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ugh-yoongi · 11 months

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a yoongi soft thought i have been having recently: streamer!yoongs with an also streamer reader, they both work independently but the fans know about their relationship and love it so much! i was thinking about them deciding to do a stream together where the reader does his makeup and they talk to the public, very cliche very soft lol

hope you like the idea, luv your writing ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

omggg you have no idea how much i SQUEALED reading this message. thank u so much for sending it i am now overwhelmed with soft yoongi feels 😭

i have never actually watched a twitch stream??? so i hope i did this justice & you enjoy! <3

stream is starting

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns used) genre: est. relationship, streamer au; fluff warnings: fluff overload. reader does yoongi's nails and makeup. they kiss a lot. idk what to say they're just very in love!! i don't think i said even ONE curse word in this that's how soft it is. unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1.6k listen to: carly rae jepsen - run away with me; jungkook - seven (nightfall mix)

It starts, as most things do with Yoongi, after a night out.

He’d gone out with Hoseok. Wanted to blow off some steam after a long week for both of them. You’d sent him off with a kiss, a text me if you need a ride that was met with an affectionate roll of his eyes, and finally a have fun, love you that he returned with a smile and a kiss to your forehead.

Now, it’s nearing two a.m., and you’re in bed with a facemask on, staring down at your phone.

Yoongi had sent you a picture. It’s blurry and unfocused, clearly taken on a whim, but those are undoubtedly Hoseok’s hands. You’d know those slender fingers anywhere, but it’s the nail art that tips you off. Each finger is painted black except for his pinkies, which are decorated with smiley face stickers, sealed with an extra-shiny clear coat. Beneath the photo, two texts from your boyfriend:

Is this hard to do They’re cute

You snort, typing out a quick reply.

No, it’s not hard Why, you want me to do your nails?

You expect him to say no. Not because of some toxic masculinity bullshit, he just does too much with his hands. Chip a nail playing guitar? The acetone would be out immediately. Smudge the polish? His pout would be overwhelming.

So you’re surprised, then, when he says yes; when he sends you a few pictures he plucked off of Pinterest, accompanied only with a half-dozen question marks.

Yeah, I can do that, you send him.

Even more surprising:

Maybe on stream? We haven’t done one together yet You can finally do my makeup too

You shouldn’t be surprised by the numbers, considering Yoongi has been hyping it up for weeks.

Kept posting teasers. Had a countdown timer on screen during his usual streams. Acted all coy and shy whenever his chat would ask him about it. Could barely swallow his smile when they demanded to know if you were finally making an appearance. Couldn’t hide the way his cheeks grew pink at all, and that tiny crumb was enough to send the internet into a frenzy.

So, no, you shouldn’t be surprised, but the view count on Yoongi’s screen seems too big to be real.

Yoongi is as shocked as you, but there’s pride simmering beneath the surface. Not once has he turned down an opportunity to show you off. Refuses to keep you hidden despite how private he insists on being otherwise. Doesn’t want you to feel like you’re a secret; wants everyone to know how much he adores you.

You’re certainly feeling adored now. “Does that say thirty thousand?”

“Sure does. Think you can perform under that kind of pressure?”

You snort. Pinch playfully at his side. Yoongi squeals, twists away from you, but he’s more serious when he comes back around. Reaches for you as he settles, hands on your hips, thumb brushing the warm skin beneath your sweatshirt. “Thanks for doing this with me,” he says, and you know Yoongi means it the same way you say I love you.

All you can do is smile, suddenly overwhelmed by how fond you are of him. How it feels like your heart grows three sizes every time he flashes you one of those gummy smiles of his own.

“Of course,” you say, because there’s only—“Five minutes. You ready?”

He pulls a face. Asks you to sit for a quick light test. Spends a few seconds fussing over it even though you think it looks fine. Makes sure all your supplies are organized and at the ready—you decided to let Yoongi’s stream decide all the colors and stickers, so there’s stuff everywhere, and you can see how stressed he is.

So you reach out, smooth over the furrow between his brows. “Relax, baby.”

He huffs. “I’m trying, it’s just—”

“You’ve done this a million times.”

“Yeah, by myself. Not with you. Not in front of… Jesus, there’s even more of them now.”

You roll your lips to hide the smile that’s creeping up. “C’mere,” you say, sliding your fingers through his belt loops. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? This is just for fun. Deep breaths.”

Yoongi listens. Closes his eyes, sucks in a breath. Holds it for a few seconds before he exhales, and it probably doesn’t do anything to dampen the buzz, but at least he looks glued back together. “I know.” Another inhale, another slow exhale. “I just want this to go well.”

“It will.”

He looks like he wants to argue. Push back on it. But Yoongi knows you just like you know him, and he trusts you implicitly. He wants to argue. Instead, he says, “Okay,” presses a soft kiss to your lips, and that’s the end of that.

“What color did they decide on?”

Admittedly, you might’ve gone overboard. Surely you didn’t need to bring over every eyeshadow palette you own, but you wanted options, and now those options are coming back to bite you in the rear. There are too many.

Yoongi huffs. “I don’t know. I can’t scroll through the chat because you made me put my hands in this ridiculous thing.”

“It’s a UV lamp. You don’t want your nails to chip, do you? After I just spent all that time and effort—”

“Okay, okay,” Yoongi relents, and a familiar blush creeps up his neck. Over his shoulder, you can see his chat explode with messages. “You see what I have to put up with?” he asks them.

“Yeah, it’s awful,” you agree, leaning in closer to the monitor. “Hi, guys. What color eye makeup should we do?” The chat erupts again. Messages come in faster than you can keep up with. “Wow, there are a lot of you. Of course I’m going to do eyeliner. Oh—I’m seeing a lot of requests for purple. That okay with you, babe?”

“Sure. Give the people what they want.”

With a smile, you pat his cheek with a gentle hand, cooing at him. “So accommodating. Isn’t he the best, chat?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, blush deepening. You think he’d hide behind his hands if they weren’t still drying. “Okay, nails are all done. Want to show them how they turned out?”

Like most things with Yoongi are, it’s easy.

He sits patiently while you prime his skin, commenting on how nice it is, and he makes small talk with his chat. Tells them how the two of you met, how disastrous your first date had been, how Yoongi thought he’d blown it for good. He’s told all of these stories before, but it still warms your heart to hear them again—to hear the way he speaks each word with such care, such affection.

“Show them how beautiful you look with your eye makeup done.”

He rolls his eyes, but does as you request anyway. Once again, the chat explodes, and the amount of emotes whirring by nearly makes you go crosseyed. COUPLE GOALS!!!! stands out amongst the chaos, and you know Yoongi has read it because another slow, gummy smile takes over his face.

You do his foundation next even though he doesn’t need any. Even though the chat demands he drop his skincare routine and he admits he doesn’t have one. “It is so unfair that you have this skin and can barely remember to moisturize.” You pretend to boo him. “God truly has favorites.”

“Yeah, you,” Yoongi says, and it’s so quick, so automatic, that it catches you off guard. Has you spraying the setting spray before you can tell him to close his eyes. “Aish, what was that—”

“Sorry!”

“I’m blind,” he wails. “You’ve blinded me!”

“I did not—”

But you’re up and off anyway, disappearing into the bathroom for a wet washcloth. You can hear Yoongi’s raspy laughter from the hall, know he’s not grievously injured and is just playing it up for laughs, and you don’t mind. Loving Yoongi means seeing all of his parts, and you know he’s got a darkness in him just like everyone else, that sometimes he finds it hard to escape it, so you want him to be this carefree and joyous always. Want to hear that laughter all the time.

You’re hovering in the doorway when he says, “Do you think this is what they meant when they said love is blind?”

And you’re… struck. You can feel how much Yoongi loves you in everything he does; can hear it in every word he says whenever he speaks about you. He handpicks each one, wraps it in the care it deserves. Not because they’re fragile, but because he wants to, and that kind of love feels a little overwhelming. Has you blinking back tears.

You’re not going to cry on stream, so you take a second to get yourself together before you walk back in the room. Say, “Are you done being dramatic yet?” because it’s easier to joke, and Yoongi shoots you a smile that says he knows.

“Of course,” he answers. “Please continue. The chat is patiently waiting to see the final product.”

You make a show of looking over his shoulder again, at pretending to read all the comments. You press a kiss to his temple just because you’re there. “Oh, they are, are they?”

One catches your eye: is anyone else painfully aware of how single they are rn.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #jewel writes

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toxic-aries · 2 years

Text

my tattoo artist went down on me (2k words)

paring: tattoo artist!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson offered to design a new tattoo for you, during the session things got a little heated.

warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), oral (f recieving), fingering, squirting, some strong lanuage, and some cringey writing, if i missed any please let me know.

a/n: this is a super old draft from a few months ago so I hope you all enjoy <;3

feedback & criticism is very appreciated. please let me know if you have any thoughts on how I can approve. thank you :)

You stood outside the Munsons trailer, a tad bit nervous, but it is a normal feeling…especially when it comes to getting a new tattoo. But, the thought of Eddie Munson giving you said tattoo made your heart race even more…not that you didn't trust his tattooing skills…oh come on you didn't trust that boy's art skills at all.

All of a sudden the screen door of the trailer swings open, and there stood Eddie. Shirtless. Kind of sweaty. Messy curls as always. Slightly tighter jeans than normal. This look of his caught you off guard, rightfully so…it was a stunning look. “Are you just going to stand there like a creep?” He leaned his body against the door frame, crossing his arms while examining you.

Your mouth parted slightly like you were going to answer his question, but no words were coming out. All you wanted to do was stare at him. He knew. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He whispered as you stepped through the doorway of the trailer, those words sent shivers down your spine. “Come on, I have everything set up in my room.”

“You do know what you're doing right, Munson?” You teased as Eddie led you to his room down the hall.

“Well how else do you think I got these sweet ole’ tatties, huh?” He points at the bats on his arm, “This is my newest work, you like?”

“Not really my style…but they're cool.”

“You seem hard to please…” He mumbles to himself as he sits down in a rolly chair, then opening a sketchbook turning to the page with your design on it. You just wanted some simple roses on your thigh, not too much. “Does this look like what you had in mind, darling?” He really needs to stop with these pet names.

His artwork was actually…good. Surprisingly. “Oh my gosh, I love that!” You exclaimed. He rolls over to the edge of his bed and pats it motioning for you to sit down. The workspace area wasn't the greatest but hey…it’s more professional looking than others. A single towel sits on the edge of the bed, the tattoo gun with the ink caps on a random nightstand and a pair of normal gloves beside it. “Well, I’m glad you like it…hopefully I can draw the sketch again actually on your leg”

Eddie says as he pulls out a couple markers, biting the cap off of one and spitting it out onto the floor, he rolls himself over to you. Putting his knee in between your legs, “Now which thigh are we putting it on.” His pretty brown eyes look up at you as his free hand caresses the side of your right thigh.

“U-uhm…my right one. I want it…” You pointed to the upper thigh of your right leg, making a general circle motion around the area. “About right here.” He moved his hand to that spot, retracing that circle you had made. “So, you want it right here?” You gulped at his question, feeling the slight tension building in the room. “I guess you're going to have to take these things off so we can get started.” His finger moves from your thigh to your hip, pulling on the belt loop of your jeans. “I thought I told you to wear something short.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I had just gotten off work and -”

“Y/N, i'm only playing around…” Eddie chuckled as he pushed himself back, giving you some space to take off your jeans. “Unless, you like to be told what to do?” His eyebrow raised as he watches you stand up and unbutton your jeans.

“Maybe I do, Munson.” His eyes widen at your words. “Oh really…” Eddie's words lingered as he rolled over to you, your hips perfectly in line with his head. “Maybe…I can help take these off for you, sweetheart.” His hands moved up your legs to your hips, pulling down on your belt loops. Pulling down your pants slowly. The feeling of his hands against your bare skin sends tingles throughout your body. The cold metal from his rings sent chills. The intimacy was a bare minimum, but your body craved more.

“Sit back down.”

You listened. He grabbed the marker again and began to draw the rose design on your upper thigh. About thirty or some extra minutes pass and he’s done with the sketch. It looked just like what was in his notebook. “You ready?”

“I guess so…lay it on me.”

Eddie’s been tattooing for about an hour. The vibrations from the tattoo gun piercing your skin sends tingles throughout your entire body. Causing you to grip onto the sheets of his bed, tighter and tighter and tighter. Eddie notices. He moves his free hand to your opposite leg, gripping his hand in the skin of your soft thigh. “Do you need a break?” You shook your head to signal no, you were lying.

He pushed himself back slightly as he lifted the machine up from your skin, placing it on the table beside him. “I can tell you need a break…” His words faded off almost like he was going to say more, which made you curious. Your eyes met his. He uses the chair to pull himself closer to you, leaving you face to face, merely inches apart. “Maybe, we can do something else…instead.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” He pushes your body against the bed, now hovering over you. His finger pulls your chin up closer to his face, staring directly at your lips. You need him. All of him. You couldn't take the tease anymore, so, your arms wrap around his neck and pull yourself up to meet his lips. Clashing into each other. You wanted more. His lips trailed off yours, moving down to your chin, then your neck. Leaving a few marks on his territory. “Let me take this off of you.” He whines into the crook of your neck while pulling at the edge of your t-shirt. His hand starts pulling it up as you move with his movements finally taking it off. Exposing your bare chest.

Suddenly the heated makeout session paused. “Oh shit, I don't want you getting an infection with this thing being exposed. Stand up real quick.” He said as he stood up, reaching his hand out to help pull you up. He put a few layers of paper towels over the half-way done rose, taping the edges to your skin, making sure he doesn't make it too uncomfortable for you. “Does that feel okay?” You nodded at his question.

Eddie places a few soft and gentle kisses on your other thigh, getting closer and closer to you. You feel as his hand moves from the side of your thigh to palm your clothed pussy. His touch caused you to jump a tad, “Oh. Do you not want that?” He said as he looked up at you.

“N-No, I do, trust me. I want that.” You whined, practically begging for him at this point. A smirk grew on his face. Using his pointer he slid your panties over, running said finger down your pussy, “You’ve been this wet the whole time?” He sighed, “Fuck Y/N.” His pointer finger then enters your core, making slight pumping motions. Then pulling it out, putting his hands on your hips, his face directly in line with you.

“Take them off, please.” Your voice was breathy. Eddie wasted no time, pulling your hips closer to his face then using his teeth to drag your panties down your legs. Finishing taking them off using his hands. He stood up from the chair, towering over you, “Lay down on your back, bend your legs too.” He demanded.

You did just as he said, of course. Watching him get down to the right level, he threw your legs over his shoulder. His fingers danced around your entrance, sending pains to your stomach as the heat began to build. Your pussy was throbbing, craving for him to do something…literally anything. You weren't really an impatient person, but you just craved him. “Can you please do something Mun-”

You were cut off by him licking your cunt, tasting you from bottom to top. Sending you to throw your head back letting out a soft moan. Using his pointer and middle he spread your lips open even more, sticking his tongue into your core. Your hands reached between your own legs to his hair, yanking and pulling at his roots. “We’ll see if youre so hard to please…” He groaned into your pussy, the vibrations from his voice causing that heat to build even more in the pit of your stomach.

Eddie put his lips around your throbbing clit, while locking eyes with you. Your back pressed harder against the bed, he continued to lick and suck on your cunt, randomly pulling up to plant kisses on the inner thighs. His ringed hand rubbing up and down your thigh as the free fingers finds its way to your core again. His lips stayed on your clit as his fingers fucked your tight hole, his tongue dancing around your clit in circular motions. That intense feeling in the pit of your stomach gets warmer and warmer. “Eddie fuck!” You moan out, trying to catch your breath while he hasn't eased up one bit. “Are you already getting close sweetheart?” He whined as he pulled up from your pussy, removing his fingers from your center, “God, youre so fucking wet…” His hand reached up to your mouth, “Open for me…” His fingers that are covered in your juices enter your mouth, you take them deep, nearly down your throat.

He pushes your legs from his shoulders and plants them down to the bed, spreading your legs open further. Making his access to your pussy easier. “You can only cum when I tell you to, okay?” He says as he gets back down to your level, maintaining that intense eye contact still.

You nod, “O-Okay.” His tongue meets your core, in and out, circular motions, he then licks all the way up your cunt again taking in all your taste and juices. The feeling was incredible. He definitely knew how to use his tongue. He sucks on your bulging and throbbing clit again, using his pointer and middle to pound your hole again. Pumping them in and out. His free hand moved to your hip pushing you down deeper into the bed, the cold metal from his rings against the warmth of your skin. You were getting close, but he hasn't told you yet.

“Are you close, princess?” He moaned as he came up to catch his breath, how in the fuck did he know. “If you're close…you can cum.”

He didnt have to say anymore, “Eddie, fuck.” You cursed out as your head flung back, your chest rising up and down faster and faster. That warm pit in your stomach is nearly on fire. His fingers got faster and faster as they pounded into your core, “Cum for me baby…” he groans, your legs start to shake as an even more intense orgasm builds.

Then you did exactly what he said. As it snapped, you screamed, Eddie pulling his thick fingers from inside you, still pushing against your clit, a hard stream gushing forth. After a few moments, you are still shaken by the sensation. As his digits plunge into your dripping pussy,a few curses and moans of his name escape your lips, he pumps in and out a few more times before pulling them out and watching you squirt again.

“Fuck Y/N.”

“Shit Eddie, I am so fucking sorry.��

“No, I dont give a fuck about that.” His tongue licks off the excess cum dripping from your warm cunt. “That was fucking hot.”

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” You leaned down to his level planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. “Then let’s finish this tattoo.”

“Another round once I'm done?”

if you enjoyed please consider commenting or reblogging, it makes a huge difference ♡

#.paige writes ✎*ೃ˚#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson blurb #tattoo artist!eddie munson #.eddie ♡

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

The Girl Next Door ~ 2

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine. Part 1

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮 Note: I got Constantine on my brain, y'all! 😆 I write about vampire hunters all the time, but never from the vampire perspective. This was new. I hope you enjoy!🧡

2. whoever drinks my blood has eternal life

In the end, he was too late.

Oh, he killed them all, wiping out the entire coven with his magical holy shotgun, and a handy spell that basically burned the remaining undead to a crisp around you.

But you were already half dead, drained and forced to drink their blood in kind.

You were well on your way to becoming one of the Damned.

John knew this, as he cradled your cold body in his arms, carrying you like a bride to the cab outside the warehouse. He knew it as he held you close in the backseat, reciting ancient prayers over your fevered brow, hoping just this once God might grant him a good miracle, and not forsake one of his children just because of an unlucky twist of fate.

Your only crime, as far as he knew, had been extending the mercy of your kindness towards him, and that should not have earned you this.

He barely thanked Chas for a job well done, carrying you bridal style up the stairs of your apartment building. Rather than return you to your bed, he brings you to his. He doesn’t know if the vampire who you must have inadvertently invited into your home died that night, and all his holy weapons are at hand in his own space.

He lays you down in his bed, wishing he’d washed his sheets more recently for you. He wishes a lot of things, in the interim hours that follow.

He can tell that his incantations are not touching the dark magic that is taking hold of you, and he knows that he should just put an end to it here and now. You are damned, and there’s no going back, and who knows what chaos you will reap with your new thirst when you wake?

He can’t bring himself to do it.

Looking down at you, huddled in a ball, trembling as your body is dying and remaking itself anew—he falls to his knees to talk to God, though his words aren’t exactly a prayer. “Our father, who art in heaven…fuck you. I hope you're happy, asshole. Another innocent who you should have protected, fucked over by your stupid games. Why? Why is it always the good ones? I hate you. Amen.”

He takes your hand in his, and only because you are practically unconscious in the fever-pitch of your transformation, does he let his eyes fill with silent tears.

One more soul he was too late to save.

One more weight upon his conscience.

He cries for you. For himself. For the impossible odds God and the Devil pit against humans, then punish them when they're just not up to the task. Flesh is weak, but They made you this way. None of it is fair.

Constantine has never actually been present at a Turning. He doesn’t know how long it will take, or how you’ll act when you come out of it. He has crosses and holy water to keep you in line if he has to…or maybe you’ll rip out his throat, and he will absolutely deserve it after what he let happen to you.

He wonders how the vampires knew about you. Did they watch through the window from some impossible perch, as you made love? Maybe he would never admit it out loud, but that was what that merciful night together had felt like, with you.

This was a hell of a reminder, as to why he couldn’t ever let anyone get close.

It never ended well.

Fully clothed, shoes and all, he spoons your smaller body with his arm around your waist, and waits.

***

When at last you wake, the first thing you are aware of is a heartbeat, right next to you. Behind you. Pressed against you. You hear it like a drum, thundering in your ears. There is a grinding pain in your belly. You are so hungry.

You do not recognize your surroundings, or the bed you lay in. A heavy arm is draped over your waist. You study the large hand upon the sheets, long fingered, veiny. Maybe you know that hand.

Slowly you turn, to find John Constantine beside you. He looks up at your through hooded dark eyes. He was dozing, but no longer.

“Y/n?”

You take a deep breath, and the smells that hit you: his aftershave, sweat, deodorant, dirty sheets, scotch whisky in the kitchen. Old Chinese food. But most of all, you can smell his blood, and it is the sweetest thing you’ve ever smelled.

You lean towards him, mouth open, hands reaching.

You don’t know that your incisors have lengthened to deadly little points.

Casually, John holds up a little crucifix between you. You feel it like a hand pressing back against you, and instinctively you flinch.

What is going on with you?

“John?”

You feel something long brush your lip, and you reach up to touch your teeth, finding the sharp points. Your eyes go half-dollar round as you nearly cut yourself with the tip of one.

“What happened to me?”

He sighs, and there is so much weight and sorrow in that one exhalation of air.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

“John?” The panic in your voice starts to rise.

“Shh. Don’t get excited. It won’t be good.”

A rampaging new vampire was the last thing he needed on his hands.

“Those things took me,” you whisper, your hand covering your mouth. You start to remember what happened, those creeps who snatched you from your apartment, the impossible things you saw. They were monsters. Vampires. Things you only thought existed in folklore, books, bad B movies. And they’d told you a little about John Constantine too. That he was some sort of demon hunter, crazy as that fucking sounded, who clearly they wished to do harm to.

“Yeah.”

“They took me,” you repeat with emphasis, still trying to understand.

A longer pause, pregnant with lots of words you sense he doesn’t quite know how to say.

Again, he settles for, “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I guess…they thought that you mean something to me.”

After everything that happened, this hits you like a knife between the ribs, a long sharp blade aimed right for your heart.

“Do I not?”

“Come on, I didn't mean it like that.”

Yes he did, and you realize... that maybe he's just like all the others.

At least he'd warned you.

You just...had hoped, anyway, like the stupid little romantic you are.

You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

You kind of want to cry, but you're not even sure you can anymore.

“I came for you as soon as I knew,” he says quietly, not liking this at all.

You nod, your lip quivering.

“What's going to happen to me?”

The haunted way he looks at you rends your heart in two.

“We'll…figure it out.”

“I'm hungry...I think.”

He nods gravely.

“I was afraid of that.”

“What am I going to do?”

“I'll...try to help you.”

Your eyes go to his throat again. The thought should be gross, but...you just feel hunger pangs, instead—and a confusing wave of desire.

He notices the focus of your attention, and looks uneasy about it. Your eyes have started to glow.

“Why don't we start with the wrist?” he deadpans, not enthused about your untried razor-sharp fangs in his throat.

You nod shakily, tears in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you say.

There's a flicker in John's soulful brown eyes, and though he says nothing, you feel his guilt as though it's your own. You feel it crawling over your skin, and it scares you.

What is happening to you?

“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Let's get this over with.”

You've seen the movies, and you’re not a total idiot. But the thought of actually...biting him? And drinking his blood? It freaks you out, ok, even if every cell in your body is singing out for you to swallow him down. The smell of him. You'd thought it was intoxicating before. Aftershave, spice, and cigarette smoke. The smoke was good only because it ticked some deep buried memory box in your subconscious. But now...it’s like you can sense the strength of his very soul, in the smell of his blood, and you know he will nourish you.

These thoughts come to you unbidden, and you don't even really know what they mean. Just... that they are unequivocally true.

You take his wrist, the blue veins there seeming to dance for your new improved vampire vision, as though you can see the blood pumping within them.

This is so fucking weird.

“You’re going to be really strong now,” he cautions you. Then, the corner of his mouth ticks. “So be gentle with me.”

Your eyebrows raise at the thought that you could actually hurt him. This big, strong man who threw you around not so long ago like you were just a doll. You’d loved that, truth be told. The memory is so sweet that it almost makes you want to cry again.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You should do it now,” he says. “Because you’re just going to get hungrier, and young vampires when they’re hungry are at their most dangerous. I’d hate to have to—”

He cuts himself off before finishing that thought. Your eyes drift to his nightstand, the holy water, crucifixes, and a broom handle piece that has been sharpened into a nice neat stake. Just in case he has to shove it through your heart.

“Could you do that to me?” you ask quietly before you can stop yourself, still staring at the stake.

“I don’t want to find out,” he deflects. “So come on. Pull up your big girl panties.”

You glare at him, taking his wrist again. “I think I have a right to be freaked out about this.”

“Sure, but it is what it is,” he fires back unkindly. “You’re a vampire now. You have to drink blood to survive, and you’re Damned. Welcome to the club.”

You frown at him, your eyes flashing dangerously. You notice him tense, his attention flicking over to the stake on the bedside.

“You’re afraid of me now,” you marvel.

“A little, yeah.”

“And I should be afraid of you? They told me what you are.”

“Let’s agree to have a healthy respect of one another, alright?”

You sit quietly, contemplating him. With his wrist in your grasp you can feel the thump thump of his pulse through your entire body, like bumping bass out of a speaker. It is distracting, and as you think about what you must do a warmth rises in you, a tingling rush of power that spreads from your fingers into his arm. It makes him shudder, his pupils suddenly blown wide with desire.

This feels good. Better than the fear, although you’re ashamed to admit, that had been delicious too.

You don’t know how you’re doing any of this. It’s just happening, and you let your new instinct take you, straddling his narrow hips to find his burgeoning erection straining against his slacks. You are still wearing the sundress those creatures took you in, and nothing but the thin cotton of your panties barricades the space between you and him.

He is so handsome, and strong. His blood smells so strong, and it fills you with an aching desire, wetness flooding between your legs. Suddenly the desire to bite him while he is inside you grips you like an iron fist, some ancient knowledge of arcane pleasure pulsing through your veins. You blink, the urge receding only slightly, and you do not know it but your eyes glow like coals. It’s strange, how your body feels cold, except where your skin is touching his. Your points of contact are almost searing, in comparison.

“Y/n…”

“What?” you taunt him. “You don’t want me now that I’m a monster?”

You can still hardly believe this is really happening to you.

“I think you can feel that’s not the case.”

Again, you sense his fear, cloyingly sweet upon your tongue. You like it, and that is the thing that brings you back to yourself. Wanting anyone to be afraid of you is so opposite your true nature that it shocks you.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you apologize again, squeezing your eyes closed.

“It’s alright,” he says in that deep voice of his.

It’s not. It’s really not.

“Just…can we get this over with, please?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not going to help you now, believe me. Just…go slow, ok? Don’t bite me too hard. I need use of my hand still, if you don’t mind.”

You let out a shuddering breath. It feels weird, and you realize…you don’t need to breathe? Taking in air is a reflex, but there’s no effect of your body processing oxygen.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay. I’m going to do it.”

“Any day now.”

“Shut up.”

This is the thing that actually makes him smile, that slight curl of lips that is like a full-on grin for most people. Maybe it’s stupid—but it gives you courage.

You graze his skin with your new sharp teeth, and like a beachcomber searching for treasure with a metal detector, you just sense the sweet spot. You move as carefully as you can, pressing down into his flesh to make two neat little holes.

The spill of blood is divine, and you don’t have time to think that it’s gross. It fills your mouth and it is good, and you are so hungry, and you can’t get enough. The magic in this bloodletting rises like a tide, desire crashing over the both of you in a tingling, intoxicating rush. You feel everything, and there is no extricating the sexual pleasure from the gustatory. They are one and the same with this man, his delicious, powerful blood filling your mouth, his strapping body beneath yours, his hips bucking against you.

You feel his hand slide up your thigh, his thumb seeking the molten center of you. When he makes himself stop just short of your panty line you whine in protest, straining for his touch, but he resists your goading, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh. Perhaps you should be grateful, that he is strong enough to resist the pull of this magic between you, trying not to debauch you while you feed for the first time and everything is new and you have no idea what is happening. And yet, you can hardly think past how wonderful it would be to have his teeming erection buried inside you to the hilt while you drink him down.

You would tell him all this, but you can’t bring yourself to separate your mouth from the font of his delectable lifeblood. In fact, you don’t know how you’re going to stop, period.

It’s just so good.

John watches you through heavy lidded eyes, seemingly enjoying this as much as you are. Yet he has more sense of the situation as well, and when he tells you, “That’s enough, y/n,” an inhuman keening of protest escapes from deep in your throat.

“Y/n…” he warns again, his words thick with desire. “You have to stop.”

You close your eyes, telling yourself just one last mouthful.

That was two long sucking draughts ago.

Suddenly you feel a searing heat very near your face. Startled, your eyes fly open to find the crucifix there before you, and you hiss in answer, scrabbling back on the bed away from the holy item. With John Constantine’s blood on your lips you cower, shielding your eyes with a hand.

With a shuddering sigh he lowers the cross, sitting back against the headboard of his bed. He presses a tissue against his wrist, and your eyes are drawn to the crimson stains flowering on the wad of paper beneath his fingers.

What a waste, you think, before shaking the thought away.

Then the horror of what could have happened dawns on you.

You could have drank him dry, and in the heat of the moment you would have done it gladly.

Oh God. What have you become?

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “Are you ok?”

He actually has the gall to smirk at you, as though any of this could be funny. “Yeah. Not the first time I’ve lost a little blood.”

There’s some inside joke in that statement you don’t understand, though you sense the darkness of self-deprecation in it.

Somehow, you feel simultaneously sated, and horrible. With a whimper you curl up at the foot of his bed, closing your eyes against the world. You can feel everything. You sense the people in the building, the fragile sound of their juicy little hearts beating. Even outside, the life on the street, men and women going about their lives with no idea what lurks in the shadows, wanting to eat them up…

But most distracting of all, the sheets beneath you smell like John, and the lust in your blood has yet to abate, even if the feeding is over. You feel it marching across your skin like red-hot ants. The desire to crawl up the bed and press your bloody lips to his is real, and you fight it with everything you have, because you don’t imagine he’d appreciate that very much after what he’s done for you. The sour expression on his face did not match the size of the tent in his pants, that is for sure.

You wonder, is it going to be like this every time you eat from now on? The thought does not thrill you.

“Hey,” he goads softly, and your eyes fly open to regard him. Again, your irises shine like lanterns, fueled by the roil of emotions warring in your heart. “Come here.” He holds out one of those beautiful hands to you. Hands that you had so relished upon your body, on your flesh, in your hair…hands with such thick, beautiful blue veins…

You’re not sure how he knows that you want to be held, but now you fear it too. You fear what you are, and your ability to control yourself around him. Because the truth is you still want him very much, and he’d basically told you point blank that you mean nothing to him. The thought weighs on your heart now like a thousand stinging needles, and you feel your eyes fill with moisture of some kind.

So, vampires can cry after all.

You touch a finger to the corner of your eye, and see it comes away tinted red.

You kind of want to throw up.

“Maybe…I should go,” you say sadly, sitting up. You’re certain you look as disheveled as you feel. Your hair is a bird’s nest. Your once pretty floral sundress is dirty and torn. No wonder he doesn’t want you.

“If…you want.” Why does he sound sad about it? Shouldn’t he be glad to see the backside of you? Constantine the Demon Hunter? If you’d been nothing but a one-night fuck as a human, he certainly didn’t want to spend time with you now.

“You know you’re going to need a dark place to rest for the day?”

Is he actually worried about where you’re going to sleep?

“Okay.” You think you can manage that, in your apartment next door. Or maybe…you’ll see what happens, if you watch the sun rise. Maybe it would just be better that way. Are vampire suicides double damned? You’ve never really been a religious person, but he’d said it like it was A Thing.

It reminds you of what John had said earlier. “What did you mean before? When you said join the club?”

He sighs, reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the night stand. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Feeling like you’ve now been dismissed, you slide from the bed, standing on bare feet. You should be sore, but your movements are lithe, liquid as a cat’s.

Something else to get used to.

You can feel Constantine’s eyes glued to you, and you dare to take one last look back, waiting to turn to a pillar of salt. He’s so handsome it hurts, even in his rumpled state, his cuffs rolled up his forearms and his tie loose around his neck. How do his soulful dark eyes seem to hold all the sorrow of the world right now?

“Bye, John.”

He just nods, and you let yourself out.

***

Much to your surprise, ten minutes before dawn, you hear a knock on your door. You know it's John. You can tell by the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart beat. You can smell him, and it is a heady thing in your nostrils. When you do not answer he just lets himself in, the cheeky bastard.

He finds you sitting in one of your thrift store chairs by the window, one of the only ones not broken in the mess the vampires who took you left behind. He does not like this, you can tell, by his hairline frown.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Hate to tell you, but you're going to have to find a new way to get your vitamin D.”

“Ha ha,” you say, turning back to the window. A few people are out and about below. This city never really sleeps.

“Hey,” he says again, crouching down by your chair. “I know this is a lot...”

The look you pay him is not exactly kind. He plows forward anyway.

“But take it from someone who's been there. Hell isn't a place you should be in a hurry to go.”

You blink at that. He says it like it's so black and white, not a hint of uncertainty. Not faith. Fact. Once upon a time, you might have questioned his sanity. Not anymore.

“Sounds like you've been.”

“For about two minutes. It was enough.”

“What was it like?” you whisper.

“Pure agony.”

Your eyes go wide at hearing that.

“So...want to show me your bolt hole?” he asks.

Once upon a time you would have capitalized on the opportunity for inuendo with such comedic gold just handed to you for free, but you’re not in the mood. You just stare at him.

“John...You're a demon hunter. Why do you care?”

He tries to meet your eyes, but in the end can only look away. “Come on, y/n. Just…don’t give up yet, ok?”

He just feels guilty, you tell yourself, and you pry yourself from your chair with a sigh. You’re not sure what the point of anything will be, anymore. But maybe you’ll make an effort to go on, because he asked you to.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“Fine.”

You figure the closet will be the darkest place in the apartment for you to hide.

#john constantine x reader #constantine 2005 #john constantine #constantine x reader #constantine x you #constantine x y/n #keanu reeves #constantine 2005 fic #john constantine x you #constantine vampire fic

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 1 year

Text

Sweet Nothing (Superstar Chapter 6)

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

Roy and the Reader enjoy simple domestic bliss.

Roy Kent x Reader

8.3k words

Warnings: Language, mind-numbing fluff, an overprotective dad, allusions to smut

Wow, this came out kind of long! It was fun to write and I hope all this fluff was worth waiting for!

Keeley eyed me carefully as we ate lunch in my office, door closed to keep out all the men. After the Paris trip, we’d had a hard time synching up our schedules, so she’d finally cornered me and demanded a lunch date, kicking Roy out of the office in the process. We sat on the floor, shoes kicked off, stabbing at the salads she’d picked up for us.

“So, what about after the game?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “Did you join the boys’ clubbing? Jamie didn’t mention if you did.”

“Oh, no,” I admitted, taking a sip from my water bottle. “They asked me to, though.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then why were you all dressed up?”

Suddenly, the tomato on the end of my fork looked really interesting and required all of my attention. “Who said I was dressed up?” I asked in my most disinterested voice.

“Only all the guys,” Keeley said with a giggle. “That little red number from the gala- you’re welcome by the way- and some heels with your hair all sexy.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a couple little crushes in that changing room, you know.” A smirk played on her lips. “Not as big as the one Roy has on you, of course,” she added.

I looked at the non-existent watch on my wrist. “Damn, is my lunch over already?”

“Come on,” she urged, giving me a friendly shove. “Where’d you go all dressed up?”

My story was ready to go. “Just went out exploring and wandering about. Found a nice little bar to sit in, read a bit on my phone.” I shrugged. “Nothing too exciting.”

“What about Roy?”

Once again, my salad was fascinating. “What about Roy? Didn’t he go out with the guys?”

“Nope,” Keeley answered, popping the “p” loudly. “You sure he didn’t join you at the bar?”

“He did not join me at the bar.”

You’re not lying, I thought to myself as I remembered our date at the Louvre, eating dinner with the Mona Lisa, followed by slow dancing in front of the statue of Cupid and Psyche. After that, we strolled around the museum, champagne in hand, gazing at the art. The whole time, I found myself wondering if I’d wake up back in my old room, its walls covered with Roy Kent, to discover the last four months had been a dream. Instead, I had woken up to find he’d run out to grab me a chocolate croissant for breakfast before the sun was up.

But Keeley didn’t need to know any of that right now.

Not that keeping Keeley in the dark was something I liked. Outside of a couple of my really good school mates, Keeley was quickly becoming my best friend. She was sweet, savvy, kickass and independent, and a great hype woman who made anyone feel like they could do anything. There was a part of me that was dying to grab her by the shoulders and scream, “I’m shagging Roy Kent and I think I’m in love with him!”. But I was loving the small bubble Roy and I were living in, where only Jamie Tartt knew about our existence and was threatened into silence. The little bubble where we were constantly holed up in my flat or his house, watching movies or making dinner together, drinking on his back porch and whispering sarcastic jokes late into the night, not having to answer anyone’s questions about how we got together or who liked who first or how someone like me got someone like him. No, thank you. Roy and I would stay in our happy little bubble for as long as it suited us.

“How do I look?”

I poked my head out of Roy’s bathroom to look at him. He was wearing- surprise, surprise- all black: black jeans, black shirt, black jacket.

“You look like Roy Kent,” I answered, running my brush through my hair. “Dunno why you’re so nervous. You’ve met them before. Don’t you remember my dad tackling you?”

Roy sighed and traded one black jacket for another nearly identical one. “Yeah, but that was as ‘Roy Kent, football legend’. This time it’s ‘Roy Kent, old man sneaking into your daughter's hotel room in Paris’.” He turned to me, waiting for my verdict on his outfit.

Tossing my brush on his bed, I strolled over to him and adjusted his jacket, fixing the neckline. “How about ‘Roy Kent, boyfriend who makes their daughter really happy’?” I offered.

A smile cracked through his nerves. “I like the sound of that guy.”

“Me too.” I kissed his cheek. “Now, let’s go so you can stop bugging me about my mum’s pasta.”

The drive to my parents’ was quieter than our usual car rides. It wasn’t hard to figure out why; Roy had already told me that he hadn’t met too many parents in his previous relationships. He was never really with someone long enough to reach that step, and the few times he did, it didn’t go great. He was especially embarrassed to talk about the mother who had propositioned him when her daughter was out of the room. Stories from Roy’s past made me sad sometimes; he’d had a hard time finding people who made him feel cared about for himself, not his skill or fame.

No wonder he clings to Phoebe and his sister, I had realized one day. I hoped my parents would join the apparently short list of people who made him feel special for just being Roy.

We easily found parking in front of my parents’ house and quickly made our way to the door. I carried a pie we’d picked up on the way over, and Roy held a bouquet of flowers he’d brought for my mum. As I unlocked the door, I glanced at him; he looked more nervous than the teenage boyfriends I’d brought home during my school days.

“Relax,” I whispered, planting a small pack on his cheek. “They already adore you.”

As if on cue, my mother yanked the door open, nearly ripping my arm off in the process. “We thought we heard something!” she greeted, ushering us in. She took the pie out of my hands as she kissed me on the cheek. “How was Paris?”

“Great,” I managed, closing the front door behind us. “The team won, and I got to check out the Louvre with Roy.” I shot Roy a knowing look, which seemed to relax him slightly. It also captured my mum’s attention.

“Roy, we’re so glad to have you over again,” she gushed, giving him a half hug that had him frozen in place.

When she pulled away, Roy cleared his throat and held out the flowers. “These are for you,” he stated, a bit stiffly. “I, uh, felt bad for interrupting your dinner last time without bringing anything so…” He trailed off, glancing at me as my mother took the flowers.

I slid my hand into his, giving it a small squeeze. “Where’s Dad?” I asked my mother, trying to put Roy at ease by taking some of the attention off him.

“Dad’s in the kitchen. Hope you don’t mind, we sent the boys to a friend’s house, so it’s just the four of us.”

Atta girl, Mum. My brothers were great boys, but they’d be positively tickled at the idea of having Roy Kent at their dinner table again and would probably be all over TikTok bragging about their “future brother-in-law” before we’d even had dessert. Just the four of us would mean that Roy could just be Roy, my boyfriend getting to know my parents, not Roy Kent, football legend and my lifelong crush.

My dad greeted Roy with a firm handshake, much calmer than the last time he’d seen us together. “How’re you doing, Roy?” he asked in a detached voice, as if he hadn’t been smothering the guy in the entryway just a few months ago.

“Good, sir,” Roy answered, more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “Yourself?”

Dad nodded, letting go of Roy’s hand. “Fine, thanks.” He quickly led us to the dining room, where Mum had clearly gone all out.

On the table was my parents’ best China that usually only came out when my dad’s boss visited or for my gran’s birthday, and there was a bottle of wine that I knew was twice as expensive as the kind they normally drank. Much to my relief, they (most likely Mum) had had the foresight to tuck away any embarrassing photos from my awkward teenage phase as well as that one photo my dad had of an extremely drunk me on my 21st birthday kissing my Roy Kent cardboard cutout, which currently laid flat under my bed at home, where Roy would hopefully never find it.

Roy pulled out my chair for me and then took the same seat he’d been in the night of my dad’s birthday. He shot me an awkward glance; God, this man had played in the freaking World Cup, yet here he was, jiggling his leg and blushing like a schoolboy on his first date.

Fuck, he must really like me, I thought to myself, feeling a bit stupid at such an obvious revelation. Of course Roy liked me; we spent every free moment we could together and when we couldn’t, we were constantly texting or calling each other. Heck, he’d even started using the Snapchat account Ted had made him sign up for so he could send me pictures of his uncle-niece dates. The man was clearly smitten, and the feeling was completely, totally, absolutely mutual.

My mother urged us to load our plates with pasta and salad, which Roy did not need to hear twice. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that he didn’t start eating until I’d taken my first bite; a gentlemanly gesture I’d never had a boyfriend do.

Once we’d all served ourselves food and wine and begun eating, my dad cleared his throat. “So how long… er, when did…” He gestured to the two of us. “When’d this start?”

I shot Roy a glance as I sipped the suddenly very necessary wine; his face had gone a little pale. Apparently I’d have to field this question myself. “Actually, when Roy popped by on your birthday,” I admitted. “Believe it or not, he saw all the posters in my room and didn’t run away.” I took Roy’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “Since it was painfully obvious that I liked him, he asked me out the following weekend, and we made things official about…” I glanced at Roy, doing math in my head.

“A month ago,” he finished for me promptly, a shine in his eyes. “We went to this fundraiser thing hosted by the club owner and…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Dunno, we talked, realized we like being together, and made it official.” His eyes shifted to my dad, as if Roy was hoping he’d be okay with all this.

My dad was staring at Roy with an intensity I’d never seen in my life. Part of me could understand my dad’s hesitation to be as enthusiastic as my mum about this relationship; Roy had about a decade on me (though honestly, neither of us felt it), his temper on and off the pitch was nothing short of legendary, and, thanks in part to my stalker-like tendencies, my dad knew quite a bit about the rotation of gorgeous women who made up Roy’s dating history. During his last visit, Roy had just been someone I shared an office with, so Dad could fawn over him without a second thought. Now, Roy wasn’t just some girlhood crush on my walls, but a real, viable romantic partner. The concept must have been a bit terrifying for the father of an only daughter.

After the longest minute of my life, my dad spoke directly to Roy. “And you… you like my daughter?”

Based on his wide-eyed stare, Roy was not prepared for such a blunt question. “Oh. Um, yeah, of course, I really fucking like her.” Somehow his eyes grew wider. “Shit. Sorry. I mean-” He screwed his eyes shut and let out a tiny growl. With a sigh, he opened his eyes again. “Yes, I like your daughter. A lot.”

Dad didn’t seem ready to let up. “And you treat her well?”

Roy shrugged. “I’d like to think so. I respect her and try to make sure she knows I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. I like making her laugh. And once she decides she’s sick of keeping us gaffers in line, I’ll support her whatever she ends up doing.”

My dad stared at Roy hard, his jaw set. Come on Dad, ease up, I prayed. Go back to worshipping the grass this man walks on. Remember the way you sobbed when he walked off the field during his last game. Remember how much you want me to be happy. Please.

Finally, my dad nodded slowly. “Alright then. Thank you for your honesty, Roy.” He took a long sip of his wine as the rest of the table stared at him expectantly. At last, he set down his glass. “So, how d’you think the Greyhounds’ odds are for avoiding relegation this season?”

And that was it. The rest of the evening was a blur of laughter and stories and Roy getting second and third helpings of my mum’s pasta. By the time my mum brought out the pie, Roy and my dad had made plans to grab a drink later in the week to watch a football game together and my mum had promised to have us over for dinner again the following week. Roy’s face was full of relief as my mum gave him a hug and my dad shook his hand warmly.

“Was that so bad?” I teased once we were settled in the car.

He shrugged as he started the car, not hiding his smile. “I had a good time. Your parents are pretty great.”

I cleared my throat, keeping my eyes on the road. “Sorry about my dad, though. Not sure what came over him when we sat down.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “You’re his only daughter. I’m an old man who has something of a reputation. Can’t blame him for not loving the idea of us together.” His voice was thoughtful. “But I hope he believes me when I say I really fucking care about you.” He took my hand. “And I hope you believe it too.”

I turned to look at Roy, who was already glancing at me. “I do,” I assured him. “And I really care about you too.”

Turning his gaze back to the road, Roy nodded. “Good.” He paused for a moment, clearly thinking hard about something. “Just… please don’t tell your dad about our sleepovers. Because with my shit knee, he may be able to outrun me.”

“Oh no, Roy. He could definitely outrun you.”

“Here you go, dear.”

“Thanks, Rose,” I murmured, taking my drink from her. I turned back to Roy. “Alright. Now you can tell me about practice.”

Roy sipped his beer. “Actually, I had something I’ve been thinking about lately that I wanted to ask you about.”

I tilted my head at him. “Anything wrong?”

“Well…” Roy bobbled his head a bit. “Just thinking about how unfair it is that I’ve met your family twice now, but you haven’t met mine.” He glanced at me, playful suspicion in his eyes. “Unless you’re one of those women who thinks it should be all your family all the time and my family can go fuck off a cliff?”

Puzzled but intrigued, I leaned forward. “Absolutely not. Did you have something in mind?”

He tapped the side of his beer bottle. “’ve been promising Phoebe I’d take her to see this fucking stage production of The Sound of Music on Friday. Take her out to ice cream or some shit after. You want to join us?”

While he spoke in that disinterested voice he often used, I could sense the apprehension beneath it. He wanted me to say yes so badly, to be excited to meet the most important person in his life. To be interested in every part of his life, not just football. This would be a key moment in our relationship, and Roy obviously knew it.

“That sounds great,” I gushed, taking his hand. “If I’m being honest, I’ve really been looking forward to meeting Phoebe.”

“She’s dying to meet you too, actually.” He rolled his eyes, as if he wasn’t talking about his precious little niece who was the absolute light of his life. “Been bugging the shit out of me about it ever since I first told her about you.”

A flutter ran through my heart. “You talk about me to Phoebe?”

“Fucking course. Don’t tell her, but that little idiot’s probably my best friend.”

“Don’t let Jamie hear you say that,” I warned with a grin. “He’ll get jealous.”

Predictably, Roy bared his teeth at me. “I’ve told you a million fucking times, Jamie Tartt is not my best friend. He’s not even my friend. I fucking hate that prick. I want to cut his face off and hang it up as a Halloween decoration so I don’t have to pass out candy to fucking trick or treaters.”

“Wow, your best man speech at Jamie’s wedding is gonna suck.”

Despite his best attempt at annoyance, I could see the grin Roy was trying to fight. “Do I have to do that shit where I kiss you just to shut you up?”

I shrugged. “Can’t guarantee it’ll work. But you’re very welcome to try.”

Work that Friday seemed to go in slow motion. It took all my restraint to stop myself from asking Roy a million questions about Phoebe, what she liked, what she knew about me (about us, really), how to make a good impression on her. Instead, I scurried around making sure Ted had a Spanish-to-English dictionary available for a Zoom call he had late in the day and giving Rebecca a non-answer when she asked about my weekend plans.

Finally, Roy and I packed up our things and hopped into his still ridiculous car, stopping at his place to change into what he told me Phoebe called “fancy theatre clothes” before finally going to his sister’s place to pick up Phoebe.

Shit, is this how Roy felt at my parents’? I asked myself as I shook Dr. O’Sullivan’s hand. Of course, I knew her face from the photos of her at Roy’s place, but God, she was beautiful in person. And the smile she wore told me that Roy had definitely mentioned me at least once or twice.

“Is Phoebe fucking ready or what?” Roy sighed after introductions had been made.

“Uncle Roy! Uncle Roy!”

A blur of blonde and pink launched itself at Roy, nearly toppling him over. Phoebe clung to her uncle and gazed up at him, her face full of that love that a small child had for her hero. My entire body melted at the sight of this little girl in a pink dress hugging him tight. Feeling like I was being watched, I glanced over at Roy’s sister, who was looking at me with a pensive expression. We exchanged soft smiles before both turning our attention back to Phoebe.

Roy crouched by Phoebe, ignoring the small crack coming from his leg as he did so, and gestured towards me. “Phoebe, this is-”

Before Roy could finish, Phoebe hurled herself at me, giving me a tight hug. “Oh my gosh. I’m so excited to finally meet you!” Her smile was infectious. “My uncle Roy really likes you.”

“No shit, Phoebe,” Roy growled. “Let’s get going. If you make me miss the opening song, I’ll leave you there and you can become another Von Trapp brat.”

During the ride to the theater, Phoebe asked me a million questions: about my job, my friends, my family, my flat, and what I thought the best ice cream flavors were. In turn, I learned about her school, her friends, her mother, which of her stuffed animals were her favorite, and all the things she loved about her Uncle Roy. By the time we’d found our seats in the theatre, Phoebe was holding my hand like we were the best of friends and begging Roy to let her sit next to me, since he got to sit next to me in the car.

“It’s only fair,” I pointed out to Roy, who smiled and rolled his eyes in that goofy way that made my knees go weak.

The first act of the show was as wonderful as I expected. Phoebe was entranced the entire time, and on her other side I could see Roy mouthing along to every song. We locked eyes a few times, especially when Maria and Captain von Trapp were onstage together. Each time we exchanged bashful smiles, as if we were kids with crushes rather than two adults in a fairly serious relationship.

At intermission, we found seats in the lobby. Roy headed to the line at the bar to get us something to drink, leaving Phoebe and I alone.

“Are you enjoying the show?” I asked, offering her my softest smile.

“Very much,” she said. “Uncle Roy’s made me watch the film about a million times, so we know all the songs. Do you like it?”

I nodded. “It’s one of my favorite movies, too. Can I tell you a secret?” Phoebe nodded earnestly, clearly excited to learn something so important. “I nearly always cry when Maria and Captain von Trapp admit they love each other.”

Phoebe giggled good-naturedly. “My uncle Roy reminds me of Captain von Trapp. Always yelling, but he’s really very nice.” She gazed up at me, a pondering look on her little face before she broke into a huge grin. “I guess that makes you Maria!” My tongue was suddenly too tied to reply, so she continued. “You know, Uncle Roy talks about you all time.”

Clearly, this was the topic Phoebe was most interested in. “And what does your Uncle Roy say about me?” I asked, humoring her.

“Well, the first time he talked about you, he was telling my mum that you had started working at Richmond and he was kind of mad that he had to share his office with you. But then Mummy asked if you were pretty, and he told her to shut up, but he was smiling.” She thought for a moment. “He also says you’re very nice and very smart and that the team would fall apart without you. And he told me that being nice to you is very important because you’re his girlfriend.” She glanced down at her sparkly shoes. “Uncle Roy never introduces me to his girlfriends.”

Part of me knew I should change the subject, but the part of me that turned into a giggling teenage girl whenever I thought about Roy couldn’t resist. “No?”

She shook her little head as she looked back up at me. “No. But my mum says you’re different. She thinks Uncle Roy is going to marry you someday. Would you let me be your flower girl?”

Before I could manage a response, Roy appeared, holding three glasses. “Here. Shirley Temples.” He handed one to each of us. “Don’t fucking spill on your dress,” he warned Phoebe. He sat down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What were you two chatting about?”

Of course, Phoebe pipped up before I could open my mouth. “Our favorite songs in the play. Mine’s The Lonely Goatherd.”

“That’s a shit choice,” Roy snorted.

While he went on a rant about why Edelweiss was a perfect song, I turned my gaze to Phoebe, who was already smiling up at me knowingly. Something in my heart warmed with the realization that I had made a new little friend.

The rain pitter-pattered against the window as I folded the laundry I’d managed to avoid for a couple of days. Some cheesy movie played on the television, more for background noise than anything else. My mind was occupied with thoughts of the weekend before, when we’d taken Phoebe on our second outing together: the zoo. She’d been thrilled to hold both our hands and explain everything she knew about each animal; she was especially excited to tell me all about how her Uncle Roy reminded her of the giant gorilla in its enclosure when it banged on the glass.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, Roy interrupted my thoughts with a phone call.

“Hey,” I greeted casually, pretending my heart didn’t skip a beat every time his name lit up my mobile screen.

“What’re you up to today?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

I lowered the volume on the television. “Told you, I’m having my girlfriends over to have a proper catchup and grabbing drinks with them. I haven’t seen them since before Paris and I feel like I’ve been a shit friend since I started at Richmond.” Since you decided to take up my every waking thought.

“That’s not til tonight, right?”

Onscreen, the two romantic leads began their big blowout argument that threatened to break them up. “Yeah. But I’ve gotta tidy up a bit.” My curiosity got the better of me. “Why?”

“Got an errand to run and wanted your help.”

My curiosity increased. “What sort of errand?” I tucked my mobile between my face and shoulder so I could resume folding.

Roy sighed. “Phoebe’s been bugging her mum about getting a fucking dog, but there’s no fucking way my sister has time for one. So, I was thinking I might as well go down to the pound and get one myself so she can shut up already.”

I scoffed. “I’m sorry, you’re going to adopt a dog just to make your adorable little niece happy?”

There was a pause on Roy’s end. “Yes. That a problem?”

A smile crept across my face. “No. Just trying to figure out what Nora Ephron movie you walked out of.”

“Fuck you.” I could hear Roy’s smile through the phone. “You take that shit back.”

“Nope,” I insisted, my grin growing. “Sorry, you’re a regular Billy Crystal now.”

Now he scoffed, clearly offended. “Billy Crystal? Really? Can’t I at least be Tom fucking Hanks?”

Damn, I love a man who knows his rom-com leads. “If it’ll make you happy, fine. You’re Tom Hanks. Congrats.” I remembered the reason for Roy’s call. “So, why’re you asking me to go with you to get the dog? Not that I mind, but shouldn’t it be Phoebe? She’s the reason you’re getting one to begin with.”

There was a long pause on Roy’s end. With a deep breath, he mumbled, “Well, I kind of wanted to surprise her the next time she comes over. And I also kind of figured… I dunno, you’re my girlfriend and you’re here all the time, you’re gonna see the fucking dog a lot, I wanna make sure you like it too.” He paused a moment. “You could even help me name it and shit. If I let Phoebe name it, I’ll have a dog called Princess Sparkle Rainbow or something equally fucked.”

It wasn’t a big request; just go help Roy pick out a dog, maybe pop in a pet shop to get toys and food and a collar, talk him out of naming it “Fuckface” or some name Phoebe wouldn’t be allowed to say. An easy Saturday morning. If anyone else in the world was asking, it’d be an easy “Sure” and I’d have my shoes on already. But because it was Roy asking, the invitation to join him felt heavier, like it held some meaning other than “Come keep me company”. He wanted my opinion on this multi-year commitment he was making to whatever dog he found; that meant he expected me to stick around for a while, right?

Maybe Phoebe wasn’t so off base when she divulged her mother’s thoughts about Roy and me.

“Sure, Roy,” I answered after what was probably too long of a pause. “I’d love to help you pick a dog.”

Half an hour later I heard that familiar knock at my door. When I opened it, Roy immediately leaned forward to peck my cheek before he entered my flat, twirling his keys in his hand.

“You ready then?”

I nodded, closing the door behind him. “Just need to grab my shoes.” He lingered near the door as I quickly ran to my room to put on some trainers. When I came back, Roy was snickering to himself. “What?”

He shrugged, trying to compose himself. “Nothin’. I just really like your sweatshirt.”

Confused, I glanced down. Dark blue AFC Richmond sweatshirt, one of a million I’d collected over the years. This one, my usual go-to, was pretty simple, with just a small Richmond logo above my heart. It wasn’t like Roy hadn’t seen me wear one a million times at this point, especially on game days.

“The fuck are you on about?” I asked, feeling like I was missing an obvious joke.

Biting his lip, Roy grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “It’s honestly kinda hot seeing you wear my name.”

Oh. Despite the sweater being my favorite, I had found it that morning hung in the back of my closet, untouched in quite a while. Now it made sense why: Roy’s last name and number were emblazoned on the back in large white letters. I hadn’t even noticed when I tugged it on after my shower, especially since I had no plans to see Roy that day.

My cheeks warmed with the reminder that not too long ago, I was just an adoring fan. But Roy’s tightening grip on me brought me back to the moment.

“I’ll just go change really quick,” I breathed, trying to focus on anything but Roy’s hand that had moved firmly to the small of my back.

He shook his head, eyes burning into mine. “Absolutely fucking not. I like seeing my name on you.”

I managed an awkward chuckle. “Come on, Roy. Me wearing your name while I’m out with you in public might be asking for a little bit of trouble, hmm? All it takes is one picture and bam, front page of some rag tomorrow morning.”

Roy stared at me for a moment, his grip softening slightly on my back. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Was that a tinge of disappointment in his voice? If it was, he quickly recovered, adding, “That sweater should be your new pyjamas at my place. Let me see you in it more often.”

“Deal,” I agreed, kissing his cheek before dashing my room to put on a more inconspicuous sweater.

In the car, Roy told me all about Phoebe’s great longing for a dog. She was constantly looking up photos of different kinds of dogs, only wanted dog stuffed animals when out shopping, and had a very long list of possible dog names scribbled in her diary. Despite his ever-constant scowl, I could see the delight in Roy’s eyes when he talked about how “fucking feral” his niece would go once he introduced her to the dog.

At the shelter, Roy got plenty of double takes from employees, but he ignored them, completely focused on the pups in their kennels. He paused in front of one and knelt down beside it. After staring intensely into the crate for a moment, he waved for me to join him.

“What d’you think?”

The medium-sized dog was clearly a mix of about a few different breeds and his black fur looked like he desperately needed a wash. More importantly, his eyes were bright and eager, and he jumped as best he could in his confinement as he gazed at Roy.

I couldn’t help my smile. “I think this might be him.”

An older employee brought us and the dog to a small side yard where we could see him outside the kennels. He immediately jumped on Roy, licking his hands with excitement. Then he turned his attention to me, laying his paws on my thighs. For about five minutes, Roy and I tossed around a toy, watching the dog run around to find it and bring it back to one of us.

After the millionth successful round of fetch, the employee spoke up. “It’s amazing, he’s usually a bit of a grouch. Not aggressive,” she clarified. “But he’s not usually this friendly.” She smiled at us. “He must like you two.”

I turned to Roy, who was on the ground with the dog. “So? You want to take him?”

He gazed up at me as he scratched the dog behind his ears. “Do you like him?”

From the look in Roy’s eye, I knew the answer to that question mattered just as much- maybe even more- than what Roy himself thought of the dog. The idea caused my heart to skip a beat, another reminder that I really mattered to this man.

“I kind of love him already,” I admitted with a chuckle, reaching down to give the dog a pet. “But it’s your choice.”

He nodded, a smile slowly forming. “Yeah, I think he’s the one.”

We spent another five minutes sitting on the grass with the dog, tossing names back and forth, rejecting classics like Max or Fido, deciding against naming him after any footballers, and me forbidding Roy from using any swear words in the name.

Finally, I felt the lightbulb switch on in my brain. “Oscar.”

Roy furrowed his thick eyebrows. “Oscar?”

“For Oscar the Grouch,” I explained, as if it were obvious. “Phoebe told me the two of you always joke that you’re basically Oscar the Grouch. And this guy is supposed to be a grouch, but he loves us. Just like-” I stopped, knowing the next words that almost tumbled out:

Just like how you’re a grouch, but you love me.

Right?

Roy nodded, understanding what I meant. “Oscar,” he murmured. He patted the dog on its side. “What d’you think, fella? Feel like you can live with being called Oscar?”

Immediately, the dog sat down, gazing at Roy expectantly.

“Guess his name’s Oscar,” Roy agreed, his smile widening as he looked at me.

By the time we bought everything Oscar would need for his first few days at home and I helped Roy set his house up, I had to hurry home and finish getting my flat ready for my friends. Roy drove me home and walked me up, his arm wrapped lazily around my shoulders.

“Thank you again,” he said once we reached my door. “I really appreciate you helping me find Oscar. I think Phoebe’s going to fucking love him.” He leaned against the wall, looking at me carefully. “So, your friends are coming over, huh?”

I nodded, fiddling with my keys. “Yeah, we’re going to meet here, then head out to grab a drink. It’ll be nice to catch up with each other.” I shoved Roy playfully. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about how Roy Kent and I have regular sleepovers.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a small huff of a laugh. “Hmm. Yeah, guess you shouldn’t.” His eyes lingered again. “Why don’t I pick you up from the bar once you’re finished? You can spend the night. Help me with Oscar tomorrow.”

“Oh, Roy, I dunno what time we’ll be done, I couldn’t ask-”

“I want you to ask,” he interrupted bluntly. “I don’t want you driving home if you’ve been drinking or getting a ride from someone who has. And I don’t want you taking a fucking Uber when you have a boyfriend who is more than willing to give you a ride home. Even if you make fun of my car.” He held my chin tenderly. “Alright?”

I melted into his touch, unable to look away from the look of intense affection in his eyes. Roy Kent wants to take care of me. And I wanted to let him.

“Alright,” I whispered bashfully, trying not to grin too hard. I stood on tiptoe and gave him a small kiss. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to come home.” I paused. “I mean, when I’m ready to be picked up.”

He nodded. “Good.” He gave me one more quick kiss. “Be safe, alright?”

Of course I’d be safe. It was just me and two of my close friends from school, women I’d known for what felt like forever. I had just tucked away a photo of Roy and me in Paris when I heard a commotion outside my door. When I opened it, I was tackled from both sides- Carly and Allison.

We squealed like children as we hugged and chattered about how good each other looked and how mad we were that we’d gone so long without hanging out together. We sat on my couch for a bit, gossiping about old schoolmates and the things they overshared on social media, before finally getting up and piling into Allison’s car to find a pub not too far from my place. Once we had settled a high-top table, drinks in front of us, we were ready to properly catch up.

“So, how’s life at Richmond?” Allison asked, emphasizing the team name the way all our dads always did. “The team’s actually winning these days!”

I shook my head. “It’s amazing. Believe it or not, the American knows what he’s doing. And he’s honestly the nicest guy in the world.”

Carly leaned forward, clearly already feeling her drink. “And is Jamie Tartt really that pretty in person?”

A snort caught in my throat. “Oh, Jamie’s beautiful,” I assured her. “And his very serious girlfriend Keeley is otherworldly gorgeous and the kindest person I’ve ever met. Sorry.”

Allison nudged me. “Who’s single, then? Because I am obsessed with Dani Rojas. That accent, that hair.” She fanned herself with a napkin.

“Or what about Isaac McAdoo? The things I would let that man do to me…” Carly purred.

I couldn’t help laughing. “Oh God. I’ve seen these guys puke after being run too hard at practice or with bloody noses because someone kicked a ball wrong or playing a game of ‘the floor is lava’ in the changing room or drooling in their sleep on the way home from away games. These are not sexy to men to me.”

“Oh, I know what the problem is,” Allison hummed, shooting me a wink. “She’s got eyes for a certain coach.”

My cheeks warmed. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” I answered, taking a sip of my drink and hoping I looked casual.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Come off it, we’ve all seen the shrine. Hell, I bought you some of those posters.”

“If you marry him, you’ll be just like Princess Kate with her William poster!” Carly giggled.

I turned to Carly. “You know Kate said that never actually happened, right?” I asked, trying to shift focus.

Allison caught my game. “Don’t change the subject! Come on, give us the details. Does Roy Kent, love of your life, know you exist?” She shot me a playful wink.

Despite my flushing face at the sound of his name, I snorted. “He better fucking know I exist, we share an office. We eat lunch together almost every day.”

“What’s he like?” Carly asked dreamily.

I paused. I couldn’t tell them about us dating, but surely that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell them about the Roy Kent I knew. “He’s… surprising,” I finally murmured. “He’s actually very kind and thoughtful. Like if he grabs himself breakfast on his way to work, he usually brings me something. He’s got this little niece he absolutely dotes on, and she positively worships him. And fuck, Roy Kent was a great athlete, but I can’t even begin to describe him as a coach. The man’s kind of brilliant but refuses to take any credit for the team’s success. And he’s funny as hell. Very sharp and witty.” I stopped, realizing that I was completely gushing at this point.

My friends stared at me with looks filled with a mix of surprise, fondness, and a bit of pity.

Allison finally spoke. “Fuck, this goes beyond the posters and teenage idol worship. You’re actually in love with the man.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stuff it. So, I’m a bit attracted to him, big whoop. People get little crushes on their coworkers all the time and do nothing about it. It’s not a big deal.” We’re just in a full-blown relationship. No big deal.

“But most people don’t work with someone they have twenty-seven posters of in their bedroom,” Allison pointed out, giggling over her drink.

Carly sat up. “Twenty-eight,” she corrected. “Don’t forget the shirtless poster in her closet that she was hiding from her dad.”

My jaw dropped at the betrayal from my friends. “You’re both off your rockers,” I scoffed. “Roy Kent’s a nice guy, we’re friends, end of story.”

Somehow, I managed to get the girls to find other topics to focus on. At some point I lost count of how many drinks we’d had; it was easy to lose track when having fun with friends. Once I could feel our energy start to fade, I took out my mobile and shot Roy a quick text telling him where I was.

On my way, he answered.

Once our tab was paid, we headed out of the pub, with me assuring my friends that I had a ride, hoping they would assume I had ordered an Uber. They wouldn’t be thinking that once we actually stepped outside, though.

There was Roy, leaning against his stupidly giant black car, looking every bit like my personal teenage fantasy in his tight black jeans with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His face lit up when he saw me, as if I were a Victoria’s Secret model and not his girlfriend stumbling out of a pub.

“Need a ride?” he called out casually; he knew exactly how sexy he looked and was really leaning into it. Prick.

The amount of alcohol in my system was enough to make me forget everything except how fucking happy I was to see him. I ran at Roy and jumped on him, enveloping him in a giant hug. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around me casually, mumbling “Fucking hello to you, too” into my hair.

My friends’ faces were a jumble of shock, giddiness, and a giant helping of confusion. Their eyes darted back and forth between Roy and me, waiting for some sort of explanation.

Keeping his arm around my shoulder even after I’d let go of him, Roy offered the smallest of smiles to my friends. “Hi. ’m Roy.” He gave a little wave, as if they somehow had no clue who he was. He nodded towards me. “I’m giving this one a ride home if that’s alright.”

Mouths slightly agape, the girls nodded. Still feeling tipsy, I waved to them. “G’night!” As Roy opened the door and placed his hand on my waist to help me into the car, I looked up at him, a dopey, lovesick expression on my face. “Roy?”

“Hmm?” His smile was softer than I’d ever seen it.

“You know I exist, right?”

He nodded, looking at me like I was some magical thing instead of a very sloshed woman. “Yes, I know you exist. Now get in the fucking car before I have to throw you in, hmm?”

Roy managed to get me in the car and then managed to not kick me out of it despite my incessant talking the entire ride back to his place. Instead, he walked me inside and helped me change into one of his sweaters, the one I loved to sleep in. While he changed himself into his sweats, I sat cross-legged on the floor, petting a very sleepy Oscar, now drunkenly explaining to Roy why Paul McCartney was the best Beatle.

As I expressed how much I loved “I Saw Her Standing There”, Roy joined me on the floor, watching me with admiration in his eyes. He absently rubbed Oscar behind the ears, nodding and offering small “Uh-huhs” from time to time.

“You going to kiss me so I can fucking shut up already?” I joked, realizing that he’d never let me go uninterrupted for this long.

Instead, he shook his head. “Nah. I like listening to you.” He paused, his face turning thoughtful. “I really fucking like listening to you.”

I leaned forward and kissed his face. “Thanks,” I murmured, my body now buzzing from the look in his eye rather than the alcohol.

His face screwed up, like he was debating something. “I love you, you know,” he finally breathed. “Like, I really fucking love you.” His shoulders tensed as he stared at me, waiting for me to say something, anything.

Roy Kent loves me. Roy fucking Kent loves me. Roy Kent fucking loves me.

“Holy shit. I love you too,” I blurted, my heart hammering. I blinked a few times. “Wait, you really said that right? I’m not just that drunk?”

Roy’s entire body relaxed, and he laughed so loud he made Oscar jump. “Yeah, I really fucking said that, you sloshed little muppet.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my lips. “I love you,” he mumbled against my mouth. “I absolutely fucking love you.”

When I woke up the next morning, Oscar was in his bed, but Roy wasn’t in his. With a small hum, I got up and headed downstairs, where I found Roy sitting on the couch and reading. He gave a small salute when I walked in with the dog at my heels.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, scooting over so I could sit beside him. He pecked my cheek. “Sleep well?”

Despite my giant yawn, I nodded. “Yourself?”

“I always sleep well when you’re here,” he answered nonchalantly, eyes returning to his book. “You hungry?”

I shook my head. “Could go for some tea though.”

He started to get up. “Let me put the kettle on.”

“I’ve got it,” I insisted, standing back up. “You keep reading-” I glanced at the title. “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?”

“Phoebe roped me into her fucking book club,” he grumbled, turning the book so he could glance at the yellow lion on the cover. “We’re doing the whole series. You want in?”

I chuckled. “Sure.” As I turned to head to the kitchen, he grabbed my arm.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking up at me. “I love you.”

Color flooded my cheeks as I smiled down at him. “I love you too.”

He nodded. “Just… wanted to make sure you heard me say it when you’re sober.” He leaned back and returned to his book. “Go on, then.” His eyes flickered up playfully as I made my way into the kitchen put some water on. While I waited for the water, I could hear ping ping ping from the next room.

“No fucking shit,” I could hear Roy exclaim.

Curious, I grabbed my own mobile and looked at it. Despite it being early on Sunday morning, there were several texts on the thread between Ted, Beard, Rebecca, Roy, and myself.

We got Vargas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The following messages were all emojis and gifs sent by Ted, a simple thumbs-up emoji from Beard, and several smiley faces from Rebecca. I rushed into the living room, where Roy was gazing at his mobile. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“This is fucking huge,” he said. “I mean, this deal was more Beard’s doing, I don’t know fuck all about the guy, but my understanding is that Vargas is supposed to be a big fucking deal very fucking soon.”

I nodded, scrolling through the still-incoming texts. “I can tell,” I chuckled. My mind was already running, thinking about all the things I’d have to get done on Monday: helping Keeley schedule a press conference, making sure Will was on top of things in the changing room, getting Ted a new Spanish-English dictionary, because goodness knows he’d already lost the one I’d just bought him.

As if he could feel my to-do list building in my head, Roy waved me over. “Get over here,” he grumbled. “We’re gonna have a fucking busy week, so let’s just be lazy today, yeah?”

A lazy day with Roy. Roy, who drove me home when I was drunk and wanted me to help pick his dog. Roy who loved me.

“That sounds great,” I agreed with a smile. “Let me just grab my tea.”

Once I had my cup in hand, I settled back onto the couch, tossing my legs over Roy’s lap. Oscar settled himself on the rug, clearly satisfied with his new living arrangements. Outside, I could hear the rain begin to pitter-patter as Roy rested a hand comfortably on my shin. A perfect, lazy day indeed.

“Oi, I picked you up one of those fucking rags when I was at the shop the other day,” Roy muttered, nodding towards the coffee table. “Clerk looked at me funny, the prick.”

I snorted and leaned forward to grab it. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” I retorted, flipping the gossip magazine open. We sat in happy silence as I turned the pages. Suddenly, a photo caught my eye, the sight making me choke on my tea.

Roy eyed me with mild concern. “Alright there?”

“Er, yeah.” I nodded. “I just, uh, I figured out where I know Dario Vargas from.”

“Oh?” Roy could not be less interested.

I folded the page back and handed the magazine to Roy. “I’ve seen him in paparazzi photos before. With his girlfriend.”

There, in full color, was a photograph of who I could only assume with Dario Vargas, with a sickeningly gorgeous woman on his arm. Below them was a simple caption: Football star Dario Vargas out for a night in Rome with supermodel Brittany Brett.

#Roy Kent Superstar #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #Roy Kent #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent fanfic #roy kent x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fluff

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adora-but-ginger · 6 months

Text

Oh, the Wildflowers

pairing: joel miller x gender neutral!reader

summary: you and joel have been friends since the QZ. a bouquet of flowers just might change that.

word count: ~1.4k

warnings: fluff fluff fluFF FLUFF. two idiots in love who are a little afraid to cross the line from friends to something more, no y/n used, i think that's all!

masterlist

a/n: this is my gift for @amongtlou, I was your secret santa and i hope you have a happy holidays! in the prompt you mentioned imagine dragons, so i took a look at their albums and the cover art of origins caught my attention--it inspired the fic! this was so fun to do, i hope you enjoy!! @pedrostories

credit to gif owner!

Joel was always a fan of the sunrise. Having to get up early for work before the apocalypse meant that he was able to spare a few minutes for himself. The coffee would brew and he would sit in his favorite chair, the one right by the window, watching the sky erupt with colors that felt like a piece of museum-worthy art. He loved it most when the paintings on the canvas holding the clouds were a mix of oranges and pinks, the constant hope of the day welcoming him.

Then the world went to, well, hell.

It was a lot of ups and downs (mostly downs) and he lost a lot of who he was for a bit, but then you had the audacity to show up.

You showed up and turned his world around so fast it made him dizzy. He hadn't felt emotions such as these in years, hell, since before Sarah, but he refused to let them bloom. He had more on his plate than he could handle, he had to deliver Ellie to the fireflies, had to find his brother, had to--

"Hey Joel, look what Ellie and I found! They're for you, you old grump."

He shook his head as your voice snapped him out of his reminiscing. There you were, next to Ellie, who was holding out a mismatched small bouquet of wildflowers towards him. Purples and yellows made up the bulk of the DIY bouquet, spring reflecting in the variety present. He took them from Ellie, who muttered to "be careful" and that "they took a while to pick so he has to take good care of them."

His eyes found yours, almost shyly. Shyly? Where was this coming from? He had known you for years, having met through Tess and bonding over taking the same jobs in the QZ. It became a comfort to see you at a shift that he picked up, and he was surprised when he said yes to specifically grabbing shifts together when possible. You frequented his home, and you were over at his place the morning Tess came in bloody and bruised. You didn't know that that would be the last night you were in the Boston QZ, and you definitely didn't expect everything that followed.

It was weird for him to have you by his side at first, but soon he realized that you had become a true friend of his, something that he hadn't had in quite a while, besides Tess of course.

He had become quite fond of your presence, and he had warmed up to Ellie, though begrudgingly.

You two had each other's backs, through thick and thin. You knew everything about him now, and him you, which is why he was positively stumped as to why he was getting shy around you right now.

"Earth to Joel?" A little snort caught the end of your sentence, a smile on your face.

He blinked a few times, clearing his throat. What was up with him today?

"This was really kind of you guys, uh, thank you." He took a finger, running it across the petals of a particularly astonishing yellow one. "I have never received flowers before."

And dare he say, a small smile formed on his face.

Ellie's eyes were wide with a grin adorning hers, elbowing you repeatedly in the side as she laughed. "Look at that, we got him all flustered!"

Your shoulders sometimes shook when you laughed, and that was exactly what was happening now. Your eyes closed, slightly leaning back as your amusement rang through you. The evening was making its entrance, golden lights raining down onto the Wyoming countryside in the same way that snow fell, and you looked like you from a dream, one that he would never want to wake up from. One that he would have to grasp, and write down the moment he awoke so that he remembered it.

Locking eyes, your smile settled as you spoke in an unspoken language. