/N at the end (to not spoil my own story)

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

John was (almost) certain Sherlock wouldn't figure it out. Not because he wasn't smart enough (of course he was - it was hardly an unsolvable riddle), but because he wouldn't pay enough attention to it. So when John started with his little game at the first evening (he would give his hints only at evenings - to get some routine into it, to distinguish between his hints and his every day utterances), it was something unsuspicious, something Sherlock should be used to by now.

"You are fantastic", he said on Monday (at Scotland Yard, after his flatmate had deduced the murderer's motive in less than ten minutes). But still Sherlock gave him a side glance (which was slightly unbelieving) and started smiling (just a bit) when he saw John's big honest eyes.

Tuesday evening (when they sat across each other in their armchairs) John blurted, "You know, when you solved Greg's cold case the other day. That- you are..." John cleared his throat (awkwardly). "...amazing. Is all." Sherlock looked up, studied his face for a (-n intense) second and nodded. And then it (the intensity) was over.

John decided his hints needed to be more distinguished from his usual declarations (compliments). He wasn't sure why he had decided that: he was going to be sublte (but maybe he wanted to be busted?). This time (on Wednesday) he was not gonna say anything however. He grabbed a newspaper and a pen and circled four letters in the crossword puzzle. Ⓥariant, Ⓘllinois, Ⓟi. Then (hesitantly at first, determined at last) ⓊFO. He placed the newspaper beside him. He noticed Sherlock standing next to him at some point (tea mug in his hand) scanning the newspaper (for just a few seconds too long) then catching John's eyes. The doctor raised his eyebrows innocently. (He was being obvious wasn't he?) And they never exchanged a word about it.

When Sherlock wanted to leave their flat late Thursday afternoon to get cigarette patches (John had refused to get them for him), he was only wearing a dressing gown. John looked at him, mouth wide open. "Are you going like this?"

"I don't see why not.", the detective (manchild) replied.

"You truly are one-of-a-kind." (Fine, it might have been a compliment packed in an insult but John needed to be more subtle). Sherlock said, "You should know that by now.", and left (in dressing gown and dress shoes).

Friday night they walked home side by side (from a dinner, that would probably count as a date if they would want that), arms brushing (not so) accidentally. Sherlock looked up to the sky, at all those stars above them. "It's ravishing, isn't it?", he asked. And John stared at him with disbelief (love) in his eyes. Then he took the opportunity and whispered so quitely Sherlock (almost) couldn't hear, "So are you."

On Saturday they solved a case together (Anderson had sarcastically called them 'dream team'). And when they got home, already fallen into their respective armchairs, suddenly Sherlock started laughing loudly (unapologetically). And John (couldn't help but) join(ed). Getting more and more giggly every time Sherlock laughed (snorted with laughter). "You are intoxicating", John said when they have calmed down a bit. And together they exploded into another laughing fit.

On Sunday Sherlock had cooked something for them (it wasn't all that great, to be honest). And John (teasingly) grinned at him. "You are such a talented cook, Sherlock." And his flatmate grinned right back at him.

They ate their dinner together - in (comfortable) silence. Well, John tried to, Sherlock busied himself sorting his food ingredients next to each other by their colors and sizes. Then he dropped his fork suddenly (making a loud noise). "I figured it out."

John just raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. "What exactly are you talking about?"

"Your... your game. Your riddle. Whatever you wanna call it."

John (didn't know what to say or do so he just) continued looking at Sherlock.

"You were spelling a word. Each evening a new compliment, each somehow describing... personality traits."

John still didn't say anything so the genius continued, "Fantastic, amazing, VIP, one-of-a-kind, ravishing, intoxicating, talented. You were spelling favorite to me. Packed in a riddle."

John smiled at him. "Nice deduction, Sherlock."

Sherlock waved away his (additional) compliment. "Favorite... favorite... favorite WHAT, John?"

"Your genius brain hasn't figured it out yet?", John countered. "A four words sentence. The most important one was the riddle itself. Two were included in every presentation of a hint. Fourth needs to be filled by conclusion."

Knitted eyebrows soothed. "You are..."

John nodded. "The two words provided in the hints..."

Sherlock's eyes widened, "My... favorite?", he asked incredulously. "I am your favorite?"

"You are my favorite.", John nodded, a soft, loving smile on his face. He crossed a boundary he had never dared to cross before and reached his hand out to take Sherlock's in his.

"That- that's...", Sherlock rarely fought for words but John had an effect on him, that made him discover new things about himself every day. He glared at their hands, seemingly decided to focus on words instead, and whipped his gaze up, "What was the E gonna stand for?"

John looked at the floor, before he took a deep breath and stared directly into Sherlock's eyes. "Evermore. You are my favorite for evermore, Sherlock." He squeezed his hand three times (which means 'I love you') and Sherlock forgot how to speak, but squeezed John's hand three times back, because he knew it means 'I love you' and he did (undeniably) love John, too.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: prompts: favourite | reveal | lounge by @fluffbruary <3

YES to feedback! 💚🐢💚🐢

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence

[tj-dragonblade]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thank you! This is such a hard question! I love most everything I've written, picking favorites is hard, I swear it would be easier to name the ones I'm least thrilled with lol. And just because most of these are Sandman doesn't mean I don't care about my older fandoms either, just that almost always what I'm happiest with writing is going to be the most recent years. Maybe one day I'll go through fandom by fandom to pick a top three from each, or something. But for now! In no particular order, and after much thought, here we go.

When the Chips Are Down from the tail end of my Saiyuki days, published 14 years ago this month. It's comical crack-treated-seriously based on an obscure canon-adjacent factoid and that sort of thing has never been my forte, but I succeeded admirably here if I may say so. It was a joy to write, Jiipu is my favorite and forever under-utilized in fic so centering this around him, around a ridiculous tidbit of info about his counterpart in the original Journey to the West and telling it in his pov was absolutely delightful. I had so much fun writing this one and I'm still so proud of the character voice work I managed in here.

The Thessaly breakup fic from fluffbruary 2023, which I like for having a semblance of plot and because I see lots of talk about what Hob would think of Thessaly but I don't know if I've run into any other actual fics dealing with it. Not that this is the Hob-gives-Thessaly-a-piece-of-his-mind fic that I think we all need, but I'm still very pleased with it. And I just really like the scene of Dream crying on Hob.

Of Cutoff Shorts and Classic Cars. I'm just. So happy with how quickly this one happened, how much it kept growing in the writing and how it turned out in the end. I also laugh at myself for nitpicking over the right British terms for back yard and driveway and such but then I completely spaced using bonnet instead of hood. 😂 Also fun fact this was my first time ever writing oral with a vulva and I'm very pleased with how well it's been received.

The Keeper and the Traveler currently sits pretty high because I've always loved and wanted to write that fairy-tale narrative style and this got pretty close. I don't know if it will still be in my top five by the end of the year but for now, it is.

And lastly will cheat a smidge and say Cruise Ship Boys, because I love both pieces of the 'series' and can't decide which I like better. The porn piece again happened quickly and wrote easily and I'm delighted with how it turned out. The sequel was meant to be one cute-ish little scene to revisit them but snowballed into a whole depressing backstory for Dream and an illuminating look into his everyday life and again, it wrote easily which seems to be a theme with these faves, lol. But yeah. I would love to come back to this AU one day.

[with-a-ghost-mr-holmes]

Fluffbruary: Day 29

John can't wait for the trip. It'll be kind of a “sex holiday,” only it isn't a holiday. John's attending a conference in Wales, and Sherlock is tagging along.

They both had a hard time being apart whenever John attended such events in the past. This time they'll be together. During the day, Sherlock will solve cases per email from their hotel room and John will follow the lectures, and they'll have the evenings for themselves.

“Sherlock, you ready? The taxi’s waiting.”

“Coming!” Sherlock emerges from the bedroom with their suitcases. A quick peck, and they are heading downstairs together.

And so, Fluffbruary comes to an end :')

I've never been so invested in posting fanfic before (I mean, 29 days in a row!) and, the other times I posted collections (i. e. the last two Christmases), I always had everything already written before I started sharing it. This time, it was sort of a long work in progress, which is why I called it "madness" 😂 It has been wonderful, though. I had a blast this month, and the readers' responses made it all even better! So THANK YOU so much for all your comments, likes, and reblogs, and mostly, for dedicating time to reading my silly fanfiction! 🥰

In ao3 you can find all the Fluffbruary drabbles together in a neat collection, as well as other drabbles, 221Bs, and ficlets of various lengths. Come say hi! ❤️

Tags:

@fluffbruary @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @helloliriels @peanitbear @pressurepoint221 @dubiouslynamed @yellowpamonha @ehuether @lgcgjd @gomielka @kittenmadnessandtea @chriscalledmesweetie @justnerdystuffs @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @fullyouthwerewolf @chinike @iamjustreading @effulgentcorruptedpov @strawberrywinter4 @seagoing-nerd @annaofthenorthernlights @keirgreeneyes @brightbquirky @mazaherstuff @naefelldaurk @kettykika78 @whatnext2020 @dinner--starving @under-loch-n-key @inevitably-johnlocked  @safedistancefrombeingsmart @meetinginsamarra @snonkerdoodlefizzy221b @7-percent @discordantwords @221beloved @khorazir @johnlockismyreligion @jolieblack @oetkb12 @ninasnakie

[lisbeth-kk]

Self-reccing.

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thanks for the tag @raina-at

This is beyond difficult! I don't do favourites, and like most writers I do love my own fics. That being said, there are choices to be made...

The first on the list has to be a parent!lock I have a weak spot for.

The Secret Writer delves into topics which are dear to me, like reading to children.

Summary: Sherlock is about to reveal his secret. On Rosie's birthday. Will John understand what this means?

Enigma is my first entry to Fluffbruary ever, and I put quite a lot of effort into it as far as I can remember.

Summary: As a child Sherlock’s promised the perfect birthday present, but he never receives it, and he refuses to tell John what it was. John perceives that the thought of said present still haunts Sherlock decades later and he’s determined to solve the mystery and give the belated present to Sherlock himself.

Punishment for Being Fatuous is partly crack, and came to life because of a six year old prompt on Tumblr. (It's all in the end notes of the fic). The fact that I experienced parts of this myself togehter with fandom friends...well...you do the maths.

Summary: John's got tickets to a musical, and asks if Sherlock will accompany him. Sherlock's reluctant, and instead does something tactless to get John's attention.

Until the End of Time came to life after reading the magnificent @atlinmerrick fic Well Met Series. Chapter five of said fic stood out to me, and I instantly wanted to continue the story, which Atlin generously permitted.

Summary: Sherlock and John met on the tube, and they never looked back.

A Calming Effect is my homage and humble thanks to the remarkable @podfixx who lights up my day. Every day, in fact.

Summary: John is invalided home from Afghanistan. He's miserable with an inexplicable cold that's set in his bones and nothing he does can make it disappear. When his therapist suggests a podcast Mike Stamford has mentioned to her, and John reluctantly agrees to give it a try, things change. The velvety voice does things to John he isn't prepared for, and he's determined to meet the man behind the podcast. That proves to be easier said than done.

Tagging @arwamachine @holmesianlove @chriscalledmesweetie @notjustamumj @discordantwords

[hardly-an-escape]

Fluffbruary Day 29

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Dream/Hob • rated T • breakfast | valley | sign

continuation of Days 4 & 21

The hotel doesn’t have much in the way of breakfast.

His stranger had dozed off again after their impromptu photo shoot quickly devolved into another roll in the proverbial hay; but Hob is buzzing with energy, so he dresses quietly and creeps down to the lobby. Only to find it rather barren.

There’s a coffee machine, a few muffins – prepackaged, not even fresh – and a sad fruit bowl with some mealy-looking apples. He assembles what he can, shoves some creamers and sugar packets in his pocket, and returns to the room.

His stranger is just stirring again when Hob lets himself back into the room.

“I come bearing provisions,” he says, setting the coffees on the bedside table and dropping his meager bounty in the man’s lap.

“Foraging for our survival?”

“Something like that. It’s slim pickings out there, I’m afraid. But hey –“ he picks up a muffin and wiggles it enticingly “– chocolate chip!”

“How decadent,” his stranger comments dryly. “You spoil me.”

“I’d like to,” Hob says honestly. Too honestly, probably, but then that’s a lesson he’s never been able to learn. “You look like you need a good spoiling.”

“Hmm,” hums his stranger. “Perhaps I will let you.”

prompt list!

and that's a wrap on Fluffbruary 2024! this was so much fun. it was fun to challenge myself to keep things so short, and I actually ended up with some ideas I'd like to flesh out in longer fics. I can't believe I got something done for every day this month – I combined some prompts, but I used at least one for every day! you can find all my fills on my AO3.

also, I wrote this continuation of two previous days' fills and then remembered that they were originally in Hob's bedroom and not in a hotel, haha. but I don't feel like changing it now. I guess maybe they meet up again sometime after the first two fics!

[fang-and-feather]

Nostra Unica Famiglia

Ikemen Vampire - Leonardo & Pureblood! Reader

(background Charles x Reader)

Written for Fluffbruary from @fluffbruary Day 13 Prompt: Choice and the Shapes of Love Creation Challenge by @violettduchess and @lorei-writes Prompt: Storge (Familial Love)

Words: 687

Summary: You thought Leonardo would be mad about your relationship with Charles, but when you finally talks to him, you're in for a surprise

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

You found Leonardo smoking on the balcony. Nothing new, but this time you felt apprehensive of approaching.

The Christmas party went well. Or so you thought. But now that the party is over and Charles has gone home, you feel like all the masks will come off, and you are afraid of what lies underneath. You still brace yourself and call out.

“Uncle?”

“Ciao cara. Why are you still awake?”

“I drank a little too much to sleep.” Not a lie. You did drink a little more than you’d ever had. You weren’t drunk, but still a little buzzed.

“It doesn't seem like it did you any good, Piccolina. You don’t look too cheerful.”

“I’m not that little!” You never could help complaining when he treated you as a child.

But this time, your answer did not lead to the usual banter. Instead, he turns to you with a smile that looks strangely sad, puts out his cigarillo, and ruffles your hair gently.

“I know. You have never been. Not even when I met you. But you are young, and I know how the famiglia is. Rebellion can be tempting, but it can lead to hastily made, poor decisions you might regret later.”

“Is this about Charles?” You knew he would talk about it, but any preparation you had made beforehand seemed to escape your mind when you finally needed it.

Leonardo turns back to look at the starry sky, and you walk to stand beside him, doing the same.

“You’re old enough to make your own choices, and I don’t doubt you when you say he is a good person. But the others he’s with mean trouble, and he chose to follow them. He chose his own path, and I’m afraid you’ll end up caught in it."

He was right. Vlad is a weird pureblood, who wasn’t too satisfied with your relationship with Charles either. Comte had promised to tell you about his relationship with Vlad later, but had said they were friends who had a fallout because of Vlad’s ideals.

But you also had a good feeling about the interactions you had with them while trying to build this relationship with Charles.

Not an easy or short task. You had a lot of time.

You were about to tell him that, when he started to speak again, turning to smile at you.

“But I saw you today, and this relationship sure seems real. You are young, but I trust your judgment. Just be careful, and know you can come to me if anything happens, okay?”

You were not expecting such support. Such trust. Your relationship as a family barely had a year, either. It had been fine, but you often had this impression Leonardo saw you as a little child. How long had you longed for a little of that love? How lucky you were to end up in this time and place, as strange of a coincidence as it was? Fighting back tears, you hug Leonardo.

