#on fiver. on his friends

[warlordfelwinter]

and with that, all the progress fiver made on his mental health evaporated

(warning for big endwalker spoilers)

[number-one-hog-hater]

Just saying shit

[five-and-dimes]

Skin Deep

Dreamling Bingo Square D2: Bar Fight

Rating: Explicit

Ship(s): Dreamling

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

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

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

Read on AO3

The thing is, Hob knows what he looks like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what you see?” He asks teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were looking.”

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

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

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

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

It’s official. Hob is smitten.

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do not look the type.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob grins, “Next time, then.”

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still no name then?” Hob quips.

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

Hob doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fantasy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob likes him when he smiles.

“One might.”

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream grins slowly, “In your experience.”

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to be a part of it?”

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

“It matters to me,” Hob replies softly.

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

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

“Yeah, Dream,” he smiles, “I’m sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t decided yet.”

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he takes a step back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Dream, I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That he hates me?” Hob mumbles miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

Hob waits for over a month.

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

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

He keeps waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob wants to cry.

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding, Dream stated easily, “Eevee.”

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

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

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

“I never saw it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This one is… hard to talk about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t fuck it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Dream pulls away reluctantly.

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was held for a month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can start by kissing me again.”

Hob can do that.

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he licks his finger clean. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...May I have my shirt back?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They fit together perfectly.

~~~

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

“Morning, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s beautiful.

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he also knows it’s different .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[angelickisscs]

poolside autographs ~ jude bellingham series (ongoing)

‧₊˚ ୨ ୧ ˚₊ masterlist ~ forgotten paradise (part 1)

summary: Two hearts once intertwined find one another during a family holiday but will the ever-growing distance that they set continue to grow or will one arise to the challenge that is keeping them together?

authors note ~ this is way too long to proofread ngl so i am very sorry if there are any mistakes 😭😭

THE GOLDEN SUN shone brightly in the crisp summer sky as it casted its warmth across your bare shoulders in a gentle, comforting breath. A cerulean blue washed against the vast canvas above, puffs of clouds slowly disappearing inwards.

“And we can take a nice, deep breath.” Your dad announced as though it were an achievement to even make it to the resort, his body rising and falling rhythmically.

 You stood and watched him as the bag you had packed earlier that morning weighed down your arm. It reprimanded you harshly, allowing you no breaks between the minutes that you had already been holding it.

“Dad, can we just go inside?” Your brother asked, his voice the living embodiment of boring. In response, your dad could only laugh. He beckoned you all forward, leading the way towards the vast glass doors that stood only a mere two feet away.

They opened hastily, letting out a small ring as you all entered through them. The cooling air-con that sat strategically placed above the door hit you in the face, sliding down throughout the rest of your body.

The lobby was mostly empty despite the number of plants that were growing throughout. It was a battle to lead your uncooperative suitcase past them. Somehow, it always managed to end up gripped to a vase or pot that held the greenery, refusing to let go as though the two objects had managed to befriend one another in a matter of seconds.

Your family allowed you to struggle, each wandering up to the desk in front so they could gather the room cards. A brief conversation with the receptionist about how ‘wonderfully beautiful’ the resort was, allowed you to catch up to them in time to politely take yours from the unfortunate woman.

She had managed to strike up the more talkative side of your father. The conversation ranged from the beginning sentence to surrounding activities to undoable work hours. Your mother seemed to have enough as she excused him from the conversation, slowly but surely dragging him away by his closest shoulder.

“How many ‘friends’ do you think he’s going to make on this trip?” Your brother, Oliver, asked with a cheeky grin coating his lips. “I’ll bet you a fiver it’ll be four.”

“Four? I’ll go with seven.” You responded as you stepped into the lift, sneakily shaking one another’s hands in an abrupt agreement to the bet you had just made.

Your mum leaned back from where she was standing so her head could land up in between the pair of you.

“Too high. Bound to only be two.”

Her voice could hardly consider itself as a whisper, its noise level exceeding the limit as to how loud it could be. Though your dad’s humming to the music that surrounded the death-trap of a mechanism seemed to be able to drown it out enough.

You scoffed in response. She had a history of underestimating her own husband in these kinds of circumstances and you could only hope that this would be another instance to add to the failure of a streak.

With a ping, you were all ushered out of the lift. There was a very brief conversation on where you all would next meet, Oliver’s hurry to get into his room being the main reason for that. Your dad did not want you roaming around an unfamiliar environment by yourself, no matter how peaceful it was, so you instead opted to meet back outside the lift.

It was a stronger relief than you had expected when you had finally pushed the keycard against the slot in the door, pushing the door open with your free shoulder. You abandoned your carry on and suitcase in an instance, banishing them to the corner of the room. The comfiness of the bed was loudly calling your name and you weren’t one to ignore someone nor something so in need of your approval.

You allowed yourself few moments of rest to gather whatever energy you had left over. There was not a multitude of it, but it would have to do. Kicking your legs into the air, you threw yourself upwards into a standing position so you could approach your suitcase, making the silly decision to unpack later when you came upstairs to get ready for dinner.

A bikini lead folded neatly atop of multiple towels, its burgundy colouring having to do for now. You quickly removed the clothes you had worn during the flight, replacing them with said bikini and a coverup just in time to answer the sound of a fist pounding against the unfortunate slab of wood that was your door.

“Hurry up then!” Said Oliver when you had made it to your door, his impatient eyes following you as you scrambled to collect everything you may need for those hours around the pool.

Your parents were both ready, dressed in a matching colour of swimwear, the same pair of sunglasses resting atop of their heads. They had managed to time the arrival of the lift perfectly, leaving no more waiting for your brother and you than necessary.

Everyone stayed slightly throughout the short ride. There was no reason for any form of conversation, each saving that for later in the day when the need placed itself in front of you.

Unsurprisingly, the lift had not lengthened its short arrival on the ground floor. You were the first to exit, a game of follow the leader ensuing so you could arrive at the poolside in one piece.

The foreign sun was soon to introduce itself to your skin, the heat that radiated off it being unlike any that you had previously felt. It snaked through your coverup, surpassing any defence that your sunscreen had placed, with ease. You all chose a row of five with your mother on the farthest end so she could be next to you.

Your dad was the one who lost the coin-toss, swiftly forced to collect you each a drink. Though, Oliver opted out of having one instead b-lining straight towards the pool just like he did when he was only eight years younger.

A certain peace encapsulated all of you, the sound of laughter carrying from the families around as the wind passed through all of them, dancing within the palm trees that sat firmly in their allocated areas.

“Well, that’s number one.” Your mum commented, turning her head just in time to catch your confused eyes so she could point to what she was referring too.

You laughed lightly at the sight that met you, your social dad already managing to abandon his prior mission and instead talking to a man he had sat next to at the open bar.

“Only one more to go for you then.” You reminded her before shuffling around slightly to get more comfortable.

She sighed lightly at what you said, “Is it too late to change my bet?”

You didn’t bother to use your words but rather to just slowly nod. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could make out her lightly hitting her leg in a makeshift punishment.

Whispering to herself, your mother lead back down on the sun lounger, feigning a disinterest at what was happening around her. She had pushed her sunglasses up over her eyes, the black coating making it so you could not see where she was looking, no matter how close you were to her.

There was an interest as to what she had managed to notice now so you began your own investigation. Dragging your eyes across the pool area to look for the suspect that had caught her attention, you questioning did not linger for a long time. A familiar set of brunette hair emerged out of the pool, his previously worn cap in hand.

He approached you with swift and sure movements, “I need you to protect this with your life.”

Your mother, who had become attuned to his antics, took the cap from his hands, placing it at her side. Oliver threw her a thumbs up before he went back to whatever he was doing beforehand.

The time passed by quickly, your body succumbing to exhaustion not soon after your brothers confusing request. Your mum had not fully given up when she woke you up, trying to ask you once again what she had prior to catch you out but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t tried before.

She had collected each of you one by one, your dad being the first victim and you the last. Both the men in your small group had become surprisingly hungry during the activities they had decided to do. It left you to realise you had never received that diet coke you had requested, leaving a slight resentment in your dry mouth.

“Have fun with your friend?” Your mum asked her husband, leaving a suggestion for him to add his name into the last slot of the sentence.

