#it’s not my best work but it’s Work period!

[delilahsturniolo]

princess treatment (m.s)

➜ headcanons! (bf!matt)

summary: what it would be like to receive princess treatment from matt as your boyfriend

warnings: none!

written by: @delilahsturniolo

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୨୧ bf!matt, who never lets you open any kind of door yourself. you would unbuckle your seat belt and reach for the car door handle, only for matt to grab your wrist gently and stop you, shaking his head. he would get out the car, run to your side and open the door for you, taking your hand and helping you out.

୨୧ bf!matt, who buys you anything and everything you want. you guys are at the mall together, he watches your eyes lock on an item you want but you don’t say anything and walk away. he doesn’t hesitate to put it in the cart. the moment you pick something up to look at it, it’s yours.

୨୧ bf!matt, who switches shoes with you when your feet hurt. you and matt would be out for dinner, you were in a dress and black heels. you guys were walking back to the car, but your feet were killing you, it hurt to walk. matt notices and kneels down in front of you, slipping your heels off your feet and giving you his sneakers. he would walk the rest of the way with his socks.

OR…

he would carry you bridal style, walking to the car with you in his arms so you wouldn’t be in pain.

୨୧ bf!matt, who lets you sit on his lap while he’s streaming, working, or just relaxing on the couch. his hands would be planted on your waist, rubbing small and soothing circles on it.

୨୧ bf!matt, who takes care of you after you’ve had a long day. he would make you your favorite meal, run you a warm bath with your favorite bath bombs, light you a nice candle and give you a relaxing massage. he would take care of everything, so you don’t have to. all he wants to do is make sure you’re okay. then, you both would cuddle and fall asleep watching a movie.

୨୧ bf!matt, who’s always taking interest in your hobbies just to spend time with you. you guys would have spa nights together, he would let you do his makeup and hair, he would dress up in silly outfits just to see you smiling and hear your laugh.

୨୧ bf!matt, who always ties your shoelaces for you. you’d be walking on the sidewalk with him, and he spots your laces coming loose. he’d say something like “baby, you’ll fall if you keep walkin’ like that, let me help you.” and he’d kneel down in front of you, gently taking your ankle in his hands and tying your laces. he’d let you hold onto him for balance.

୨୧ bf!matt, who spontaneously buys you flowers, writes you love letters and more. having a bad day? you’ll open up your purse to see an envelope stamped with hearts from matt. sick, or on your period? matt would be knocking on your door with ice cream, a bouquet of flowers, medicine and a teddy bear within minutes.

୨୧ bf!matt, who can’t stay mad at you after you two argue. he’d softly enter your room, his heart sinking when he sees you curled up in bed, softly crying to yourself. he doesn’t hesitate to walk over and engulf you in a tight, loving hug. he’s wiping away your tears, kissing you all over the place and repeatedly whispering apologies, letting you know how much he loves and cares about you despite the argument earlier.

୨୧ bf!matt, who’s always taking you on cute dates. it’s a mix between a simple arcade, or a fancy restaurant. he loves bringing you to romantic picnics, bowling alleys, theme parks, or you’ll cuddle with him at home if you guys don’t feel like going out.

୨୧ bf!matt, who will never not be in love with you. he’ll tell you every day how much you mean to him, and how you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.

୨୧ bf!matt, who will continue to love you forever and always.

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authors note 💌 : thank you all so much for 1,000 followers. i love you guys so much, this community has genuinely made me feel so safe and welcome. i can’t even begin to express my gratitude, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

- xoxo, delilah

© delilahsturniolo

[themultifanshipper]

Do you think you could do something like this

https://www.tumblr.com/themultifanshipper/759431110157631488/quiet-innocent-reader-x-lando-like-lando-finds

Maybe with Oscar ( love your writing)

If Oscar had to describe your sex life in one word : Vanilla.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! God knows how much the two of you enjoyed the sex you had. You weren’t very experienced when you met Oscar, and you were quite a shy person.

Which is why Oscar was so shocked when he found what appeared to be a list of your kinks just sitting there when he got up to make his morning coffee.

Fun fact, this request was sent over a month ago, and i only have a couple more to do before i can get to my own stuff lmao

Warnings: innocent reader, Smut, PinV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, mention of lots of kinks n stuff

He hadn’t meant to get a glimpse into the inner workings of your sexual psyche, but really, who leaves something like that on the kitchen counter???

As he read it over and over again, his cock twitched in interest and got progressively harder until he put it down, the words seared onto his brain forever.

He tried to have a cold shower but just ended up jerking off furiously to completion imagining doing all the things from your list.

But as soon as he got out of the shower and dried off, he realized he was still achingly hard. He decided to put on a pair of his loosest joggers and go about his day while he waited for you to come back from work.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed to answer a whole two emails, internally debating the moral implications of communicating with his bosses while sporting an erection.

Then he jerked off again.

It did take the edge off for a bit, but every time he thought about it during the day he couldn’t help but fist his cock at the thought of all your filthy fantasies.

When you got home, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and you did your usual routine: shower, skincare, dinner with a glass of wine, followed by watching something with Oscar, the two of you huddled up together on the couch.

That’s when you started noticing Oscar’s behaviour.

It was very subtle, but you could tell he wasn’t at all focused on the movie, periodically fidgeting around uncharacteristically. Oscar was usually very settled, and tonight it was like he couldn’t keep still for more than 30 seconds. You also noticed his breathing was irregular, often getting shallower as he fidgeted.

Oscar couldn’t care less about what was happening on the screen, his brain was focused on the same thing it had been all day, that damn list.

And he’d been hard all day, which certainly didn’t help his internal crisis.

“Oscar” you sighed, pausing the movie “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you tonight”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would there be something wrong?” his mouth said, but his flushed cheeks were proof that he was hiding something.

If looks could kill, the one you gave him would have certainly done the trick.

“I… full honesty?” he asked quietly.

You nodded “Full honesty”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, but you can’t get mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That’s not a promise I can make, but I’ll do my best”

He bit his lip before taking your hands in his.

“I uh… I found your list”

You just stared at him. “What list?”

“This one…” he took the piece of paper out of his pocket where it had been burning a metaphorical hole in his hip ever since he’d found it.

He handed it to you, but you didn’t need to unfold it to know what it was. I was a bright pink piece of paper that had been ripped out of your diary the night before.

You completely froze, panic overtaking you.

“Oh my god. Oscar…” You couldn’t look him in the eyes as you tried to explain “you weren’t meant to find that I’m so sorry! I was going to throw it away this morning and I guess I put it down and completely forgot about it. Fuck- please don’t think I’m weird or whatever and just forget about it, okay? Please?”

You put your head in your hands and whined in distress. This couldn’t be happening. Your loving boyfriend had just learned about your depraved fantasies, and he was never going to see you the same way again.

“I can’t forget about it baby, I spent the entire day jerking off about it”

You head snapped up to finally look into his eyes, your jaw hanging in disbelief. You could tell he was dead serious and your gaze slowly trailed downwards towards his pants, where you could tell he was hard, then back up to his face to find him biting his lip so hard it was turning white.

“you-  what?”

“Sweetheart, I got so hard when I read it, I almost got in my car to come and get you from work. I want to do every thing on that list with you” he leaned closer to you and whispered “Every. Single. Thing.”

His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, lips coming to brush against your neck. “especially number 3…”

You glanced at the list, seeing what he was referring to and gasped.

“Oscar!”

He chuckled into the crook of your neck.

“Who knew you were so dirty, hmm? Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“I- I didn’t know how to ask” you stuttered as he nipped at the skin of your shoulder.

“That right? Well ask me now, then” he said and you frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“Ask me. Go down the list, and ask me to do those things to you…”

His lips trailed down your body and his hands pushed you to lay down on the sofa as you spluttered in confusion. “I don’t- what?”

“What’s the first thing on the list?” he asked, he knew of course, but he needed to hear you say it.

You blushed, checking the list.

“Choking…”

“Then ask me to choke you”

You shuddered as his mouth continued downwards and his hands spread your legs, one of them pushing your flimsy pyjama shorts to the side to expose you to him.

“Oscar what-“

“I want to see how wet you get just from saying it, go on then.” He ordered and you keened as a finger dipped through your barely moist folds.

“I want you… to uhm” your blush deepened and Oscar smiled at you condescendingly.

“Go on baby, you can do it”

You gulped.

“I want you to choke me” you squeezed your eyes shut at the admission, but Oscar was having none of it.

“Now fucking look at me and ask me again”

You gasped and your eyes flew open to look at him.

“I want you to choke me!”

“Good girl” he stroked your thigh “Next thing?”

You glanced at the list still clutched tightly in you hands.

“Spanking.”

Oscar cocked his head to the side. “What about spanking?”

Your jaw clenched, the fucker knew how to get what he wanted.

“I want you to spank me”

He smiled and nodded for you to continue.

“I want you to fuck me over the balcony for everyone to see” you said, and Oscar’s pupils dilated as he used his fingers to spread you open for him.

“Yeah? Want everyone to see how fucking filthy you actually are?” You whined as his thumb came to dip inside you briefly before rubbing it in slow circles over your clit.

“I want you to degrade and praise me…”

He felt like he was barely holding on to his sanity at this point.

“That’s so hot, fuck.” He palmed himself through his sweats “You want to be my good girl yeah? Want to be my good little slut? Only thing you’re good for anyway…”

You whimpered, his words making your whole body heat up, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I want you to fuck my mouth”

He had to grip himself through his pants to ground himself, your words having an enormous effect on his composure.

Where had his sweet little innocent girlfriend gone?

“I’ll fuck your mouth baby, make you fucking drool for it, god you’d look so pretty taking me down your throat”

You were definitely wet now, and he took the liberty of sliding a finger inside you and hooking it upwards just to watch you squirm as he rubbed that special spot inside you.

“I want you to tie me up and force me to take it” you said breathlessly.

The noise he let out at that was animalistic as his wide eyes found yours and his jaw went slack as he pulled his pants down just enough to get a hand around himself.

“You have no idea how hot you’d look all tied up and helpless under me baby, it’s making me so hard just thinking about it..”

You moaned as he added a second finger inside you.

“I want, fuck- I want you to use me, and fill me up with your cum whenever you want”

“Shit.” He hissed “Fuck baby, I’m going to fill you up so good, you'll see…”

“Please”

You hadn’t realised how close you were getting, but Oscar’s expert fingers were making you delirious as you continued.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, want to cry from how good you feel inside me, wanna beg for your cock”

Oscar growled and pulled his fingers out.

“Then beg”

He settled over you, putting his weight on you, his dick resting against your folds as he panted into your mouth.

“Beg for my cock, slut”

You were so fucking turned on. Dominant Oscar was something new, but so, so incredibly hot you would have done absolutely anything to have him inside you at that moment.

“Please, please Osc, I need it. I need your cock so bad, please!”

He growled and slid in to the hilt without warning, making you moan into the heated kiss he was currently giving you to distract you. He was thick and the stretch was delicious as his cock dragged along your walls, making you see stars.

He started a deep, hard pace and his hips slapped against yours, obscene sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. This what you wanted all along? For me to fucking ruin you on my cock?”

“Yes, Oscar, fuck!”

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s a good girl, so fucking tight, You’re getting close aren’t you? I can sweet your sweet pussy clenching around me, trying to keep me inside...”

He gripped your hips harder and angled his thrusts upwards, nailing your g-spot, and you were a goner. White spots danced in your vision as the pleasure overcame you, cunt spasming around Oscar.

“Perfect, perfect cunt. And it’s all fucking mine” he growled as he finally spilled inside you, filling you to the brim and forcing a pathetic whimper out of you at the new feeling.

Oscar had never come inside you before, and it was insanely hot. The feeling of your slick, hot walls pulsing around him was pure heaven and he couldn’t wait to test everything on that list.

After you’d regained your breath, you chuckled silently to yourself while stroking Oscar's back.