“Thank you for trusting me, uncle. You are the only famiglia I currently have, of course you are the one I will turn to if I turn out to be wrong. But I am confident in my choice.”

Hands on your shoulders, Leonardo gently puts some distance between you.

“I know. You sure don’t need it, but you have my blessing.” He leans down to kiss your forehead. “And I hope whatever choices you make from now on will make you happy. Not make you regret it.”

You only hug him back. You know it’s hard for him to say that, but he chose to trust and believe you, like no one in your family ever did. And you know it’s because supporting you is important for him too, who never had a true family either. He chose to be that family to you. It wasn’t just a coincidence that you met; it was fate. Who said destined bonds were only for romantic partners?

That doesn't mean your boyfriend will escape without a talking to, not only from your uncle, but it's already more support than you expected.

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground, @queengiuliettafirstlady

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary, Day 4

February 4: camera | lush | beau

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling

Rated M

-----

It's warm in the flat. Too warm for Hob, who has the sheets rucked down to his waist so he doesn't overheat. Unlike his Dream, his love, beside him, who hates to be cold or uncovered, especially in the waking world. He is covered to his neck, everything tucked away, except for his head, pillowed on Hob's shoulder, and his hand, nestled in the thick hair on Hob's chest, curled over his heart.

He imagines them briefly from above and chuckles. They'd look like a scene from a sitcom, where the sheets must be L-shaped so as not to flash a bit of tit.

Dream hums questioningly, and Hob shakes his head and presses a kiss to Dream's hair.

"Nothing, love," he says. "Bit of nonsense."

Dream cuddles closer, which never fails to send a thrill zinging through Hob - Dream! wants him! - and Hob sighs happily as Dream cards his fingers again through the hair on Hob's chest, scratching gently.

"Glad you don't mind the fur," he says. "I know there's a lot of it."

He can feel Dream frown against his shoulder.

"It is pleasing," Dream says, and Hob can't help but grin. "And it is part of you. Why would I not like it?"

Hob shrugs. "Some people don't. On themselves, or others." He smoothes his hand up and down the bare perfection of Dream's back under the sheet. "Some people wax to feel more like you."

"This I remember," Dream tells him. "It has ever been thus."

Hob wonders briefly, what he would look like, feel like, as Dream is now. Nothing but the hair on his head and around his cock. He is incredibly hairy, he knows, always has been. He wonders if Dream would like him to -

"No." Dream says sharply, and Hob yelps as Dream's hand curls tightly into a fist, pulling at the strands of chest hair caught there. "No, beloved, I would not wish you other than you are."

Dream uncurls his fist and strokes his hand over Hob's chest and up his shoulder to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Hob's neck. He shifts closer to rub his cheek along Hob's chest, curling his leg over Hob's thigh, rasping pleasantly against the hair there.

Hob's breath catches at the sensation, his hand sliding up the smooth skin of Dream's thigh to cup Dream's arse, hold him closer.

"You are beautiful, my Hob, and I would have you spread over me, a cloak fit for a king."

"God, love, the things you say," Hob groans, shivering as he clutches at Dream, breathes him in. He noses at Dream's forehead, his cheek until Dream lifts his head, his eyes dark, vast and glittering.

"As you wish, my lord," Hob murmurs with a laugh, gasping as Dream tugs at his hair. Pulling Dream into a hungry kiss, Hob slowly rolls them, his body covering Dream and pressing him into the mattress as they lose themselves in each other once more.

END

-----

Read the word "lush" and immediately thought of our dear hirsute sunshine boy!

Thanks to @fluffbruary for the inspiration and @ladytian for the help and cheerleading!

[a-forbidden-detective]

Karaoke love

This is written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF238 Take my hand and for @fluffbruary February 2 prompt : engagement | scent | jam

—

Beware of manga spoilers for the latest chapter. This is exactly 1000 words. I was totally into it at the end. I hope the ending makes sense. Heh!

