#someone who tries to be gentle and sees the worth in all nature

[camelspit]

had a vision and u guys arent ready for it (rayni x flori)

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ - discussion of postpartum depression, lactation kink.

Orion’s father inserted himself into your life with an authority that, quite frankly, has shocked you.

You expected him to be a dead beat. An absentee. You never really expected to find him in the first place, let alone almost run straight into him on the street.

It was almost like you could feel him on the sidewalk before you saw him. Your body knew, still carried the memories, the imprint of him lingering on your skin, inside you. Orion had his DNA in his veins, and now you had Orion’s in yours.

Shared pieces, twisted together in an imbalanced double helix-

Exposing you for all your transgressions, your failures, your misery.

It’s a special kind of shame, to look your baby’s father in the face and tell him you’re not a good mother to his child. That you’re failing Orion. That you don’t know if you can do it.

The truth is motherhood is not natural or beautiful, like everyone says it is, and it doesn’t come easy, like it seems to do for most. You don’t even feel like you’re bonded to your son, and it’s like you’re a stranger to him. More failure.

They pile advice on top of you in heaps, your mother, your aunts, the friends that have stuck around, sleep when the baby sleeps, let him cry it out, don’t let him cry it out, put him down, pick him up, don’t feed at night, don’t miss a feeding-

All the while, no one shows up. Not truly. They’re here, and there, but your previous fierce independent streak has done you no favors, and no one seems to notice you’re barely holding your head above water. They want to see the baby, hold the baby, cuddle the baby. No one wants to help you wash your milk crusted sheets or clothes, no one wants to pick up your groceries or do your dishes. They want to bring a roast for your fridge, and then they want Orion.

And it’s easy to fake getting by. Struggling but smiling. Motherhood is such a joy. It’s so wonderful. Being a single mom is tough, but worth it. It’s…

It’s so hard.

You don’t have a schedule, a life, a sense of normalcy. Instead of sleeping when Ry does, you cry. You don’t feel like yourself, you don’t know how to do this, you don’t know how you’re even going to make it to the next day sometimes.

And no one really seems to notice you, until Simon shows up.

Simon, who doesn’t seem to care that you’ve tried to assure him you’re fine. Simon, for all intents and purposes, has put a foot down and refused to budge. Simon, who no matter how hard you try to tell him you’re okay, has shouldered his way into your life without a single complaint about the sudden fatherhood thrust upon him.

He’s a stranger, at the end of it all, a man you shared a single night with, a man you know almost nothing about.

Even though that night has always felt like so much more, an impossible connection built in the dark between indecipherable words and whispers.

And now this stranger has planted on himself on the ground in front of you, like a tether to reality. A land line to your sanity. A hand to hold…

A person who sees you.

“I’m right here,” he promised, “I’m going to take care of you.”

He wanted in, and you stopped coming up with reasons or excuses to fend him off. You bent and bent and bent under the pressure of being a mother until you broke-

And he was there.

Someone is calling your name. There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder, and then smoothing over your forehead, fingertips lingering on the apple of your cheek. You blink fuzzily, slowly realizing you must have fallen asleep on the couch. “C’mon mama, let’s get you to bed.” You peer over his shoulder at the kitchen, barely registering how clean it is, the lack of dirty dishes, the empty trash can, the wiped down cabinets and countertops.

“Sorry… I fell asleep. I should’ve-“

“It’s alright, wanted to let you get some rest.” His arms, massive and corded with muscle, slide under your knees and back, and you study his tattoos as intently as you can, for being half asleep. “‘m gonna pick you up.”

“Okay.” You sigh, and his chest vibrates with a low chuckle. It feels safe, you feel nearly relaxed, no fight left in you, all resistance and denial leeched from your bones. “Ry?”

“Fed two hours ago with what you had in the fridge. Still asleep now.” Warmth ghosts atop your head, and you snuggle farther into his chest, unable to help yourself.

“How long was I out?”

“Almost five hours.” You blink, and then, like his words have summoned full body awareness- you wince.

Fuck.

“What is it?” He’s immediately tense, slowly pushing open your bedroom door.

“I’m… sore.” You grimace, trying to keep your chest away from him as he lowers you into bed. “They’re… he usually eats… sooner. They get… too full.” Your face burns, humiliated and awkward. Nothing like telling your very attractive baby daddy that you’re full too of milk. His head cocks.

“Is there a way to fix that?” He’s sitting at your hip, hand casually braced on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles overtop the sheet.

“I could pump but, it really hurts.” Your voice cracks on the admission. You can’t imagine anything you want to do less in this moment, especially with him here. “A warm washcloth usually helps but…”

“I’ll get one.” He tips forward at the waist, and presses a kiss right to your forehead. “Stay put.” You lean back against the pillows, and close your eyes. You hear him the bathroom, tap running, door opening and closing, and then the bed dips. “Can I help you with that?” He points at your t shirt, and you nod. Lifting it over your own head sounds uncomfortable, and you don’t even flinch when his fingers brush your stomach as he peels it up and over.

There’s a moment, a quiet one, where you just stare at each other. His eyebrows crease, dark brown eyes turning soft and sweet, flicking down to your lips and then back up. It’s frighteningly intimate, being so vulnerable, rubbed raw by motherhood and then comforted by the man who gave it to you, and when you look into his eyes, you can feel it all, everything you felt that night, the connection, the desire to know more, feel more, push past everything and dig until your strike true, until you can touch his heart.

Maybe it’s the hormones. The baby. The fact that he’s here, holding you steady, true to his promise.

You loop a forearm over the back of his neck, and tug, jolting him forward, close enough that your noses touch, and his lips graze yours before he pulls back, cradling your face with his free hand. “Want somethin’ mama?”

“Yes.” You whisper. Your breasts ache, but the pain is second to the way you drown in his dark gaze.

“Need you to ask for it, sweet girl.”

“I- I want… to kiss you.” It feels like taking a plunge, ripping a band aid off, and he only smiles at you in return, before leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours.

It’s a memory. An explosion. A rush of the last time, the first time, the only time. Ocean water, spring air, woodsmoke under your fingertips. Fragments of a few favorite things, sealed in a kiss. A dizzying ride that sucks you dry, spills your blood into his, twists the two of together until you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to let go.

You almost, almost whine when he pulls away.

“Washcloth is cold.” He murmurs, making his way back to the bathroom and restarting the process. His muscles flex under his t shirt as he turns the sink on and off, wringing the cloth out. You unhook a bra strap, and when he returns to the seat at your hip, you gulp.

“T-thanks.” You reach, but don’t tug it into your grasp. Instead, the side of your arm bumps against the swollen firmness of your breast, and you hiss.

“I’ve got you. Let me help.” He says softly, peeling the fabric away until you’re exposed, darkened nipples straining in the dim light of your bedroom. Fingertips trace barely there touch across your skin, and he whispers reverently. “You feed our baby with these, mama.”

“They hurt.” Your voice trembles, and he nods sympathetically.

“I know.” He presses the cloth to your skin, brow furrowed with concentration. His eyes flick up to yours, and then back down, thumb gently rubbing a semi circle under the curve of your breast. “Feel okay?” His voice is a rasp, and you nod.

“Y-yeah… um-“ you trail off, half wishing you could disappear into this bed. “I need a little bit of pressure, to help… express.” It’s the least sexiest word in the English language, you think. Express.

He palms you, gently, and then squeezes with easy pressure. The sound you make is a half moan, half gasp of pain, and he soothes you. “I know honey, I know. I’m sorry.” You tip your head back, waiting, hoping to feel the slow pulse of relief, the slow give of an ache subsiding. His thumb traces your nipple and then rolls over it, still kneading and pressing with his other fingers and palm, hot cloth starting to turn cool.

And then-

You feel it. Your body catches up to your brain, finally leaking, warmth spilling over his hand, down the front of your bra and belly. “Oh my god.” You moan, and he huffs, still rubbing your nipple in a soothing pattern, gaze locked on your chest.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, and then gives you another squeeze. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.” You tip your head to the side, watching him, tracing his nose, his lips, the shape of his eyes. Your baby’s face, through and through. “So good.” It spills over the back of his fingers and he pulls it away, lifting his thumb to his mouth. His lashes flutter against his cheeks, and a noise rumbles in his chest. “Oh-“ you lose your words. Your thoughts. Your focus. You’re frozen, confused and electric like a live wire.

“Y’taste good mama. Sweet.” You gulp. He ducks his head, brushing his lips against yours briefly before dipping lower, cupping as much of you as he can and swirling his tongue across your nipple, lips closing around it and sucking with a satisfied sigh.

“Si- Simon.” It feels good. It feels wrong, that it feels good, but it does. You’re spilling into his mouth, pain and soreness flitting away by the second, strong arms cradling you close to his body. It’s the first time in a long time, that you’ve felt something, anything, close to desire. Arousal has been fleeting since having a baby, but somehow, fire burns between your legs. He pulls away, nipple popping free, and you sag in the bed. With a smirk, his eyes wander to your other side, the unattended one, heavy and full beneath his gaze.

“I’ll get a new cloth.”

[dissapointu]

I'm dying here, 4 tests, course, my house is a mess and I just wanted to sleep 12 hours straight.

Can I request for Arcane X characters scary!reader I think they would be a big person with a look at me and I'll break your neck vibe, but they are sweet with their partners.

Drink water, stay well 👋🏻

I totally get the feeling of being overwhelmed, but take a deep breath! You’ve got this. I’ll take your request and make it worth your while with some headcanons. These characters would absolutely be intrigued by an intimidating, “look at me and I’ll break your neck” type of reader who is sweet with them.

————————————————————————

Jinx

Jinx’s initial reaction is pure curiosity mixed with excitement. She’s not intimidated easily, so when she first meets you, she’s all over the place—sizing you up with a wild grin. The cold stare you give anyone who dares challenge you only fuels her chaos-loving spirit.

“Oh, I like this one!” Jinx cackles, bouncing around you with pure glee. “You could totally crush someone with just a look!” Her eyes gleam as she watches you—she admires your confidence.

When you’re sweet to her, though, Jinx melts. Your soft side balances out the sharp edges of your persona, and she clings to you like a koala. “You’re so soft with me, though,” she says with a grin, “but the second someone tries to mess with us… BAM! I’ll be ready to blow something up!”

Vi

Vi respects strength, and she can immediately tell you have it. The way you carry yourself, the air around you—it speaks volumes. While most people might shrink back, Vi doesn’t flinch. She’s more intrigued by the fact that you’re a force to be reckoned with, yet you’re still affectionate with her.

When you show her your softer side, she feels an intense mix of pride and adoration. “I gotta admit, babe,” she says, flashing a grin, “seeing you toss someone into the nearest wall makes me a little jealous… but I love how gentle you are with me.”

Vi would always stand by your side in a fight, but she’ll be the first to keep you grounded and remind you that you don’t have to use your strength all the time. She’s happy to see the layers beneath your intimidating exterior.

Sevika

Sevika sees herself in you—a strong, no-nonsense type who doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’s genuinely impressed by your intimidating aura, and she can’t help but feel a little protective. She might be a bit reserved, but she always notices the way people act around you.

“Not many can make people shut up with a glance,” she muses, her eyes narrowing with admiration. When you’re sweet with her, Sevika’s face softens, and she’ll often pull you close, knowing no one else will get close to you as easily. “Don’t let your guard down, babe,” she’ll whisper, “But don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

She knows what you’re capable of, and she finds comfort in the fact that you’re with her—someone who’s just as tough as you are.

Silco

Silco is drawn to power, and he immediately recognizes the authority you carry. There’s something magnetic about you—people step aside when you walk through a room, and Silco is no exception. He knows your power can match his, and he admires that.

But when you show him your softer, loving side, it takes him by surprise. Silco is used to cold, calculated relationships, but you bring something else—a warmth he didn’t expect. “So you have this… other side,” he muses, his gaze intense. “I’d say I’m the only one who gets to see it, but I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

When you’re around him, Silco sees you as more than just a weapon. You’re someone who complements his ambitions and understands his dark side—but also reminds him of the humanity he’s lost.

Vander

Vander would be a little more cautious when he first meets you. He knows strength, and he knows how intimidating you are, but he’s always been a protector, so he’d approach you with care. Still, he can see your sweet nature beneath the surface, especially when you’re with him.

Vander would soften when you show him affection, seeing that you’re not all about intimidation. “You’ve got this fierce side, I see that,” he’d say with a chuckle, pulling you close. “But with me? You’re just my baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Vander would always remind you to keep your temper in check, especially around others, but he loves the balance you bring to the relationship.

Ekko

Ekko respects strength, but he’s the type to see through tough exteriors. He’d be a little intimidated at first, but once he realizes you have a gentle side when you’re with him, he’s putty in your hands.

“You’re like a force of nature, but when it’s just us…” he’d say, his voice teasing. “I’m your soft spot, huh?”

He would love how protective you are over him and always make sure you’re not just scaring people away with your strength. He sees that vulnerability in you and always offers his support. “You don’t have to scare everyone off, y’know,” Ekko would chuckle, “But I can’t lie—I love how you just walk in like you own the place.”

Jayce

Jayce has never been intimidated by anyone, but when he sees you command attention with just your presence, he’s intrigued. He might try to act like he’s unaffected, but there’s a clear glimmer of admiration in his eyes.

“You don’t have to use that aura on me,” Jayce would say with a smirk, feeling the weight of your power. But when you’re affectionate with him, he lets out a relieved sigh. “Good thing I get to see you when you’re not throwing people across the room.”

Jayce loves your strength and the security you bring to the relationship, and he secretly loves how you take charge in situations. He’s all about teamwork, and your balance of power and tenderness is exactly what he needs.

Viktor

Viktor might be a little shy when he first meets you, sensing the overwhelming presence you give off. But as he gets to know you, he becomes fascinated by your strength and how you seem to effortlessly control a room.

When you’re gentle with him, it blows his mind. “You’re the most intimidating person I’ve met…” he’d say, adjusting his glasses nervously, “But with me, you’re kind. I don’t understand how, but… I think I like it.”

Viktor loves how you balance your fierce exterior with a soft side that’s only for him. He admires your intelligence and strength, and it makes him feel safe and cherished.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn is not easily intimidated, but when she sees how effortlessly people back away when you enter the room, she’s impressed. However, she’s not afraid to challenge you—she respects your strength, but she doesn’t let it overpower her.

“You’ve got quite the reputation,” Caitlyn would say with a smile. “But when you’re with me, no one else matters, right?”

She’ll show you that she’s not intimidated by your power, but she’ll also soften when she sees the gentle side you reserve for her. “You don’t have to act tough with me. I know what you’re really like,” she’ll say, snuggling into your side.

Mel Medarda

Mel doesn’t get intimidated easily, but there’s something about your commanding presence that fascinates her. She loves the power you exude, but she’ll also quickly recognize your soft side, especially when you’re with her.

“You make the whole room stand still when you walk in,” Mel would say, impressed. “It’s captivating… but I’m the one who gets to see the real you.”

Mel loves how you balance the tough exterior with your caring, affectionate nature. She feels like she’s the only one who gets to witness your gentleness, and she’ll savor every moment.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa respects strength more than anything, and she’s immediately drawn to your power. She recognizes that you could crush anyone who stands in your way, but she’s not intimidated—rather, she’s intrigued.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with,” Ambessa would say, her voice low and admiring. “But I’m the one who gets to keep you, aren’t I?”

She’d always keep you close, making sure you’re hers. Ambessa would love how you soften in her presence, and she’d hold onto you with pride.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie might be a little intimidated at first, but as she gets to know you, she’s in awe of how you can be both powerful and gentle. Your presence commands attention, but when you’re with her, you’re warm and kind.

“You’re so strong,” Maddie would say, her voice filled with admiration. “But you never make me feel small. How do you do it?”

She’d absolutely adore your sweet side, and she’d love being the one to see you at your most vulnerable.

Lest

Lest isn’t someone who gets intimidated by anyone, but when she sees how others react to your mere presence, she’s amused. Still, she knows how to keep you close and keep others in line.

“I’m not worried about your strength,” Lest would say with a smirk. “But you’ve got me wrapped around your finger with that sweetness of yours.”

She’d love how you balance the toughness with tenderness, and she’d always make sure to keep you close and remind you that she’s the only one who gets your sweet side.

[k9punkout]

AND IF I SAID THAT ivan's perception of till's determination and hostility was generally wrong and unintentionally undermining of his actual mental instability. IF I SAID THAT this pov rubbed off on the fandom and plays into several till mischaracterizations. WHAT THEN.

okay so hear me out on this one. ivan's acknowledged that he could never quite understand till like he could all the other children. everyone else fell into a sort of pattern, a puzzle that can be solved with a simple analysis and adapted behavior. everyone except till.

till was no solvable puzzle. all the pieces to him were distorted, broken, missing. a living hurricane, a walking contradiction. he was gentle in his violence, quiet in his loudness, complex in his simplicity. ivan could get no true read on him, and that's why he grew so drawn to him.

and while i do believe that till is just an eccentric and unpredictable person at heart, a large part of his chaotic nature is due to his trauma. his rapid and intense mood swings, his aggressive behavior, his easily overwhelmed mind, his fluctuating ego, and many other aspects to him are all signs of abuse related mental instability. ivan saw all of that, witnessed all the abuse and all its side effects, but it never really struck him that holy shit, this guy needs psychological help.

and it's not like that's HIS fault either. Ivan was never really taught how people work, he learned via absorbing how the other children interacted instead (which isn't really efficient, he's no mind reader or anything). i wouldn't be surprised if he had no clue that mental illness even EXISTED; he always referred to himself and sua as simply "twisted" rather than trying to figure out if they could be helped or fixed, or WHY they stood out from the others.

he never even questioned his own hatred for himself. he simply thought it was reasonable, because of course, who wouldn't hate a monster like him? once someone knows who he is deep down, there is no redeeming quality that he can genuinely exhibit to exonerate himself from his rotten, detached mindset. in his mind, he deserves the isolation.

ivan truly sees himself as the worst person in the world, which makes till, by comparison, simply a confusing kid who isn't scared to fight back. ivan thinks till's willpower stems from great mental strength rather than desperation and fear. this would lead him to both misinterpret till's actions and overestimate his mental strength, all while underestimating how rapidly his sanity is withering.

this is shown quite a few times around the series. in "Confession," he refers to till as the "victim of his shallow emotions," demonizing himself and painting till as his victim. as if till could do no harm. as if till was the ONLY victim here. (i can't stop thinking about how much till would've hated that word. victim.)

in a slightly more elaborate retranslation of Cure that someone on this app did (i tried to find it but i sadly couldn't), the word "scars" ("even if your cruel words carve scars beneath my eyes") was said to be better translated into "scratches." a flesh wound. nothing debilitating, nothing severe, just painful for a while, and then gone. insignificant. the harm he inflicts is insignificant compared to everything else that he is.

i'll stick around, i'll stay, because the bruises we leave on each other are nothing compared to the spark he ignites within me.

till punches and kicks and screams and snarls, and to ivan, it's no problem, just something that makes him unique. he'd do anything to see him fight. so what if he gets caught in the crossfire? so what if he's killed while he's at it? it's all worth it. till could just continue on without him, it'd be so easy. he's strong, he never cared for him all that much anyway.

till is unpredictable, till is unique. it's just the way things work. nothing about it needs to be changed. the destruction he causes to himself and to others doesn't need to be fixed, it's already perfect. he's perfect, in all his imperfections.

THATS where the toxicity lies in ivantill. not because ivan is totally possessive and wants till to belong to him and only him or whatever some of the fandom says. but because ivan so obsessed with till that he'll die for him while calling him his victim. that he'll acknowledge till's hostile behavior and his quickness to rage and violence and consider it something to be loved rather than concerned about or feared. he'll hone in on his own flaws, never acknowledging till's, never seeing how they're destroying EACH OTHER, and exclusively focusing on the harm that HE'S done to till.

it's why ivan was always bothering him. he wanted to see him lose his temper, wanted him to fight and struggle. (more often than not, this was a good thing, as it often happened whenever till was sad/out of it, but just because something's beneficial in the moment doesn't mean it makes for a healthy relationship).

of course, none of this means that ivan DIDNT want till to be happy. he wouldn't have tried to escape with him if that was the case. he liked seeing till angry, but not any more than he hated seeing till miserable. despite not quite understanding him, he still wanted the best for that boy.

i think ivans warped perspective affected the way many people characterize till. a lot of people treat him as a more gentle person than he is in canon, and while it's true that he's mentally weak, he'd never cower in the face of someone stronger than him, like many people seem to think. he's vulnerable in the explosive and reactive sense, not in the powerless and delicate sense.

so far, we've gotten so much of ivans perspective of till that people seem to forget that he literally committed a murder in round 2. and he looked REALLY happy abt that shit. my mans freddy was a father of two and till did NOT care. not to mention that he didn't even spare acorn a GLANCE the entire round.

idk man the guy's a lil cuckoo loca we might need to remember that

[awkward-walking-potato]

hi!!! i love your work. i dont know if you have done this before, but would you do a sfw or nsfw alphabet with gambit?

A - Affection:

Gambit is naturally affectionate. Whether it's through his charming words, a subtle touch on the arm, or a mischievous smile, he shows affection in a smooth, almost effortless way.

B - Best Memory Together:

Remy’s favorite memories involve quiet moments away from the chaos, especially if they include a game of cards and some playful banter.

C - Cuddles:

Gambit enjoys cuddling, but with a bit of flair. Expect him to keep things light with teasing comments, but he’s also good at making you feel secure in his arms.

D - Domestic:

He’s a bit messy, preferring spontaneity over routine. But, he can charm his way into making it seem endearing when he leaves cards or bits of gear around.

E - Excitement:

Remy’s life is full of excitement, and he loves bringing you along for the ride. Whether it's a daring mission or a fun night out, he enjoys living life on the edge.

F - Fights:

Arguments with Remy are rare, but when they do happen, he prefers to smooth things over quickly. He hates leaving things unresolved and will use humor or flirtation to break the tension.

G - Gentle:

Though he has a rougher side due to his upbringing, Remy can be incredibly gentle when he wants to be, especially when it comes to physical affection or when you’re feeling vulnerable.

H - Hugs:

Remy’s hugs are always warm, and they come with a dash of his usual charm. He tends to embrace you from behind, playfully wrapping his arms around your waist.

I - Inspiration:

He admires your strength and resilience. Even if you don’t see it in yourself, he’s quick to remind you of how capable you are, often with a wink and a smirk.

J - Jealousy:

While Remy can get a bit possessive, he tries to play it cool. He trusts you, but if someone else seems to be getting too close, he’ll throw in some extra charm to remind them—and you—who you’re with.

K - Kisses:

Remy’s kisses are playful and teasing, but they can turn passionate in a heartbeat. He likes to leave you breathless, savoring each kiss as if it might be the last.

L - Love:

When Gambit falls in love, it’s intense and all-encompassing. He’s devoted and protective, showing his love through both grand gestures and smaller, thoughtful actions.

M - Mornings:

He’s not much of a morning person, preferring to sleep in whenever he can. But waking up next to you always puts him in a good mood, even if he teases you for being up earlier.

N - Nicknames:

Expect lots of French pet names like mon cher or chère. He enjoys using them, especially when he wants to tease or flirt with you.

O - Open:

Though Gambit is naturally secretive, especially about his past, he slowly opens up the more he trusts you. It might take time, but he’ll eventually let you in on his deeper thoughts and emotions.

P - Patience:

He’s surprisingly patient, especially when it comes to teaching you things or waiting for you to open up to him. His charm may be quick, but he understands that trust takes time.

Q - Quiet Moments:

While he enjoys the thrill of action, Remy also treasures quiet moments spent together, especially if they involve a card game or just lying in each other's arms.

R - Romance:

Remy is a natural romantic. He loves surprising you with flowers, small gifts, and candlelit dinners. His suave personality makes even the simplest gestures feel like grand displays of affection.

S - Support:

He’s always there to back you up, whether it’s in battle or during personal struggles. Remy believes in you fully and won’t hesitate to remind you of your strength and worth.

T - Trust:

Trust is a big deal for Gambit. He’s been burned before, so it takes a while for him to fully open up. Once you’ve earned his trust, though, he’s fiercely loyal.

U - Understanding:

He’s been through a lot in his life, so Remy is good at understanding complex emotions and difficult situations. He won’t push you to talk, but he’s always there when you’re ready.

V - Vulnerability:

While Gambit puts on a confident front, he has his vulnerable moments. He’ll only show this side to someone he truly trusts, and when he does, it’s a sign of how much he cares about you.

W - Wildcard:

Remy’s unpredictable, and he likes to keep things exciting. You never quite know what to expect with him, whether it’s a sudden romantic gesture or a spontaneous adventure.

X - X-Factor:

His X-Factor is definitely his charm. Remy has a way of making everyone feel special, but with you, there’s an extra layer of sincerity behind his playful nature.

Y - Yearning:

Remy is always yearning for a connection, whether it’s physical or emotional. He craves closeness and enjoys those rare, intimate moments where he can just be himself with you.

Z - Zen:

Though Gambit thrives in chaos, he finds his moments of zen in your presence, especially when he can let down his guard and simply enjoy the peace of being with you

[idkwhatimd0ingatall]

Will Story Event Translation (forgot the name)

// - is an alternate translation T/N: ignore my changing translation style, trying different things out to see what works. Also these translations aren’t accurate so the official translation will most likely be different T/N: Gave up on trying to fix the images

"I want you to kiss me."

The moment I entered the room and pleaded with Will, he gave me exactly what I desired.

After sitting on the bed together, Will traced my palate with his gentle tongue, and my body trembled with joy.

However,

William: ...

Suddenly, Will stopped kissing, and my body, left hanging, throbbed with a sense of longing.

Kate: Will?

William: For someone who pleaded for a kiss with such intensity, you seem distracted, Kate.

Kate: N-no, it's just...

William: Can't focus on kissing me, got some other 'business' on your mind?

Kate: No, it's not that! There's no other business... but...

I hesitated to tell him about the unfortunate incident.

(...Oh, but sooner or later, Will will find out.)

(Given Will's nature, he might already know... maybe he's deliberately asking to hear it from my mouth.)

Above all, because I want to face Will with a free and unburdened heart, I decided to confess today's events.

Kate: Actually...

William: ...'Kissed by a stranger'?

Kate: Yes, on my way back from today's mission, I was confronted... unable to escape it, just once.

The man I encountered on the roadside seemed drunk, persistently bothering me.

No matter how clearly I rejected him, he forcibly took my hand and brought his lips close.

Kate: Harrison and Liam, who came later, managed to drive him away, so there were no further consequences.

Kate: But... I can't forgive myself for allowing anyone other than Will to touch me.

I washed my hands repeatedly when I got home, to the point where my skin felt irritated.

Yet, the disgust from being touched couldn't be completely washed away, tormenting me.

Kate: ...I want to dedicate my life to Will as his servant.

Kate: My body and heart exist for Will alone, and I don't want to surrender them to anyone else. But... I allowed a kiss, and I regret it.

Feeling frustrated with myself, my fingertips trembled as I tightly clenched my fist on my knee.

William: Did you plead for a kiss to forget?

Kate: Yes... I'm sorry. I made you deal with my own issues.

William: No need to apologize. The one at fault is the man who forced himself on you, isn't it?

Will took my hand firmly and laid a kiss on the palm.

(...I heard somewhere that a kiss on the palm is a plea.)

Not something taken by force, but a kiss filled with respect, like showing that I have value worth pleading for. It warmed my heart.

(Even without using the cursed ability, Will's words have a mysterious power.)

(The inability to resist, the discomfort from being touched, all slowly melted away...)

The man who forcibly approached me is the only one at fault, and I finally forgave myself.

Kate: ...Thank you, Will.

William: Just stating the obvious. Now, there's nothing to cloud your mind, right?

Kate: ...Can I ask for a little selfishness?

Kate: I want you to kiss me. Many times, enough to make today's events fade away.

In truth, my heart is already healed with the words Will gave me.

I won't even notice if that man passes by me in the city; Will must understand my inner thoughts.

(So this is just... an invitation, a line used just to kiss my lover.)

William: If you wish, as much as you want.

With a seductive smile, Will embraced me from behind.

Kate: Will...?

In this position, isn’t it difficult for our lips to meet?

I tried to turn around, calling his name in confusion, but

William: Stay like this.

I was restrained, and a kiss was dropped behind my ear.

Will's tongue crawled along the curve, making a wet sound.

Kate: ...Ah, n-no.

William: Kate... don't suppress your voice.

William: After hearing it so many times, there's nothing embarrassing about it now, is there?

Kate: But... to feel so much from just the ear... isn't it strange?

Just being embraced from behind and kissed on the ear, warmth accumulated inside my body.

William: It's not strange. Kate, it's cute how you react so honestly to your feelings.

Will lightly nibbled on my ear, and his tongue slid into my ear canal.

William: Mmm... haah...

Kate: Mm... ah... haah...

Trying to endure the sweet throbbing, I hugged the cushion tightly against my knees.

William: ...Should have changed the position.

Kate: Eh...?