If this is what you got for leaving your list out, maybe you should tell Oscar about your box of toys in the in the back of your closet…

[murdrdocs]

thinking about taking care of jack after a LOOONNGGG day. hes spent hours networking, chatting up crowds etc and all he wants to do is come home to his (controversially younger!) girlfriend and let her jerk him off as she asks about his day

i feel so much shame. slight power dynamics; handjobs; pet names (honey and baby); clothed sex; MDNI 18+ w/ JACK SCHLOSSBERG

you've always thought that jack looked pretty when he was all dolled up. when his hair was swept off of his clean-shaven face and his slim body perfectly filled up a suit that was tailored just for him. when he unlocked a part of himself that you rarely see, even though it's such a big part of who he is. jack's always pretty to you, even if he glares in the mirror and turns his head this way and that before an event, nonverbally expressing how jarring it still is to see himself like the ones who came before him.

you'll tell him he looks good—whether that be via the words coming out of your mouth, or a restrained kiss that worked to transfer as little makeup as possible. maybe a gentle press of your fingers into his shoulders, or wrapping your arm around his back. either way, it was always honest.

but you truthfully prefer jack when he's like this—leaning back against the bathroom counter, his hair fallen out of the swept back wave, curls visible thanks to the late-summer humidity as well as the heat swirling in the bathroom from the previously running shower. you'd shut it off once jack breathlessly complained about wasting water.

he was right, but you still appeared a little upset about having to stop your task to reach a hand into the water and turn the dial off. you were back on jack within the minute, though.

your hand wrapped around his cock, while you stared up at him attentively, smiling and nodding as if you weren't languidly jerking him off and you both were just having a regular conversation. he's keeping up well, only faltering every so often, usually whenever you twist your hand around his tip every few strokes.

but he recovers quickly, clearing his throat and blinking a few times before picking up where he left off.

"then i had the meeting with my editors after lunch..." he continues detailing the events of his day, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time, only drifting off to the side whenever he has to think about something.

you could've undressed him completely, you probably should have, but you like how he looks like this. his pants unbuttoned and shoved down just enough for you to reach into his briefs and tug his dick free. his white shirt—no longer as crisp as it was this morning when you kissed him goodbye—unbuttoned to give way to the thin undershirt he wears. it's been lifted up now by your irreverent hands, sitting towards the top half of his midriff. you have a perfect view of the hair leading down towards his cock, along with his abdomen which tenses and relaxes periodically.

"uh-huh," you nod, glancing down for just a second before bringing your attention right back up.

you're the one getting him off, but his gaze still makes you feel a little hot. the intensity in his dark eyes which are framed by shadows of long lashes. the prominent furrow of his brows when he hesitates, paired with the flicker of his tongue over his lips.

he's so pretty. you don't think you'll ever get tired of looking at him.

"i got a drink from that place we wanted to try." this snaps you out of your daze.

"what? without me?"

jack smiles a bit and your attention is briefly brought to the grooves along the side of his mouth. he speaks through a grin. "sorry, it was on the way!"

"you're a traitor."

"if it makes you feel any better the drink was really—" his words taper off into a moan. it's satisfying to see his eyes screw shut, his mouth falling open.

you would wait for him to continue, to either confirm your suspicions and tell you that the overpriced drink was the best thing he's ever had, or that it wasn't worth his money, but you can tell he's lost his train of thought.

one of his hands lift off of the counter and flail uselessly in the air for a second before it finds you, wrapping around your forearm and then drifting to gently cup your elbow.

"close. 'm close."

as if you needed him to tell you. you can tell, it's written all over him; from the way the center of his eyebrows reach for his hairline, to the way you can feel his dick throbbing in your hand.

the audible slick! gets louder as you increase your pace just enough, determination driving your movements. you keep going, trying to push him closer and closer, waiting for him to tell you what he wants.

his lips hang open, not a single word coming from them, and then he speaks. "talk to me. c'mon, honey. help me out."

you're quick with it. "you're so pretty, baby. i love it when you let me do this. i can feel you, y'know? can feel how bad you wanna come. go ahead. please? for me?"

it gets him every time.

he curves away from you at first, his head falling back, resting between his shoulder blades as the initial spurts of cum shoot out onto your hand. and then he slumps forward, large frame swaying in the air until you catch him. you stumble from the weight, but you're struck still by a long arm winding around your waist, keeping you right there as jack comes into your hand and a little onto your belly.

[kissitbttr]

small prologue from frat!sukuna

*gojo finally has you!*

-

gojo satoru is a man with many things.

he’s rich, handsome, smart, popular. a number one heartthrob on campus and he’s enjoying every second of it.

and you’d think that a man who has it all wouldn’t be seen asking for more. because what could’ve he wanted more than what he has now?

well,

he wants you.

“i don’t understand why you keep resisting me. why do you keep thinking about him?! i can treat you better!”

gojo is in fact very much stubborn. soon as he heard what sukuna has done to you, he can’t stay silent any longer. he needs to save you. he needs to see you. he needs to hold and kiss you.

he needs you. period.

so he confesses everything. the bottled up feelings he has over the last few months. the only problem is that you don’t believe him. and even if you were, what are the chances of gojo is only here to play with your feelings?

but he’s determined to make you think differently,

“gojo you are not thinking straight—“

he scoffs, shaking his head at you being so hard headed. “y/n! for once, i have never been so sure and set for what i have in mind than i am right now! i care about you! i love you, why are you so—argh!”

“he’s your best friend! how could you so easily say all that to me knowing me and him were together at some point?!” you cross your arms, looking up at him with a hard look that he somehow loves.

again, gojo groans, flaring his arms up before bringing them down. “jesus, we still on that?! why is that pink haired mother fucker has you wrapped around his finger while i’m here begging to be wrapped around yours?!”

you stand still. trying your best to not to get his words affects you despite your unusual beating heart says otherwise.

you have never seen gojo satoru so worked up. hands on his hips, eye brows scrunched as if he’s thinking hard on which ass he has to beat

(keyword:sukuna)

“i don’t care if he’s my best friend” he says with a softer tone, pretty blue eyes looking intently into yours. “I don’t care if we’re in the fraternity and how that makes us frat brothers…because I cannot tolerate the fact that he hurt you”

and another thing? you have never seen gojo acts so soft,

so putty… so careful with his words… so..

in love

“the one girl who i have strong feelings for during the time he had you… the only girl who has me feeling excited to wake up each morning and look forward to see every day…the only girl who’s got the guts to call me out on my shit” he takes another step closer to you, and he finds a relief to see you’re not stepping back,

his eyes study your features. each and every single one of it.

you are so damn gorgeous, it is driving gojo insane.

“and i am in love with her” he says it again that night with confidence, his hands move slowly to cup your cheeks and make you look at him. “all i’m asking for is a chance… that’s all”

“tell me what i have to do to make you trust me… that i’m not here to play with your feelings”

speechless. is the only thing you feel right now. you can’t exactly form any sentences because it feels like everything is on halt.

what do you say to your old hookup’s best friend that he’s in love with you? and how do you feel about this?

it’s not that you don’t love him back, in fact? it could be the opposite.

he, among the many friends of sukuna is the only one who always checks up on you. during parties, he’d make sure to keep you hydrated because you don’t drink as much alcohol. he’d make sure to have you eat your meals. he’d make sure that you get home safe after class or your part time job. gojo also makes sure that you receive as much as praises you need for the time you got A on your criminal justice class or won a case,

and he’d be sure to tell you, he’s got a taste of your homemade soft cookies that you made. ispahan is his favorite.

maybe gojo satoru is made for you.

“you are so… dumb and pathetic, satoru” you shakily whisper, though make no attempt to remove his hands from you,

he lets out a small laugh, nodding.

“i can be that, baby” he replies, resting his forehead on yours,

“i can be whatever it is you want me to be as long as i get to call you mine”

[i-like-forcefem]

PURELY hypothetically speaking, how EXACTLY would you go about forcefemming a guy who’s sooo masc, like he thinks he’s the ALPHA SHIT, he thinks he pulls all the ladies and is the most manly man to ever man… and turning “him” into an adorable little girly princess :3c asking for a friend

For a hard boiled egg like this it’s very important to get her alone in an isolated location for an extended period of time! It always takes a little longer then they’ve got pride, but honestly that makes it so so much more fun when they crack

It’s a bit of a staple, but I think I’ll use my Basement, yes it’s generic, but it’s tried and true, and a girl like this isn’t a time to experiment

Getting her to the basement is usually easy enough, just invite her over for tea or something and apply a little posion of your choice that will have her immobilised, sleepy pills work, but I personally prefer it when you can see the fear in her eyes when they get fully paralysed

I always have my basement prepared for new arrivals, this means a firm lock, and plenty of hand cuffs around the walls and girly furniture for if I want to move her around

The first time she wakes up is always so important and so so fun, so I’ll pick out a good spot to tie her up, I think the plushy couch would be good for this cutie, and make sure to pick a good outfit

For a girl like this I think it’d be best to start with her in just a pair of pink panties, just being handcuffed in a hugging position with a plushy against her skin should be enough embarrassment for the wake up, I’ll also be sure to use my princess gag just to make her first impressions extra cute as she makes muffled screeches

Then I’ll wait till she wakes up, I usually monitor a camera from outside the room and wait to enter, I want her to get a feel for the room and her situation before she sees me, 2 minutes is usually enough for her to glance around the overly girly room, notice she’s tied up, and to start her muffled screams

Then I’ll calmly enter and tell her how she’s my doll now, she’ll have objections of course, being a big bugle “man”, but it’s pretty hard to do anything about your situation when tied up like that

And then I’ll play it slow

I think I can have her docile by the end of the day, dress her up in her first dress (the basement can get very cold so if she doesn’t want to wear her dress that’s fine by me, but she’ll give in by the end of the second day, and to survive that long I’ll probably get some adorable footage of her willingly snuggling up with her many many plushies, hard to think a “man” would do that)

Any food I give her will obviously have hrt inserted into it, but in this case in particular I want to try something new, next to her (estrogen filled) meals I’ll also give her some placebo pills I’ll tell her are actually hrt, and if she’s a Good Girl and takes her pills she’ll be rewarded

Obviously she’ll refuse at first, willingly taking pills is one of the hardest milestones for a girl to pass

But always giving her the option always gives me to opportunity to punish her, and to tell her just how easy it’d be if she just submitted, became my pretty little girl

Now some of the girls have a surprising amount of determination to not become happy, so this might take a while, which is why I’ll give her her hrt anyway

Since it will be so so fun to tease her for it, I could maybe even gaslight her into thinking she might be taking the pills anyway, or her body wants to become a girl so so bad that’s it’s making estrogen all on its own

You’d be surprised how much gaslighting you can get away with if you’re a persons only outside contact

So… I’ve got some plans to say the least!!! I’ve got a whole laundry list of activities we could try every week to keep it fresh (from shock collars to vibrators to bondage, to “toy” pink weightlifting products that are 10 times the weight it says on the box, I will have so much fun breaking her :3)

Now do you have any idea where this hypothetical person is? And do they prefer tea or coffee?

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 9204 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, top Hob, bottom Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, Hob matches his freak, Bossy Dream, Agreeable Hob, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiatic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, there is a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet at one point, blatant disregard for typical human refractory periods, rimming, anal sex, felching-adjacent, inconsequential ingestion of lube, effusive endearments, dirty talk, overstimulation, anal fingering, help my hookup is growing feelings

Notes: Third in the Turbo Lover series (Customer Service and Every Nerve Alive on Tumblr, if AO3 is down). This one happened because Dream was insistent on getting properly fucked in the garage and I refuse to be the author who uses engine grease or motor oil for lube. This fills the free space (B2) on my @dreamlingbingo card, and is also the longest Sandman fic I've written to date.

Summary: Dream comes back to Matthew's Motor Repairs the next day and Hob gives him everything he asks for

On AO3 Hob re-locks the door as soon as he's ducked inside the shop the next morning; he's not opening for people today.

He has other obligations, after all.

He first makes a thorough job of cleaning and sweeping the floor around the Porsche. Whatever the plan today entails, he doesn't want to wind up kneeling on a bit of gravel or taking a stray hex nut to the arse cheek while he's fucking his rich admirer. Granted he may need to do a quick spot-sweep when Dream shows up—if Dream shows up—since he'll be working on the car in the meantime, but doing it now will make that faster.

…Of course Dream's going to show up, Hob's not worried. Guy was thirsty as fuck yesterday, he'll be back. He's got a car to pick up, after all, and speaking of, Hob had best make sure it's ready.

He strips out of his clothes and dons his coveralls nude, leaves them unzipped to the waist, not even bothering to keep his underwear today. It's cooler than yesterday but still plenty warm, and this will make things faster once Dream shows up. He's pretty sure Dream will appreciate the aesthetic, also.

Hob whistles to himself working under Dream's Porsche, finishing up the clutch replacement that he hadn't quite been able to focus on after Dream left yesterday. It's quick work to wrap it up and he makes sure to let grease smears accumulate on his arms and maybe he deliberately puts a couple of artistically-placed smudges on his chest, for fun.

With the clutch done, he moves on to changing the oil, flushing and refilling the other fluids, and giving the car a general tuneup. The Porsche is a beautiful machine and Hob's thrilled to have the chance to work on her.

He's thrilled to have the chance to work on her owner, too.

When the shop bell rings, Hob's heart leaps. He's just got the car all closed up and down from the ramps and done another quick sweep so assuming that's Dream, and it should be, his timing is perfect. He winds his way to the front, zipping up his coveralls just in case and opening the door.

Dream is there on the other side, as breathtakingly gorgeous as Hob remembers. "Am I the 'special circumstances'?" he asks, coy and smouldering as he taps the handwritten sign Hob had pasted in the window—Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances; ring if you have an appointment.

"The specialist of circumstances," Hob agrees, effervescent joy and lust bubbling up inside him, spilling into his smile. "Closed up so I'm all yours. Entirely at your service."

"Wonderful," Dream purrs, stepping through the door. "For I am desperately in need of the services of a good mechanic."

Hob pulls the door closed after him, ensures it's latched in and that it's still locked, then turns with a grin. "You've come to the right place then, love. I'm at your disposal, one hundred percent, and I will personally see to your complete satisfaction. Guaranteed." He winks.

Dream steps in closer, tilts his head just enough to gaze up heatedly from beneath his lashes, toys with the tab of the zipper at Hob's collarbone. "Do you offer such comprehensive personal service to all your customers?" He's slowly drawing the zip down as he speaks.

Hob's heartrate picks up and his breath goes a bit short. "Oh no, this comes special with our uh, our loyalty rewards program," he manages, with his best charm-the-customer smile. The dainty fingertips unzipping his coveralls are very distracting.

Dream stops once he's exposed Hob's chest hair, rakes his nails through it lightly, skirting the grease smeared above it. "But this is the first time I have brought my patronage to your shop," he counters, with the prettiest little pout.

Hob shakes his head. "See I count twice; you tried out my services yesterday and found them satisfactory enough to come back today. And I'm very sure, if I meet your exacting standards, I can earn your repeat business. So I'll opt you in, because I have that much confidence in the quality of my work."

He's mixing his references clumsily, the car repairs and the sex getting muddled together, but Dream is smiling all the same. "Let us hope your confidence is not misplaced, then," he says, voice dipping lower in that way that makes Hob's stomach tighten delightfully. "I should hate to be granted such privilege unduly."

With that, Dream draws the zipper down more, then turns and steps away, casting a come-hither glance over his shoulder as he sashays toward the door into the garage. Hob, unzipped to the waist and hard already, is hot to follow, but first—

He tears the sign from the window, hangs the normal 'Closed' sign in its place, double-checks the lock and throws the deadbolt for good measure. He rounds the reception desk and logs into the phone system, makes sure the auto-answer is set to the 'closed unexpectedly' option, and sets the ringer to after-hours so it'll go straight to messages instead of ringing through. Not that he'd be stopping in the middle of whatever they're about to be doing to answer the phone, but this way they're guaranteed no distractions, no interruptions. Then he hurries after Dream.

Dream is completely naked when he gets back to the garage, leaning pale and pretty and barefoot against the side of his Porsche with his arms loosely folded and his cock hanging ready, half-hard, beautiful.

"Well hello, gorgeous," Hob says, unabashedly enthusiastic as he approaches, wondering if he's meant to just dive in or wait for a cue, if he's allowed to pull Dream into his arms and start with a kiss. His gaze falls to the delicate arches of Dream's feet, the soft pale curves of his toes (with black-painted nails!), and he's really glad he swept up first.

"You occupy my thoughts incessantly, Hob Gadling," Dream says, pushing off the car and stepping close to Hob again, hands reaching to toy with the open edges of his coveralls.

"Do I, now?" Hob decides on a caution-to-the-wind approach and snakes an arm around Dream's waist, raises a dirt-stained thumb to brush over his cheek. Dream hadn't hesitated yesterday to say what he did and didn't want; Hob will trust him to do the same today. "They're good thoughts, I hope?"

"Very," Dream breathes, gripping the coveralls, tugging marginally; his eyes are dark, his pale cheeks faintly flushed with excitement, his pretty pink lips slightly parted, and Hob sees no reason to resist the temptation presented.

The noise Dream makes when Hob kisses him is soft, eager, encouraging, and Hob presses closer, lets both hands play over Dream's bare skin, up and down his spine. Dream is kissing back, heated and insistent; he slips both hands inside Hob's coveralls, around his waist and down to grasp his arse cheeks, squeeze appreciatively, pull him closer.

Hob breaks away with a gasp, delighted and impossibly turned on; Dream squeezes again, nips at the scruff on his chin. "You are not wearing any underwear today, Hob," he murmurs, in a tone of pleased discovery, and Hob can't help grinning.

"Thought you might appreciate it," he says, breathless, hands stroking up and down Dream's biceps, leaving faint smudges behind. "Makes things a bit faster, easier—"

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

"Only for you," he answers, which is truer than it would have been two weeks ago. "God, you smell good today—" He really does, floral-herbal freshness wafting from his hair, faint notes of soap and a light cologne lingering on his skin; Hob lets instinct shape his words. "So clean and pretty, too; come down to the garage to get properly dirty, have we?"

The way Dream shivers against him tells him that was indeed the right thing to say.

"Perhaps," Dream replies, and squeezes Hob's arse again. "I very much appreciate your wardrobe choices, in that regard." He brings his hands around front, one dipping to cup Hob's dick while the other draws the zipper all the way down underneath.

"Thought you might," Hob manages, while Dream's slender fingertips touch his balls, stroke with gentle pressure, and then Dream is moving, grasping at the shoulders of Hob's coveralls and pushing them off.

"I would feel you, bare, against me," is what he says, which sounds like a fine idea to Hob. He struggles briefly with the rolled-up sleeves but as soon as his arms are free Dream is in them, pressing up against him, kissing him fiercely and completely derailing any attempt at getting the coveralls all the way off.

Fuck it, Hob decides, letting them just fall around his legs as he wraps Dream close and kisses him back, hungry and insistent to match Dream's fervor. He backs him up a step, two, until Dream's narrow arse hits the Porsche again and he squirms prettily, his cock nudging up against Hob's as they break the kiss, panting.

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

Dream shakes his head, an effortlessly imperious little gesture. "I wish to ride you, first." He gestures to the creeper. "Please."

Clearly, clearly Dream's got some very specific fantasies about cars and mechanics and Hob is delighted that he gets to help make them happen. "Absolutely," he grins, shuffling down into position on the board.

Dream grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from where he'd stashed them between the windscreen and the bonnet and drops next to Hob. Which is just as well since Hob's supplies are with his clothes in the locker on the other side of the garage; he leans back on his elbows as Dream tears open the condom and rolls it onto him.

"You've got such pretty hands," he breathes, shivering at the glide of Dream's touch along his shaft, and doesn't miss the breath Dream sucks in at the compliment. "Gonna show me how you use those fingers to open yourself up? Or do I get to do that for you, hm?"

"Neither," Dream answers, rising and turning to lean over the side of the bonnet, which confuses Hob for half a second until he speaks again.

"Spread me open," he directs, and Hob is only to happy to sit up and comply, to see the greasy smudge of his fingerprints smeared on Dream's lily-white arse—

Dream is wearing a plug.

Hob's libido, already cranked to eleven, ratchets up another notch. "Oh, fuck," he breathes reverently, wide-eyed. Dream had put that in at home, had come here sitting on it, walking with it inside him, just to be ready for Hob's cock?

Christ, but that's hot.

He watches raptly as Dream's slender fingers grip the wide base and start pulling; he takes his time and Hob gets to just hold him open and watch as Dream's hole slowly stretches around the flare of the thing, bigger and bigger until it finally passes the widest point and slides the rest of the way free, and the hungry little sound of relief Dream makes as it comes out makes Hob's dick ache.

He desperately wants to slip his tongue in there, wriggle it into the shrinking gape and let Dream's body close to grip snugly around him, but Dream is a man on a mission, and that mission is getting Hob's prick inside him. He straightens up, turns and straddles Hob, fingertips to Hob's chest pressing him down as Dream squats over his lap. He drops the plug aside, reaches behind to take Hob's slicked-up rubber-wrapped cock and guide it into his body as he comes down, and the sound he makes plus the tight warm sheath of his arse have Hob absolutely riveted.

Dream lifts himself, thighs straining and hand firmly on Hob's chest now, fucks himself up and down on Hob's prick while hovering over it, letting out the most decadent moans each time he sinks onto it. He'd said he wanted to ride Hob but he's only made it as far as squatting, like he's so desperate for Hob's cock he can't even wait to get all the way into proper position for it and Hob (and his dick) definitely feel some kind of way about it. Dream's own prick bobs stiff and eager in front of him, a little drop of fluid glistening at the tip already, and Hob almost wishes he was enough of a contortionist to get it in his mouth. Later, perhaps. Right now he's got this gorgeous creature pistoning eagerly on his cock and well on his way to losing his mind, from the sound of it.

Hob spreads both hands over the tops of Dream's thighs, feeling how they tremble with exertion, and finally draws them down, forward, coaxing Dream out of his squat and into a proper kneeling position. He shifts his grip to Dream's hips and pulls him onto his cock at the same time, all the way down until he's buried deep up inside and Dream is panting the breathiest little 'yes, yes, yes's as he bottoms out, eyes wide and glazed. His hand is still planted on Hob's chest and Hob takes it up carefully, draws it to his mouth and kisses Dream's fingertips; Dream whines, gaze sharpening and honing in on Hob's actions. Hob's lips brush the pads of those fingers as he speaks.

"Did you still want to ride me, darling? Or should I hold you still and start fucking up into that pretty little hole?"

Dream shivers, makes another needy little noise and draws himself up on Hob's cock, sinks back down, does it again, and again, faster, harder, until he's panting breathless moans on every pass. His hands are planted on Hob's chest, up near his shoulders next to the grease smeared beneath his collarbone, and Hob rests his hands at Dream's hips, ready to take up the slack if he's needed.

Dream rides like a pro, to be honest, finding his rhythm and moving steadily in pursuit of his pleasure. His arse is snug and hot and slick, his voice like a song as he glides so easily up and down on Hob's prick; he feels amazing, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe as it goes on and on, to keep a rein on his own pleasure until Dream's gotten everything he needs.

At last Dream's pace begins to falter, his panting moans stuttering into broken little whimpers as he flags in his feverish bouncing. "Hob," he whines, arse wriggling lower, his fingers clutching at Hob's chest hair. "You feel. So good, inside me—"

"Do I?" Hob breathes, fingertips brushing over Dream's flanks, and it's weak, so weak as far as dirty talk goes but he can't help it. He's enamoured, struck senseless by how into this Dream is, and words are failing him.