Toto takes a shot from his whiskey glass, easing himself up. It’s his turn to sing. The screen monitor shows the song that he’s chosen awhile back. The truth is his singing is only confined to the four corners of the flat and his shower cabin in Asakusa.

Ron mentioned once that his love for singing in the shower is one of the rare times when Toto lets himself go apart from his innate resoluteness. But come to think of it, Ron didn’t say much about the quality of his singing voice, Toto has only been just self-conscious ever since that incident that he never sings anymore whenever he stays at Ron’s apartment.

Who suggested going to the karaoke bar anyway? Ah, it was Kawasemi-san. Today is the last day that he’s going to be in town and coincidentally his birthday that for all intents and purposes, Dr. Mofu asked him what else he wanted to do in Tokyo before going back to Aichi.

They rent a private room at the Karaoke Kan in Shibuya. The shop became famous when it was featured in a Western film in the early 2000s about two Americans, who found each other amidst the backdrop very alien to them: from food to cultural references. The premises have become a Mecca for tourists.

The whole gang is here. Amamiya, who tags along these days, and Dr. Mofu didn’t have the time when they went to Kamakura for sightseeing two days ago. So, they made sure that they were present this time around before sending Kawasemi-kun back to Nagoya. The only one who’s missing is Spitz, who cannot leave London at the moment and is disgruntled with a dash of envy in his body when he finds out their plans.

“Ack, Tototo! I am going to miss your performance. Ron-kun says that he has a rock ‘n’ roll singer living in his house.” Toto laughed when he heard this.

Should Toto stand up?

An arm gathers around him, as if grounding him. While the hand holds his shoulder, firm and yet tender. Toto turns to his left; Ron’s blue eyes confront him. Relax.

“Y-yeah…” Toto has calmed down a bit.

The first notes of a raunchy electric guitar surge, he poses to belt out the text that flashes on the screen.

“I'm an alligator/ I'm a mama-papa comin' for you / I'm the space invader / I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you / Keep your mouth shut … Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe … Press your space face close to mine, love / Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!”

His friends are fired up, hooting at the way Toto playfully sings a David Bowie song. Chikori-kun’s admiration skyrockets to 200 per cent. Her eyes scream of glowing stars. Kawasemi kun sings along. He knows it by heart and has been a Bowie fan. He’s so glad that Toto made a little research about him. Dr. Mofu’s face breaks into a giggle as she stops conversing with Amamiya, who cannot stop smiling. Toto, gyrating before her very eyes, has transformed into another person. And Ron? He’s looking at Toto with his hungry eyes, his hands won’t stop rubbing his thighs clothed in loose jeans. He then places his right hand into his pocket and reaches for a small box inside, feeling glad that he hasn’t lost the engagement ring.

You deserve all the good things in the world, Toto!

As the Tokyo police officer hits the end notes, Toto bows to the delight of his friends clapping and whistling on his way.

“Thank you so much!”

Ron hands him a glass of water and half-hugs him when he’s already seated.

“You did well, Toto!”

Toto mouths his thanks as he downs another glass when the next song starts to play. Chikori kun can’t stop herself from gushing when he notices that Ron stands up.

Oh, he’s next. Toto is darn curious now. He knows that Ron can sing really well as expected of him.

“Wise men say / Only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you / Shall I stay? / Would it be a sin / If I can't help falling in love with you?”

All of a sudden, the whole room turns quiet. No one claps, nor whistles. As if a magician does his trick enchanting the audience. Everyone is glued watching Ron does his interpretation of a popular Elvis Presley song.

Toto is fastened on his seat, mouth agape. Ron is looking at him, his intentions are clear. His heart beats faster, aware of his surroundings and the four sets of eyes that are focused on them.

“Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / For I can't help falling in love with you…”

Ron sits next to Toto and seizes his hand. He begins to speak.

“I am glad that our friends are here to give me support and witness the promise I will say here today. Too bad that Spitz isn’t around but he already knows my plans.”

Toto’s face is red now not because of the alcohol but specifically because of Ron, who is in front of him, who is now removing an object from his pocket.

“Toto, I know that it is all so sudden. But, after all the things that happened between us, I believe that there is an understanding that we can’t live without each other and instead prepare to die together if we are faced with a choice, are you willing to be my partner for life? Will you marry me?”

Toto’s mouth quiver, why hasn’t he never thought that this day will come? Ah, that’s why he can never be as good as Ron when it comes to sleuthing.

He then grabs Ron’s face and in front of everyone kisses Ron, his fiancé. Without remorse nor embarrassment while their friends say their congratulations.

“Yes!”

~ fin ~

[sliebman10]

Tie

“Come darling, let me help you,” Aziraphale said, taking the ends of the black silk tie that was already around Crowley’s neck. 

“I can do it,” Crowley snapped, snatching it away. 

“I have never seen you tie a tie properly,” Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow. 

Crowley fumbled with it for a moment before giving it up as a bad job. “I’ll just have to go like this then.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said, nimbly making quick work of it. 

Crowley looked in the mirror, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “I hope you don’t think I’m going out like this.”

@fluffbruary

[seiya-starsniper]

Hi! For the February prompts, I was thinking #20 for Morphienne💕

MORPHIENNE MY BELOVED 🥰💖

This was such a delight to write, and especially for Fluffbruary, I hope you enjoy friend!

Fluffbruary Prompt List || AO3 Link Here

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Repairing the damage done to the Dreaming during Rose Walker’s time as dream vortex is a long and arduous task for Dream. The realm had already been in a precarious state prior to that due to Dream’s imprisonment. Now there was even more work to be done. 

Recreating Gault as a dream instead of a nightmare had been a good first step. Gault was acclimating beautifully into her new role, and it served as a reminder to Dream that while the execution was different, the lessons imparted by both dreams and nightmares were meant to ensure that humanity continued to grow, to change, to adapt to the changing times. Two sides of the same coin, as the phrase went.

The look of pure awe and admiration in Lucienne’s face had also solidified his decision to be more…open to changes. Both big and small. Lucienne had not smiled like that in a long time, Dream realized. She smiled more now, more than she had even in the centuries before his capture, and Dream did not know how bereft he had felt without her smile, her joy, her adoration, until now. Every small acquiescence, every small bit of advice from hers he heeded, Lucienne’s smile would start first in the brightness of her eyes, then slowly traverse throughout the rest of her face until it finally completed its journey in the quirk of her mouth.

Dream was no mere god. He did not need his subjects to worship him. To give him praises and smiles and offerings. But every smile and every positive word Dream receives from his raven-turned-librarian fills Dream with a warmth he had missed dearly in his days spent as nothing more than a zoo animal in Roderick Burgess’s basement. Lucienne does not look upon him like he is some feral beast rearing to strike, or as some poor creature to be pitied. She looks at him as she always had, only now with more—more.

Dream realizes later, much later than he should have for a being such a he, that she loves him. Perhaps she had always loved him, and he had never noticed. Her love was nothing like what he had experienced with lovers past. Those loves were quick and passionate, and perhaps more destructive than affectionate, in the end. He had been consumed by them, had been driven half to madness in his attempts to woo and then later, control. All his lovers had left him in the end, unable to endure his strength, his power, his unending presence within their unconscious minds.

Lucienne, by contrast, had learned to live harmoniously alongside it. Had embraced it, embraced him, in all his facets, both good and bad. She had once obeyed all his commands without question, trusting him to always know and make the right decisions in the end for the Dreaming and its people. Now she pushed boundaries and made her opinions known to him, and Dream realized he found that attractive about her. She did not believe she could do his job better than him, but she did believe that he always knew the right answer, she only need lead him towards it. 

She had also waited for him, had been the only one of his subjects confident that he would come back, while the rest assumed that he had grown tired of his duty and simply left. She knew that when he finally returned, no matter if it took a hundred years, or a thousand, that he would need support in rebuilding the realm. And she had offered herself up to him without question, had maintained as much of the realm as she could without him, without him having even asked that of her. 

She had always been his partner in all things, Dream realizes. And now the thought that he could ask for more of her, that she would give it to him willingly, thrilled him in a way he could not describe.

“Lucienne,” Dream calls for her one night, when he is tired and lonely and missing her. “I require your presence.”

“My lord?” Lucienne asks when she enters his sanctuary. She is buttoned up and put together as always, the purples and reds of her outfit a deep contrast to the blacks and whites of the room. She is radiant, and Dream wants.

“Will you sit with me?” Dream asks, patting the empty space next to him along the sofa.

“Of course,” Lucienne replies.

She leaves a respectable space between them that Dream does not want, and so when she turns to look at him, he moves into her space and presses his face into her shoulder, before wrapping his arms around her waist. Lucienne yelps in surprise. Her arms suspend mid-air for a few awkward moments, before finally landing on his shoulders.

“Sir?” Lucienne asks, mildly alarmed at the blatant show of vulnerability. They have never held each other like this before, and Dream realizes this has been a grave oversight on his part. “Is—is everything all right?”

“Hmm,” Dream sighs, breathing in the scent of her. She smells like lavender and old books. “I am tired,” he adds, “and I have been thinking quite a bit lately.”

“About what?” Lucienne asks.

“About you, in fact,” Dream answers, pressing his face further into her shoulder.

“Me?” Lucienne asks, a small amount of concern creeping into her voice. “Have I done something wrong, my lord?”

“No,” Dream answers. “The opposite, in fact.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucienne says, now clearly confused by his vagueness.

“How long have you loved me?” Dream asks, deciding to be blunt instead. He lifts his head from her shoulder so that they are face to face, and so he can see her reaction. He sees first the shock, then the fear, and then the acceptance that he has figured her out. She sighs a few times, then lifts a hand to run her fingers through his hair.

“I no longer remember,” Lucienne answers softly, a sad smile now crossing her face. “I think I have always loved you, in different ways.”

Dream hums, and then readjusts himself so that he is no longer lying atop Lucienne, but instead sitting upright and looking down at her.

“You have done a remarkable job of hiding it from me for all these years,” he tells her, a wry smile crossing his lips. Lucienne chuckles in response, and it is more self-deprecating than he would like it to be.

“That was rather the point, sir,” she answers, her voice now tinged with a melancholy he does not like. “I would argue that I have actually failed in my duty to keep my personal feelings private, if even you have taken notice of them.”

“If even I have taken notice?” Dream asks, affronted. Had he really been the last to notice? Lucienne’s laughter seems to confirm his suspicions.

“Sir, you are not the first to point out my affections for you,” Lucienne says, her mouth still caught in a small smile. “Matthew had made a comment earlier today, in fact.”

Dream was going to have words with Matthew later. For now, he had more pressing matters in front of him to attend to

“Lucienne, you may drop the formalities,” Dream says, reaching a hand up to cup her face. “It is only you and I here.” 

Lucienne’s eyes widen, but then she turns away from him, unable to meet his eye.

“You know I cannot,” she replies, her voice returning back to that melancholy tone. “It is too intimate, and if I am allowed to call you by name, I may actually start to believe that I am—”

Dream cuts her off by pressing his mouth against hers. Lucienne lets out a small gasp when he does, and though he is tempted to deepen the kiss, Dream restrains himself, and pulls back from her mouth only the barest of inches. Her lips are warm and soft against his, and the fact that he could have had this sooner than now is almost enough to drive him to madness

“You are mine,” Dream murmurs, practically growling against her mouth. “Perhaps I am slow to catch on, but now that I am aware of your affection, I would have as much of it as you would give me.”

“Oh,” Lucienne breathes, “I—I see.”

Then she is the one kissing him now, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulling him flush against her body. Dream growls and then finally, finally, lets himself go for her.