William: If our bodies were facing the other way, you would have clung to me, right?

Kate: Hehe... it's like you're jealous of the cushion.

William: I can get jealous. I can't catch you as softly as a cushion.

// I get jealous too. Softly catching you like a feather is something my body can't do.

As Will joked, I couldn't help but laugh.

(Normally, if someone is jealous, it would be of a person, not a cushion, right?)

(I can't imagine Will being jealous, but that's okay.)

Will's jealousy will probably remain forever unexplored, and that's fine.

As long as we understand that we love each other more than anyone else, there's no need for jealousy.

Releasing the cushion that became the target of jealousy, I faced Will directly.

William: Do you know this saying?

William: A kiss on the hand is a kiss of respect. On the forehead, a kiss of friendship. On the cheek, a kiss of satisfaction.

William: On the lips, a kiss of love. On closed eyes, a kiss of admiration/yearning. On the palm, a kiss of pleading.

William: On the arm and neck, a kiss of desire... any other kiss is considered 'madness,' according to the whims of the poet.

Kate: I heard this in a play once. It was titled 'Kiss,' wasn't it?

Will nodded and pulled me close again.

William: When I remembered this poem, I thought of choosing one and giving it to you, Kate... but I decided against it.

William: Narrowing down my feelings for you to just one is more challenging than any mission.

Kate: ...In that case, give me all of them.

William: Of course. That's the plan.

William: Whether you're ready to accept all those emotions... there's no need to ask.

As if engraving all the emotions into me, Will continued to kiss me following the poem.

Liam: Mission complete! ...Although, we probably didn't need to come. Will pretty much took care of everything.

Harrison: The illegal organization has been completely wiped out. Whether the headcount matches or not, let's count the bodies.

Liam: Okay! 1, 2, 3, 4... 4?

Liam: ...Huh? Hey, Harry, doesn't this guy look familiar from somewhere?

Harrison: Even if you say he looks familiar... His face is all messed up, isn't it impossible to identify him?

Liam: Hmm... this build, the shape of the head, that plain-patterned shirt... I feel like I've seen him somewhere, though...

Liam: ...Ah, got it! This is the guy who was pestering Kate not too long ago!

Liam: You know, grabbed her hand forcibly, made a loud smooching sound, kissed her forcefully!

Harrison: Oh yeah, I remember now. That guy...

Liam: Will, you didn't say anything when you saw the target's information. But did you know about him?

Harrison: Knowing Will, he probably planned this method of killing, right?

The man had used a knife to cut off his own lips, leaving a gruesome sight.

Liam: Kate, you're loved.

Harrison: To speak of love in this situation... not the best sight, I think...

FIN~

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

I feel bad for Starlo. (pt. 9)

Star's the Papyrus (both are idealistic & seen as naive) of this game (Martlet is another possible parallel), even though he's got similarities with Undyne too. No matter how broken Ceroba seemed he asked himself WHY she did what she did and I think that's SUPER important.

Ceroba didn't do this. Her first instinct was to be harsh (after being harsh with him even BEFORE he attacked Clover):

called his personality "damaged" before this scene

... you never asked yourself WHY he did the whole sheriff act.

.... you never asked WHY he didn't want to grow up. If it was a coping mechanism, if he wanted to help his community in a way he couldn't as a farmer? It was never on her mind.

Yes he has baggage but he's dealing with it all while uplifting others, Ceroba has baggage but is well taken care of by Star and at least has him, he has no one but himself and his optimism to pull him out of negative feelings, and still gets insulted.

Yeah Ceroba's been through stuff but apparently it's been some time since Chujin passed and Kanako fell down, she should have at least started to support Star emotionally like he's been supporting her (sure, he did so with distractions, but as he said "aren't distractions what's best for all of that?" He did his best). Problem is she DIDN'T realise he was ever struggling with self worth and only assumed he was goofing off. Either that or she did nothing about it aka was too occupied with her own problems (which are valid but still... she should have tried at least a little) Cer's character flaw is being too stubborn and devoted to Chujin. She trusted him blindly and wholeheartedly. Everything else came in 2nd place. This is clear as day.

It hurts knowing Ceroba could never respect Starlo the way she still does her husband. Not saying she shouldn't admire Chujin, but the way she sees Star as a goofy manchild whose lifelong passion can go "too far," the way she sees all this Wild East stuff as him "just having fun," the way she thinks that only someone whose brain isn't developed would ever consider dating him just... ticks me off, tbh. That's why I think the guy needs someone who will be gentle and patient with him, even if that other person is going through tough times.

She DID call Starlo the best sheriff she's ever known (honestly the only sweet moment between them in pacifist, but it is very brief, especially in neutral where he just gets cut off; also I hope she was being genuine here) and said how everyone adored him (but hated his persona, which I've already covered: basically they either hated 'North Star' as a whole, which I hope isn't true, or just how excited he was to meet Clover, which makes no sense to me; already covered it as well)

Bonus: Dina didn't know who Star really was or what he looked like, not before the end credits rolled (when he shows up as himself & she's also seen there; makes sense that he finally came clean to her):

So he's literally been playing this role 24/7, ever since she became the bartender; ever since this town started to exist. It's impressive how he could keep up an act AND use this fake accent for so long

Bonus #2: Star was SUPER worried about Clover's safety; that's what REALLY upset him (he cares about that child sm). THAT's what drove him off the edge (unless he naturally has a temper, i don't think this is it tho). Either way, he was way more patient w Ceroba than I think most would have been in that situation. Sure he snapped a few times, but there was a good reason to. He still TRIED to reason with her. Why did he attack? Worried for Martlet & Clover. I honestly think Star's the type to only get super angry if someone he loves is in danger (minus the stuff that happened which led him to cracking)

[greenandhazy]

The thing about NieYao for me is that even when they know the worst of each other, they don’t pull away.

After Nie Mingjue witnesses Meng Yao commit murder, after the confrontation at Nightless City—Nie Mingjue still agrees to swear brotherhood with him. And sure, some if it (even most of it) may be Lan Xichen’s persuasion, but not all of it. He still says he wants to keep Jin Guangyao on the right path. He still swears an oath that is mutually binding for both of them.

After Nie Mingjue’s suspicious nature and violent tendencies get worse, after he kicks Jin Guangyao down the stairs and calls him a son of a whore—okay, maybe before, depending on the adaptation—Jin Guangyao chooses to kill him, but he still does it in this very gentle, intimate way that involves him repeatedly going into Nie Mingjue’s home or welcoming Nie Mingjue into his, and after the death he maintains a good relationship with Nie Huaisang (from his POV) and remains enmeshed in Qinghe Nie, keeps Nie Mingjue’s head in his treasure room and feels bound to it, chooses Nie Mingjue as the tool of his ultimate destruction (even as he pushes Lan Xichen away).

It’s the mutual obsession. And I wouldn’t necessarily say that someone seeing the worst in you is the Most Honest way to read someone, but I think for me the reason why NieYao is and will always be the side of 3zun that most fascinates me is the fact that, imo, the worst parts they see in each other are also the parts they most fear.

Meng Yao sees NMJ as rigid, unyielding, incapable of empathizing with others or seeing things from other points of view, unable to be controlled or to control himself—all things that are exploited by and exaggerated by the saber curse, the things that were already driving NMJ to an early grave. Also worth noting that the two main victims we see of his increasing instability are Jin Guangyao and Huaisang, his brother and his heir whom he loves. At times Jin Guangyao is even the one defending Huaisang (the symbol of Qinghe Nie’s future) from NMJ, which I can only imagine he hates more than anything.

As for Meng Yao, there’s a common characterization I see of him that always strikes me as somewhat off, which is one in which he has, basically, low self-esteem and is shocked at being treated well and almost tries to walk it back on behalf of the person being nice to him. I don’t think that’s true. I think Meng Yao does believe that he deserves the position and respect his mother told him was his birthright, and he resents other people for failing to give it to him, because he loves his mother! He thinks SHE is worthy of respect and adoration, and therefore his status as her son shouldn’t be shameful. Appropriately enough, I think that’s what draws him to Nie Mingjue in the first place—the fact that NMJ is the first/among the first people to elevate him based on merit, which SHOULD BE how the world works!

But there is this insidious catch-22, which is that in order to be worthy of the position of respected sect leader’s son, he needs to act like and uphold the values of a respected sect leader’s son… and if he does that, no one will ever raise him to the position. He needs to be a bastard in order to get the job done, which is what Nie Mingjue criticizes him for. He needs to kill, to be sly, to eliminate his enemies, to do his father’s dirty work. And I do think that, over time, his sense of self-respect begins to falter a little, to become intertwined and tainted with disgust at what he’s done, especially when it comes to the people who are closer to him—killing Nie Mingjue, marrying Qin Su and keeping the secret from her, Whatever Happened With Jin Rusong.

So Nie Mingjue’s attitude towards him represents this growing fear: it’s not that Jin Guangyao is unworthy because of his mother, but because of himself. Because his own actions are undeserving of the lofty place his mother imagined for him, the place that she prepared him for and he failed to achieve.

And both of them feel powerless to get off those destructive paths. Nie Mingjue is going to keep cultivating with the saber, because that’s what his family does. Jin Guangyao is going to keep doing whatever he can to get his father’s approval, because that’s what his mother wanted for him. They can see each other’s downfalls so clearly but they’re trapped, and eventually they end up trapped in that coffin together, hand in unlovable fucking hand.

[mncxbe]

Hey, first time request! Recently I watched an anime called My Happy Marriage and I was wondering if I could request Dazai, Chuuya, Kunikida, Fukuzawa, Ranpo, Akutagawa and Fyodor with the reader who has a personality and history similar to Miyo Saimori? How would the BSD characters help the reader?

Here is the information about the character and anime: https://my-happy-marriage.fandom.com/wiki/Miyo_Saimori#cite_note-novel-v1-1-1

P.S: I recommend you watch the anime before making my request so that you will understand the characters and the plot.

Thank you!

hii dear♡ unfortunately I had no time to watch the anime cuz my schedule has been packed these days. but I read Miyo's backstory in the manga and on wikifandom so I'm quite sure I got the main idea ^^

so reader is gonna have her backstory, personality and ability but she's just in a relationship with the bsd guys, not an arranged marriage. I really hope you like it♡♡

°☆○

12:20♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂, 𝑲𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒂, 𝑨𝒌𝒖, 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒑𝒐, 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

Dazai is a very perceptive individual. he could tell from the second the two of you met that there was something different about you. still, he doesn't bring it up until you got closer

when you decided to tell him everything about your past; how you've never been loved by your family, how you've always tried to prove yourself to them but it was all for nothing. how you've always felt like you weren't good enough; he's surprisingly understanding

as someone who has never felt love he gets you. of course he doesn't dare compare his past to yours

Dazai is such a supportive partner. it's the little things for him like telling you you're appreciated and loved and surprising you with gifts (when he actually has money lmao)

he doesn't strike me as the type of partner who pushes all the "but how can you think so lowly of yourself? you're amazing" on you. he knows fully well that healing is a long process but he's ready to support you all the way

when you're having especially tough time, and not only with your family but also in general, he's always there for you.

best cuddle sessions when you're sad

tries his best to show you the love you never had and get you out of your shell (ofc he does, he's an extrovert)

as for your ability I don't feel like it would matter too much for him. of course, he finds it impressive but in the end, he love you for who you are, not for your ability.

you both end up healing each other; you show him kindness and he makes you see your worth. so overall it's a healthy relationship♡

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂

he gets so mad when you tell him about your past. he's angry because he really cannot understand how your family could ever treat you like this

he's honestly surprised that you're so kind and gentle, considering what you've been through

calls your sister a bitch for sure. but after you tell him to stop he doesn't do it anymore

showers you with love in all shapes and forms. you wanna have a nice chat over a glass of wine? sure. he saw you looking at a kimono while the two of you were out on a date? he gets it for you.

very supportive overall although he may not be able to express his feelings sometimes.

let's just pray he never meets your family💀

reassures you a lot and really tries to show you that you're appreciated. you always feel loved when you're with him

𝑲𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒂

this neon green flag of a man will listen to you talk about your past and keep a straight face. but deep inside he feels like crying

he's a man of strong morals so naturally he's mad at the injustice of your family

very reassuring and patient, he gives the best words of affirmation and always makes sure you feel appreciated

as for your ability he does think it's powerful. and if you work for the ADA he's sure to keep you as safe as possible

feels a deep need to shelter you from every bad thing in the world because honestly, you've been through enough

God forbid you ever have a fight. he'll cry himself to sleep

tries his best to always remind you that you're loved and that your past doesn't define you and that you don't need to prove yourself to him in any way

overall GREEN FLAG

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂

oh boy

when you tell him about your past and the things your family did he just sits there like: 😐

Akutagawa knows very well the pain of never feeling good enough and always needing to please others

you bond a lot over your traumatic childhoods althought it takes him a while to open up

he's not too god (he's downright terrible) at talking and reassuring you with words of affirmation. so he'll show you that you're cared for through little kind gestures like brewing you tea in the morning, bringing you snacks after his missions and spending time with you

at first he thinks your ability is weak cuz it's not useful in combat. but when he actually realises what you can do he holds such respect for you like hands down. somehow he also feels a but thretened by your power?? in a way?? but he gets over it

little by little you both fully open up to each other. your gentle personality really soothes his soul

so just like with Dazai, you help each other heal and have an overall healthy relationship♡

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒑𝒐

speaking of perceptive...

he probably deduced your trooma✨️ after a simple chat. but then again you tell him everything at some point

he's really supportive and caring. sometimes he may come across as too pushy, like forcing you to get out of your shell and meet his friends and be more open about your feelings, but he means well

really sweet and gentle when you're in private. you can talk openly to him about anything he will listen

"Oh? You feel like you're not good enough for me? Nuh uh"

Ranpo may seem childish and playful most of the time but he's actually thoughtful

always shares your candy with you to show you how much he cares

I do see him asking Poe to write a novel describing the perfect date place. and then takes you on that perfect date yk. he's smooth like that

being with you makes him act more mature and serious. because he is serious about you. he truly wants to show you the love you never had and make you feel worthy of yourself

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂

another green flag

you can see his smile slowly fade away when you tell him everything about your past

when you're done he hugs you so tightly♡

making sure you're appreciated is one of his number one priorities now

ofc he doesn't mind that you're shy. always reassures you that you can take things slow and fully open up to each other and all. he's really sweet

if you weren't his partner and just a member of the ADA he'd be your father figure. but that's not the case

makes you feel cared for with acts of service and quality time. although he's busy at the Agency he always makes time to go on dates with you or simply spend time in the comfort of your home

🙏🙏 best words of affirmation

he feels the need to protect you. Fukuzawa is very much aware of the fact that your ability makes you a target. many people could take advantage of it. so he wants to keep you safe

he does his utmost to be reassuring and offer you support whenever you need it. and helps you heal and learn to love yourself.