"Yes—" Dream squirms forward and back, circles his hips beneath Hob's attentive grease-stained hands, moans prettily. "Hob, please—"

He doesn't even have to specify, it's clear enough what he's after now, and Hob moves to grip him properly, to lift him just slightly. He clutches tight, fingertips digging in to what little meat there is on Dream's arse, plants his boots on the concrete floor and thrusts up into him.

Dream cries out, clenches his fists on Hob's shoulders and throws his head back, chest heaving. Hob draws out and thrusts again, full force, and again, and Dream shudders, gasping, delighted. "Hob—yes—yes—" He squeezes tight around Hob's prick and groans, drops his head to meet Hob's gaze with fever-bright eyes. "Fuck me—I want—"

"Tell me," Hob breathes, mesmerized, shifting his feet for better leverage and thrusting into him again, and Dream warbles beautifully.

"Faster. Deeper—as hard and as deep as you can, Hob—!"

"'Course, love," Hob gasps, hips moving to comply with barely a thought, and Dream's voice rises into a long keening wail as Hob gives him precisely what he's asked for.

"Yes—yes—yes—!" He tosses his head back again, the arch of his throat working beautifully as he chokes out 'yes' after 'yes', arms stiff and trembling, hands still braced tight on Hob's shoulders.

Hob grunts with exertion, pounding up into Dream with everything he's got, thighs damp and sticking slightly where they press against Dream's. He's transfixed by the rapture in Dream's face, the sheen of sweat on his neck and chest, the stream of noises coming out of his pretty mouth; he looks and sounds like having Hob's cock in him is the best thing ever, like it's everything he wanted, and Hob is fast falling in love with how expressive he is about sex.

Dangerous thoughts, those; he puts them far away, concentrates on pumping hard and fast and deep up into Dream's lovely arse to make him come. He's careful still not to come himself; Dream has clearly got plans and it's his job to stay hard as long as Dream needs his cock.

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

Hob squeezes Dream's arse, spreading his cheeks just a tiny bit more, and shifts the tempo down slightly, fucks up into him long and smooth, deep, steady. Dream wails, lost in the pleasure of it, and droops suddenly to lay over Hob's chest, a graceful fall into an open kiss interspersed with Dream's panting and whimpering. Hob shifts his hips to accommodate the changed angle and Dream sobs into his mouth, needy, desperate. His prick is nestled against Hob's belly, wet at the tip, hot and hard and Dream is moving helplessly as Hob fucks him, rutting through the hair on Hob's stomach in little jerks. He's tense in Hob's arms, trembling, skin damp with sweat all over and Hob thinks he could do this forever if he had to, fucking this gorgeous creature curled atop him but he doesn't have to, he knows, he can tell, Dream is nearly there—

Dream goes rigid abruptly, breath choking in his throat as his mouth opens wider, still meshed to Hob's. A high thin sound trickles out of his throat and Hob laps it up, fucks into him once, twice, again, and then Dream convulses with a wail, wet warmth blooming on Hob's belly. He buries himself as deep into Dream as he can and holds it there, flexes against the rhythmic clutching of Dream's arse around him, kisses Dream through the tremors and pulses of orgasm until he goes limp.

He spends a moment petting up and down Dream's spine then while Dream lies boneless atop him, catching his breath. He's still warm and tight around Hob's dick, perfect and tempting and—

And heavier than he looks, honestly; Hob shifts to take him by the shoulders, lifts him off his chest just a bit. Dream takes the cue, raises himself somewhat, blinks the haze from his eyes as he meets Hob's. The smile on his lips quickly sharpens to something simmering with heat, but Hob saw. He saw that glimpse of softness, the glow of bliss on Dream's face and he feels the way his heart trips, knows he's losing his battle.

There's a faint smudge of grease on Dream's forehead that probably came from Hob's collarbone and his dick twitches to see it. Dream shivers and squeezes around him and Hob sighs, a full and happy sound.

"You're pretty when you come," he says, gathering his wits about him again. He smears his hand through the mess on his stomach, picks up a little grease from just beside it, reaches to cradle Dream's face. "So, so pretty." He strokes his fingers back through Dream's hair, leaving a faint black smudge and sticky colorless smears on his cheekbone and more than a trace of filth in his hair.

"Only when I come?" It's a tease, accompanied by a gentle squeeze around him, and Hob shivers.

"'Course not," he murmurs, flexing his dick in response, delighted by the shiver that runs through Dream in turn. "You're pretty when you're bouncing on my cock, too. And when you tell me what you want me to do to you. And yesterday." He flexes again, warming to the topic. "You looked so pretty yesterday, with grease smeared on your face and my prick in your mouth."

Dream makes a pleased sound, squeezes his arse around Hob again, and Hob is more than ready to carry on, if Dream is. He strokes his thumb over the tacky mess on Dream's cheek. "Can I dirty you up some more, beautiful? Make you come for me again?"

"I should be very disappointed if you did not, Hob Gadling," Dream purrs, and there's that imperious little smirk again, the one Hob is already too attached to.

He'll give this man whatever he wants, and love every second of it.

"What next, then, sweetheart?" He's slowly pulsing up into Dream now in unhurried rhythm, too leisurely to be called fucking but ready to pick up the pace in a heartbeat. "Keep going like this?" The creeper is getting a bit uncomfortable, truth be told, and he wouldn't mind getting up off the floor but if Dream's not done yet he'll tough it out.

"No." Thankfully Dream sits all the way up, wriggles deliciously on Hob's cock, bottomed out and heavy-eyed with the pleasure of having it so deep inside him. "Next, I would have you—ahh—" He squirms, back arching, mouth falling open as Hob gives in to the temptation of dragging the rough grease-stained pad of his thumb over one pristine petal pink nipple. "Bend—bend me over the bonnet. Fuck me until I scream—Hob—!" He's panting as Hob caresses the tender little bud of flesh, writhing as if he could take Hob any deeper.

Hob shivers. "Fuck. Alright. As you wish, you precious beautiful man—" He lifts Dream's hips, lifts Dream off his cock as he sits up, then wraps one arm under Dream's narrow arse and heaves them both up with a grunt of exertion, his other hand braced on the car for support. It's awkward as fuck with his coveralls still wadded about his ankles and he can tell already his back and thighs are going to hate him for it tomorrow, but it's entirely worth it for the arousal that flares in Dream's widened eyes, the way he clings and wraps his legs around Hob, the way he surges in to kiss Hob again.

Hob shuffles round the front of the car using his one hand for guidance while Dream devours his mouth, and carefully lowers Dream onto the bonnet. He knows it's not the position Dream was looking for but he can't help slipping his cock back into him like this, when Dream is still wrapped around him and ripe for the plowing.

Dream breaks the kiss with a reedy little whining noise as Hob nudges inside him and sinks deep; he claws at Hob's shoulders and draws his legs back, open and practically begging and alright, okay, Hob can give him a good minute like this first, fucks into him in soft smooth rhythm. Dream's pretty pink cock is stiffening up again already, laying thick and half-filled against his belly and jolting with every thrust; he's panting open-mouthed, the sweetest little sounds falling out of him each time Hob pushes in.

"You're gorgeous like this too," Hob gets out, needing the talk to divide his focus, to keep himself going without risk of finishing. "So eager, so open, so fuckable—" Dream shudders, biting off a deep whine at the word, leaned back and still hanging onto Hob's shoulders for support, feet braced on his hips, and Hob zeroes in on his advantage. "Has no one ever called you that before, sweetheart? Fuckable?"

"None I would care to hear it from," Dream moans, pulling himself up closer, disrupting Hob's rhythm. "But. From your lips. It sounds like a benediction—" He kisses Hob, tongue plunging into his mouth, arms wrapping tight behind Hob's neck. His legs shift also, wrapping back around Hob's waist and he pulls himself close, up off the car as Hob gets his arms quickly underneath to support him.

"Give a bloke an ego, talking like that," he gasps, when Dream lets him up for air.

"It's well-deserved," Dream counters, nipping at his lower lip and shifting his weight so that Hob steps back to keep them balanced. "You are exquisite, and talented with your dick, and I wish to be so deeply and thoroughly fucked over my car that I will still feel you inside me tomorrow." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's mouth and unlocks his legs from around him, lets Hob set him back on his feet.

"Do you need a refresh on your lube first?" Hob gasps, mindful of what they've already done and what Dream still wants from him and the serviceable life of water-based lube.

Dream pauses, considering. "Perhaps," he says, with the restlessness of someone eager to get back into action but recognizing the wisdom of the question regardless.

Hob leans around him and reaches, snags the lube off the bonnet. "Let me slick you up a bit more just to be safe." He glances at his hands, perpetually stained and still dirty enough to leave smudges on Dream's skin. "Or you can, since your hands are cleaner?"

"Yes," Dream agrees, taking the bottle and squirting some out. He reaches behind himself and Hob gets to watch his face flicker through half a dozen little expressions; he's clearly moving for function over pleasure but there's enjoyment to be had all the same, from the look of it.

"There." Dream straightens as he finishes, eyes Hob with new heat in his gaze. "Are you clean."

"What?"

Dream narrows his eyes, clearly conveying both horniness and impatience in equal measure. "I am clean; I test regularly. I want your come inside me. Are. You. Clean."

Hob's libido flares, wildly. "Yes. Fuck. Yes, okay." Caution to the wind, and all that.

Dream reaches down and removes Hob's condom, drops it aside and picks up the lube again. He slicks up Hob's cock, kisses him fiercely while doing so, then turns and drapes himself over the bonnet of his Porsche and lifts up on his toes, arse presented. "Fuck me," he demands over his shoulder, breathless and eager like he hadn't just come bouncing on Hob's cock not ten minutes ago. Insatiable. "Hold me down with your work-dirtied hands and fuck me—"

Hob doesn't need to be told twice. He lines up and pushes in, bare slick and easy, all the way to the hilt. Dream makes the most appreciative and desperate little moan, wriggling backwards; Hob grabs his hip with one grease-stained hand, plants his other in the middle of Dream's narrow back and fucks.

Dream cries out, high gasping breaths punched from his lungs with every thrust and Hob just revels in it, moving in sure and steady rhythm. It's easy, so easy, smooth and slick and so good, and Dream's enthusiastic response is—it's heady, to have someone react to him this way, to want him this much, and he'll do everything he can to give Dream what he wants, to make it worth it. It's no hardship, far from it.

"Your arse is so hot," Hob pants, "so tight, absolutely perfect. Can't believe you wore that glass plug here so you'd be ready to get plowed." He grinds his hips deep in emphasis, draws out a little and relishes the way Dream whimpers when he slams back in. "Sweet of you, though. Did it turn you on, sitting on it in the cab? Feeling it move inside you when you walked? Were you horny and eager the whole way here, darling, stuffed full with your toy and imagining my prick in its place?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dream cries, as much an answer as it is interjection. He's thrusting backward as best he can in Hob's hold, eager and desperate, and Hob keeps fucking, keeps talking.

"I loved watching you take it out. Your beautiful hole stretching bigger and bigger around it, how open you were after. Wanted to stick my tongue in there, sweetheart, wanted to eat you out, make you squirm."

Dream is gasping, wailing, trembling where Hob pins him to the car, head tossing, breath heaving under Hob's steady hand. His cock is surely leaking a mess all over the bonnet; Hob'll have to clean it for him again when they're done.

"You've got the prettiest little hole I've ever seen," Hob continues, steady and unflagging in his rhythm. He leans back, drags both hands to Dream's arse cheeks and squeezes, spreads them so he can easily see himself sinking in, his naked prick pushing and pulling at the puffy pink rim of Dream's hole again and again. He slows, savoring the sight, and Dream whines, clenches around him as he presses back in. "Absolutely beautiful," Hob breathes, thumb moving to stroke over the delicate skin stretched tight around the girth of his prick. "Exquisite. I'm so lucky I get to ravish it."

He knows on one hand he sounds ridiculous as he picks up the pace again, but on the other it's doing the trick on both counts—distracting him from his own pleasure to draw it out, and driving Dream higher at the same time.

And Dream is absolutely being driven to the heights of pleasured madness, that much is clear. He's writhing on the bonnet under Hob's steady pounding, fingers clutching futilely at the glossy surface, skin flushed and sweat-damp and sticking to the car, ribs heaving. And the sounds coming out of his mouth? Good god, he's noisy, so fucking loud and it's not like Hob doesn't love it, not like there's anyone around to hear or any other reason to hold back. It does great things for his ego, the way Dream's wailing like he's never been railed this good in his life, but Hob's got an idea and his instincts say it's spot-on, so he goes for it.

He claps his hand—still grimy from the tune-up, still a little tacky with Dream's come—he claps it gently over Dream's mouth, stifling his volume, and Dream jolts, then goes wild. His head goes all the way back, giving Hob easier coverage; his breath comes short and sharp through his nose, faster and faster in time with his cries that go higher and shriller, muffled by Hob's not-exactly-clean hand. His body has gone tense, trembling, hips thrusting back against Hob's with mounting desperation and god, but Hob is in love. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me again," he murmurs breathlessly, bending close to Dream's ear and the dried mess on his cheek and squeezing his hip, flexing the hand that covers his mouth. "Take your fill of my cock, shoot your load all over your car—I'll clean it again for you, don't worry—"

Dream stills abruptly, shaking, voice a strangled muffled shriek as he comes; Hob thrusts deep into his pulsing clenching arse and holds, intending to let Dream ride out his orgasm. But Dream wriggles, wrenches his head free of Hob's hand, gasping.

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

He straightens up and sets both hands back on Dream's hips, fucks eagerly into him, quickly re-establishing his rhythm and speeding up. "Good?" he grunts, sweat dripping down his temple, and Dream warbles out an affirmative.

"Harder—Hob—use me, claim me, fill me—!" His voice shakes; his hands are spasming against the bonnet, his arms trembling, and his arse is so tight and slick and hot, clenches so beautifully around him, Hob isn't going to last but another moment.

"Use your pretty little hole for my own pleasure?" he gets out, pounding into it now with everything he's got, spiraling up to the horizon, and Dream sobs.

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

"Claim it for myself?" Hob gasps, grinding deep, slamming into him again and again. "Fill you up with my come—ahh—here it is—Dream!"

Dream wails, and Hob comes, gasping, grunting, the euphoria sweeping through his veins in a warm rush. His hips jerk involuntarily, shoving deep, emptying himself thoroughly into Dream's clutching arse.

"Fuck," he pants, pulse pounding in his ears, "oh, fuck—"

It's good, so damn good, feels like it goes on forever, everything in his body alight with pleasure and pouring out through his dick, until at long last it subsides and he collapses, barely catching himself before he crushes Dream. He takes a minute, just panting above him, and then pulls out carefully—still wet and messy, regardless—with a groan. Dream whimpers, a sound of abject loss, but does not move from where he has gone limp on the car.

Hob turns carefully to perch beside him, resting his arse on the bonnet, catching his breath.

"Alright there, Dream?" he asks, after a moment.

"Mmh," is the only reply, and Hob takes a moment to just look at him, gaze sweeping over the lines of his body and the grey-black smudges he himself has left on that pristine pale skin. He lingers over the curves (such as they are) of Dream's arse, leans far enough to see where there's a mess of lube and semen dribbling down Dream's perineum to his balls, a glistening runnel of it trickling down his inner thigh—Hob shivers, arousal sparking despite the remains of orgasm still simmering in his blood.

"Christ, you look beautiful like this," he can't help saying. "Fucked out across the bonnet of your Porsche with your legs spread, and my come dripping out of your arse…"

"Silver tongue." Dream does not move from where he sprawls, languid and heavy-lidded, spread-eagled on the car, even as Hob levers himself up, moves to stand behind Dream again.

"Mmyes, that's right. Said something about having a use in mind for it, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"'Perhaps' he says," Hob drawls, grinning, but the idea's back in his head now and oh, he would like to get his tongue in Dream's arse, lube or no lube. He saw the bottle, it's water-based, it's not going to kill him to lick a bit of it up. "Why don't you tell me if this is what you had in mind, then."

He drops into a squat and flicks the tip of his tongue around the puffy rim of Dream's messy and very-pink hole, circling it with a light touch, and the sound that Dream makes is nothing but encouraging. His own come is no particular delicacy but just like the lube, he doesn't mind that he's getting a taste in the course of eating out this beautiful man. Dream's hole is swollen with use and sensitive and Hob kisses it softly, wets his tongue and wriggles it in, gently at first with slurping licks in between but with increasing enthusiasm until Dream is squirming against his face and he's as deep as he can get, grease-stained hands gripping those milk-white cheeks and spreading them wide.

The keening noise Dream makes urges him on and he delves back in again and again, breathless and eager, feasting until his face is sticky and his jaw aches. Finally he draws back, panting, senses filled with the smell and the taste of this man and still, Dream remains insatiable.

"More. Hob, I want more, do not send me on my way so unsated—"

He has come twice, surely he is not sincere when he says 'unsated', and yet. Here he is, pleading for more, as needy and eager as he's been the whole time. And god, but Hob wants to give him everything, is itching to finger him out but he's not doing that when his hands are still dirty, he's just not. Nor is he going to make Dream wait while he scrubs down with the Swarfega. He casts about, thinking, tongue lapping soothingly around Dream's sloppy hole all the while; there's the plug Dream was wearing but it's been sitting on the shop floor so no; it's shaped for stretching more than fucking anyway. His fingers really would be best—

"Did you bring more than just the one condom?"

"Mmh?" Dream sounds keyed up and hazy, blissed out on the attentions of Hob's tongue and Hob smiles, plants a kiss over his hole.

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

"And where did your trousers escape to?" He kisses again, flicks his fatigued tongue inside in a teasing lick.

"Front seat." Dream wriggles, needy, restless and wanting.

"Brilliant. Hang on, got an idea—" He scrambles up and around and finds the clothes rumpled in the Porsche's driver seat, rifles through the pockets for the promised condom and tears it open, slips it over his first two fingers as he shuffles round the front of the car again, coveralls still tangled in his boots. Dream is a vision sprawled face down and spread-legged on the bonnet, eyes tracking Hob's return, and Hob won't leave him waiting another instant.

"Here we are," he murmurs, condom-clad fingers sliding down the cleft of Dream's grease-smudged arse and slipping deftly into his hole still slick with lube and Hob's jizz, Hob's spit. Hob pushes deep, curves his touch down and massages, and Dream cries out, going rigid.

Grinning, Hob leans over the bonnet beside him, fingers working deep and steady, and watches Dream's prettily-dirtied face as he comes apart. He's mewling, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping; he's come twice already and his insides are swollen and sensitive, his pleasure easy to stoke to trembling heights. Hob shifts briefly to drizzle more lube in for good measure and then gives him no quarter, fingers steady and relentless in their attentions until Dream is shaking, sobbing, tears leaking from his eyes and saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. He pushes up on trembling arms, collapses back to his elbows, head hanging low between his shoulders. "Hob—aah—Hob, please!" It's unclear if he's begging for more or begging for mercy, but the way he flexes up on his toes and pushes back on Hob's hand is telling enough.

"Shh," Hob soothes, leaning close enough to brush his mouth across Dream's bicep in an open kiss, and then, because he can't help being just a touch evil: "Do you want to come again? Or did you need me to stop?"

"Do not stop," he manages, and it is very much an order despite his gasping breathless delivery. "Your hands are exquisite, Hob—!"

"You say the sweetest things," Hob murmurs, kissing his arm again and rubbing particularly hard with both fingers.

Dream wails, head tossing, trembling, helpless, and Hob draws his fingers partway out only to drive them back in, again and again and again, curving his touch to hit that spot on every thrust. He twists his hand as he goes, employing every expert technique he's honed in his time to bring Dream up to the edge again.

God, he loves this, having another person trust him with their pleasure and being able to give them everything they want and then some. It's heady, addictive to have this beautiful man sobbing in delight because of him, shaking apart, because of him; he desperately wants for this to not be the last time. Predictably, his mouth starts running again, pleading his case.

"You can have this anytime you like, love, I'd be delighted to take care of you again. Your pretty mouth, your pretty cock, this pretty perfect eager little hole—" He twists his fingers just so, curls and presses.

Dream warbles out a wet, broken sound that may or may not be Hob's name, bends trembling knees to widen his stance just a little, letting Hob that much deeper inside him.

Beautiful. Perfect.

"Come see me anytime you just need a good hard fuck, mmh? Whenever you want a fun and filthy seeing-too from your handsome bit of rough down at the garage?" He pauses with his fingers buried deep, strokes them fast and firm over exactly the right spot again and again and Dream wails, a high thin keening noise deep in his throat that rises into a proper scream as he comes at last. His body spasms, clenches hard on Hob's fingers in pulsing rhythm and Hob doesn't let up for a long moment, milks him relentlessly through it until he collapses onto the bonnet, boneless and panting.

Hob stills his fingers at that point but doesn't yet pull them out, savoring the snug warmth they're nestled in and the beautiful picture Dream makes like this.

He did that. He made Dream come three times, worked this posh pretty thing into a limp fucked-out mess sprawled across his expensive car.

God, but he wants to do it again.

"Do you think you've got one more in you?" He can't help it; he's always been greedy.

Dream groans, a low sound that stirs something deep in Hob's stomach. "Three times, Hob. I am spent." Yet he makes no move to rise from the car or pull off from Hob's hand, which he could easily do.

Greatly daring, tempted beyond reason by this ravenous marvelous creature, Hob twitches his fingers where they're still pressed against Dream's prostate.

Dream jerks, a shudder running through him, then squeaks when Hob does it again. "Hob—!" His eyes fly open, shining beneath his wet lashes.

"I'll stop if you say so," Hob hastens to assure him. "But you did chide me to not send you home unsated and I just want to make sure I've given you everything"—he presses again—"you need."

Dream whines through his teeth, sucks in a great gasping breath as Hob lets up and cries out when Hob's fingers curl mercilessly within him again, and again, and again. He scrabbles uselessly at the bonnet and lifts his head, mouth open, muscles straining, body trembling as Hob starts taking him apart again before he's even pulled himself back together from the last orgasm.

Hob's good with his hands, in this as well as his work, and he's quite certain he can make Dream come again in fairly short order given how sensitized and overstimulated he is. Hob is also quite certain he can draw this out just a bit longer, work him up even more before pushing him over the edge again and quite frankly, that sounds like more fun.

"Stay with me sweetheart," he murmurs in between Dream's cries, shifting his hand to stave off the cramp that wants to start. He strokes Dream's insides with both fingers, together at first and then one after the other; the condom and the grip of Dream's body restrict his range of movement somewhat but not so much that he can't do his job well.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," he breathes, fingers still moving steadily, and kisses his way softly up Dream's arm. "You're beautiful, perfect, so pretty and so hungry and so eager—" He's planting kisses across Dream's shoulders and back between words, moving down his spine next. "And you let me touch you, worship your body, get you off again and again and again—" He bends over Dream's arse, draws his fingers partway free and spreads them as wide as the condom allows, stretching open Dream's swollen well-used hole. He dips close, slides his tongue into the gap he's created and Dream moans, gasping, trembling. Hob takes a good minute with his tongue before pulling back and sinking his fingers deep again. "This hole, this perfect hungry insatiable hole, you let me fill it as I please, with my cock and my come and my fingers—so lucky, I am. Would you let me fill you with toys, too, sweetheart? I'll bet you've got a drawerful at home; I'd love to try them with you one by one, learn the best ways to play with each, to make you scream and sob and shake—" He's massaging Dream's prostate again, thorough and unhurried and Dream is indeed sobbing, incoherent. He moves, suddenly, draws up one knee beneath him on the bonnet and then the other as Hob moves with him. He's up on all fours briefly and then sinks down, folded double on his knees with his arms stretched out to grip where the bonnet meets the windscreen and his arse opened wide, letting Hob's fingers sink as deep as possible.

"Finish me, Hob," he begs, gripping weakly around Hob's diligent fingers, voice hoarse and shaky, "make me—make me—fuck, I can't—I can't—" He sobs, trembling, and Hob. Well. He's neither a cruel man, nor strong in the face of temptation, and his hand is ready to give out as well. So he buries his fingers to the hilt, seeks out that spot and gives it his all, strokes it quick and steady and firm, both fingers together, then one after the other, together again and Dream's knees spread wide, his spent prick pressing soft against the bonnet. He's making one long sound now, low and thin and straining in his throat, interspersed with gasping gulps of breath. His body trembles, jolts every time Hob presses harder at his prostate, and Hob leans back over beside him, softly kisses the curve of his shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart, we're almost there," he breathes, fingering relentlessly. "Is it still good?"

"Yes—fuck—fuck—Hob!" Dream scrabbles one hand down in Hob's direction and Hob seizes it, laces their fingers together; Dream is sobbing, breathless, utterly wrecked and Hob's hand is giving out but he refuses to stop, to quit, not until—

Dream's body stiffens, convulses, bearing down on Hob's stuttering fingers in tremulous pulses and his voice has gone high, whistle-thin, and then he is gasping, tension falling out of him in a rush as he goes limp, breathing hard and heavy against the bonnet. Hob stills his aching hand at last, draws it out carefully and peels off the condom with his teeth, flings it aside. He'll clean up later. He stretches the cramping sensation from his hand and settles it lightly on Dream's still-heaving ribs, unable to keep from touching him even now that they're done.

"Alright, dove?" Hob asks, gently stroking up Dream's spine. "Can you move?" He gives a soft squeeze to their still-joined hands and is gratified to feel brief pressure in return. Dream turns his head, lifts it slightly; his eyes are wet, his hair sticking damply to his forehead and the grease smudge there; his mouth is open, a bit of drool still in the corner and Hob is helpless, gone, so fucking besotted and far too deeply attached for what this is. He dips in, kisses Dream with every soft emotion squirming captive in his chest and Dream just kisses him back, quiet, exhausted, willing.

"C'mere," Hob murmurs, straightening up, sitting back, leaning on the bonnet. He draws Dream after him, tucks him awkwardly up against his side and Dream allows it, nestles underneath his arm, still catching his breath.

This is the drawback to sex in the garage, Hob decides wryly; there is nowhere really suitable or comfortable for post-coital cuddles. He's seriously considering whether he can slide into the passenger seat of the Porsche with Dream in his lap when finally Dream stirs, lifts his head, shivers all over as he straightens and graces Hob with a small smile.

"I believe I will make use of your shop for all my future service needs," he says, primly, with a playful note underneath the exhaustion.

Hob laughs, hearty and full-bodied and joyous. "Glad to hear it," he says, when the laughter subsides. He's so utterly gone on this man, no matter how unlikely a pair they make, and he feels far too good right now to care about the future heartbreak he'll inevitably have to deal with.

He helps Dream down from the car then, steadies him on his feet and sees him around to the driver's seat where Dream first downs half the bottle of water he brought with him and then proceeds with re-dressing. Hob makes to get his coveralls pulled back up into place at that point but Dream stops him. "You promised to clean my spend off my car, I believe," he says, with that tone in his voice that makes Hob's insides go warm despite himself.

"Absolutely," he confirms, waiting, because there was clearly more forthcoming.

"I should like to see you with your trousers around your ankles and your arse on display while you do so." Dream blinks at him, all coquettish charm that is somehow enhanced by his disheveled and dirtied and half-dressed state. "If you are amenable, of course."

"I can do that for you," Hob agrees, delighted, even as he feels his face heat. It's not at all what he's used to but being ogled, being objectified—especially by his beautiful Dream—is no hardship, whatever his reason.

He finds a rag and the polish while Dream finishes putting himself back together and comes round the front of the Porsche again, and then Hob cleans up the bodily fluids on the bonnet, sweat and semen and lube and anything else, coveralls still around his ankles as requested. He wiggles his arse just a bit, since Dream is watching, and when that gets a pleased little sound out of Dream he does it a bit more, putting his whole body into the cleaning motions, bending at the waist and letting his hips swing in wide suggestive arcs.

"There," he says, finished, tossing the rag aside, and his arms are full of Dream as soon as he turns.

"Magnificent," Dream breathes against his mouth, and kisses him, warm and wet and thorough. Hob gives back as good as he gets, threads his hands into Dream's hair, and Dream's hands skate down his bare sides, around his hips and lower, seizing his arse cheeks and squeezing. His fingernails comb through the hair there and Hob squeaks, delighted, dick twitching with interest.

Dream breaks the kiss after only a few seconds. "There is so much more I want to do with you," he murmurs, kneading Hob's arse in slow sensual motions, "but I am spent. Well used. Sated, despite my lingering desires." He releases one cheek, moves to draw a fingertip along the slit of Hob's mostly-soft cock, where he surely encounters the tacky lube-laced remains of Hob's earlier orgasm. He brings that finger to his mouth, makes a show of licking it delicately before slipping it into his mouth to suck properly, and Hob whimpers.

"Dream, love, I meant what I said. Pop by anytime you need, I'll take care of you—"

"I believe you. After all, you have opted me into your loyalty program, yes? I must be sure to claim all of my associated benefits." He steps back, pulling out his phone and handing it to Hob with the contacts open. "Your number, please."

Hob types it in gladly, hits save, hands the phone back.

Dream cradles it close, a look on his face like he's savoring the addition of Hob's number, and glances up at Hob through his lashes. "I look forward to employing your services again, Hob Gadling. You are very much worth the trip."

"You just like me for my rugged filthiness," Hob says, a tease to keep his head in the right place—there's still no sense getting sentimental, after all, no matter the elated cartwheels his ego is doing at those words.

Dream regards him haughtily, one eyebrow lifting; the grease stains do nothing to diminish the expression. "I am quite certain I would enjoy you equally as much cleaned up and dressed up, that I might wine and dine you, take you home to my bed for an evening."

Hob almost, almost detects a hint of vulnerability threading the words and grins, a little pang of tenderness tugging helplessly behind his chest. "Think so, do you?"

"Would you like to test my theory?" There is something both hesitant and eager underneath his casual tone, and Hob's heart trips a little as that tug grows stronger.

"Why, Mr. Atelíotes, are you asking me out? On a proper date?"

"Perhaps." It's equal parts caginess and coy teasing, and Hob is forced to admit—again—that he's smitten despite himself.

"Well." He grins, dialing it up to his most charming. "Rumor has it I'm excellent company whether my dick's involved or not. And while a standard dinner date may not be as fantasy-worthy as getting plowed by the rough mechanic in his garage, I think we could still have a good time." He's showing his hand a bit, gently calling Dream on the fantasy fulfillment that has obviously been going on here, but what's life without a little risk? Especially when the potential reward is so very worth it?

"You are very confident of your own appeal," Dream replies, mouth turning up at one corner in a way that tips over from 'cautious' to 'amused'. And if Hob's not mistaken, there's a hint of pink blushing over his porcelain complexion under the filth clinging to his cheekbone.

He grins, spreads his arms, still stark naked with his coveralls around his ankles. "Am I wrong, though?"

"…No," Dream decides, after a long moment of deliberation, and Hob steps closer to him, dares to touch his face affectionately.

"Why don't you pick me up here at seven tomorrow night. Tell me exactly how posh I should dress, and we'll see where it goes?" He leans in, presses his lips softly to Dream's.

Dream hums into it, pleased, and palms his chest gently before pulling away. "Very well. Seven, tomorrow night. I will make us a reservation and text you the dress code."

Hob smiles, an effervescent sort of happiness bubbling up inside him. "Sounds perfect."

He finally puts his coveralls back in order after that, zipped just past the waist, and makes certain that the condoms are picked up and Dream gets his lube and his toy all collected before he shifts back into business mode. Dream is no more interested in cleaning his face before leaving today than he was yesterday so Hob moves on; he explains the repairs and runs Dream's credit card, then returns his keys and guides him in backing the Porsche out of the garage. Dream leans out the window once he's clear and Hob ducks down, delighted to get a final kiss.

"I'll be waiting to hear from you," he says, trying to temper the giddy anticipation he feels against the reality of their acquaintance, and Dream's soft smile turns sultry around the edges.

"I will be counting the hours until I see you again, Hob Gadling," he purrs, and drives off.

The way the Porsche jerks when he shifts after turning the corner makes Hob wince.

Maybe, if they do continue whatever this is beyond a single dinner date, maybe Hob can give him some tips on driving stick so he doesn't burn out the new clutch.

Then again, the more Dream abuses his poor car, the more excuse he'll have to invoke his 'loyalty rewards'.

And Hob doesn't think that's such a bad thing, in the end.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 9/17/24 Posted: 9/21/24

[allaboutnalu]

The AllAboutNalu Gift Exchange is back for 2024! Even if you participated last year, please read the rules again as changes have been made.

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[idontevenknowwhatt]

Surprise

Summary: Y/n has been keeping a secret from Emily and hasn’t had the opportunity to tell her wife. The secret is revealed not in the way you had hoped but sometimes the unexpected can be perfect.

Warnings: Talks about miscarriages, fertility struggles and pregnancy in general. Small allusion to smut but no actual smut.

Word Count: 1721

A/N: Hello again, it’s been a bit since I’ve posted anything but this is my first Emily Prentiss x reader. This is set when Emily is Unit Chief and won’t follow any specific episode. I hope you all enjoy it :))

—--------------------------------------------

You loved your wife. More than anything else in the world. But since becoming the BAU’s Unit Chief a couple months ago she was a lot busier. Whether it was paperwork or meetings, she had a lot on her plate.

You weren’t mad or upset, if anything you were incredibly proud. But you still missed your wife, even though you worked with her everyday.

You had both adjusted pretty quickly to her new workload and always made sure to spend with one another as much as possible. But this week had been particularly bad. She would mostly be out of the house before you even woke up or leaving as you started to get ready. Then she’d be in her office hours after the team went home.

You knew it was just going to be one of those weeks and you just had be there to support you wife if she needed anything.

You’d been feeling sick all week and at first you had put it down to something you’d ate. But as the week went on, so did the nausea and the body aches.

If it had been a normal week Emily would have noticed immediately. But with how busy she was, she really only saw you when you were in bed or in passing at work.

You hadn’t thought much else about the sickness you had been feeling until yesterday morning. Emily had just left the house when you got up. As you walked towards the kitchen the smell of coffee had set you off and caused you to sprint into the bathroom and empty the contents of your stomach.

That’s when it hit you. You had wrapped a case the week before in Idaho and hadn’t even noticed that your period was late. And not just a little, by almost 2 months. It all started to make sense.

You and Emily have been married for four years and decided that you were both ready to expand your family. You’d both picked out a sperm donor that had similar looks to Emily and had been trying for a baby for months now.

You were lucky to have a positive test come back fairly fast and Emily was ecstatic. The idea of you growing her child inside you made her so happy.

So when you had a doctors appointment to confirm everything, you were both heartbroken to find out that it was a false positive.

That night you had sobbed in Emily’s arms while she too cried and held you tightly to her chest, whispering reassuring words into your ear. You knew that it was only the first try and that it was unlikely to happen anyway. But it still hurt, you were so close.

Since then you had tried multiple times but the test kept coming back negative. It was soul destroying to both of you. You had blamed yourself and thought that there was something wrong with your body. Emily made sure to reassure you that it wasn’t but it was still hard.

So you tried not to get too excited while waiting for the pregnancy tests that sat on the counter. The happiness that flooded your body when all three came up positive was overwhelming and the tears started running.

But there’s was still something in the back of your mind that told you that it wasn’t real and it was just more false positives.

Luckily you didn’t start until 10am and had plenty of time to book a last minute blood test. The joy you felt when it confirmed what you and Emily had been hoping for was one of the greatest feelings.

Now you just had to figure out the best way to tell your wife. As it was now Friday and finally the end of the week, you thought that it was the perfect night to tell her. And frankly you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in.

You had sneaked out and bought a cute little onesie and planned on leaving it on your bed with the positive pregnancy tests. It was a simple idea but that’s all you wanted.

You were barely able to focus on your work all day and swore the day couldn’t have gone any slower. As the team slowly started filtering out and wishing you a good weekend you started to get anxious.

Emily was still in her office doing paperwork and was so focused she didn’t even realise the team had left.

Making your way up to her office you knocked and slipped in without waiting for an answer. Emily’s head shot up ready to reprimand someone for entering her office without permission. But the moment her eyes me yours her entire face softened.

“Hey baby” she said as you made your way around her desk to stand in front of her. “Everything okay?”

“Yea, I just miss my wife” you smiled leaning down to peck her lips.

Emily smiled into the kiss and you could feel tension start to leave her body at the small contact.

“Well I miss you more” she pulled you down to straddle her lap. Her arms snake around your waist pulling you closer and her hands start to rub soothing circles on your lower back. Instinctively your arms found there way around her neck and you fingers gently played with the hair at the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home much this week.”

“It’s okay” you cut in before she can apologise any more. “I get it, you’ve got a job to do and not every week is like this week. It will get better. Plus I know you’ll make it up to me later”

She sees the smirk on your face and her hands move to squeeze your hips.

“Oh I promise I will, you can count on it” she smirks back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m pretty much done here if you’re ready to head home?”

“That sounds amazing” you smile tightly getting a rush of nerves at the thought of the onesie laying on your bed at home.

“Hey, you okay baby?” Emily of course notices your body language change immediately. Concern laces her face and her brows furrow. “Did something happen?”

“No of course not” your too quick to reassure her. “Well, sort of but nothing for you to worry about”

You really should have just left the last part off but you’re practically bursting wanting to tell her.

“What do you mean? Did someone say something to you?”

“Babe, no one said anything”

“Well something happened, I’m not gonna stop worrying until you tell me what it is” her hand moves to caress your cheek and you can’t help but lean into her touch. God she was your weakness. “Talk to me baby”

“Em…”

“Is this about my workload, cause I meant what I said. I’m sorry about this week, I just-”

“Emily, it’s not about this week. I told you I get it”

“Well then what is it? I can tell somethings off”

“Em it’s about us”

“The two of us?” Her face is full of confusion which quickly turns to concern for your relationship.

“The three of us” you place her hand on top of your stomach and cover it with your own. “I’m pregnant baby”

“You’re pregnant?” You swear you can feel her heart stop for a brief moment.

“I’m pregnant” you confirm tears forming in your eyes.

For a moment you’re unsure of her reaction, she just sits there stunned. It definitely wasn’t the news she was expecting.

Before you can think much more about it here lips are on yours as she gives you a loving and passionate kiss. She pulls your body impossibly closer as tears start to stream down her face.

She pulls back to look at you, her hand and yours still resting against your stomach.

“I love you so much” she kisses you again.

“I love you too”

“When did you find out? Please tell me you haven’t been holding out on me for too long because of work”

“I only found out yesterday morning, I was feeling sick all week but I didn’t think much of it” her smile never disappears as you talk. “I didn’t even realise I was late until yesterday too. So I took a bunch of tests and they all came back positive.”

“And they’re not-”

“No” you interrupt her before any more doubt can flood her mind. “I got a last minute blood test yesterday too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first but I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it was another false positive”

“Oh honey, you could have told me anyway” her face softens. “We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know, I just wanted it to be perfect when I told you” you gesture with your hand “this is not the way I planned on telling you. There’s a onesie sitting on our bed at home”

“This was perfect” she reassures you leaning in to place a kiss on your lips.

“I’m almost seven weeks” you see her smile grow. “You know I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet, my boobs are already getting bigger.”

Her eyes flick down to your breasts and her lips twitch into a smirk.

“You know considering how much you love to touch them” you giggle.

“Well they are magnificent” she defends reaching to give them a gentle squeeze making you moan lightly. “God I love you, thank you for carrying our child and making us moms”

“I’d do it twenty times if it made you happy” you smile. “Okay maybe not twenty but you know what I mean”

“I know baby” she laughs. “You wanna head home now? Show me that onesie you bought?”

“That sounds perfect” you hop off her lap and intertwine your hand with hers as she stands. “You know I’m a little sore, I could do with a bubble bath with my wife”

“I think that can be arranged” she smiles leaning in to captures your lips.

—--------------------------------------------

[jessieren]

Here In America

I managed to go and see Here In America last night and, as promised, here's my (fairly brief) review. If you're going to see it and don't want to know anything in advance then don't read any further - although I've tried hard not to include any spoilers.

Firstly the theatre is tiny... and I mean really really tiny! When they said in the promo video 'you're going to be up close and personal with the audience' they weren't kidding. The stage area is incredibly tight and all the audience are within a few feet of the actors.

The scale of the theatre really gives the sense that you're 'in the room' with what's happening and adds to the sense of tension as the play builds. It also means that you can see the actors every expression and movement and they don't need to project/act up in the same way as you would in a large normal layout theatre. My personal view is that this suited Shaun's more minimal nuanced acting style really well - it was almost like acting for the camera.

The play is just under 90 minutes and is intense, quite complex, and dialogue heavy but the pacing is incredible and the 90 minutes disappeared in a flash. Shaun is on stage for pretty much all of that time and much of the dialogue and interaction happens between Kazan and Miller. The set, props and lighting are very minimal but work well and support the interactions (the scrabble scene near the beginning is great and sets the play up really well).

All four actors are absolutely brilliant but Shaun and Michael Aloni's performances are truly stunning. Shaun really does hold the entire piece together but without overwhelming or detracting from any of the other performances. Whilst it is intense there are some small moments of comedy and Shaun, in particular, plays those really well.

I enjoy plays with small casts as I think you get far more from the relationships and interactions and this is an absolute case in point. The details and nuance of the way the characters interact build a picture of their relationships that support and help move the play along and I think also build a genuine sense of empathy with the conflicts at the heart of the play. I went into it with a clear view of what/who I thought was right and wrong but the script and performances really made me reconsider my views throughout - and I'm still questioning how I feel about it 24 hours later.

Whilst Shaun doesn't look like Kazan (Aloni truly becomes Miller in an uncanny way, and similarly Jasmine is compelling as Monroe - not an easy ask), he is really convincing and plays him with a charm and charisma that gives a fully rounded view of him as a man and the choices he made, where it could have been easy to play him as a more two dimensional 'bad guy'.

I absolutely loved it and really hope it gets the praise and attention it deserves. Its one of the best pieces of theatre I've seen - and I go to a lot!

I'd highly recommend getting to see it - or paying to stream when its available.

Just as a side note: The play covers a lot of ground and refers to quite a lot of detail of Miller and Kazan's lives in particular. My personal view is that you get more from it if you already know the overall chronology of what happened in that period and also understand the basics of Kazan and Miller. I'm sure its still very watchable without the background but personally I felt I got a lot more from it from knowing something about the key characters, events and timeline.

[finnlongman]

Periodically I'll google Irish email etiquette because I can never remember the sign-offs and it will be perpetually entertaining to me when they translate Beir bua as Best wishes.

I'm sorry, I'm a medievalist, and this phrase is literally in Oidheadh Con Culainn:

"Best wishes". What a funny way to tell somebody to take victory!

Anyway, this is how I read emails with Irish salutations:

O Ruairi, my ally,

I hope this email finds you willing to aid me in battle. If you're still open to sending me those unpublished editions you're working on, I would be incredibly grateful, as they'd help a lot with my research.

Take victory,

Finn

[leprosycock]

what’s really cool and awesome and normal is how in spite of artists’ best efforts to offer art to the general public, to people who don’t have art education and aren’t immersed in a particular sect of any given genre or culture, putting their work in low-cost or free galleries or airports or the sides of buildings or in parks or in malls or in outdoor shopping squares or in any public area where their projects can be viewed, people still reject the notion of art as a whole because they consider it entirely secondary to everything valuable in a person’s life. you can’t tell someone you’re an art major without seeing that inherent condescension or repulsion or confusion crossing someone’s face if they haven’t bothered to engage with art on a personal level before. it’s always considered an afterthought and never anything vital to the world we all live in and how art exists in genuinely and literally every single fucking facet of our lives. if you tell someone you understand art and can engage with it on a professional level, you’re considered pretentious and self-aggrandizing/obsessed and stuck-up and snotty and impossible to talk to. if you look down on extremely milquetoast and uninteresting and surface-level pieces of art, like very bad generic music with poor and uninspired poetry or extremely literal portraiture or ai art, you’re a gatekeeper and, again, pretentious and snotty. you are not permitted to engage with your passions outside of fellow artists because the “my kid/little sibling/niece/nephew/a five year old could do that” mindset is so pervasive and unless something is extremely easy to swallow and exceedingly literal, people will not accept it as Real Art because they refuse to understand its history, context, the artist’s technical skill and education, and WHY it exists. this also definitely pivots to subject matter and how only certain kinds are permitted and allowed by many, many others. sure, you as a self-obsessed millennial woman can engage with a coffee table book full of Powerful Feminist Quotes about how your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t go see “it ends with us” with you in theaters and your grandpa made a joke about periods once, but if you’re forced to engage with abstraction or an artist who happens to say a slur or the amount of precision and planning and dedication and adoration that goes into performing 4d design that discusses subject matter that YOU don’t like, you’ll shrivel like a fucking leaf and retreat back to what makes you comfortable. i hate it i hate anti-art and i hate being stuck in anti-art worlds

[knife-em0ji]

The really unfortunate thing about House, MD is that even with how fucking unhinged it is it's genuinely a very good show. Sometimes the writing is dated, but it's dated in a way that holds up. The amount of malpractice and crimes and HIPAA violations that go on pretty much continuously is laughable, but in a way it's also believable that the hospital never gets sued because House successfully diagnoses and treats conditions that would have otherwise caused his patients to die if they had been at any other hospital, since, in my experience, very few other doctors do B&Es as a regular part of their practice. House never gets fired because he has tenure and also he seems to be his boss's only friend other than Wilson. (Because as much as people say Wilson is House's best and only friend. We never see Cuddy have any other people in her personal life either.) .

Characters are rife with various -isms and casually participate in -phobias that seem natural and true to the time period and the type of person they are. But also they explicitly say the word bisexual in like every episode Thirteen is in. That would be considered a coup today. There are multiple main characters who are explicitly Jewish and all have different relationships with Judaism. The sense of place in that this hospital couldn't exist anywhere than Central Jersey (which yes, does exist) is incredible.

It's often stupid in a very fun and engaging way, and better yet, they're willing to break form to achieve maximum impact. The two episodes that end with Amber's death were actually phenomenal episodes of television. The reasons behind Kutner's death/suicide remaining unresolved felt poignant instead of lazy, especially since this is a show primarily about getting answers (also lol the meta reason for Kal Penn leaving because he was suddenly summoned to work in Obama's White House is hilarious, and I think they truly did the best they could with writing him off all of a sudden, and I'm not even mad with his permadeath since it would have been ~4 years until Penn could have returned, and by that time the show was done). The two episodes with him landing in a psych ward that have NO medical mysteries and end with him actually seeming to resolve to get better were genuinely uplifting.

Just! Hm! Much to think about. No wonder this show was so fucking popular, and no wonder that it's had such a resurgence the moment it landed on Netflix. Also I know they're hell to shoot but bring back the 22 45-minute episode TV season. I'm begging.

[sometimesanalice]

I’m so curious about ‘Like I Can” and reader’s childhood/high school background!! Could we get some little flashbacks? Your work is amazing btw❣️❣️❣️

Ah! This was such a fun message to get! Sorry it took me a minute to respond, I wanted to make sure I had time to sit down and give it the attention it deserves!

What do you want to know? My inbox is always open, so please feel free to send thoughts or questions in any time they pop up! 🫶🏻

But here’s more about Sweet Girl for you! (i might have gone a little overboard, lol)

Sweet Girl was a bit of a shy girlie and a bit of a late bloomer in her younger years. It wasn’t until high school where she really started coming out of her shell.

She spent a lot of time at the Bradshaw house growing up and felt like it was hers too. Carole was the one who first gave her the “sweet girl” nickname and they had a really close relationship (sg still has the locket Carole gave her for her 13th birthday). And SG’s favorite nights were the ones where they’d get to have sleepovers. The moms would be upstairs having their own (wine, brownies, and romcoms), and her and Bradley would have free rein of the living room. (she famously isn't a fan of movie theater popcorn while Bradley is the extra butter kind of guy, but she does like the kettle corn kind.)

After her parent’s divorce, she had a complicated relationship with her dad. SG never saw it coming and then he moved very quick with a new wife and step siblings, and she felt really betrayed there for a while.

She had a few close friends in her grade, but Bradley was always who she considered her best friend. And because of that she did get picked on sometimes mainly by shitty boys who didn’t understand why they were so close or why he’d want to hang out with her (especially since they have a 2 year gap, so they’d call her his shadow or a tagalong). Bradley made it clear that anyone who messed with her wasn’t cool with him, but there were still some comments under breaths that she’d hear sometimes chose to keep to herself.

She’s always been artsy (she doodled some very detailed fireballs on the page of the sheet music book with Great Balls of Fire that she gave Bradley for his 12th birthday). But her favorite classes in high school were AP history (preferred euro over us) and computer science. (She originally wanted to be a graphic designer, and focused on pursuing her freshman year in college before later changing her major.)

Tennis was her sport of choice, and she was pretty decent at it. Her mom, Carole, and Bradley (baseball schedule depending) were always in the stands to cheer her on (the moms had to sit through so much spring sports, those opaque tumblers were definitely filled with wine, lol)! Both SG and Bradley had shirts they’d made as self professed #1 fan of the other when they were at each other’s games. The year she almost made it to the state playoffs was the year after Carole passed away, and after that happened and seeing her mom there alone in the stands without Carole or Bradley, she quit playing.

Miss ma’am is a smart cookie, and was one of three valedictorians in her class. (She did not audition to give the speech and let one of the others do it because she doesn't like a lot of attention directed at her.)

Her respect for the library (and why she won’t make out with Bradley in the stacks, even though he’s always trying to get her to after they get together, she won’t but she does let him carry her books, lol) is because she used to spend her summers volunteering there. Bradley would either drop SG off or pick her up depending on his baseball camp schedule and his job scooping ice cream. (Which Bradley has a struck ‘no milkshakes’ in the montero rule after she spilled hers one time, and he never let her forget about it)

I do have plans for a couple longer oneshots about their younger years! Including one about the night at the homecoming party where Bradley got his scars, and then also about the period after Carole died and Bradley's self destructive era (when he tried to implode their friendship).

As for some little flashbacks, I think that sounds like so much fun! I love their dynamic so much and have fun weaving in things from their past into the stories I write when I have the chance to do it! If there's specific things you're interested, send them my way! I'm happy to keep a little list and work on them when the time and inspiration hits!

[dcdreamblog]

What’s your opinion on organizations like Storm Watch and the Global Guardians? I’ve personally have always mixed feelings on them. On one hand I love the ideas behind them, but don’t like how militarized UN superteams become.

Two different answers depending on the organization. Let's get the easier and less controversial one out of the way first.

I adore and salute the Global Guardians. Period

(A UN created poster of the Guardians released in 1986. Those of you FROM any of the nations listed probably recognize it, it was VERY widely circulated in places like government buildings and classrooms)

The Global Guardians were a late Cold War era outgrowth of a mysterious postwar organization called The Dome founded in 1961 as an organ of the Non-Aligned Movement to direct and support superheroes from its member nations. Obviously as the Cold War dragged on its mandate expanded and during the detente period of the late 60s and early 70s it was reformed as the Global Guardians proper.

Led by arch mystical figure Doctor Mist of South Africa it is constantly active. Anywhere the League isn't, the Guardians are and in any of the member nations where its membership are THE local superheroes even questioning its goals and intentions is not a conversation we would be having.

Its mandate was usurped for a VERY short time by the Justice League Europe and later on the Justice League International but even to this day it is going strong.

(One of my personal favorite supers, Little Mermaid of Denmark is among its most core membership but that's a discussion for another time)

Now let's get to...the other one.

To call Stormwatch unaccountable would be to give it too much credit. Because in their ideal world we would have no idea they exist. The names, origins and positions of the majority of its membership are still mostly unknown.

(Image of the original Stormwatch lineup. It appears to be from an old CRT television. The identity of the image's leaker is unknown)

On its best day it is an anti-alien shadow cabinet run by a militantly xenophobic wing of the UN's military infrastructure. On its worst its been called everything from an "Anti-League Contingency" (yes, one of those) to something like an Inquisition against magical elements in society.

At some unknown point in the recent past the organization was confronted and dragged into semi public existence via working with the Justice League but not even a short stint by the Martian Manhunter as a liaison has made them any more transparent to the people they claim to protect.

You want the black ops, NWO superhero conspiracy some people scream at the League about? Stormwatch are it and if they didn't have something to hide they wouldn't go to such lengths of hiding it.

[my-mt-heart]

The current state of the spinoff right now has nothing to do with what Melissa wants or doesn't want and I do not appreciate her being used as a strategy for Norman, AMC, and the three stooges to evade responsibility. I don't know what happens next, but whatever it is, it is on them. For prioritizing their own needs over the core audience. For mishandling the characters/relationship the core audience is invested in. For constantly gaslighting everyone and refusing to deliver the payoff so many people have been waiting for. For not fixing the problem when they had the chance.

Yes, I am sad because this is supposed to be Melissa's time to shine. Yes, I really do want to support her because if anyone on this show has earned the support, it's her. If anyone is going to be worth watching in S2, it's her. If anyone's input is going to make a difference, it's hers. I do think she was excited to show the impact that Sophia's death had on Carol, but that doesn't mean she's getting everything she wants and it doesn't mean fans have to sit through relentless nunbaiting and a retconned bond between Daryl and Carol similar to S11 (I can only assume at this point that's what we're getting). I will not do that. Platonic Caryl is inorganic to me, and speaks more to TPTB's ageism/misogyny than it does about anyone's creative input. Daryl being torn between Carol and French characters he's only known for a few months is just fucking ridiculous. Period. It doesn't mean that I don't want to be here anymore or that I don't care about the characters or about Melissa. It just means I won't put money in AMC's pockets for awful decisions, like letting Zabel and Nicotero run amuck, like shoving "BESTEST OF BEST FRIENDS" down my throat, like forcing their nun fetish on me, like turning Daryl into every other generic male hero there is. If TPTB show they value Melissa/Carol as much as Norman/Daryl, if she and Norman get equal billing, if Carol's name is included in the title, if Daryl and Carol are allowed the romantic beats that their story in the flagship show set up, then I'm all in. In the meantime, for those who asked, my plan is this:

I am going to watch the premiere because I've heard enough reliable testimonies about the heavy Carol focus, the lack of nunbaiting, Carol's determination to find Daryl, and Daryl's desperation to get home for me to assume it's worth it. I will review the episode and show Melissa my support. I will go no further as soon as I hear any of that starts to change, which I expect will happen rather quickly, but I will keep speaking up where AMC can see it so they understand what's working and what's not. If Melissa's fans keep speaking up, reminding AMC how much they value her and how much they detest some of Zabel's other choices, then AMC can't try to blame her if numbers are low or assume we'll settle for whatever inappropriate writing choices Zabel throws at us if Melissa does bring the numbers up, and I do believe she's the only one who can.

I have nothing to say about S3 and beyond because the only way I'm on board is if AMC somehow manages not to ruin Caryl's story in S2 and hires a showrunner who can do these characters justice. Hint: it's not Zabel, it's not Gimple, and it's not anybody who's ever worked for them.

[hiddenonyx]

[World Building] Pact Headcanons

A/N: these are WORLDBUILDING headcanons, not specific headcanons to characters - meaning that this is a bit more technical(ish) talk than cute and fluffy; I’ll eventually do a character based pact headcanon post. I did my best to organize these in a logical, flowing sense, but ehhh. I may come back to this to add stuff, but here’s my word vomit for now.

Word count: 644

Pacts are magical scars on a human’s soul and skin. These scars contain the magical signature of the demon they belong to. The stronger the demon, the more noticeable the signature is. Because the signature is noticeable to other inherently other magical beings, most other beings will leave the human alone, generally not wanting a confrontation with the demon(s) associated with the pact mark(s). However, this can be the opposite case, where another demon threatens a human to try and draw the demon who made a pact with them into a fight.

Pact marks tie the human’s soul to the demon’s inherent magic self (demons do not have souls per say). This allows the human to draw on the demon’s inherent magic to enhance their conventional magic (magic types post tba), or summon the demon themselves. Demons can use their pact marks to gain vague senses of where their human is and an idea of their general state of being. When/should the human die, the demon gets their soul. If a human has multiple pacts, generally either the strongest demon or the demon with the strongest positive relationship with the human gets their soul (though fights are likely to break out).

Because of how the magical tie between the human’s soul and the demon’s inherent magical self work, if a pact bond is broken or severed, it can never be reformed. It is theorized that the human soul becomes immuned the demon’s inherent magic, but this theory hasn’t been confirmed.

Pacts marks, by default, are only really noticeable soon after receiving one; for about two to three weeks. After that time period the skin should fully heal, leaving only a faint mark on the skin - nearly invisible to all but those with the most attentive eyes and knowledge of the demonic. Some humans may choose to “ink” their pact marks to make them more visible - using magic ink that adheres to the magical signature of the marking which makes the mark appear tattoo-like (Solomon has done this for every pact mark he has). There is a wide selection of ink colors that one may choose from, should they decide to ink a pact mark.

As hinted above, pact marks hurt upon receival; after all they are described as scars. The sensation is best described as a burning sensation, more intense the stronger the demon. During its healing period (2-3 weeks) the skin the mark is placed on feels akin to a sunburn - tender, itchy, and overall uncomfortable. The skin will not bleed or blister however. Where the mark is placed may also influence the pain and discomfort. While that might influence where a demon places their mark, most demons have a preferred spot on a human’s body that they’ll leave their mark on, regardless of how the recovery will feel.

Once healed, pact marks are tingly to the touch; when touched they “hum” softly with magical energy (which may startle or surprise an unknowing human ehe). Generally the tingly sensation is light and gentle, just strong enough to be felt. However if the demon who placed the mark touches it the feeling amplifies and is significantly more noticeable, also invoking a warm and comfortable feeling in the human. Many demons will touch their pact marks to provide a sense of closeness or comfort.

It is considered taboo (and flat out disrespectful) to leave markings, such as hickeys or love bites, on other demons’ pact marks. While not considered so to do so on one’s own mark, many demons prefer to leave their own marks untouched and visible.  

Demons cannot form pacts with each other or other magical beings. They must form contacts (post for that tba) with each other, which have a different set of behaviors. Pacts, contracts, and devotion marks are all different, and operate on different levels of magic.