“Mark.” Your dad corrected, placing an arm over her shoulder. “And yes, he is genuinely nice. He has two kids as well, same age and everything.”

The doors once again opened with a loud ping, allowing everyone to leave with slow and light steps, the heat draining whatever you all had left.

You each excused yourselves to your rooms, a time limit still managing to be set at how long you had to get ready. Shaking your head as you unlocked your door, gathering your shower supplies from your suitcases before heading straight for the bathroom. You stripped off out of your bikini, making sure to throw your freshly washed hair into a bun as you turned the water onto cold, allowing it to fall over your body and wake you up slightly.

It was only a brief shower, doing all the necessary hygiene routines before reaching out to turn off the shower and grab a towel.

Having made the silly decision not to unpack earlier on, a mess slowly gathered in your room as you attempted to neatly sift through to find an acceptable outfit. It conveniently led at the very bottom of the suitcase; a strategy you had previously used that had ended up not going in your favour despite your efforts for it too. You had a longer than average history of being a bad packer that overestimated the amount of energy you would have upon arriving at your location. An unideal duo.

You sat at your desk chair with your outfit on, a small beauty blender in hand as you applied the concealer in the necessary places. There wasn’t a need to do makeup at once due to the one easy activity that you were doing so you chose to keep it light and easy.

For once, you seemed to get your time keeping in check. No one had come banging on your door by the time you were ready, leaving you to dawdle as you went through your bag to check you needed anything.

Your brother leant against the wall beside your room when you exited, phone in hand.

“This holiday is awesome. I met my idol today.” He whispered to you when he noticed your presence.

“Oh yeah? Did you fangirl?” You asked with a mischievous tone that was meant to mock him, but he was too much of a way through cloud nine to have the ability to notice that.

Oliver moved his head from side to side, deciding on his answer. “Slightly. Didn’t recognise him at first but when I did, I built up the courage to talk to him and it was great. Played a bit of water-polo with them and everything.”

“Is that the Alexander guy?”

His face dropped at your words, not one attempt to hide the strong snarl on his face succeeding, “Alexander guy? Seriously?”

“I don’t know football.” You defended with a shoulder raise leaving him to roll his eyes.

“No. It was someone else you wouldn’t know.” Oliver corrected. “We can count mum out of the bet, right?”

He fiddled around with putting his phone away in his pocket as he spoke, lowering his tone at the small chance that you dad had decided on hiding out to scare the pair of you.

“Of course.” You responded with an ‘obviously’ look which this time he had managed to notice though you did lay it on thicker than what you would usually prefer to do.

Oliver was about to give you a rude response when your parents called the both of you over, blissfully ignorant as to whatever was going on. They pressed the button to wait for the lift, striking up a conversation as to what might be best to do tomorrow.

The restaurant was a larger walk away than you all had anticipated when you had finally gotten downstairs. You walked what felt like all the hotel’s property before you finally arrived at the desired location. The sound of multiple conversations happening at one echoing throughout your ears. Though it was beginning to step back from its leading position, the sun’s heat lingered throughout the air, latching to your bare flesh as you walked through it in attempt to find a free table. The artificial light waved towards you, reflecting off every window that you passed, its brightness making you feel as though you would need sunglasses to get through this dinner.

A table of six was clear in front of you, allowing you to get off your feet, the pain beginning to get worse the more you walked. Despite being busy, the restaurant was yet to be full to its capacity, though the way people scattered themselves all over the place gave the image that it was.

Taking your seats, everyone picked up their own menu, decisively dragging their eyes across the busy piece of laminated paper. Discussions ensued about if anyone would be willing to share anything, everyone taking turns to list out their options. Your mum and you decided upon getting a sharing platter, neither of you particularly hungry.

The waiter soon made his rounds to your table, politely introducing himself being writing down your orders in his black, tarnished notepad.

Steady conversation ensued for the rest of the night, someone always having an opinion to share or a new topic to branch of off.

It was dark by the time you left on full stomachs; the majority of the restaurant’s guests having emptied out as well. The walkway lit with more soothing lighting, the yellow tone inciting tranquillity as birds sung their final song of the day.

Heels moved in harmony with one another, whispered conversations shared between one another as you all walked.

“Mark invited us to join him for a couple drinks at the pool, who feels like coming?” Your dad offered up, a chorus of agreement coming from the rest of your family. It wasn’t ideal for you to be doing this but since everyone else had already decided upon going, you left yourself with no choice but to go.

You allowed him to show you the way around once everyone had got going again. Your strides were steady, passing people with a friendly smile as you began to approach the pool once again. It was completely empty, towels still lead on sun loungers, most simply thrown on top and others folded.

The moon shone brightly, the almost full appearance it boasted being far too beautiful to not take a second to appreciate. A gentle wind still blew past your shoulders, forcing the heat that claimed its position in the air, into your already boiling body.

Flowers surrounded the edge of the resort in unity, insignificant amounts beginning to bloom and other having reached their time but all managing to stay equally as beautiful. Healthy grass filled every gap needed, helping to make the walkway look fuller.

Each one of you expressed your confusion as to where this supposed planned meet up was taking place though a short walk soon answered your silent questioning.

Music spilled out from speakers that positioned themselves perfectly around the bar to cause the least disturbance. Table came in few though most came empty. Instead, people gathered around the barrels that had barstools pushed up against them. Most opted not to use the provided branded coasters, their cold pints of beer placed rebelliously against the wooden top.

“There you are!” The man that was supposedly Mark walked up to your dad, a fist-bump taking place between the pair. “Thought you might have opted out of coming.”

“Never mate. I don’t turn down an enjoyable time.” Your dad laughed along with him. “This is the family.”

He introduced you all one by one, pointing to make it certain as to who he was talking about. You waved when it was your turn to, a small smile formed of regret making its way onto your face.

“Nice to meet you all.” Mark said, turning his body over to where his wife and sons sat. Or at least that’s what he said, your vision unable to do its only job due to your mum standing directly in front of you.

Not that you minded, the quicker you could get out of there the better.

There was no other chance given, however. Your mothers firm grip that enclosed your wrist always keeping you right by her side. She had dragged you over to the table before you could count to ten to complete the first deep breath you were having to take.

Your brother and his newly made friend recognised one another in an instance, taking themselves elsewhere to your and his mum’s displeasure. They called out a demand of ‘staying close’ though it was to no usage, the effort to do that wasting itself within a matter of seconds.

That seemed to make you mum far more hyperaware of your presence, her hand that held your wrist dragging you down into the seat next to her as everyone got acquainted.

“Sweetheart, do you want anything to drink?” Your dad asked you, taking a break from his walking away. Mark was steps ahead, not realising your fathers lack of presence.

You shook your head, “I’m not going to stay long so no thank you.”

Feeling your mums’ eyes linger on you in question, you turned to look at Denise. Her and your mum were partway through a conversation, your parent’s ability to be social being a skill you had not inherited nor developed.

“My Jude was just the same but if you look at him now, you would never be able to tell.” Denise stated, her hands moving around everywhere to emphasise her unknown point.

The singular usage of his name was enough for you heart to begin working harder, oxygen catching itself inside of your throat. It was a conditioned response that you had picked up many months ago, but it was hard not to feel silly at the mere coincidence that managed to weasel itself to directly in your eyeline.

“Sorry, forgive me. Is that your oldest?” Your mum questioned, familiarising herself with the bloodline of this new family.

Denise cracked a smile, “Yes. He should be here any minute now, he just had to take a call.”

Words seemed to blur around the edge of your consciousness for the minutes that passed, none of your interest managing to fixate onto the new topic the conversation had taken on.

Yet again, your father was yet to make a return. Though when you heard a loud roar travel through the crowd, it seemed to follow with hours before in the fact that it was no surprise. He had managed to find a television with the latest rugby match on and there was no method of drawing him away from it that any of your family had learned.

“Sorry about that. Oh.”

That voice. That same voice that was so deeply connected to the name.

No choices other than paralysing any movement your body could make could be handed to you, your eyes not daring to look up from their decided position whilst your arms seized with every muscle grabbing a hold of their closest friend.

It was an indescribable feeling that injected itself into your icy veins. One that you had never been subjected to. Your body seemed to become unfamiliar with the very organs that had been inside of you your whole life, disconnecting your brain from everything it could.

“Ah, Jude! There you are.” Denice began, the sound of wood creaking crawling throughout the bones that sat in your body. “This is Debbie and her daughter y/n.”

There wasn’t anything to shock you more that the fact that months of demanding work to just move on from him and his featherlight touch could undo itself with such little effort. A quick release knot that hadn’t even been pulled on before it began unravelling.

A short jab to the flesh that sat on the arm to your right brought you out of the tsunami wreaking havoc onto your mind.

“Nice to meet you.” He had a small voice crack, clearing it with a short cough of his throat. “Both.”

Looking up through the hoods of your eyelids, the skin around your nail falling victim to your painful habit, you mustered a miniature lifting of the sides of your lips to seem polite enough.

His eyes firmly watched you, for once not a care in the world as to who could possibly see.

The final word he spoke encouraged itself to hold the power of erasing your history, at least to your families. The same ones that both of you had sworn to meet countless times. Though, unfortunately for Jude, nothing nor no one, not even him, could ever deal with the weight of magically pushing away the indifference that lingered heavily between the pair of you.

Re-finding your words, you pushed yourself up from the chair that you sat him, your eyeline cutting out the man that stood on the side of the table.

“I’m going to head up.”

A panic set through Jude. That very same emotion bearing the power of his next actions. He could offer to walk you up to your room, he wanted to offer that. The words failed at exiting out of his throat, claiming a form of stage fright had developed.

He watched helplessly as everyone but him bid you a goodnight. His skin that concealed him so heavily began to heat up, his eyes being the only part of him that claimed its freedom.

They continued to trail you as you walked down towards the resort though his legs refused to cooperate.

“Are you sitting down?” Denise looked at her son suspiciously, her lips forming a strict straight line.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

[walkman-cat]

by this of course i mean that we've put darcy in triple denim and lizzie in tasteful double denim

a friend and i have been given Power (costume designers for my school's production of pride and prejudice) (it's like the baz luhrmann romeo and juliet except it's pride and prejudice and set nebulously in the 1980s) and we are using it for Evil (pride and prejudice: denim edition)

[chubbycelebs]

Unlocking Inner Pig

Louis was your average 28 year old man, to an extent. He had a pretty normal office job that got him enough money to live a comfortable but simple life. He lived in a mid rise flat nothing too special. He still occasionally slept around with men he’d see at clubs. However Louis still looked very young for his age. As he was approaching 30 the skinny guy still looked fresh into university. His body had not changed at all since he was 18. He would look at his friends and see them all with hairy chests bigger arms, even a few of them with big bloated bellies that pushed at the old shirts they wore. Louis would go home and look at his skinny frame. Yes he could still see his abs but his arms were so small. His legs and ass so tiny. He longed to be bigger.

One hot summer evening, Louis and his friends were all relaxing in the park. They laid on their shirts catching a tan on their bodies. Louis stood out as the skinniest one there. He looked over at his friends. The odd one or two of them were quite in shape, still sporting faint abs and some muscle in their chest but the rest all had rounded soft hairy guts that guttered up to the sky as they lay back soaking in the sun. Louis looked at his own body, feeling his ribs and bones instead of muscle. One of Louis friends turned over to him and saw him rubbing his body. “You alright mate?” His friend Liam said. Louis took a long sigh and looked at Liam. “Not really. I just feel so small and skinny all the time. Especially laying next to all you guys.” Louis said gesturing to the rest of the group. “You should count your self lucky mate. We all getting fat” Liam said slapping his belly “and you look like you never left uni.” “Well that’s the issue. I’m nearly 30 and still look 18. I just wanna be bigger.”

Liam took a long hard look at his mate. He looked him up and down and then down again really taking in his skinny body. “Well I could always try and help you out if you want. Try and put on some weight if that’s what you want.” Louis face lit up. “Really you’d help me out?” “Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“YES YES PLEASE”

After the boys had finished laying out in the sun all afternoon, they decided to walk back home and settle down for the evening. On the walk back, Louis and Liam decided to split from the group and go into a small fast food place. Louis looked up at the menu then looked at Liam waiting for his input. “You sure you want this mate? We are getting old enough now where a second on the lips is a lifetime on the hips” Liam said with a slight worrying glance at his slim friend. Louis nodded and the two boys stepped forward to order. “Two portions of chips please and a triple cheese burger please” Liam said handing over a tenner and a fiver to the man at the counter. After about 5 minutes a small bag was placed on the counter and then two men carried on their walk back to Louis house. Once they got in Liam placed the food on the table and then went to get a drink from the fridge. He saw that Louis had a pack of beers and decided to grab them. He placed them on the table too. Louis sat down and unpacked his food order. He started picking at the chips as Liam grabbed a beer and opened it up, taking a large swig from it. “Make sure you have these bud” Liam said patting the pack of beer. “Good for building you up.” Louis reached over and grabbed a beer, cracking it open and taking a sip. Liam sat down and the two boys were just chatting about everyday stuff as Louis made his way through the food. Louis didn’t show any sign of being full until he got most the way though his triple burger. As he reached the last few bites he really started to feel it. He stretched and groaned and started to rub his extended gut. He tried to ignore it but the mounting pressure in his stomach was distracting him from his conversation. Just as he was about to give up, Louis felt a rumble in his stomach. He placed a hand on the top of his gut as it trembled. He felt something rise up making his way back to his mouth. His lips parted and a huge belch interrupted conversation. Louis went slightly red in the face. “Better out then in mate” Liam sniggered “you’ll have a bit more room to finish off your food now.” Liam was right. Louis belly felt much more at ease and he finished off the rest of food and chugged back the rest of his beer. The two boys spent the rest of the night getting slowly more drunk as they got through the whole pack of beers. By 2am Louis was passed out on the sofa. Liam looked over at his skinny friend. His thin torso was stretched out pushing against his shirt. Liam knew that his mates skinny body would never last now. Once a man gets a taste for going to bed bloated and full they always will. It won’t be long till Louis joins the ranks of other 30 year olds with a belly.

The next morning, Louis woke feeling groggy from all the food and beer he’d eaten. He stretched upwards and collapsed back on the sofa. His hands moved to his stomach which still felt kind of bloated. He rubbed it slowly as he started to wake up more. He couldn’t see Liam in the sun filled living room and assumed he’d gone home when he had passed out. Louis kept rubbing his belly. Thoughts raced through his mind. Thoughts of his gut getting bloated again. Getting more full than ever before. Then thoughts of the bloat turning to soft squishy fat. Rubbing his belly and watching his fingers squish deep into his fattening gut. As these thoughts raced he moved his hand further down, pushing it through the waist band of his boxers to touch his morning wood. The thought of his dick slowly disappearing from sight as his belly grows bigger and bigger. He starts to rub his cock slowly as more thoughts of his chest swelling up, his ass blowing through his jeans, his thighs shredding his boxers all filled his mind. For some reason after last night he became obsessed with the idea of getting fat instead of big and muscly. One night of stuffing his face and he was took with the idea of growing jiggly all over. He started to pump his dick harder and faster, letting out a few moans as the idea of him becoming overweight filled his mind. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He was moaning so loud as he got closer to climax. His cock was ready to blow. The door the living room started to be pushed open. Louis looked over but it was too late. His cock exploded all over his belly and he moaned loudly as Liam stepped through the doorway with a large plate of food. Louis quickly tried to cover his belly with his shirt only for the cum to soak it and show through. “Omg I’m so sorry you saw that. I thought you’d gone and I was just letting off some steam and-“

“Louis it’s fine lol. We all get like that don’t worry bout it. Just wished you’d given me a bit more warning before I walked in haha” Liam laughed as he sat down on the sofa and placed the large McDonald’s breakfast order in front of Louis. Louis felt so embarrassed, rubbing his shirt to try and distract from the cum that had soaked through it. “Bloody hell Louis just take your top off I don’t care. I’ve seen worse. Bloody Niall looks like a hairy baby elephant every time he gets shirtless you look fine.” Louis was still apprehensive to take his top off but decided to do so, rubbing the rest of the cum off his stomach as he did. “Now dig into this. Thought you’d be hungry this morning and you wanted big so here. Enjoy.” On the plate were two bacon egg and sausage McMuffins, 3 hash browns, 2 breakfast wraps and a large milk shake. “I don’t think I’m that hungry to be honest.” Louis said still covering his bloat in shame. “I think I’ll eat later on toda-“ he was interrupted by the sound of his own stomach rumbling loudly to the smell of the breakfast food. “I think your stomach thinks different eh big guy? Just tuck in.” Liam said standing up. “I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll be surprised if any of that is left when I get back” he said under his breath as he left the room, pulling off his shirt which displayed his own figure. His soft stomach slightly jiggled as he walked, covered on thick hair, going from the top of his jiggly chest to the waist band of his boxers. Louis looked at his hairless, fatless body and a pang of jealously coursed through his veins. He grabbed the McMuffin and stuffed it into his mouth. The routine of Louis stuffing his mouth full of fast food continued for many weeks. Liam would usually come round once a week after a whole group gathering and check up on Louis’ progress, just with asking simple questions making sure he was eating big. The first evening of stuffing his belly had awoken something in Louis. He now couldn’t stop eating. If he was doing anything he was doing it eating food. His inner pig was out for good now and he couldn’t contain it. His body now started to show signs of change happening. His once toned skinny stomach had melted away. He now had a soft lower belly, a spate tire that wrapped around his lower body. It pushed out over the waist band of his boxers and was obviously seen through any shirt. His chest started to soften too, his nipples are pushed outwards growing in size and softness. Slowly they began to droop onto his growing gut. The rest of his body saw changes too. His arms thicker up, his ass had doubled and his legs also began to touch as he walked. By the end of summer he had transformed his summer bod already into a dad bod so quickly. By the end of summer, the group of lads thought it be best to go shopping for some winter clothes as the weather started to drop quickly. Louis showed up with a hoody over his body, hiding the changes. After looking around the shop for a bit they needed to try on their new clothes. In the changing rooms they all went and all got changed. One of the more in shape boys left his changing room first and all the boys looked at his new outfit, all poking their heads out of their changing rooms, or even standing out just in their boxers to get a look. Here is when one of the boys called out about Liams body.

Liam had been getting softer for a while now so that wasn’t news to anyone, but since spending so much time with Louis and his fattening routine, Liam had also packed on the weight. His belly now poked out to the point it sagged slightly over his boxers, his chest looking more like tits and his back was lined with rolls leading the eye to the dump truck of an ass he had grown. As the attention went onto Liam one of the boys went up to him and shook its belly telling him how fat he’d gotten. “Age has gotten to you now huh fat boy?” ”Your not young forever look at that belly” “I remember when you had a six pack on school.” “You fat fuck what have you done to your self!?” The boys hurled jokingly abuse at Liam. Liam took it lightly only going slightly red, and even joining in on the mocking, shaking his belly and taking handfuls of his hairy fat gut. However Liam got a glimpse of Louis body. He still had his jeans on but his tank top was sitting tight across his bloated gut. Usually he can get away with his gain not being noticed but the fact he’d stripped down to his tank top and also just ate a family sized meal before coming out made his soft belly look much bigger. Liam locked eyes with Louis and grinned menacingly.

“Omg look at Louis. He’s finally a fat fuck.” Liam pointed at Louis as he shouted that. Louis was in shock. He never thought he’d point it out to the group his weight gain. The boys all wiped their heads around to see if what Liam was saying truth. To their surprise, the once skinny man had in fact developed a fully fledged belly. “Omg what happened to you?” “You FINALLY got fat? Fuck” “Holy shit dude you let your self go FAST.” Liam had successfully turned the abuse off of him and onto Louis. As Louis stood there getting poked and slapped and jiggled he put on a brave face, for deep inside he was absolutely livid at Liam. Liam just stood there grinning watching as Louis was played with and mocked.

That evening when Louis and Liam started walking back to Louis house, they walked in silence. Louis was so mad at Liam for exposing his weight gain and telling the whole group about it just because he was insecure that he got fat too. They both walked into Louis house and sat on the sofa. Louis visibly displayed his anger on his face. Liam didn’t understand what was wrong. “So you wanna order some food then?” Liam pipped up after an uncomfortable silence.

“Oh you just wanna fatten me up some more so ya?” Louis spat back at him. Liam looked confused and made a confused noise at him. “Oh don’t act all incident. You’ve been coming doing here every week buying me fattening foods and telling to stuff my gut full. It’s your fault I’ve got tits for pecs now. It’s your fault my hips don’t fit into jeans. It’s your fault I’m carrying around this FAT FUCKING BELLY!” Louis ripped off his tank top and grabbed his gut shaking it. He was red in the face he got so angry. After shacking his belly in Liams face, Louis collapsed back into his sofa seat. “I never even wanted to get fat. I wanted to get bigger. You’re just fucked in the head and fattened me up for your own sick and twisted fantasy.”

Liam had enough of this. He stood up. “You didn’t want this huh? So it wasn’t you I caught wanking off to your own full fat stomach. It isn’t you that stuffs your face six out of seven nights a week. It isn’t you that looks in the mirror every morning grinning as you realise you’re getting closer and closer to finally busting your fat ass through your old underwear. It’s not my fault you regret exchanging your twink body for some fat hogs.” Louis looked at Liam with his mouth slightly agape. Liam now pulls off his shirt too and grabs a handful of his huge gut. “Do you think I want this too? Huh? Do you think I wanted to get fucking obese just cos you wanted to get fat. No but it’s my fault cos I’m greedy and could resist eating big like you do. At least I admit when I’m a fucking pig instead of pinning the blame on some other hog like you.” Liam grabbed his top and started to walk out the room. “I hope you find peace being a fat fuck. I’m leaving. Gonna get a maccies to release the stress now.” Liam mumbled as he stomped out the house and slammed the door. Louis sat there in shock. What had just happened.

It took Louis about a week to process what happened that evening. Him and Liam hadn’t spoken since and the other boys made no effort in getting the two to hang out together. Louis was thinking about what Liam had said about him wanted to get fat. Louis was confused. He enjoyed getting fat but was that want he wanted? He felt such same when everyone noticed his fattened body. Surely he would be proud of it if he truly wanted to be fat. Louis came to the conclusion that he wanted to give the gym a go. See if being muscly was the craving he desired.

For the autumn months, Louis spent a lot of time alone. He’d still eat pretty big but mostly focused on hitting the gym hard everyday. He needed to work off that fat Liam had forced onto him. It took time but eventually the spare tire was eventually shaved down to a slight gut, hardly noticeable compared to his bigger arms and tighter chest. After all this time he had started to achieve what he wanted to achieve. He was bigger finally and even his body hair started to come through. But he still felt unsatisfied with this transformation. He caught him self longingly staring at fat hogs in the gym that desperately tried to get rid of their bulk. He craved the evenings where he’d be in a food coma and his distended belly was sticking out. He missed the feeling of getting bigger and feeling his clothes hug tight to his body. Was Liam right? Had he always really desired becoming fat and joining the ranks of other men his age. Louis thought of Liam and how he has transformed over the summer and gone from overweight to obese. Louis struggled to contain him self at the thought that maybe he could follow suit. Louis left the gym immediately, still shirtless and in his shorts running to his car. He raced round to the nearest fast food place and ordered a jumbo family sized portion of food. That night he ate like he was the king. As he ate his final chip and came all over his belly he knew this was the life he wanted. He knew he couldn’t rest till he was huge.

Oh how Louis missed this. He missed the feeling of his fat gut pushing his clothes to their limits. He missed rubbing his soft gut to release an earth shattering belch. He missed stepping on the scales and seeing that number rise every single day. Being fat was his calling. He was destined to be a hog and that he would do. Evening after evening he would spend stuffing his face with food. As Christmas came and went he made sure to fill his belly with as much sweet fattening food he could get his hands on. His family were shocked by his weight gain to start with but by the end of his stay were happy that he had finally filled out. One of his uncles had a long conversation to him one evening when everyone had gone to bed. It was just Louis and his uncle sat in the living room sipping on the last few drops of their beers, both men having swollen guts that guttered out in front of them. His uncle told him the story of how when he was in his 20s he was sooooo skinny and nothing he could do would make him out on weight. But just one day the weight started piling on and how it’s never stopped since. Louis looked at his uncle, a very large fella. He always made fun of him self for how fat he’d gotten but it wasn’t till this evening that Louis saw himself in him. He looked down at his softening body and was proud to say he was following in his uncles footsteps.

Soon after Christmas Louis was trying on some clothes when it suddenly hit him that he had grown too fat for them now. He looked at him self in the mirror with his gut pressed so tightly against his shirt he’s surprised he hasn’t ripped through it yet. His belly was empty and already looked soo big. Louis felt the pressure build in his underwear. He couldn’t contain it anymore he needed someone to fatten him up.

Louis had dabbled in some gaining content online and he had heard of “grommr” a gaining dating site of sort. He knew in this moment that he may as well give it a go and see if he could get someone over quick to help bust out of his clothes. As his account finished setting up and started searching for feeders in the area. He found a very handsome chap called Harry. His profile was filled with photos of his hard muscly body pressed against fat hogs soft piggy body. He decided to shoot him a quick DM and almost got an instant message back.

-Louis: hey Harry! You look insane and love what you’ve done to those men. Mind filling me up like that?

-Harry: lemme see what I’m working with and I’ll be over in 5.

Louis takes his too off and trousers and lays on the bed in just his size small boxers. They were stretched so tight across his thighs and ass that they were basically see through. Louis snaps a photo of his belly resting on his lap, his chest dropping slightly onto the gut and his love handles pushing his body wider.

-Louis: This enough to work with?

-Harry: Damn. You’re already a fat piggy huh? Well prepare to become a fucking hog when I’m down with you.

No longer than 5 minutes later Louis heard a knock on the door. Louis, still on his underwear, jiggled his way to the door to unlock it. As he opened the door, the man that stood before him was not the one he expected. Harry on his profile had rippling abs, thick strong chest and moved into his big arms. His body was always contrasting the fat ones in the photos so why did the man in front of Louis also look like a fat hog. Harry looked to be around 250lbs of pure fat. His belly pressed tight to his band tshirt that was far too small for him, his love handles peaking out the bottom of the hem. His skinny jeans were skin tight to his thick thighs and fat ass. His double chin was pretty prominent.

Harry could sense the stares he got from Louis. “It’s me Harry! I know I look different than my profile. I did used to be very ripped and in shape but one feeding session the feedee turned into the feeder and I just couldn’t stop going back. Sorry I’m not who you thought I was but I hope you don’t mind this piggy feeding you up?” Louis was overwhelmed with how horny he was now. He pulled Harry in and immediately ripped his clothes off. The two hogs went at each other all day. Harry filling Louis up with as much fattening food as he could get his hands on. Louis was exploring Harry’s insanely sexy large body. They spent all day eating, drinking, touching, and fucking. Louis had never felt anything like this before. The feeling of being so full and having someone else’s full gut pressed against your back as they thrusted deeper into your fattened asshole. He had never felt something so erotic then being stuffed with muffins as he moaned loudly with every thrust into his ass cheeks. Louis thought he couldn’t get more full but once Harry released his load into him, he felt his belly surge forward even more. Louis was left sweating, panting and groaning as he lay on his bed naked and fattened up. Why did he ever wait this long to have sex with a fatty.

Once Harry left Louis did some thinking. He missed Liam. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year. Louis imagined Harry being Liam, having his huge hairy body pressed against his. He didn’t even know if Liam was fat anymore. He knew the rest of the boys all kept steadily gaining weight, even the ones that kept in shape started to soften up as we all approached 30. He could only imagine how big Liam could be. Did he ever think of how large Louis could be by now. Even thought Liam was living rent free in Louis mind, he could never reach out after everything he said to him that evening. After all that and for Louis to just get fatter and fatter still, there’s no way Liam would ever forgive him. He had to move on.

So the next 6 months Louis spent with Harry. The two would hook up every week, ensuring that Louis was gaining an appropriate amount of weight every time they met. Their sex was incredible and the results on Louis body, well they spoke for them selves.

Louis had fully transformed into a huge obese man. He never thought this could be possible. He remember back when he was skinny and how desperately he wanted to put on even ten pounds and now he was well known his way to three hundred pounds.

As Christmas came and went and winter final started to turn to spring, the group of lads decided it would be a good time to meet up for a shopping trip, to start their summer wardrobe. When Louis got the text about this meet up, he was skeptical if he was going to go or not. This time a year and a half ago was the last time he had seen most of the boys. He was made fun of last time for sporting a dad bod but now Louis looked like he’s non stop stuffed him self for the past year and a half (which he basically had done). He also thought about Liam and how if he was to show up they might end up fighting again. He didn’t wanna lose his friend again. But even though he was scared to go, Louis agreed. Plus he actually needed more summer clothes, he’s grown out of all of last years ones by nearly one hundred pounds.

The boys all met at the fast food place next to the shops. Liam was one of the last ones to show up. He opened the door to the restaurant and saw that Liam wasn’t there. He was slightly disappointed about this but he didn’t let it get him down. As he approached the table however he did notice how all the other guys around the table seemed to have suffered the same fate as himself. Not one of them resembled the fit toned jocks from their uni days. Every single one was most definitely overweight if not obese. As Louis approached the boys turned around and started shouting. “Look even this skinny thing couldn’t escape obesity.” “Haha Louis look at ya! You’re huge!” “Think he’s the biggest one here hahaha” The boys hadn’t changed. They still poked fun at him for his weight. But Louis didn’t mind it this time. Maybe it was due to the fact that yes he was the biggest one there but they weren’t far behind him. They all were big fat fellas now.

They all sat down and started to order food when the sound of the door to the restaurant sounded. The boys all turned around and Louis heard the yelling of “Liam omg haha look at you!” “Shit dude you let your self go!” “You’ve gotta be nearly 400lbs mate what happened?” Louis turned around and his mouth hit the floor. Liam was huge, beyond huge. Louis couldn’t even imagine how he got that big over that period of time. Louis looked longingly at Liam as Liam locked eyes with him before scanning Louis body up and down. Louis looked down and thought about what Liam would be thinking looking at him. He begged to know what he’d say. Liam sat down and after a few more jokingly jabs at Liams extreme gain, the boys decided to order food.

Louis had never seen so much food get devoured so quickly before in his life. All these fat hungry men polished off their plates in minutes leaving not a crumb. They spent the meal chatting and catching up with each other. Louis and Liam hadn’t interacted once. After the meal was over the fat man group decided to waddle over to the clothes shop. They spent ages joking about the old shirts they used to wear and how their new big bodies would destroy them in seconds now.

The time came for the boys to try on their clothes. They all filed into the changing rooms. Louis had taken off his too and started to put on a button up when he heard the door to his room be opened. He turned around and saw Liam stood there in his underwear. Louis heard began to race at the sight of him. Liams body has just exploded with lard. His belly hung down with his chest sitting on top his big gut. His legs and ass were so thick they couldn’t avoided touching. He truly had transformed into a huge hog of a man he used to be. “I wanna talk Louis” Liam said with a slightly saddened look on his face. Louis just nodded not having the strength to muster up words. “I’ve missed you. I regret how I spoke to you that evening but you had to listen to what I was saying. It wasn’t my fault but I felt so guilty after that night. As you can see I’ve put on a few” with this comment Louis giggled slightly “well maybe more than a few. But I just couldn’t stop eating cos I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I worried that after what I said you’d lose the weight and stop gaining but I’m so happy to see that isn’t true. You look good.”

Louis finally found the words to respond. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You were right. I wanted to get fat. And I enjoy being fat. But I also enjoyed you getting fat with me. I’ve missed you making sure I was eating everything, drinking every last beer. But I miss you stuffing your face as well and we’d touch bellies every so often. I missed when we had our little secret to get fat. Obviously now everyone’s fucking huge so no need for the secret part but I’d like to do that again with you. Feel our bodies change together again.” Louis stepped closer to Liam just close enough so their hairs on their bellies brushed slightly. Liam didn’t even think twice before pushing him self onto Louis and passionately making out with him.

After that day Liam and Louis became inseparable. They spent every day together feeding each other pleasing each other making sure they both were loved and fed. Liam gained so much weight he could hardly move and Louis blew up massively. He’d always imagined being big but the size of him now was unimaginable. Now sitting at around 600lbs Louis had become the huge big fat guy he had longed to be in his late twenties. Now on his early thirties he had finally found peace in his life and in his new body and he couldn’t be happier with his morbidly obese partner Liam. After years of confusion and gaining the two finally lived fattening ever after.

Thank you so much if you read this story! It has taken me a long time to write it and I really loved how it turned out. I hope you guys enjoyed it too. For any more story ideas pls let me know. I’m happy to do them if they strike my interests! Thank you again!

[harveywritings92]

Medic! Reader:  Excuse me, I've been washing your blood off my armor so I'm a little late to the conversation. Did you say the prisoner is awake?

Gaz: For now, but I've got a fiver that says Ghost or König rips his spine out within the hour.

Soap: I'll take those odds.

R/n: I see. If you don't mind, do you think I could have a few minutes alone with him?

Hutch: Ha, you gonna give him a band aid for every beating he gets?

R/n: Well if you recall, him and Shepard turned every one of my friends at back at that army outpost into piles of ash. Anyone sick enough to do something like that would almost certainly benefit from a uh...checkup.~

[Hutch and Price  look at each other in confusion. Cut to R/n and the thug inside the temporary base.]

Thug, tauntingly: Ooh, What’s the matter? Did the big bad task force get all tuckered out?

R/n: Do you know where we are?

Thug: Huh?

R/n: This is a remote research facility designed to study the surrounding wildlife. I volunteered at one just like it at grad school. Its got a laboratory, an incinerator and oodles of state of the art surgical equipment. Would you like to see them?

[Cut to the 1-4-1 and KorTac members standing outside the base whilst listening to the tortured screams of the thug, various equipment noises and R/n cheerfully singing opera.]

Soap, nervously: Price... I’m scared.

Price: Soap, we're all scared. …except for those two. 

Hutch: Yeah, they look ready to propose to the lil’psycho!

[Hutch and Price point at König and Ghost who look like love sick puppies. They had no idea their girl was capable of such violence. The noises stop and R/n emerges from the base.]

R/n, wiping her bloody hands with a hanky: (cheerfully) His name's Zachary Miller, he's ex-military, and he was kind enough to hand over the coordinates to a nearby radio jamming tower.

Horangi: You're kidding.

R/n: No silly, I'm Reader! Ha! Bad joke.

Price: Alright, think he’s in a position to answer a few more questions?

R/n: Oh absolutely!~ (lowers voice) Lemme just go put him back together...

[sixosix]

GENSHIN IMPACT.

# XIAO

( 1 ) something happens

drabble / 1.7k words. verr goldet and huai'an playing matchmaker, basically

( 2 ) wasted time

drabble / 500 words. talks a lot x listens trope, but with xiao

# WANDERER / SCARAMOUCHE

( 1 ) patching you up

drabble / wc 500. you're injured, and wanderer is there to help—not of course without a bit of snark here and there.

( 2 ) flustered

drabble / wc 600. wanderer proves that he can fluster you.

( 3 ) clingy

drabble / wc 1k. scara shows his true colors when he’s missing you.

( 4 ) softie

drabble / wc 800. scara does, in fact, have a soft spot for animals.

( 5 ) he can fly; you cannot

drabble / wc 700. he makes it his problem.

( 6 ) and his voice is a familiar sound

longfic / wc 5k. forced proximity + childhood friends reuniting.

( 7 ) happy birthday, wanderer!

drabble inspired by wanderer’s 2024 bday mail

( 8 ) pda w/ wanderer

drabble about him and public display of affection

# SHIKANOIN HEIZOU

( 1 ) i drive down different roads | part two

fic / wc 4k. you met a detective once on an unexpected night; fate decides that it won’t be the last time.

“you look so pretty,” the stranger with twin moles murmurs, “like it’d be a crime not to want you.”

# LYNEY

( 1 ) distractions

drabble / wc 600. roommate!lyney annoying you who just want to finish your essay. you fail miserably.

( 2 ) sleight of hand

longfic / wc 8k. local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

( 3 ) kissing him awake

drabble / wc 600. kissing lyney awake doesn't really work.

( 4 ) teapot voicelines

drabble / wc 1.5k. lyney’s teapot voicelines turned fic

( 5 ) overwhelmed

drabble / wc 500. a huge party + reader who is sensitive to the environment + lyney being a sweetheart

( 6 ) sickfic

fic / wc 3k. you take it upon yourself to make it up to lyney when he couldn’t perform on the night he looked forward to the most—and lyney falls a little harder.

( 7 ) kisses

drabble / wc 500. sleepy lyney + kisses all over his face.

( 8 ) sucker

drabble / wc 700. it was not your intention to seduce lyney, really, he was just already so very weak for you.

( 9 ) lovesick and desperate

drabble / wc 900. lyney can't stop staring at your lips.

( 10 ) plastic flowers

fic / wc 1.8k. the great magician lyney wooing nine-to-fiver reader.

# AETHER

( 1 ) jealous

fic / wc 1.5k. aether has been traveling with you long enough for his bottled up feelings to overflow one day. lyney pushes that day closer.

( 2 ) infatuated

drabble / wc 1.5k. mutual pining but aether is a tease and you're an idiot.

( 3 ) accidental

drabble / wc 500. you accidentally kiss him on the lips.

( 4 ) hitting on you

drabble / wc 700. aether (one of the) main character(s) in hit game genshin impact hits on you.

( 5 ) stay, too

fic / wc 2.8k. you were afraid that aether would break your heart, but that all flew out the window the moment he got sick and demanded only you take care of him.

( 6 ) i want you for worse or for better

fic / 2.8k. your ex, aether, invites you to be his plus one at a wedding; you were doomed from the very beginning.

# KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

( 1 ) can i go where you go?

fic / 2.2k words. three times kazuha keeps kissing you on 'accident'

# KAVEH

( 1 ) it was all by design | part two

longfic / wc 10k. when soulmates are given a second chance.

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

# ALHAITHAM

( 1 ) officially swept off your feet

drabble / wc 1.5k. in which everyone knew you were in a relationship, except for you.

# WRIOTHESLEY

( 1 ) one look (meant just for you)

drabble / 700 words. wriothesley visits your home.

[heartstringsduet]

Happy Wednesday. <3 Back again after vacationing and friends-ing. This is a Work Is Posted day for once. Thanks for tagging me last week. I loved reading your snippets.

Your Shotgun rider 'til the day I die Summary: Carlos joins his husband for the concert of his life. A/N: A prompt fill for @carlos-tk 🍵 for the @911actionforgaza. If you are able to, please consider donating to the people still suffering in Gaza. Check out the event list or this vetted list for fundraisers.

Turns out, TK had a right to worry. At the bar, the bartender immediately notices him and asks him for his order and it would have gone so smoothly if it weren’t for the petite girl beside him that the bartender ignored for it. Carlos points at her to go first. She thanks him for it. So do the other five women he lets go in front of him out of a sense of sudden guilt. By the point that he finally orders two mineral waters at the price of half a tank of fuel, he has around five minutes left before TK seeks him out and he has yet to make it through the crowd.

The way out was rough, the way back in makes him clench his jaw until it hurts. At work, he puts the myriads of anxieties he houses away. He used to be better at that in general, before TK came and showed him it was okay to be weak sometimes, that his fears wouldn’t topple him. He puts the armor back on as he apologizes to each dressed up person glaring at him for daring to move past them, but he doesn’t stop.

The first time he can breathe again is when he sees the familiar brim of a cowboy hat that sticks out mostly because it’s a real one, and not one of the cheap neon ones sold in front of the venue for a fiver.

He’s pretty sure TK has moved several feet away from the stage while he was gone. The reason for it becomes apparent when Carlos finally squeezes through to him and sees a group of teenage girls that hadn’t been in front of them before. TK’s eyes light up when he spots him and he pulls at Carlos’ wrist to draw him in closer against the last barricade of people in front of them.

“You made it back!” TK yells over the increasing murmur and music in the background. 

“Told you I’d make it.”

“How many people did you let order in front of you?”

Carlos snorts at being so easily known. “As many as you gave our good spot to so they could see better.”

“Are we like…too good for this world?” TK jokes, wiggling his eyebrows.

To Carlos, TK is. He’ll tell him that later, when he can make sure it can’t be written off easily. Every day, he wants TK to know he is the best thing on this planet. 

[Read More]

OPEN TAG for WIP Wednesday & tag with absolutely no obligation to like or share this btw

@welcometololaland @rmd-writes @carlos-in-glasses

@strandnreyes @reyesstrand @alrightbuckaroo @lemonlyman-dotcom

@butchreyes @americansrequiems @decafdino @tellmegoodbye

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @birdclowns @never-blooms

@freneticfloetry @bonheur-cafe @emsprovisions

@paperstorm @ladytessa74 @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@honeybee-taskforce @sanjuwrites @liminalmemories21

@sapphic--kiwi @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@nancys-braids @pimento-playing-hopscotch @ironheartwriter

@chicgeekgirl89 @goodways @orchidscript

[warlordfelwinter]

i need fiver to sit wuk lamat down for a heart to heart, one person who thought they have to be perfect and unbreakable and do everything alone to another

[lulublack90]

Prompt 29 - Obvious

@rosekillermicrofic September 29, word count 723

Previous part First Jegulus part

Barty could hardly contain his excitement. He’d raced inside the house. He planted a huge smacking kiss on Effie’s face and spun her around the room. 

“I fucking love you,” He declared. 

“Oh, great, I’ve lost him again,” Evan snickered as he and the others entered, Remus finally having caught up with his death-wish boyfriend. Barty dropped Effie and grinned at Evan. 

“She gave me her van, I am eternally hers,” Barty said solemnly, taking Effie’s hand and kissing the back of it as he bowed low to her. 

“Oh, that's a brilliant idea, Mum,” James agreed, hearing what Barty had said as he came through the door, walking over and kissing her on the cheek before getting grabbed into a hug by Monty. 

“Wow, really?” Evan asked, shocked. 

“I’m not using it, and Barty needs one. That’s what family is for, darling,” Effie cooed, pinching Barty’s cheek affectionately. He blushed furiously. 

“Damn, strays,” Sirius joked as he wrapped an arm around Barty and Evan. “Welcome to the family. There is no escape,” He said as Barty and Evans shocked faces.

“Am I included in this?” Pandora asked from behind Regulus. 

“Of course,” Monty pipped up, “I always wanted a daughter,” He wrapped a gentle arm around Pandora and slipped her a fiver. She stared at it, confused. “That’s what parents do when their kids visit,” He whispered loudly to her. Understanding dawned on her face as she slipped the money into her bag. 

“Thank you,” She laughed her sweet tinkling laugh. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Monty let her go and excused himself to go check on the dinner. 

***

Barty was in a good mood for the entire evening, and it showed. Effie had helped him put the van into his name, which meant he could drive it home and not have to worry about getting back into Sirius’s side car. 

He flirted with everyone at the table and did everything he could think of to make Effie smile, though it didn’t take much as she had an almost permanent smile on her face. But as the evening went on, they all began yawing, started by Pandora, who’d snuggled up to Regulus and had her head in his lap as she slept. Barty looked around and found it so hard to believe that on just a few short weeks he’d found all these people. James Potter had a lot to answer for. He felt a rush of love for the people gathered, even Sirius. He glanced at Evan and gently stroked a finger across the back of his hand. He leant in, his lips brushing against Evan’s ear.

“Wanna get out of here?” He asked in a sultry tone. Evan’s pupils darkened, and he nodded, kissing Barty chastely before standing. 

“Well, thank you for a wonderful evening, but I think it’s time we headed out,” Evan said, his eyes flickering to Barty repeatedly. 

“Gods, be less obvious,” Sirius cackled, throwing a cushion at the pair. Barty stuck his tongue out at his sort of friend and made a show of thanking Effie and Monty again for their kindness and promising to come again soon. 

Goodbyes done, Barty basically dragged Evan out to the van. He unlocked it and hopped inside. It smelt amazing. Effie had left a vanilla air freshener in it, and the light scent was calming. He ran his hands over the leather-wrapped steering wheel and started her up. 

She purred happily as she idled. Barty closed his eyes trying to contain his happiness before he carefully pulled the van out of the garage, beeping the horn as he drove out of the driveway and onto the road. She was perfect as so light to drive. His old van had fought him at every turn, but this one slid around them with no bother. He knew the grin on his face must look ridiculous, but he was so damn happy.

He pulled the van into his parking space at their flat and turned the engine off. He stroked his hands over the interior, mapping it in his mind. 

“Are you coming up, or do you want me to leave you two alone?” Evan smirked, his eyebrow arched. Barty laughed at the insinuation but double-checked he’d locked the van before following Evan up the stairs, only checking back over his shoulder once or twice.   

Last part

[asmutwriter]

Are You Scared Yet? (Part 1)

DESCRIPTION: You're a new student at your university. You were smart and dedicated to learning. But every uni student gets up to some crazy things, right?

A/N - I have work tomorrow and instead of going to sleep for my day I'm here writing a fan fic. I make very sensible choices.

WORD COUNT: 2245

Next / Master List

WARNINGS: Reader is an introvert/anti social, mild cussing (bloody/Jesus), reader is a little judgy, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex/nudity

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

Not been proof read

You take a deep breath. Living on campus was new to you so you were quite nervous to say the least. Going into the dorm rooms you hear people chatting around you. Finding your room number. 16. Opening it with the new key you had. You shut the door behind you. Placing your rucksack down onto the chair in your new room.

You’d not been in education for about a year at this point. Having had a gap year to do some exploring so you had to get back into the mindset of doing if. You rst your head back as the door knocks. SOmeone walks in "Oh hey!" your roommate says. Her bubbly personaltiy being a surprise based on the rudeness of some of the other dorm people that you’d bumped into. "Im Lucky" she comes over to you. Hugging you. You gently pat her back before she moves away. Resting a hand on her hip she eyes you up and down.

Your oversized hoodie and jeans being a contrast to her mini skirt and tight shirt. Both leaving very little to the imagination. You wihs you had the confidence to wear something like that. "Im Luna"

"Oh that is a beautiful name" she says, cuaisng you to smile. SHe hugs you again "I think we're going to be best friends" she says. ALmost squealing as she moves away from the hug. "What is it that you're studying?"

"Art and drama"

"Oh my friend did that last year. I tried but got bored. Everything I do mildly creative ends up looking like a toddler did it” you let out a soft chuckle

“So does mine but that doesn’t mean I don’t try to do it”she laughs “what do you do instead then?”

“I do psychology"

"Thats cool. I was debating doing it but decided against it” a knock at the door stops your conversation as she looks owards it

"come in". she says. SOmeone walks in.

"Lucky do you want to come see my new room?" she nods, looking at you as she stands

"DO you want to come?"

"No Im ok tha k you. Ive got to unpack" she looks at your singular rucksack but nods

"ALright then. See you later" she smiles before walking off. You grab your bag. Taking out your various items. Your diary, book, clothes, etc. SOrting it all out onto your bed before putting it away properly on your side of the room.

Youd moved in on the Saturday. Sunday having a few induction days or various groups you could join. Then Monday being peoples first day at uni. Now it was Sunday. After a night in reading yur book. Your roommate coming in during the early hours of the morning, very drunk. You got up early and explored the grounds. Going over to a stall with various cakes and such on it.

You hear someone letting out a groan beside you. "Hi there Luna"

"Did someone have a good time last night?" you look at Lucky standing next to you. Sunglasses on despite the dark weather. SHe nods. Taking the glasses off as she looks at you. A black eye adorning her face. "Jesus what happened to you?"

"I had a terrible fight. With the floor. ANd lost" you let out a slight chuckle as she picks up one of the cupcakes. The lady at the stall going to speak but she shushes her. Walking off. You grab out a fiver from your purse, placig it down and mouthing 'sorry' to her. Catching up with your new friend. SHe bites down into the cake, a moan escaping her lips as she speaks with her mouth full "That is a bloody good cake". SHe looks at you, swallowing before talking again "what did you get up to last ngiht?"

"Nothing in particualr. I read my book, had a shower, then went to bed"

"You should come out with me tonight"

"I have classes early tomorrow morning so I really shouldnt"

"Oh come on. Itll be fun!" she grabs your arm "I can introduce you to some of my friends. I think you'll like one of them. Hes handsome and he likes books to. Plus you have similar fashion tastes. Oh lets look over here" SHe drags you over to a stall. Making small talk with the person behind it. You both go round to the rest of the stalls. Meeting a couple of her other friends.

The day going past quckly. You manage to convicne your new friend to stay in the night. Inviting her and two of her other friends rund. You stay up till quite late. Talking about a whole variety of things. Sadly things that didnt overly interest you. Boys you found cute. WHat lipstick shade was the best. Hair products. Although you found the conversation lacking in intellect you enjoyed the girls company so engaged in the talk with them.

You found one of the girls was also doing art. So you agreed to walk to class together. Her name was Hope. Sitting next to her in class, you found she had a lot higher intellegence then you initially thought when yo first met her. ACtually having a decent conversation with her until your professor walked in. Then every brain cell she seemed to have rotted away as she practicly stared at her. A young woman. Probably early thirties. Eyeliner perfect, hair styled in a way that looked both messy yet neat. You chuckle slightly. You were unaware that this new friend of yours swung that way, and this was certainly an interesting and entertaining way to find out.

"Please can you all call me Destiny. I would go about the formality of you using my doctorate name but we are here to make art. Not have a tea party with the queen. So-" she says. "I want everyone to pick up their pens. Pencils. Paints. Paper mache. WHatever you need to make a piece that says 'I am me'. You have the rest of the day. I will be judging them when you all go home to some sort of party Im sure"

You pick grab out your sketch book and pencils. Starting to trace your art piece. Noticing your friend still drooling over your teacher. You nudge her. Cuasing her to fall out of the trance. SHe looks at you. Her face turning a wonderful shade of tomato red.

"How much of that did you get?"

"Soemthing about her being our destiny"

"Ok then" you laugh. Explaing to your love stricken friend what she needs to do.

Once she listened she started her piece, as did you. You did a simple piece of work. A black and white picture of yourself. Behind it a mass of colour. Tryng to show that although you appeared dull on the outside, you had a lot of fun to show to those who got to know you.

Hope links an arm with you as you leave the lecture. "Are you coming to the party tonight?"

"You know that we're here for education right? ANd npt to drink ourselves to death"

"Oh come on"

"Ive got a very good book and a film to watch though"

"You can do that any day"

"I can have a party any day" she rolls her eyes.

"Come for like... an hour. If you dont like it then you can go back to your room"

"Fine..."

"Yay!" she exclaims. "I'll be round to take ypu and Lucky at 9. SPeak of the devil!" Lucky walks up to you both. Linking an arm with you on the other side. "I was just telling Luna about our party tonight"

"Youre coming?"

"I am" she squeals. Hugging you close to her. You gently pack her back. "You can borrow one of my dresses if youd like?"

"Oh no. Im not wearing a dress"

"Yes. Yes you are" you give her an uncomfortable look "At least wear a skirt".

"Skirt but a hoodie. ANd tights"

"Deal" she holds her hand out for you to shake. To which yo do.

If this was a movie. There would be a cheesy dress up montage. WHere the popluar girl takes off your glasses and straitens your hair and your suddenly beautiful. But this isnt a movie, so you settle with them doing their makeup in your room. Playing various pop music on their 'top of the charts' CD. Putting some mascara on your, as well as a deep blue skirt paired with a grey hoodie and black tights.

You get to the partry. You stand awkwardly in the corner. Watching men and woman get more and more drunk. With each drink they seem to strip too. Leaving a lot of half naked people around you.

Lucky stuck by your side for the first hour. Getting herself drinks. She had gone off to get drinks some more 20 minutes ago and hadnt returned. Hope stuck by your side though. Not drinking, joining you in a joint sober. You did start to enjoy yourself. You were planning on going for an hour but ended up staying for 2. Not a long time compafred to most people but for you, it was a lot of time to socialise.

So you bid your friend farewell. Telling her that you were grwing tired and would see her in class the following day. SHe agrees. Seeming happy that you had a good time. Sad to see you go but understood how introverted you are.

You head back to your dorm room. WHen you get there you see a tie firmly tied around the door handle. Now, you werent necersarily the most outgong person you knew. But you did know what that meant. So you turn tail. Annoyed that your friends had managed to convince you to not take your tote bag with you book in. You guess youd check the university library and see if they had anything in there to read.

Thankfully the library was run by book enthusiasts so was open 24/7. You go inside. Smiling at the lady at the desk as she smiles back to you. You idle down the rows of books. Seeing if any screamed out at you. You found one in the fantasy isle. Picking it up you turn it to read the blurb.

"Id recomoend this book instead" a voice says. Making you jump back at the suddeness of a male voice. You thought it was only you and the librarian (who was a female). "Sorry, didnt mean to startle you"

"No. No its fine. I just wasnt expecting anyine else to be here" you say. Now that you were over your initial scare you take a look at the man. Dark hair contrasting his vibrant blue eyes. Glasses sat comfortably on his nose as he wears a blazer over a vest shirt.

"I wasnt expectinh to see anyone else either. Normally its just me here reading up on studies". DUe to his youthful featrues yete his smart attire you couldnt tell if he meant in a professor or a student kind of study. He seemed to be able to tell your confusion as he continues speaking. "I work here". He outsteetches his hand towards you. "Professor Crane". Yiu take his hand.

"Luna. Like the moon. Ironic given that I often suffer from insomnia" he chuckles. "What do you study then professor?"

"Psychology"

"No way. My friend is studying that! Lucky... I dont know her last name"

"Yes. I know Lucky" he smiles. Obviously not overly impressed by the name drop. "WHat do you study then? Assuming you do come here and havnt just decided to sneak into a unis library"

"I stidy art. Not quite the level of psychology but still good fun".

"WHat made you come here rather then go out and party?"

"I was at a party but I decided to go back to my dorm". He looks around the library. "Oh no. There was a tie on my dorm door. I know how promiscous my roommate is so I just decided to leave her to it".

"Ahh. Well, if your wanting something to read whilst you wait then Id recomend this" he turns. Taking out a book from the shelf and handing it to you. You take it from him, turning it over to read the blurb. "Its a very good stroy line with some strong characters"

"Ive read this author before. Hes a good writer". You place it atop the oteer one youre still holding. "Ill add it to the pile"

"What book is that one?" he motions to the one your holding. "I saw you get it from the fantasy section"

"Its part of a series I read. Not read this one rhoufh. Its about an angel who solves crimes. Using his powers to force people to tell the truth"

"Sounds..."

"Utterly insane?"

"I was going to say interesting but yeah, that sums it uo better" he smiles. "I have taken up enough of your time. I imagine that you are wanting to get back to your reading. So I shall leave you to it Miss Luna. I hope you enjoy your books. And I hope tat your roommate lets you back into your dorm at some point tonight"

"If not then Im sure the librarian wont mind me camping out here" you joke. Causing him to let out a laugh. Adjusting his brief case before turning and walking out.

Next

[minniethemoocherda]

Loving You is a Losing Game

Summary: When Jean and Scott announce that they are expecting, Morph takes Logan on a night about town to drink away their problems.

A/N: Holy shit that last episode??!!!! Morph is my new fav and Morphine is my current obsession!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

Well it had finally happened. Jean and Scott announced that they were expecting a baby.

And as expected, the news sent Logan into another of his lone wolf strops. Morph tried their best to cheer him up with some light sparring and purposefully bad impersonations.

But sometimes the only the way to forget one's issues was to get royally fucked.

Which was why Morph had annoyed their friend into a night on the town.

Morph picked the club because frankly Logan's idea of a nightclub was a watering hole for sad old men and pool tables. The one Morph picked was a little rough around the edges but all the best clubs were and since it was a Friday night, it was five shots for a fiver.

Logan wasn't exactly a nightlife kinda guy, but he did enjoy a drink so Morph had challenged him to a drinking contest. A game Morph was destined to loose, but then they always were when it came to Logan. Especially when unlike their friend they didn't have a super regenerative healing ability that fixed the continuous alcohol poisoning of one's liver.

By midnight however, the pair had drunk enough that even The Wolverine was getting tipsy, to the point that Morph had managed to talk him into a dance.

Well dance was a bit of a stretch. More like Morph was dancing around them whilst Logan stood as stationary as a tree. But Morph could see Logan's left foot tapping along to the beat, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into that soft smirk of a smile and the roll of his eyes as he let Morph use his arms to twirl themselves around. It was more than Morph could have hoped for.

Then of course Morph just had to take it too far and tried to make Logan dip them like a scene from some cheesy rom-com because the idea of The Wolverine doing that for real would be so ridiculous, only to trip over their own drunken feet. They would've banged their head on the dirty dance floor if not for a pair of sturdily strong hands grabbing their waist.

"Had enough to drink bub?" Logan asked from above them, that ever growing smirk haloed by the flashing lights above them.

"Not yet." Morph countered with a smirk of their own, as Logan picked them up and placed them upright again like they were weightless. "Which is why I'm going to get us another round of shots." Morph sing-songed, heading straight for the bar before they did something truly stupid, like put their arms around him.

As they waited for their round of shots, Morph hugged their hips where they could still feel the lingering warmth of Logan's hands.

They hoped nobody would notice the extra fingers in the darkness as they morphed to help carry the drinks back to their friend. This turned out to be a waste of effort as the drinks slipped from their fingers at the sight of Logan chatting up some pretty girl with red hair.

Even after all the drinks they'd had tonight, Morph was not fucked enough to deal with this shit and marched straight for the nearest bathroom. The men's bathroom. Which wasn't the right bathroom. But it never was. And in this form it would have to do.

They usually liked their human form. They knew they looked good. And they liked that in the reflection of the bathroom mirror they could see the eyes of their late mother staring back at them.

But right now, they felt like a puppet wearing an outfit made of a strangers flesh. However for Logan they would endure it.

For Logan, they would do anything.

They thought about going back out to the dance floor. Then they thought about a different redhead. And then they thought about getting another round of shots and another and another and-

A man stumbled into the bathroom. A short, muscular man with a lot of on display blonde hair. Through the glaze of alcohol induced vision, Morph spotted a flash of hunger in the man's eyes.

Now they were usually pretty good at clocking when there is someone like them. The same way they could sometimes just tell that someone is a mutant. But just because they might not wrong, doesn't mean the other won't have a bad reaction.

So Morph smiled and leant against the grimy bathroom mirror, allowing their unbuttoned silk of shirt to highlight the slim curves of their waist.

Music from dance floor could still be heard thumping through the bathroom walls and the other man took a step closer on every beat until Morph could feel his breathe against the exposed skin of their chest.

Then the music changed into something softer and Morph swayed their hips and even though they weren't yet touching so did the man and it was like the pair of them were asteroids slowly circling each other inching closer and closer until they were about to crash and Morph leant down with parted lips and-

BANG

The door slammed open as two much larger yet no less muscular men barged into the bathroom.

Morph barely has time to register the intruders when the man who moment's ago was millimetres away from grinding against their hips shoved them away.

"Get away from me you freak!" He yelled, that hunger in his eyes now burning with hatred and fear.

Morph crashed into the hard tiles of the bathroom wall, an already broken edge cutting through their shirt and ripping a gash down their back.

Over the sudden sting of pain they heard a trio of gasps.

It wasn't until they caught their pale grey reflection in the mirror, that they realised why.

This time when they look back at the man's eyes, the fear has been replaced by absolute revolution. Morph isn't sure which was worse.

"You truly are a freak." The man spat, crowding in on them again, this time with those other two men not far behind him.

Morph sighed.

They had fought Mr Sinister, they could easily deal with three drunk arseholes. Its just that they hadn't been expecting a fight tonight. Although at this point, they don't know why they weren't. It always ended in a fight.

But before Morph could throw the first punch, the two larger men were suddenly thrown through the door of the nearby stall, collapsing in a heap of broken bones and wood.

The first man didn't even have time to react when his face was smashed into the now broken mirror, trapped between two metal claws on either side of his head.

"I could smell that this guy was an ass a mile away." Logan snarled, his middle claw inching ever closer to the man's head.

"Don't!" Morph shouted, placing their hand on their friend's shoulder, feeling the tensed muscle of a predator waiting to pounce. "He's not worth it."

"But you are."

I love you. Morph wanted to say. But couldn't because they were walking on a knife as sharp as The Wolverine's claws and they hoped that Logan wouldn't react the same way as that arsehole did but they could not risk walking off that edge.

So as per usual they make a joke.

"I am not busting your ass out of jail. Again." They said, because as much as Morph honesty did not care about the world loosing three more bigots, they did not want to deal with the shit show of one of the X-men being arrested for a triple homicide.

Morph squeezed Logan's shoulder, like a wire using his body as a conduit to ground his anger. After a moment, the muscles under Logan's skin, loosened as the animalistic urge calmed and Morph couldn't help the sudden rush of realisation that they were the only person on the planet who could calm The Wolverine... aside from Jean of course.

With one last growl, Logan slammed the man's head against the remains of the mirror before dropping his unconsciousness body to the floor.

He then grabbed Morph's wrist and the shape-shifter was too drunk to resist as they were dragged out of the bathroom, back to the dancefloor past the bewildered looks of partygoers who weren't pissed enough to not notice the pair of mutants stalking past and out the club's back door.

Once outside Logan drops their wrist and Morph's sudden chill had nothing to do with the cool night air.

"I thought I told ya not to disappear on me again." Logan said, claws still unsheathed as though prepared to fight off a sentinel trying to steal Morph away again.

"Well I thought that you were busy chatting up that girl." Morph retorted, telling themselves that Logan was this over protective with all of the X-men.

"I was." Logan grumbled, "Until her boyfriend showed up."

Despite everything Morph can't help but bite a laugh because of course the red head had a fucking boyfriend.

Logan scrunched up his whole face the way he did when he was concerned but did not know how to say it. His head tilted to the side like a puppy at the confusion of for once not understanding their joke. This only turned Morph's laughter into a full on cackle.

"Whatever." Logan said, finally putting his claws away as they must have decided that Morph had finally lost it. "Doesn't matter anyway 'cus we're goin' back home."

"W-why?" Morph gasped through their own giggles.

"Because Bub, you're completely fucked."

"But-" Morph tried to point out that tonight was supposed to be for Logan's benefit, but the Wolverine beat them to it.

"We're goin' back home." Logan stated, this time grabbing hold of both their wrists as though he intended to drag them all the way back there himself. And well Morph had always found it impossible to argue against him.

"Fine," Morph sighed, their laughter dying off in the wake of drunken exhaustion. Hopefully the exhaustion would keep the nightmares away that night.

"Let's get back to the mansion then." Morph said, deliberately not calling it home. Not when home was the person standing next to them.

[decepti-thots]

I would like to hear about which characters would use which kind of fountain pen 👀

okay, so with the caveat that all of this is coming from me researching pens in my quest to become slightly a 'pen person' and not like. being one. (but also from the perspective of watching my friend talk extremely in-depth about this for many years, and cribbing from her, in my defense.)

here are some random character-pen matchups and headcanons bc why not!!

first off. minimus, obviously.

there's a few things i think about this: he's fundamentally conservative in his tastes i think (no wild experimental designs), someone who would not want to spend an Excessive amount of money but also someone who would definitely have a higher-end one quality wise, and he'd have really nitpicky taste about shit like quality control. with this in mind, the guides i read that were offering opinions on higher-end 'beginner pens' consistently brought up the Pilot Custom 74, which is like, the platonic ideal of just a functional good quality Fountain Pen TM:

look at it. that sure is a ~£190 fountain pen! it's classic, functional, a solid 'name', expensive enough i feel like a person who grew up well off would be like 'oh this is my everyday pen' and i would be sort of like 'the fuck that costs half my rent'. lmao. but not like, someone splashing out a thousand quid or more expensive, yknow. he's probably had this same pen for like. the equivalent of twenty years or more. i'm sure he has more than one but this is his 'workhorse'.

here's another one i immediately am like 'oh i know what to pick' about. this one less in terms of specifically 'this character would use it' and more like 'this character reminds me of this pen'. it's rewind! and the pen is a Tombow Zoom 828fp because. well. look at this.

MINI PEN. CHIBI LITTLE FOUNTAIN PEN. there's apparently a chinese pen that is a lot cheaper you can get of this little chonker's basic design, and i'm very, very seriously tempted to get one and call it 'rewind'. lmao. short and charmingly proportioned! i don't think rewind probably actually uses a pen but maybe this was one of those spousal in-joke gifts pre-war or something like 'haha this reminded me of you'/'are you calling me short' or whatever idfk. the point is. TINY PEN.

nautica got riptide a Jinhao 993 to cheer him up when they started doing lessons in that one issue towards the end of MTMTE/pre-DotL and he's finding it difficult maybe. "why would a fountain pen cheer him up-" THIS IS WHY LOOK AT THESE

my pen friend got the pink one of these for a fiver or something, bc i pointed out it was a pink shark and therefore a Nimona pen. haha. anyway. that's why riptide has a fountain pen.

rodimus is having a mid life crisis, and also magnus will probably think he is Mature and Good At Work if he shows up with a fountain pen, he figures one time, so he wheedles money off drift and buys this monstrosity, which to be clear costs EIGHT THOUSAND EUROS and is supposed to look like a cool racecar themed... thing. montegrappa is so fucking overpriced and tacky and they're invariably hilarious to me whenever they release some godawful tie-in thing.

now prowl. prowl doesn't have a fountain pen because prowl is the sort of person who insists on constantly having fucking. Gadgets TM. you know. the man thinks a smart fridge is a necessity, for some fucking reason. if it's electronic it's Better. however, LAMY, i found out, in addition to its wide range of pens, also makes like... high-end digital pens? you know, in the style of their most well known fountain pen design (LAMY safari) but like. a stylus. buying a brand-name pen manufacturer's stylus bc you want to have a fountain pen but also refuse to do anything not on a tablet or something is. 100% prowl to me.

and i think that drift would have a LAMY 2000. look at this thing. it's somehow so slick and modern looking in a way most fountain pens aren't without feeling weird or like it isn't one. it's also a really well regarded pen across the board and so many people swear by this thing. (my friend does indeed have this one!) he's got it because he (canonically) journals, obviously, he is whipping this bad boy out after meditation to Chronicle His Emotional State (usually um. bad. moving along.) it's one of the nice things he bought himself after he somehow acquired all that money (stole it on his way out from the decepticons).

sidenote: megatron doesn't use a fountain pen, despite being a canonical writer. his handwriting is fucking atrocious and he would break one pressing too hard if he tried. he privately thinks they're sort of pointless, but lets minimus endlessly explain nib types for the sake of indulging someone he likes and who clearly is used to being told to shut up.

[harveybwabbit92]

[Spark doll au}

R/n, reaches her tranquil rage point during an alien invasion:  Excuse me, I've been washing your blood off my clothes so I'm a little late to the conversation. Did you say the prisoner is awake?

Neo: For now, but I've got a fiver that says Belial or B/r(Belial's reader) rips his spine out within the hour.

21: I'll take those odds.

R/n: I see. If you don't mind, do you think I could have a few minutes alone with him?

Belial: Ha, you gonna give him a band aid for every beating he gets?

R/n: Well if you recall, him and his little army buddies turned every one of my friends hiding out in that diner into piles of ash. Anyone sick enough to do something like that would almost certainly benefit from a uh...checkup.~

[Everyone looks at each other in confusion. Cut to R/n and the thug inside the temporary base.]

Thug, tauntingly: Ooh, What’s the matter? Did the big bad Ultras get all tuckered out?

R/n: Do you know where we are?

Thug: Huh?

R/n: This is a remote research facility designed to study the surrounding wildlife. I volunteered at one just like it at grad school. Its got a laboratory, an incinerator and oodles of state of the art surgical equipment. Would you like to see them?

[Cut to Belial. B/r, Taro, Neo, 80, 21 and Tregear standing outside the base whilst listening to the tortured screams of the thug; with various equipment noises going off as R/n cheerfully sings opera.]

Neos, nervously: Sir... I’m scared.

80: Neos, we're all scared. …except for him. 

Taro: Yeah, I don't think I've ever seen Tregear look so... enamored.

[Everyone looks at Tregear who looked like a love sick puppy. He had no idea such a small woman was capable of such violence. The noises stop and R/n emerges from the base.]

R/n, wiping her bloody hands with a hanky: (cheerfully) He wouldn't give me his name. Buuut, he's an ex-Magma army grunt and he was kind enough to hand over the coordinates to a nearby radio jamming tower.

21: You're kidding.

R/n: No silly, I'm Reader! Ha! Bad joke.

B/r: Alright, think he’s in a position to answer a few more questions?

R/n: Oh absolutely!~ (lowers voice) Lemme just go put him back together.~

[autumnmobile12]

So Watership Down 1978...WTF?

It's not a secret that children's' films circa the 80s are sometimes violent and have themes that make us question how in the hell they were greenlit while looking through the lens of today's standards.

But there's a scene in Watership Down 1978 that I really wonder about. It goes as follows:

Our intrepid rabbits are a few days into their journey, having fled their home warren. The scene opens with them all asleep sheltered among beanstalks(?). One of the rabbits in the group wakes up and ventures out of the shelter of the garden in order to forage for food. While she's out in the open, Fiver wakes up and watches her...and suddenly this rabbit is just fucking snatched by a hawk. Fiver is so stunned by sudden death of his friend that he just sits there and stares until the rest of the rabbits wake up and join him, at which point he says in this forlorn voice, "Violet's gone."

...

Sad.

But this scene isn't in the book. Moreover, there is not even a character named Violet in the book. She doesn't even really do much as a character before her death and the only reason we know her name is Fiver's dialogue after she was killed.

So...why was this included?

This scene is 100% the product of the film and since they don't really linger on the death, it seems completely pointless aside from existing to disturb the audience.

I also want to point out the character Blackavar dies a pretty brutal death in the movie, but he doesn't die in the book. He even appears in the sequel Tales from Watership Down.

Again...why?

...

There's keeping true with adaptations and there's adding or subtracting stuff from the source material for more condensed storytelling, but making up a character just to kill them off and killing off a character who doesn't actually die in the book...just seems so unnecessarily mean-spirited.

So Watership Down 1978...WTF?