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓

this man... when I tell you he only wanted you for your ability at first

but somehow he realises that there's more to you than just your power. little by little he grows fond of you; and curious

when you tell him about your past he's disappointed but not surprised. he knows how cruel people can be

still, after that he treats you more like a human being and when you do end up together he's surprisingly gentle

Fyodor is lowkey forced to change his attitude towards you. to be kind and good. to show you that you're loved because it really pains him to see you suffer

I see him brewing you tea, cuddling with you while you read a book together and playing the cello to cheer you up when you're sad or simply need to unwind

being with him may not be the easiest. he's cold and distant sometimes but he does his best to reassure you that you're worhty, loved and precious (and not only because of your ability)

STILL if you ever get into a fight he won't hesitate to use your past against you. but he will regret it the second he sees how your face drops. so he apologises

[cuubism]

Like the Foxglove to the Hummingbird

Dreamling, E rated, Fertility Rituals, Sex Magic, Canon-verse, Soulmates-of-sorts Theirs was a long love affair, Hob and the concept of dreaming.

--

Children were born dreamers. Naturals at seeing what could be instead of what was, at touching the innate fantasy and magic of the world, finding it and building it in their play and in their stories. They lost the knack for it as they aged, as the harsh realities and responsibilities of the world intruded—but in their youths, they were looking towards the sky.

Not Hob Gadling.

Hob never had the knack for it. He saw too much, too young: neighbor boys cut down by swords, and just-born babes starving in the winter cold, and good people who tried to help the sick struck down by the same plague. Family, friends, whole villages. Muck was what it was, muck it would stay, and no use harping on dreams when one had to survive.

But survive Hob did, when so many others did not. Hob hit adulthood, and the world still lay before him in all its wasted glory. Hob did not know hope, had no acquaintance with some high fantasy life somewhere far away from here. But Hob did know good ale, good friends, the warmth of a fireplace on a cold night; the rush of stepping off a battlefield with all his limbs intact, and the sweet moans of a lass as he plumbed her secret places for the first time. Hob knew the turning of the sun, and the gentle nicker of a horse that had given him its trust— and heaven might have been a crap shot, Hell not even worth thinking of, but there were dreams down there in the muck, if one was willing to trust in life. 

Hob believed not in progress or a better world, or a grand arc of history that bent toward justice. He only believed that there would be a tomorrow, and that something there would be worth sticking around for. 

Hob Gadling was not born a dreamer, but he chose to become one. And later, Hob would think that someone out there must have had a sense of humor—for they saw fit to send this scrappy, self-made dreamer, of all people, an actual dream.

—

The creature that stopped before Hob could have stepped out of a dream. Only later would Hob know how right he had been in that thought. For now, all he knew was that the most ethereal thing was standing over him, querying him, challenging him. And Hob was inclined to meet that challenge, to push onwards, he always was.

Besides, his dream creature was so pretty. And he looked at Hob with such fixation. Like Hob had plucked some string within him he hadn’t known was there, and he was trying to pick out the notes of that song.

Hob was challenged to return, to meet him again. And he would. Hob wanted to meet him again. To touch this being that had come down off its cloud. He felt like he was meant to.

In truth, he wanted to have him now. To lure this strange creature who was challenging him not to die out behind the tavern and— no, that certainly wasn’t good enough for this dream of a thing, he would have to find a proper room, he would want to do this properly.

Hob would make him feel so good if only he wanted. It struck him like a blow, that wanting. A peek at something he wasn’t yet meant to touch.

But he could be patient. Hob wasn’t often patient, but he could be, for this. He would meet this stranger again, and find out why. Get a proper look at what he had only glimpsed.

He told his dream creature as much. Grinned at the self-satisfied smile that was returned to him. His strange creature might not believe him, that he would come back, that he wouldn’t give up. But Hob had made his choice long before they had met, and wasn’t inclined to change it.

—

That night Hob’s dreams were a swirl of hands and skin and wet kisses. Of his stranger’s dark hair and sharp eyes, teeth set to his inner thighs, the tang of his spend in Hob’s mouth. The contortion of his stranger’s body under his, and his long fingers, and his soft moans. Pain and pleasure. Taking and being taken. The hook of joined bodies.

Hob disrobed a thin frame and unveiled a marvel, wrapped his arms around a narrow waist and kissed soft hair, murmured words he wouldn’t remember, had his stranger in the room above the tavern, in his seat at the table, in a great bed he couldn’t identify, held him, ravished him, again and again, wet lips, aching thighs, his stranger’s cries dragged from deep within him.

Hob woke feeling ruined. If that was what dreaming was like, well. Maybe he would keep to it.

—

Choice being made, dreaming came naturally to Hob after that—in his own fashion. He was no writer, no artist, though he did come to enjoy stories. He was no particular believer in divinity or magic. And Hob did not dwell on fantasies or powers beyond what was attainable to him in this life—a way out of soldiering for a living, a proper trade, then simple riches and social stability, and finally a family to call his own again. No use dwelling on the unreal, when there was such to be had here, if only one persisted long enough.

(Only occasionally did Hob mull on the unreal. The unreal of his stranger. Only when his life brushed up against his stranger’s did Hob’s dreams spiral out briefly into the cosmos, for something about his stranger inferred the fantastical, the unnatural, the darkest darks and lightest lights reachable or unreachable to the human mind. He thought that his stranger had seen things on this earth that would be unimaginable to a man like him who had spent all his life in one certain corner of the world. They were discovering new corners every day, and his stranger had been to all of them, Hob thought. Had touched every fantastical creature spoken of in stories, dragons and unicorns and great beasts under the sea. If the moon was travel-able, he had been there, too.

But this was a flight of fancy, a little story; Hob had no ambitions, no hopes, of touching any such things himself—strange enough already, for his life to touch his stranger’s.)

And when their paths parted again, diverging along the counterpointed sound waves of their lives to intersect again only a century hence, said fancies faded again to the background and Hob’s dreams returned to their mundane heights.

— 

The first time Hob actually longed for his stranger, his dream, longed rather than just wanted him, was in the mid-1600s. Broken, filthy, lying in a gutter somewhere starving, he would think of his mysterious stranger swooping in to rescue him. Materializing from the very shadows Hob languished in, sweeping his imperial coat from his shoulders and draping it over Hob’s rags. Coming to him as some awesome beast, a great black unicorn, perhaps, for their touch was said to heal—and resting the tip of his horn on Hob’s head like a strange knighting, banishing the many bruises from his skin. Appearing, even, as the night itself, and softening the sharp edges of the darkness. Whisking him away, maybe, to some faraway land. Just for a little while.

Hob’s hallucinations brought him to many strange places. Made him long for a touch he had never felt.

Looking back on this later, from a time when he knew who his dream truly was, Hob would wonder if it wasn't the ability to dream itself that he had truly been missing. He never gave up on life, but dreams felt distant from him then, even the modest ones he had been accustomed to. And Hob’s chosen love affair with dreaming had been long by now, and he missed the press of it along his side like a lover’s warm body, a bed gone cold.

It was only when he saw his dream again that he touched it once again—the presence of dreams. It was so easy, then, when his dream asked if he wished to live.

—

A century later, Hob’s longing somehow brought him here—a borrowed bed in a particular inn, his borrowed stranger bobbing between his legs. His fine fingers wrapped around Hob’s thighs, his fine lips around his cock, swallowing him down like ambrosia. Hob couldn’t quite replay the steps that had gotten him here in this state, but he knew he was on borrowed time, that he would soon have to give his stranger back to whatever unfathomable business he came from—so he decided not to overthink it and just let the dream of it all wrap around him. A memory to carry until next time, a brilliant fantasy brought to earth.

He spilled in his stranger’s mouth, half-delirious with the heat of it and the shift of his throat as he swallowed, and scrabbled blindly for his stranger’s arms, drawing him up into a mashing kiss before he’d even had a chance to wipe his mouth.

His dear stranger whined into his mouth, composure broken, and Hob only hoped he knew that this was a sacred space, that nothing would leave these walls, that Hob knew how dearly he held his armor and wouldn’t take it away from him—that he felt blessed to touch such a thing at all—

“Hob,” breathed his stranger, voice all cracked stone, and Hob wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, held him close, slipped his other hand between them to take him in hand.

“Shh,” he hushed, stroking him in quick twisting motions, not meaning to leave him in suspense any longer. “I have you, s’alright.”

“I would have been fine without your intervention,” panted his stranger, face pressed to Hob’s throat now as he squirmed so beautifully in Hob’s grasp. “I would have—”

“Oh, don’t I know it, dearling,” Hob consoled. “I’m sure you could have wiped the whole inn off the map if you wanted, hm?”

“Yes. I—” He let out a strangled sort of whimper, muffled into Hob’s neck, as Hob twisted his hand just so. And when Hob finally made him come, he stumbled over the edge of it with a surprised sound, like Hob had caught him off guard, and pressed his face even further into Hob’s neck, fingers grasping restlessly at Hob’s sides.

Hob soothed him through it. “Shh, sweet thing.”

His stranger grumbled against his skin. “You need not placate me so.”

“Want to, though. So pretty, you are, it makes a man say terrible things.” Dangerous things.

“Hmm.” His stranger subsided, and they lay there for a time, loosely entwined. Finally, he said, “I cannot stay long.”

Hob couldn’t hide the disappointed note in his reply. “I figured as much.”

“My responsibilities are great,” said his stranger.

Hob wondered what those responsibilities might be. He still didn’t know who his stranger was. He hadn’t even gotten a name.

“I know,” he said, voice tight.

Not long after that, his stranger was gone again, though for the first time, he seemed genuinely reluctant to leave.

Hob held the memory of that night close in the coming years. He didn’t know exactly what it meant yet, him and his stranger, his dream, but he knew it was something more than a casual tangle of bodies. He knew their paths had collided for a reason, even if that reason was only that it gave them both comfort, something to cling to.

He came back to that night again and again, mulled on the memory of his stranger in the years before they met again. Perhaps, when that day came, Hob would find a way to express even a small fraction of what he thought they could be to each other.

That day did come, and Hob said so. Gave his stranger a small window into his feelings since their union—since they had met, really. Called him friend, called him dear one, expressed how he wanted to care for him.

These sentiments were not taken well by the strange creature Hob had bedded. He recoiled from the name friend, from Hob’s insinuation that there might be anything real there, something more than fleeting. He fled from it, nearly in tears, leaving Hob bereft and wondering what he was supposed to do when his heart was increasingly captured by a being that did not want him back, did not want even to hear of it.

Hob was hardly going to ask for his hand in marriage. He wouldn’t even ask him to stay. All he wanted was the slightest acknowledgement that there was anything there between them.

But how dare he, to ask him to say that it meant something. 

—

Many stopped dreaming in the 20th century, but not Hob. Later he would learn it was because of Dream’s absence, this collective loss in the ability to dream. But Hob kept dreaming, because his dreams were never tied to sleep anyway—always to the real world, the one he properly lived in. Nor were his dreams tied to his stranger, not truly, for all that he usually left their meetings feeling a bizarre mix of devastating loss and unique excitement for the years ahead. 

When his stranger walked out at their last meeting, all he felt was the devastating loss. It lodged in his chest and kept him company through the years, like a bullet that had stuck in him and couldn’t be carved out. But he didn’t stop dreaming, of his stranger’s return that he so fervently hoped for, of new inventions across the century whose stories he could share, of the end of each war, of change, always so invigorating to watch happen around him. Hob was still dreaming, pain didn’t stop it, hadn’t since that terrifying period three hundred years ago, and even if his stranger never returned—he wouldn’t give it up.

He might nurse the wound forever like a longing widower, but he wouldn’t give up.

And Hob would be glad he didn’t, for, cliche as it felt, not giving up on his dreams got him his dream back.

—

“I missed you,” Hob said, not for the first time, on the night his dream returned. He’d managed to lure his just-returned friend, his Dream, he now knew, upstairs with him, despite their parting, and now had Dream lying across the couch with his head in Hob’s lap. So much more than he’d thought he would be allowed, this tenderness. But Dream had explained, somewhat reluctantly, that he was tired, that his realm was tired, desolate, damaged—and perhaps that was all this was. Seeking sanctuary, rest, nourishment.

“I am missing you more the longer I lie here,” Dream said, his low voice a purr against Hob’s thighs. “It seems that. My time away was… illustrative of more than one misstep.”

“Oh?” That unexpected admission lodged itself in Hob’s heart, piercing right between his ribs. To think that such a thing as Dream might want him back…

“Stay, then,” he said, and ran a hand through Dream’s feathersoft hair. “And get tangled up. If you want to.”

“And miss this more when I must go?”

“And come back,” Hob said. “Yeah.”

Dream let out a long sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world in it. “Very well. I will come back, then.”

And Hob drew a blanket over him, and kept petting his hair, offering what comfort he could as his heart leapt and sang.

—

Hob no longer quite knew what dreaming was, because every day merged the real and imaginary. His stranger, his Dream, once only in the stories in the back of his head, walked beside him now. Drank tea in his kitchen and shared his bed. And in his dreams, too, they walked, through strange vistas and sentimental places. It was the culmination of a long, twining pathway, the both of theirs, where Hob stepped through the Dreaming like a second home he had always known he was meant to walk. Met Dream, daily, at that turnstile between sleeping and waking, where things blurred and slid and he felt, sometimes, he might be able to pull dreamstuff right through into the waking world.

And one day, hovering on those cloudy crossroads, Dream said, “There are some particularly strong dreamers in this world.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hob drifted back to wakefulness from where he was falling asleep against Dream’s side, fingers lazily combing his hair.

Dream was lying beside him on his back, stilled in thought. Hob wished he would relax. Though Dream’s manners of relaxing could be strange. “You are one of them.”

Hob pushed himself up on sleep-heavy arms. Dream’s expression was considered, but he was staring off into his own thoughts, or into an echo of the Dreaming perhaps, rather than at Hob. “Huh?” Hob said eloquently. “But I’m not like. An artist or anything. You have no idea how unfantastical I am.” 

“Art is only one manner of dreaming,” Dream said. He looped his arm around Hob’s shoulders and started rubbing there, though he still seemed lost in thought. “Though admittedly I have focused much on creating inspiration in that realm in the past. An oversight on my part, perhaps.” 

“What are other types of dreaming?” Hob asked, rather than asking what Dream meant about him being a strong dreamer.

“Much of dreaming is passive, and all sentient beings have the right to a place in the Dreaming when they sleep,” said Dream. “But there are also those who bring dreams to the waking world. Enact my power here, as it were. Art, literature, theater, storytelling, these are forms of strong dreaming, of course. But striving to enact positive change in the world against great opposition and the pull of Despair is also a form of dreaming. Invention is a form of dreaming. Love is a form of dreaming.” He smirked. “Perhaps I will reclaim it from Desire.”

Dreams and Desire fighting over the concept of Love, Hob thought, head spinning. That was a tussle that had been happening for a long time with no end in sight, he thought.

Still, he didn’t know what this had to do with him, unless Dream meant the way that Hob loved Dream, but he didn’t think that was all of it. 

“I have recently been reminded that living is also a form of dreaming,” Dream explained, sensing Hob’s question. “Persistence. Stubbornness. You love life, Hob. No matter how it tries to prove it is undeserving.”

“That counts as dreaming in your book?” Hob said, dumbstruck. 

Dream ran a hand through his hair with a tiny smile. “Very much so. And the Dreaming loves you. It feeds off your presence.”

“Feeds,” Hob repeated. “That’s. Um. A lot. Wait, does that mean you ‘feed off my presence’?”

“You nourish me in many ways,” Dream said. “As friend, lover. As dreamer, as well, yes.”

“Like a battery,” Hob said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him.

Dream wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Like a good meal?”

“You are well aware that I meant it metaphorically—”

Hob kissed him halfway through that line, and Dream’s words melted into a comfortable hum. Hob settled over him, giving up on sleep in favor of the pleasure of touching Dream, again. His own dream on earth.

He was going to have to mentally unpack this whole you are a strong dreamer thing later, and properly mull over the fact that his mere stubbornness to keep living was apparently enough to nourish all of dreaming. And his lover most of all.

For now, he just grinned cheekily and said, eyebrows raised innocently, “I could feed you again?”

Dream grumbled. “Must you make everything innuendo?”

“You handed it to me,” Hob pointed out.

“So I did,” Dream admitted, aggrieved. And Hob smiled and went back in to nourish him, figuratively or literally or all ways between.

—

“There is, in fact, a ritual,” Dream said.

They were sitting on a couch in the Dreaming library, Hob’s legs draped over Dream’s lap. Dream had a book open in one hand, and his other loosely holding Hob’s ankle, half tender half possessive—but he was now just looking at Hob expectantly. 

“A ritual for what?” Hob asked, feeling very much like he was about to be dropped off the edge of a cliff. He often got premonitions like that when talking to Dream in the Dreaming, for Dream’s feelings and intentions were everywhere in the space and the Dreaming seemed determined for Hob to understand them.

And Dream actually blushed and looked away. 

“Wait,” Hob said, realizing, nudging Dream’s thigh with his toes until Dream looked back at him. “Are you somehow talking about sex?”

Dream plucked at the hem of Hob’s trousers. “The Dreaming loves you,” he said, instead of answering, and almost in a way that suggested this was no longer a source of joy to him, rather an incursion.

“Okay,” Hob said, and scooted closer until he could rest a hand on Dream’s arm, concerned, now, by whatever this was. “Aren’t you also the Dreaming?”

Dream nodded. And finally he said, “Answer me this, dreamer. Is it me that you love, or is it dreaming?”

Hob’s heart lurched at the flat, guarded tone of Dream’s voice. There was very much a wrong answer to this, he knew, but he wasn’t even sure he understood the question. He knew what was in his heart, but he didn’t know what would assuage Dream’s uncertainties.

“I fell in love with you a very long time ago,” Hob told him gently. “My mysterious, mystical stranger.”

“That is not as long as you have been dreaming.”

“Can’t I love both?” Hob asked. “Can’t I love all of you?”

Dream stayed silent.

“What answer were you hoping to hear, Dream?”

“I do not know,” Dream admitted, with a pained breath. “No one has loved… all that I am. I am dreams, and the Dreaming, and people have loved the Dreaming. But.”

“You are also Morpheus,” Hob supplied, and Dream nodded.

“I suppose I… have been loved, as such.”

He didn’t sound wholly convinced of it. Hob took his hand, kissed it, held it close to his face. “Has truly no one loved both?”

Dream shook his head, his gaze on his own hand pressed to Hob’s cheek. He twisted it to cradle Hob’s jaw, thumb to the corner of his mouth. “Not the way you have.”

With aching slowness, Hob pulled his strange, unfathomable, hurt creature into a hug. Dream tucked his face into Hob’s shoulder. “Let yourself have it, then, yeah?” he urged. “Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” Dream vowed. “Only beware of the power you hold, Hob Gadling.”

For Dream to even admit such a thing was a power placed in Hob’s hands, he thought. 

He squeezed Dream’s shoulders again and then pulled away far enough to look at him. “What’s this ‘ritual,’ then? Is this a good thing, or a you sacrificing yourself upon the altar of my apparent greater love for the Dreaming kind of thing?”

“There are no sacrifices and no altars,” Dream said, with an eye roll that Hob thought meant he was feeling slightly more at ease about the whole thing now, which Hob was glad for. “I am not a god.” 

“So what is it for, then?” 

“I shepherd all dreaming minds,” Dream said, starting his explanation several steps away from what Hob had asked as per usual. “Particularly strong dreamers can oblige me to take certain actions. Namely, vortexes, whom I must kill for the sake of the rest of the Dreaming. But most powerful dreamers present not a threat, but an opportunity. It is a symbiotic relationship, you understand. I created the landscape you see here, the dreams and nightmares who inhabit it, but the Dreaming would not exist at all if there were no dreamers. There is a ritual one can perform, to remember their importance to one another—dreamer and Dreaming.”

“And… this involves sex, somehow?” It was the impression Hob had gotten from Dream’s reaction before, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that.

“It can,” said Dream, carefully. “It is mostly about love. And devotion. And union.”

This was starting to sound to Hob rather like marriage. Or at least, a wedding.

“And… you want to do that? With me?” Hob couldn’t help but feel shaken by the thought. That Dream felt them so important to each other, their love so true, that he would use it to symbolize the power of his entire realm.

“I would explore it,” said Dream. “If you are amenable.”

“I mean, obviously I would—“ Another thought occurred to Hob halfway through that sentiment. “Wait. You don’t have to do this, do you?”

“It is not a necessary part of my function, the way dealing with dream vortexes is,” Dream stressed. “It is merely. An opportunity. To strengthen the bond between dreamer and Dreaming.”

“Between dreamers and you?” Hob added, voice tipped up in a question.

Dream shook his head. “I am but a conduit.”

“You are dreaming,” Hob said. “That sounds pretty damn central to it, to me. Besides, Dream—“ he took Dream’s hand and squeezed “—I’m not really interested in using you as a bridge for some ceremony. But if you want to do it with me, and the Dreaming, then we can talk.”

Dream smiled, a tiny, surprised thing. “This is why it has not happened before. Because no one would see it the way you do.”

“Never?”

Dream shook his head. “No one has… loved me quite the way you do.”

And if that didn’t hurt and make Hob feel more special to Dream in equal measure.

He wrapped his arms around Dream and pulled him close, kissing his temple. “Well, if you want to do it, then fill me in on what it entails and let’s see, hm?”

Dream hummed, a pleased, purring sound, and let Hob hold him close.

—

This was how Hob found himself, one night, in one of the great forests of the Dreaming, just before dawn. Dream had brought them to a small clearing covered in grass, where old growth trees leaned in above them and framed a cloudless sky, scattered with stars.

It was a uniquely quiet part of the Dreaming. Not a properly sentient dreamspace like Fiddler’s Green, but something older and wilder, a place that still grew only out of Dream himself. No other beings around, only Dream sitting across from him, a loose robe around his shoulders and pooling in his lap.

“Are you certain?” he asked, voice deep and old as the shifting of the trees around them. Hob was reminded of the moment he had first seen him, and the bolt of realization that this was an ancient thing, a wild and magical thing.

“Why, could something go wrong?”

Dream shook his head. “If we are not committed, it may not achieve its intended effect. But there will be no adverse results, no.”

Something could go very wrong indeed, then. If Hob wasn’t committed—in whatever way that manifested—he was certain it would break Dream’s heart.

Still, if there was anything he had been forever tied to, it was his Dream, and his dreaming. So he took both of Dream’s hands in his own. “Okay. Then I’m ready if you are, dear heart.”

“Dear heart,” Dream echoed, a hint of a smile on his lips. A tentative, hopeful glow in his eyes. He was so beautiful.

“Dear,” Hob repeated, and kissed his cheek. “Dear,” he said again, and leaned down to kiss the grass between them.

When he looked back up, Dream’s cheeks were colored with the slightest blush. “Truly, you are singular, Hob Gadling.”

Hob kissed him again, on the lips this time. Dream leaned into it with a hum, and Hob tangled a hand in his hair, holding him there, holding him close. “Nah,” he said, when they parted for a breath, lips still brushing Dream’s. “I just love you.”

“Yes,” Dream breathed, an exhalation of great weight. He pulled Hob close by the front of his shirt, hands fisted tightly in the fabric, and fell back onto the grass, Hob following to land on top of him. He cradled the back of Dream’s head in his hand to protect him from hitting the ground, though he suspected the soil of the Dreaming would be soft and kind to its creator, even this old forest, with its tangle of hard roots under every patch of ground.

Indeed, a flurry of flower petals swirled up from where they’d landed, carried on the wind of Dream’s power. Hob knew not where they came from, but they circled around Dream’s head and then disappeared into the woods as Dream’s hair fanned out over the grass, robe slipping open in a deep vee over his chest.

Hob raised an eyebrow. “You doing that?”

“Not… consciously. I—“ Dream ran his thumb over Hob’s cheek, a steadying motion. “I must… let my power merge more with the Dreaming’s, for this. Give it agency over me in a way that I normally would not.”

“Just be safe, yeah?”

“The Dreaming is me. It is safe,” said Dream.

“Only you usually keep yourself more separate,” Hob guessed, and Dream nodded.

“I do not usually relinquish such direct power to the broader Dreaming, like so,” he confirmed.

Dream didn’t usually relinquish any power ever, Hob thought. “Well, just relax,” he told him, and Dream huffed.

“I was under the impression that I was leading this.”

“Well, maybe I wanna. You’re supposed to give up control, aren’t you?”

Before Dream could answer, Hob kissed him again, pressing him down into the grass with both hands in his hair. Dream tipped his head back, baring his throat with a little whimper, and Hob took the hint, kissing under his jaw and sucking a mark into the skin.

“Very well,” Dream breathed. “Take the lead, then, dreamer.”

So Hob did, pulling his loose shirt over his head and tossing it off into the grass. Despite the relative chill of the night air, and the darkness, he wasn’t cold. He supposed that was the Dreaming, already building magic up between them.

Dream pet at his bare arms and shoulders, clearly pleased, as Hob guided his legs apart, slotting himself between them. Dream folded his legs around Hob’s waist, hands in his hair now, running through the strands with actual sparks following his fingertips.

“I think I like this wild magic,” Hob told him as he kissed Dream’s throat again, then his sternum between the lapels of his robe. “I think I like seeing all your feelings like that.”

Dream grumbled, “You would,” but didn’t stop touching. His fingertips tingled against Hob’s skin. Hob thought about having those hands all over him, and groaned.

“Yeah, I like it a lot,” he confirmed, and tugged on the tie of Dream’s robe. It fell open around his body, and oh, he was so gorgeous in the dark, almost glowing from within with power, deep shadows in every corner of him. “You’re beautiful,” he added, and the air shimmered around them. Hob grinned in delight at the reaction. “Ha!”

Dream squirmed uneasily under him. “You have much influence here.”

Hob laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “Oh, yeah? Is this thing making you uncomfortable?”

“I trust you,” Dream said, which wasn’t quite an answer. Hob waited, and he added, “I want this.”

“Okay,” Hob said, offering a reassuring smile. “Let’s have it, then, yeah?”

The reassurance didn’t land as solidly as he had hoped. “Can I?” Dream whispered, and Hob didn’t think it was something he would have vocalized if it wasn’t just them, alone here in the grass. It was so important to Hob to catch that feeling, to not leave him holding it in empty air. “Would you, truly, love me? The King of Dreams, of Nightmares? The landscape of the unconscious? Hope and fear, persistence and uncertainty, creation, story, ambition, art and terror all?”

“I already do,” Hob murmured, kissing his lips, his cheek, his forehead, lingering there in benediction. “I already have. I’m no artist or visionary with one foot born in the Dreaming. I chose to love you, you know.” 

“Oh,” Dream breathed, hands framing his face. “You did, yes.”

“Would choose it again until the end of time, my Dream,” Hob vowed. “Love for you carried me through every hardship. And now. Maybe my love can carry you in return.”

“It does.” Dream’s eyes were shut now, and Hob watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed, the air wavering around him as his composure slipped. The tightening of his expression as he fought it.

“Don’t,” Hob said, as Dream’s hands fell from his face to grip his shoulders, fingertips sharp. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hold onto yourself so tightly like that. Isn’t the point to let go? Let me catch you.” 

“I—” A tremor ran through Dream’s body, echoing out into the ground around them. “I. Yes.” Incrementally, he relaxed, opening his eyes again, and they were rimmed red. Hob ran his thumbs across Dream’s cheeks as tears slipped out one by one, water breaking its surface tension and spilling over. 

“Do you want to stop?” Hob asked.

Dream shook his head. “It simply feels… more than I expected.”

“Okay.” Hob kissed the corner of his eye, catching a tear on his lip. “Stop me whenever you need, okay? But otherwise, let me take care of you. Will you let me take care of you?”

“You are good to me,” Dream breathed, eyes falling shut again, “my dreamer.”

The word shimmered something through Hob’s being, a title, a calling, a naming. The Dreaming reaching out to its other half. A magnified version of what he had felt in the Dreaming recently—a comfort, a closeness, a sense of belonging.

Breathing hard now, he kissed down Dream’s collarbone, then his sternum, peppered kisses over each of his ribs, wrapped his hands around Dream’s thighs. He pressed his nose into Dream’s stomach, felt the tension in all of his muscles and their gradual loosening as Hob kept kissing him.

“Relax, Dream. You have got to let go.” Dream’s fingers wound into his hair again, gripping tight. “Easy, my love.”

“I—” Dream blew out another shuddering breath, warm wind whipped around them, caressing Hob’s shoulders like a phantom touch— and he felt the moment Dream finally turned the Dreaming over to his hands. The diffusion of power into the clearing around them, the way the stars shined brighter, the loosening of Dream’s grip in his hair. Dream’s chest heaved like he was truly breathing, like he truly needed to, and Hob surged back up to catch his mouth in a kiss.

He felt so connected to the Dreaming now. He could feel the raw dream power in him, what he could usually only just barely touch by touching Dream. And he knew then that if he wanted to bring the Dreaming’s power to bear against Dream, he could—and that Dream was trusting him not to.

I am but a conduit, Dream had said. Hob shivered. The swirl of emotions was almost overwhelming—honor that Dream would trust him with this, that he even wanted to; and pride that Dream had been able to take that step; and horror at the thought of it ever being abused.

It’s safe, Dream had also assured him, and Hob was about say something to the effect of this not being safe at all, actually—before realizing that Dream meant it was safe with Hob. That the thought of Hob being the danger in this scenario had never crossed his mind.

Dream’s love for him was a terrifying thing sometimes. And a great gift.

“C’mere.” Getting choked up, he gathered Dream close to his chest, pressing his face into his neck. “I love you, you know?”

A tremor ran through Dream’s body, and he hummed, wrapping his arms around Hob’s shoulders. “Hob, I—” his voice rumbled unevenly through Hob’s chest. The powerful thrum of it that usually echoed through the Dreaming whenever he spoke was brought down to normal volume, a human sound Hob could hold within him. “I need—”

“Shh, shh, I’ll give you everything, don’t worry. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” Hob dragged his fingers through the soft grass at their sides, and Dream shivered. “All of you.”

Dream plucked at the waistband of his trousers. His voice was a whisper in the night. “You are still clothed.”

Hob laughed. “In a rush, now?” But he obediently tugged off his trousers, throwing those to the side as well, and then they were skin to skin, only Dream’s thin robe between their bodies and the ground. Dream was bared to Hob in all his beauty, familiar now but so special when he could feel the energy of dreams in him, the power and vitality of them.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said. Dream made a quiet, rough sound in his throat.

“You are incomparable with the Dreaming’s raiment upon you,” he said, hands running up and over Hob’s shoulders, up his neck to frame his face. Hob leaned in to kiss him and finally pressed their bodies together properly, grinding against him. Dream gasped, already so on edge, hiking his legs up to allow better access. Hob took one narrow thigh in his hand and bent him back further, hooking Dream’s leg over his shoulder. He had Dream physically at his mercy now, too, twisted and pressed into the ground, and he felt this was what was supposed to happen. That Dream was supposed to trust, and Hob was supposed to be deserving of it.

He would be deserving of it.

“Going to make you feel so good,” he promised. “Trust.”

“I trust,” said Dream. He was moving needily against Hob now, and pink dawn was peeking over the horizon, the darkness of early morning slipping away, and Hob reached between them to press his fingertips to Dream’s entrance, finding him already loose and slick. Dream magic. Wanting made manifest.

Hob swallowed hard, throat tight, heat building in his groin, aching in his thighs. He slipped two fingers into Dream, relishing in Dream’s groan, the line of his throat as he tipped his head back. Hob worked him open carefully. Normally, it wasn’t possible to hurt Dream during sex in the Dreaming unless he allowed it, but Hob wasn’t sure that was true in this particular moment. All the power was in his hands, and he wanted it to be right, and good, and easy.

Dream’s hands grasped the back of his neck, buried in his hair. His groan was long and dragged with the agony of wanting, and Hob kissed at his jaw to appease him, nipped along the shell of his ear. “Hob, I am ready.”

“Alright, love. You know me. Got to be sure.” He lined himself up and pushed in, one long, smooth motion, breath trembling as Dream’s heat enveloped him. Dream whined, grip tightening in his hair. And Hob braced himself over him, starting to fuck him in long, slow rolls, each point where they touched a bright spark of dream power. So much of it, in his chest, in Dream’s body, in Hob’s hands where they brushed Dream’s sides. As far as Hob had learned, there was no inherent incantation of this ritual—it came only from them, and their transfer of power, and their trust and devotion. And he could feel it, that connection, and the conduit Dream had made of himself, though Hob would never see him that way. For him it was Dream first. Always had been.

There were words, though. Dream had said he would know them, that he would find them within the Dreaming. And find them he did. He kept his pace slow and dragging as he spoke, fitting the soft, solemn lines.

“I take thee as my lover, all world’s dreaming.” His voice felt rough, torn, and it sounded like marriage rites.

“And I take you, dreamer,” Dream replied, hushed. His breath hitched with each of Hob’s thrusts. His eyes were midnight blue in the shadows, and Hob couldn’t look away.

“To hold you from within and without," Hob continued. “To make you stronger.”

“To never forget you and your power,” said Dream, and the Dreaming flared around them in reminder.

“To help you grow,” said Hob.

“To help you rest,” said Dream.

“To help you rest,” Hob added, kissing his forehead, and Dream huffed.

“Not the words.”

“Still.”

Dream sighed again, and Hob kissed his lips, quick and light. “To inspire you.”

“To inspire you,” Dream echoed. Met Hob’s eyes again, a hopeful, vulnerable little look. “Kiss me again?”

Hob could never say no to that. He kissed him deep, plumbing his mouth with his tongue. Dream groaned, surrendering to it. Hob increased his pace, just a bit, and Dream’s groan stuttered out into a drawn out moan. Hob kissed him deeper, kissed it out of him, pressing Dream’s hiked up leg to his chest until he whined from the angle. Until he was hitting Dream right where he wanted and each thrust drew him a punched out gasp.

“The words?” Hob prompted, grinning against his cheek, and Dream just groaned.

“Hob—”

But he gathered himself, breathed out, wonderfully affected— “I will be a haven for you.”

“I’ll be your custodian,” promised Hob.

“You will plant in me.”

“You’ll help me bloom.”

“You will…” Dream swallowed, throat bobbing, trembling under him, “love me.”

Hob kissed his forehead, and Dream closed his eyes. “I will love you.” Those were the end of the set words, but Hob continued, pressing kisses over Dream’s face: “I’ll adore you, I’ll worship you, I’ll love you fore—”

Dream pulled Hob’s lips back to his. Kissed him deep as he pulled Hob’s body into his, encouraged Hob to thrust harder, clenching around him, and Hob did, bringing them closer and closer until the heat peaked and his orgasm washed over him.

Dream followed him over the edge with a cry, a rush of dreaming power going with him. Hob felt it his hands, over his skin, in Dream’s fingertips where he clutched at his hair. He could feel the entire Dreaming now, the infinite expanse of it. The long history of hope, of curiosity that had curled around him on dark nights; invention and newness, the reshaping of hands and thoughts; change and memory, the shadow that had cloaked and warmed him all his life. Companion, haven, challenge. A shape too big for comprehension. And all of it localized within his lover. Within his heart.

Hob kissed him hard as the power shimmered through them. Waves of pleasure through Dream, through the Dreaming. He held Dream close to him, body and soul, every moment a deeper connection.

When he pulled back from the kiss, Dream’s eyes had slipped to their natural starry darkness. Hob rested his hand on his cheek. Swam in the pleasure he could see in that look. Pressed his forehead against Dream’s.

“Did it work?” he murmured, voice thick.

“I should probably tell you.” Dream was still twined around him. “It is not binary, where the ritual works or does not. It is a degree of power. Of. Connection.” His voice was more solemn than Hob would usually have expected in the aftermath of sex. “You felt it, did you not?”

Hob could still feel it, Dream running through him, and the vastness of him at the edges of his vision. “Yeah. I did.”

Finally, Dream slipped away, just far enough to separate them. Curled up against Hob’s chest, resting his head over Hob’s heart. “I did not imagine,” he started at a whisper, “how it would feel. To give over the Dreaming.”

Hob wrapped his arms around him. “How did it feel?”

Dream’s voice was still a whisper. “Terrifying. But. Freeing. And you held it so beautifully.”

“I’m proud of you,” Hob murmured. “For even being willing to try that.”

“I have wanted to for a long time," said Dream, "but did not always know it was what I wanted. I would have rejected the idea until recently. But always. There was an itch in me. Something with teeth, biting.”

“What changed?”

Dream’s lips curled up in a tiny smile. “You. I knew there was something to you that I needed, even when I first saw you. Only I did not know what. Not until. My escape. When I saw you again.”

“Couldn’t have imagined anything like this, but I wanted you the second you challenged me,” Hob told him. "I felt like I was supposed to. Like. I'd been watching the horizon for you. Still can’t believe my own patience about it.”

Dream chuckled. “Not so patient. My return was not the first time we had each other.”

“I don’t get any credit for four hundred years?”

“I was speaking of your dream.”

It took Hob a moment to think back. He dreamt of Dream quite a lot, nowadays, and had in the past, too. Then it clicked. He had had really quite a vivid dream the night they had met, hadn’t he? Vivid enough that he could still remember it, when he had forgotten whole eras of his long past. He pushed himself up to look Dream in the eye. “That was actually you? Dream.”

“As I said.” Dream’s voice held a tinge of guilt now, though he didn’t look away from Hob. “I was… compelled by you.”

“You’re a little nightmare, you know that?” Possibly he should have been upset over it, but wasn’t. Dream had that effect on him. And he had known, already, that Dream had hooked something sharp into him, long before they had acknowledged it. “I did wish it was you at the time, although I was imagining you in my bed, not the real you in my dreams.” He swept his thumb over Dream’s lip, and Dream’s tongue dipped out to wet it. “Hottest dream I ever had. Left me wanting for days, you did.”

“Good.” Dream tipped his head back as Hob kissed his throat. If they weren’t careful, this was going to tip right back over into sex, but as much as Hob wanted to make Dream come again, make him cry from overstimulation, he wanted this more right now: touching and lying quietly in the aftermath of their lovemaking. And baring long-held truths, apparently. “I imagined you wanting me, and satiated myself on that for a long time.”

“Could have had me any time you wanted,” Hob murmured. “Only had to say.”

“I see that now. I worried what it meant that I wanted to. And. I understand now that I was sensing something… true and dangerous that really was there, only I needn’t have been worried about it.”

“Dangerous?” Hob asked, but he knew what charge Dream spoke of. He still felt the echo of the Dreaming held in his hands. Union was safety and comfort but also a collision of power.

“Most dangerous,” Dream agreed. He ran his thumb along the hollow of Hob’s eye. “Most kind. Most lovely.”

“Keep me, then,” Hob said, though it was almost a plea, his face still held in Dream’s palm. The perennial fear that Dream would flit away again was always within him, even now, in the wake of all that power, that sharing. Dreaming was so immense. And Hob loved it, loved him, but it was a terrifying thing, to love something so much greater than you, even if doing so felt right.

“Can you not feel it?” said Dream. He took Hob’s hand and a spark jumped between their fingers. “The Dreaming would not let you go now. And nor would I. Even when you return to the waking world, there is always a place for you here. Beside me.”

“Dream…” Hob kissed his hand, then leaned back in to kiss his cheek. Lingered there, with their faces pressed together, his heart soothed of a raw wound he had almost forgotten had once been carved. Wedding vows, Hob had thought of the words they had spoken. He thought now that he had been married to dreaming for a very long time, and being able to give that devotion to Dream himself was only a solidification. It did not, truly, need words. It needed only their hands tangled together, and Dream tucked in his chest, where he had always, truly, resided.

Hob was not made for dreaming. But he chose it. And he intended to keep it.

[zoeykallus]

heya! I'm not sure if your requests are closed, and by no means do I hope to overwhelm you further with more requests :'D feel free to ignore this especially bc it's more of a negative request aaa

so as context: sometimes I zone out and due to my childhood I will flinch if I see a movement coming at me which at the time I thought was understandable/normal but my bf has already expressed his disappointment every time I flinched or denied physical affection and left me being the one who apologizes for a reflex and I was wondering how the batch (platonically) would react to the reader (preferably female) telling them that story if the reader was the batch's bffs or smth? :'D (plus Cody if that's okay!) I'd be curious to know if they would just try to calm me down or if they would try to encourage me to get that specific thing fixed maybe?

argh I'm so sorry for the long ass text cRIES

again no pressure whatsoever with this waaah

Aloha! 😊

Interesting question. Personally, I think personal space should always be respected, no matter how close we are with someone. In a relationship, most people tend to loving physical contact in many different forms, and I see how this reaction can be surprising or off-putting for some. But with a little empathy and patience, that really shouldn't be a problem for a partner to get used to and accept. If my partner is jumpy with such reflex reactions, I should be able to adjust. There is a reason for this reaction and I think you shouldn't be, or feel pressured to apologize for it. All in all, communication (and an understanding, open mind) is key, as it almost always is. Then there is also the option to try and get that out of your system, so to speak. Therapy might help, it's worth a try or two. After all, it would possibly make things easier for you as well, giving you more comfort in everyday life. Easier said than done, I know. But that's just my two cents. Either way, I'm wishing you all the best 😊 Let's see...

The Bad Batch/Cody x Reader HCs - The Flinch

Warnings: Implied Trauma / Traumatic Reflex Reaction

_________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_________

>Masterlist<

Hunter

It can happen casually, maybe he doesn't really think about it, just wants your attention for a moment, but you are busy, and your mind is elsewhere. A brief touch on the shoulder, innocent, gentle, without ulterior motives. Still, you flinch and turn around so quickly, startled, that he flinches briefly himself.

Hunter in no way intended to scare you or offend you, he would never do that consciously. Of course, he apologizes, you are close friends, he knows your past that you confided in him.

"I should have known better, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

He is patient, gentle and forgiving. Hunter tries his best to be sensitive to you and respect your boundaries. He is careful in his interactions with you, considerate.

Echo

The first time it happens, he is so startled by your reaction that he backs away and looks at his hand as if he expects to see it red-hot, or spiked. He blinks a few times, then says, "Sorry, did I scare you?"

Whether you confide in him or not, Echo will never hold it against you. He can understand that your reaction has a background, and he can respect that you don't want to share it with him. This does not change the fact that he will take it into consideration.

He sometimes seems strict and so serious, but he has an antenna for the sensitivities of others. It is in his nature to be considerate.

Wrecker

He is a bit impetuous and very affectionate. Scaring you or triggering a reaction is never his intention, but it can still happen quite a few times. You can speak openly with Wrecker, he is happy to listen to you, he is understanding even if you don't tell him everything.

He will always apologize if it still happens accidentally, and he will never blame you for these reactions. He will rather make sure that others around you respect your personal space as well.

Tech

He is not a particularly physical guy. On the contrary, Tech values his personal space and usually respects that of others around him. In combat, this may not be possible at times, but in general everyday life, Tech tends to keep a polite distance.

If he does trigger that automatic flight or defensive reaction, he apologizes immediately, and you can assume it won't happen again. He himself is not a fan of surprising touches, which is why he doesn't like Wreckers' little nudges at all and usually lets them pass with rolling eyes or critically furrowed brows.

Crosshair

As almost always, his first reaction is a bit grumpy. He doesn't immediately understand what's going on, but he's a good observer and a bright guy. Of course, he notices that you have these reactions more often, even with other people.

Crosshair reads your body language and realizes that this is a learned, habitual reflex reaction. He understands that there is a real, possibly deep-seated reason behind it. Of course, he adapts, even if he doesn't like to admit it, he can be considerate and very understanding.

So you don't have to worry about him. He certainly doesn't respect or appreciate you less than before because of that. In fact, it awakens a certain protective instinct in him.

Cody

At first, he is surprised, but he is neither offended nor annoyed. But he is attentive. As a soldier, he's learned to read body language, to interpret reactions, and even though you might not say anything about it, Cody understands pretty quickly what makes you tick.

You can count on him to pay attention to that in the future. You don't have to apologize to him, you can just be yourself and relax. Cody is always a safe haven.

He also won't let other people maybe cause you problems because of it. Anyone who teases you about it or makes fun of you should be prepared to get in trouble.

[astheworldgoesonitswickedway]

So we’ve all been wondering who Olaf meant when he mentioned losing his love. After a lot of analysis I’m sticking with Kit. It’s true that Olaf and Esme were in an on again of again relationship even before the events of the series. And we know Carmelita is the main reason they broke up, otherwise they may not have. But I’ve noticed it seems like Olaf needs “someone,” or really “anyone.” Whether this is someone to flatter and praise him or someone to abuse seems to fluctuate based on his circumstances and mood. This desperation for attention explains a lot about his relationships with Orville, Esme, and even Olivia (in the books) I was initially disappointed reading The End because I hoped for more than we got about Olaf and Kit. Until I realized Olaf’s silence is actually a major clue. He loves to talk and brag and go on and on. But despite his obnoxiousness the moment Kit is mentioned by others, we don’t hear a lot from him. I know you’re thinking about the moment he threatened to shoot her with a harpoon gun, but let’s not forget how much he loves to bluff. And how easily he accepted an excuse not to go through with it despite hating being told what to do. We know when the Baudelaires found Kit she was laid out in a way that wasn’t natural from the storm. It is indicated Olaf found and took care of her. He shows no outward concern to the Baudelaires but no antagonism either like he did toward other V.F.D. members. He tried to impersonate her, but it would have been much easier without the real Kit right next to him about to wake up. He didn’t eliminate what he might have considered an obstacle. Now when the kids ask him for help he mocks them and is insulted they would ask, but he didn’t realize what they were asking for, or rather, who. When he finds out, there is no hesitation despite his wound which he immediately dismisses. Considering his love for attention I’ve wondered if this was to not seem weak in front of them or to seem strong enough to save Kit. It’s worth mentioning this paragraph of him saving her is the only time I remember the word gentle ever describing his actions. Despite their chemistry, even with Esme, Olaf was very…Olaf. With Kit he almost seems to let his guard down. He doesn’t apologize and his words aren’t necessarily kind, but he seems to be honest. Which is something that can’t really be said for anyone else. In the show he is even more gentle. He says he never forgot her and strokes her face, when you pair this with him saying he would kiss her again, it’s likely he spent all those years thinking of her and that promise. The last thing Esme got was Olaf sending her to the worst part of the fire to probably die. Seeing Kit again even made him return to poetry something we assume he had sworn of as being “too V.F.D.” In a small way she brought him back to some of the person he used to be. I don’t think he ever stopped dreaming about the life they could have had.

[yuseirra]

Seriously though, it’s so, so strange… Really strange.

What’s odd is that, just now, I opened the manga to reference it for my work, and I’m thinking… Why do I still feel like Ai chose the best possible person among those she could have? Even after seeing everything that became of him?

Why do I still feel like she found someone truly good—someone absolutely worthy of love? If I were the writer, I’d want Ai to meet such a person. So emotionally, I can accept this, but looking at how the story is unfolding, I’m confused about how it’s supposed to make sense. I want it to end this way, and emotionally, I’m convinced it will. But logically, it’s hard to imagine what path the story will take to get there.

How can I still be so strongly convinced that Ai’s boyfriend, at his core, has one of the most genuinely good personalities in the entire series? No one’s ever told me he was a good person. In fact, there’s been a lot of negative impressions about him, but somehow, this feeling pushes through all of that. How?

I can’t shake the thought that someone with a nature like his couldn’t just twist like this on his own.

There were bad circumstances, despair, incredibly poor luck, and the guilt he’s carried—sure, that’s all there. And narratively, it makes sense. He’s written in a way that he couldn’t help but deeply, deeply love Ai, so after her death, of course, he wouldn’t be okay. How could he be?

But something else pushed him beyond the point of normal breakdown. It feels like something shattered him far more than what he could have endured naturally. It’s as if something made him lose his mind completely. It’s too strange. Why do I feel this way?

But when the line about him having a “noble soul” came up, I accepted it immediately. I thought, of course. It felt so obvious to me that I wondered why it hadn’t come up sooner. It was exactly what I expected.

Ai really did find someone who wanted to be with her forever, someone truly good. I am convinced yet again. That feeling strikes me really strongly.

But how did he end up like this? I have some ideas, but I can’t know what the author has in mind. And no matter how much a reader tries to predict a series still in progress, ultimately, it’s up to the author, right?

He’s barely appeared in the story, yet why do I feel so strongly about this?;;; Why do I feel like this? But I’m still relying on that feeling when I draw fan art.

It’s so strange…

He’s an extraordinarily kind person, I think? but… this is strange. Why do I feel this way after seeing everything?;;; What’s going on? Why am I like this?

The good thing is, with a personality like that, I know I can handle him well. I always love these types of characters, so drawing him would be fun. But really… is this right? I mean, he’s someone who is accused of having killed many people and even tried to kill his own daughter—how could this feeling even be correct?

One more thing I’ve noticed—if just two or three good things had happened to him along the way, Kamiki wouldn’t have ended up so broken.

When I think about what the author is trying to show by completely destroying a character who was once so gentle…

I think I get it. There could be a message that can be derived from it, if I'm inferring things right. But… I’m not sure because I'm not the writer themselves, so… haha.

Ah, if I couldn’t sense anything, I’d just shut off my brain and go along with whatever, I wouldn't care at all. I keep feeling like I see something faint, though, so I keep talking about it. But since there’s no certainty, I feel like I’m making a fool of myself.

Ah. Really… I rarely misread these kinds of things. He’s such a fundamentally good person… I wish they’d show more clearly how he ended up like this. He’s worth studying. Since both of the authors are so skilled in psychological portrayal, I’m sure they’ll express this in a way that makes sense. I feel like I could predict it, but it’s still too vague for me to say.

These intuitions are so hard to explain. But they’re usually right. I don’t get these things wrong often… So for now, I’m just writing it down because feelings are fleeting and I would think of different things at different time. These little notes live in the now.

[mischiefmaker615]

Dangerously Yours

Rating: PG 14

Summary: denial can be just as dangerous as a blade to your throat. 

Requested By: @guccicvm (wattpad)

Original Dialogue

Your chest rose and fell at a pace where you tried to tell yourself to relax. This was all suppose to be easy, simple even.. if it wasn't for the fact that he had woken up and those piercing green eyes practically stopped you in your tracks as the moonlight shown on you both through the windows of his bedroom. His bedroom..

Your hand shook as you tried to hold the knife still as it lay resting at his neck, not enough pressure to pierce but one small movement and it would. Your other hand resting at his bare chest, as if that alone would keep the god pinned, along with the fact that you were straddling him at his lips.

His arms stayed put at his sides, resting over his sheets as they draped up to his waist in silk. His hands barely ghosting your legs as his breathing had you rising and falling in a slow rhythm. He was calm.. to calm for one who had a blade at his throat, but of course you knew this wasn't no ordinary someone.

"Loki-''

"I'm going to tell you something my dear, my life is already in your hands in this particular predicament'' he smirked, not an ounce of concern in his eyes but his tone held seriousness.

''then don't tell me- you cant trust me and nothing you can say or do will change anything.. change what I have to do..'' you cut him off, knowing his cunning mind had its way of being manipulative.

"I love you.'' He said plainly, his voice and eyes calm as your eyes widen. ''And I believe you love me.''

"your.. your wrong! there was- is nothing between us''

''that isn't true darling-" he sighed with a small smile and a hushed tone.

''it is true! what may have happened before was merely just two young people.. young and stupid people not knowing what they wanted..'' your voice snapped at him and your gaze hardened. What was he doing?

''you might as well take my heart darling, for it is already full of you. It has always been yours since the day we met.''

Memories you wish you could forget had your eyes glance away from his for a mere second. ''you're a fool Loki..''

''isn't anyone who falls in love?..'' his voice paused, knowing honest feelings weren't quite in his nature too put into words, but he knew this moment was as serious as the blade at this throat. ''..Do you know what you are to me? You are something to believe in again, a sight that makes mere goddesses crumble in jealousy, a dream worth pursuing.. a wife I'd beg to have beside me..''

To your surprise, you felt a few tears run down your cheeks and fall upon your chest as you gazed down at him, your voice a whisper. "don't be a child.. we pursued other things but not each other." Your paths were different and you weren't here for all of that.

Upon seeing your tears, his eyes filled with gentle concern and his muscles tensed to stop himself from wiping your tears. ''what is it, what's wrong my dear?''

You merely shook your head. ''you know nothing about me- you've only known me for 3 weeks-''

''three glorious weeks my darling and yet I've still known you for all my life.'' Loki breathed with a smile by the memory. ''I began finally living the moment you stepped in sight. I've seen you in a thousand books, a hundred plays and a million songs-''

''shut up shut up!'' you snap, shaking your head to focus. ''Perhaps I was that woman once but I'm not her anymore.. your wrong and you cannot trust me.. at the very least, trust my decision.. right here, right now-''

Loki merely gave an amused look on his face at your attempt and sighed. ''don't play coy my darling, remember who you also lie too.'' His smile broke out into a grin, a grin that told you he knew more than what you thought. ''..I've known about who sent you and your plans leading up to this very moment the day you stepped foot into Asgard.''

You blink at him as you waited to catch his bluff. It must have been that damned gate keeper.. some type of magic.. there was no way- but his face was just as serious as yours as you slowly took a breath to try to understand. ''.. and.. and it didn't make a difference?''

Loki slowly shook his head. ''it didn't make any difference. You came here to betray me and to betray my realm. That is your assignment here and yet I am so sure of your feelings for me that I will trust you with my life'' he whispered, leaning forward so the blade pressed more against his skin, your instincts had you shift it back away. His smirk told you that by your hesitation right then and there, you were second guessing your decision.

How could he possibly have so much faith in you? ''i.. I will betray you-''

''you will betray yourself at the same time.'' he then smirked, revealing how as always, he will already be several steps ahead as his eyes dragged over your body then. ''even now I have been in the works to destroy those who had sent you''

Your body tenses against his and he knows it as your grip tightened on the handle. ''..no-''

''their only greatest decision was to be sending you here.''

Your eyes harden as you question him. ''..why?''

His eyes soften again as his eyes rise back up to your own. ''he knew I would love you. However, he never anticipated that you would also love me in return.''

By your silence, he already knew he was right as your gaze faded off ever so slightly. Your muscles relaxed as if your body itself was giving up in defeat yet your mind still questioned as he gave you a small smile. ''is your realm more important than me?.. surely those wonderous three weeks couldn't have meant nothing to you..''

By your reminders of the past days, the glorious past days as lovers would have spent, a small smile peaked at the corner of your mouth as you slowly shook your head. ''no..'' you whisper, knowing he was far more important than anything else that had entered your life before.

Your eyes drew back to his as you felt his finger tips slowly ghost over your legs, dragging up before he rested his hands on your hips and stayed still once more. He was warm.. and cold. A familiar touch and one that never came unwelcomed.

''help me then darling, help me overcome him.'' he whispered, knowing just how stubborn she could be in her decisions, almost as worst as he and he sighed. ''together.. we both cant win.''

Win.. so that was this was about? His cunning mind trying to distract you, to woo you so that your guard would fall so that he could have his thrown.. your realm, as if having all this now wasn't enough for him.. your eyes sharpened as you practically glared at him.

''..you think your clever don't you? I can read you just as you claim to know me, you probably made me love you! You just want information- for me to betray my people, my home, for you!''

His eyes sharpened as he seemed to stare right into your soul. ''that's not the way to look at it Y/N-''

''just admit that you have lost! You forgot how close hate is to love- give up our duel of wits!'' you snap, knowing how he always hates to lose, that's probably all this was. Yet now you were on top.. literally, with a blade in your hands. Of course he would say anything to get out of this..

''then why haven't you ended this.'' He dared. ''You don't know what you are saying Y/N-''

''you never loved me! You knew I loved you and you USED that!'' the tears returned to fall as his hands slightly gripped your hips, stopping himself once more to dry your cheeks.

''stop talking nonsense!''

Your eyes glared at him. nonsense? Was he not taking you seriously? Just to show him, you ever so slightly gave pressure at his neck. ''..I'd advise you to choose your next words wisely.''

His expression switched to someone calm.. to calm where it almost scared you as he teased. ''well, aren't we a bit melodramatic, aren't we dear?'' he smirked.

Bastard silver tongue. ''-run your mouth, it won't change anything because you have very little time to do so-''

''so your actually going to kill me?'' he says being dramatically shocked.

More pressure. ''listen well. You already know my position here, now either give me the information or I'll kill you.''

He almost looked amused then as his face returned to its expressionless form of calm as his thumbs began rubbing gentle circles on your bare skin, having just realized his hands had ghosted under your night dress. ''you won't do it darling; you won't kill me because you love me. It takes a very brave and cold woman to do so. I don't think you can, can you? Isn't that why you hesitate? Unless you wish to watch me die and plead for my life, but I'm sorry to disappoint.''

''you don't think I'd do it- that's why your brave but you're a coward, a coward for lying to me'' you cry, trying to ignore the pads of his fingers on your skin.

''you lied to me.''

You took a deep breath and stubbornly look away for a moment. ''I'm tired of listening to you-''

''you gave me your heart willingly, love.. you wish me to hand it back? Whole again?.. but I won't. You'll leave here in agony without me.'' He said with his voice as quiet as the wind coming through the balcony, drapes gently flowing around the room as the air seemed to almost still that every moment at the same time. you were looking at him, unsure of what to do but you knew what you had to. Why couldn't you?

Loki took your silence as a que to keep going as he smiled. ''there is no one but you, there will never be a second that I care for.. except my realm. Thus, you've left me no choice but to combine you both.''

You blink at him. ''what are you talking a-''

''my queen.''

In that very moment, his eyes flashed an almost white- green where your hand became empty before he decided to flip you both. His hips pinned yours and his hands now gripped your wrists that stayed put beside your head. His backline was highlighted by moonlight as he dipped his head to practically stay nose to nose with you. You knew his muscle would delete any attempt to try to escape from this position so why bother try.. you were almost frozen under his gaze practically as you coldly looked up into his.

''your face is like ice darling, what are you thinking?'' he asked, almost amused as you discover he had grown hard at this moment.. in the moment that was most dire, that you had hoped would take every ounce of seriousness. But you have failed.

You turn your face away from his gaze as you kept your hands into fists, feeling how his hands had inched to lace your fingers together but you at least took that away from him. ''what would it matter..''

His eyes became gentle, showing very much just how serious he took you as he kept you in a gentle grip. ''do you think I wanted to love you? Knowing where you came from and what your purpose here was? Don't you think that every moment with each other I was merely thinking that you were just pretending?''

Your eyes shot up to his hurt ''I wasn't- I loved you!''

''and I loved you so much.. I let you pretend. You brought me something I couldn't stand losing. Listen to your heart, how it pounds, what do you want?''

Your body began trembling now, facing the decision of what you wanted and what you thought you needed. He was asking you in presence and you both knew it.. you hadn't loved him, you love him! your lips quivered as you parted them to speak, his patience showing he would wait a thousand years if you needed as your eyes began to tear again. ''I want.. you..''

In that moment, he finally reached over and with a slow, gentle thumb, wiped your tears. ''..then let me love you Y/N, you are mine now..'' he whispered before he closed the distance between you both and kissed you.

And you surrendered. 

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Sugar daddy Reiner who epitomizes gentility and compassion, an absolute pillar of strength and security to those around him. His authoritative presence commands respect, accentuated by his well-tailored black suit, accentuating his broad and sturdy shoulders.

The sartorial statement screams of raw power, reiterating Reiner’s dominance. With an arm perpetually poised on the small of your back, he shields you from the noise of business dealings, bringing an overwhelming sense of calmness, shielding you from any misfortunes.

Donning a pristine white, thigh-slit dress personally chosen by him, you bask in Reiners enchanting persona, basking in the rays of elegance and sophistication emanating from his commanding persona. Reiner’s golden blonde hair and rough-hewn stubble make him the epitome of manhood, filling your heart with an unparalleled warmth whenever he whispers into your ears, expressing his devotion for you.

Notwithstanding his tenacity, Reiner often feels agitated when around multitudes of people, unease rising from within. The formidable self-doubt pulls him down, leading him to question his adequacy in being with someone of your calibre, someone that the world regards as a paragon of beauty.

As you witness the unanticipated trepidation seeping into his eyes, you realize his deepest fear; the fear of losing you. A sensation of profound gratitude flows through you, filling you with an undeniable sense of satisfaction that you're capable of providing him with the solace and protection he seeks in moments of vulnerability.

The thought of leaving him is unfathomable, and thus you tenderly hold him, imparting him with stability and fortitude, becoming his faithful and steady partner through thick and thin. Reiner’s presence in your life imbues it with unmatched worth, leaving you no room for contemplation of life without him.

Sugar daddy Reiner embodies all that is charming and tender in the bedroom. His gentle caresses, paired with soft, delicate kisses, have you transfixed and yearning for more.

His firm grip, clasping your hand in a tight embrace as you begin to writhe, all the while his visage buried in the soft, supple flesh of your neck, sends shivers down your spine. Your cries of ecstasy, though unbidden, come naturally as he indulges himself, his thick cock plunging ever deeper within you.

Yet, as you writhe and twist under his affectionate ministrations, you cannot help but sense a hesitation. It is as though he holds back, unwilling to truly unleash the full force of his tremendous size upon your form.

Though you are no delicate flower, his robustness intimidates you, and he knows this all too well. With subtle hints, you have tried to coax him into letting go, but to no avail. His responses, each and every time, are a kiss and a whisper, professing his love and his reluctance to ever harm you.

Sugar Daddy Reiner often woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, his body trembling with fear. His dreams were always vivid, haunting him with terrible images and sounds that he couldn't shake off. But the worst part was when he would claw at his own skin, as if trying to escape from some unseen monster, calling out your name in a piteous whimper.

Your heart ached seeing him like that, shattered and broken, and you wished you could take away all his pain.  But you couldn't. Not really. Because there were certain boundaries to your relationship with him; he was nothing more than a sugar daddy to you, not your boyfriend, not your husband.

You knew that his nightmares were a symptom of something deeper, something he wasn't willing to share with you, and it frustrated you to no end. 

Every time you attempted to address the issue of his nightmares, he would push you away, shutting himself off from you and asking you to leave. This was deeply frustrating because you longed for him to take that final step, to offer himself to you wholeheartedly, yet it seemed like he was hesitant to do so.

The emotional distance between the two of you became a source of constant worry, gnawing at you every time you were together.  Although Reiner's constant attention and generous gifts were appreciated, they never felt enough. You craved more than just material possessions, and it seemed like he was simply attempting to make up for the lack of intimacy with his lavish offerings.

Despite his efforts, you knew that this wasn't what you wanted. You wanted the real Reiner, flaws and quirks included, but the impenetrable wall that stood between you two seemed insurmountable. 

Reiner was intuitive enough to notice that something was amiss. He bombarded you with incessant texts and calls, making you anxious and overwhelmed. You knew that avoiding him forever wasn't a solution, so you tried to force yourself to face him every time he asked to see you. But it was always the same routine— the half-hearted touches, the strained smiles, the promises that never materialized, and it only added to your growing frustration.

  Every time you came up with an excuse to decline his invitation, his voice carried an underlying sadness that further fueled your sense of inadequacy. You wanted nothing more than to give him what he asked for, to show him how much he meant to you, but somehow you could never muster up the courage to do it. You remained stuck in a self-imposed trap of disappointment, struggling to find a way out.

Sugar Daddy Reiner was a man who had it all—the money, the power, the influence. But all of it seemed meaningless in the face of losing you, his heart's greatest desire. As he lay awake at night (for the first day without you) , he could feel his heart tearing apart at the thought of you leaving him.

He knew deep down that all you wanted was for him to let down his guard and reveal the man he truly was beneath the polished exterior.  But Reiner was trapped in the grip of his insecurities, unable to break free of the gnawing doubts and incessant anxieties that consumed him. Every time he tried to reach out to you, you always avoided him, leaving him feeling even more isolated and alone.

It was like a vicious cycle, with his fear driving him deeper and deeper into despair.  The more he pushed you away, the more desperate he became to hold onto you. He would try to catch glimpses of you whenever he could, stalking your social media profiles, driving past your apartment building, and sending you messages that he knew you'd take hours to respond.

  It was a frenzied haze of emotion that he found himself caught in—the urge to be close to you, to hold onto you tightly, to never let go. And yet, he felt powerless to stop himself from spiraling out of control.  In a moment of clarity, he found himself walking down the quiet street towards the quaint little cafe where you worked.

He knew that this was his last chance to save what little was left of his shattered heart. He knew that if he could just speak to you, really speak to you, and lay all his cards on the table, he might just be able to salvage something from the wreckage.

Sugar Daddy Reiner, a man of poise and prestige, appeared as if he had been through the wringer. His normally impeccable hair was disheveled and unkempt, resembling a bird's nest perched atop his head.

His eyes, typically radiant with care, now appeared to be exhausted, surrounded by a pair of dark circles that bespoke an underlying burden. It was apparent that something had upended the self-assured and unwavering Reiner, a sight so unfamiliar that it nearly shattered his identity.  

As he approached you, his hands trembled with an unease that seemed palpable, begging for reassurance. His throaty murmur was barely audible over the rustling leaves and soft swish of grass, "Can I talk to you for a moment?" You saw him, then—vulnerable, in pain, his once mighty demeanor wavering in a quiver.

Without a second thought, you grasped his hand, silently reassuring him with your presence and comforting words. The tenseness in his frame slowly began to ease as you tightened your embrace. The closeness between the two of you sparked something more intense than a simple attraction.

  After a moment of shared embrace, Reiner spoke, "Are you done with me?" You could sense the despair lurking behind his question. Your heart wrenched with empathy. Shaking your head vehemently, you could see his grasp on reality starting to fade, fearing the loss of another loved one. You gently spoke,

"No, I am not done with you. I could never be." The declaration eased his trepidation for the moment, but the angst in his eyes was apparent. He spoke again, his hands shaking with uncertainty, "Then why have you been avoiding me?"

   At his inquiry, you swallowed your emotions and thought about how best to answer him. After a deep breath, you expressed, "I want more of you. Not just the physical, but the entire package. I want to know what inspires you, what moves you, your hopes, your dreams." He went silent for a moment, his eyes now glued to the ground, weighed down with heavy contemplation.

Then, he raised his head and spoke in a raspy, earnest voice, "I want more too." He took a deep breath before continuing, his words shaky, "I'll give you anything, anything you want. Just stay with me."

Tears began to trickle down his cheek as he clutched onto your uniform, a wave of anguish over the possibility of losing another. It was an act of vulnerability, rare for a man who was usually impenetrable, but one that showed you how much he genuinely cared for you.

Sugar daddy Reiner who showered you with lavish clothes and all sorts of gifts that night, leaving your heart racing and your hands trembling. The excitement didn't stop there, though, as he whisked you off to his penthouse apartment and proceeded to ravage your body with his rough and unrelenting thrusts, finally letting go all sense of hesitation. 

You moaned and writhed beneath him, unable to resist his masculine charms as he explored every inch of your body. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, grunting out words of love and affection that left you dizzy with desire.

  When it was over, he held you tightly, unwilling to let you go. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck as he whispered promises of forever, his words echoing in your mind as you drifted off to sleep in his strong embrace.

Reiner, who once was just a sugar daddy to you, is now your beloved boyfriend, and you couldn't even imagine a future without him by your side.

[ur-mom-did-69]

My heart is yours

Nika Mühl x Bull Rider

Word count: 974

Hey yall I’m back! Im sorry for taking sorry long work has been extremely busy💀 Anyways here’s part 2!

Watching Alex’s face fall was like watching a heartbreak in real-time. The fire in her girlfriend’s eyes dimmed, replaced with sadness and disbelief. Nika hadn’t intended to hurt her, but the urgency of schoolwork and training was pressing down on her, clouding her judgment. In a moment of selfishness, she had let her words cut deep.

As Alex turned and walked out, her silhouette disappearing as she walked out the door the sound of her truck engine fading into the distance, Nika had watched, frozen in place as the realization hit her like a bucket of cold water. She had driven Alex away with her words. The reality of their relationship hung heavy in the silence, one they had built together now threatening to crumble.

That night, Nika lay in bed, replaying the argument over and over in her mind, each loop echoing her failures. In her heart, she’d known Alex’s bull riding was more than a hobby—it was a passion, a dream, something that, until that moment, she had failed to appreciate. The distance between them felt impossibly wide, the anger fresh but the love underlying it all undeniable.

The next morning Nika woke up with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, only being able to get two hours worth of sleep with the rest of her night being a mixture of her clutching Alex’s favorite hoodie and tossing and turning trying to sleep without the heat and warmth of Alex beside her. Nika immediately checked her phone to see if any new messages or calls had been from the only person who mattered to her when she checked the messages between them only to find that her spam of texts had been left unanswered by Alex.

After sulking in her apartment until noon, she knew what she had to do. She knew that this was her fault. She also knew that she needed to be the one who fixed things between her and Alex. The thought of Alex not forgiving her gnawed at her heart. Sure they had argued before, but it had never escalated to the point of one of them walking out and leaving. Nika sighed as she tried planning out what to do to hopefully make Alex forgive her. Suddenly an idea came to her that was too good for her not to put to use.

With the way Nika drove to Alex’s new farm, a normal person would’ve thought that someone was in the car dying or that the person driving was a self-proclaimed Formula 1 driver. She sped the entire way not letting her car go under 75 on her speedometer. Nika parked beside Alex’s truck and stepped out, taking in the peaceful surroundings. The sounds of nature fluttered around her, but she felt her heartbeat thud loudly in her chest.

Nika found Alex in the barn, tending to the horses, her body moving gracefully as she brushed the silvery mane of a gentle mare. When Alex heard her approach, she turned, her expression softening like an instinct and then hardening as she remembered what Nika had said to her the night before.

“What are you doing here? How’d you find me,” she said, her voice flat, as if bracing for a storm.

“I checked your location,” Nika replied timidly, her heart trembling and eyes teary. “I came to apologize. What I said last night was so uncalled for and out of line from me and I am so sorry, Alex. Please, I really didn’t mean it, baby.”

Alex shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You said some hurtful things, Nika. I don’t want to keep going through this cycle of arguments and silent treatments. It hurts too much.”

“I know, and I promise to do better,” Nika pleaded, stepping closer, her heart in her throat. “No more belittling what you love. I will make time for us—I don’t want to lose you.”

“Are you just saying what you think I want to hear?” Alex challenged, her vulnerability visible in her posture. “I need to know you mean it.”

“Feelings are complicated. Life is complicated,” Nika answered earnestly. “But I know one thing: I want you in my life, Alex. I want to be here helping out on the farm and have you here supporting me on the court. We can make it work if we communicate. I’ve realized you're more than my girlfriend; you’re my partner in everything. How can we get past this?”

The silence stretched between them, thick with emotion. At last, Alex took a deep breath, her walls slowly crumbling as she stepped closer. “I want that too, Nika. But it’s gonna take time and trust.”

Nika nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “Then let’s take that time together. I’ll prove to you how much you matter, no more distractions. We’re a team.”

With that, Alex reached out, breaking the distance, and took Nika's hand in hers. “Oh, I almost forgot”, Nika said as she ran back to her car coming back with flowers and Alex’s favorite candy. “I had to have a plan B in case this wasn’t enough”, she said sheepishly. Alex grinned as she took the gifts from Nika and gave her a soft kiss as a thank you.

“You know how many stores I had to go to for me to get your candy?”, Nika asked jokingly.

“Let me guess, uh three? Wait no, four! Yeah, four”, Alex responded confidently.

“Wrong. I had a secret stash at home. I had to stop to get the flowers, silly”, Nika said barely containing her laughter and running away.

“Hey, you totally set me up!”, Alex pouted. “That isn’t fair!”, she said chasing Nika.

The warmth of the gesture enveloped them in understanding and hope, as the sun shone down on the farm, illuminating a new chapter they would write together.

So what did y’all think? Also I please feel free to send requests as I’m really new to this so I don’t know how to do a lot but I promise to try💀 I also have some ideas that I might write soon so stay tuned!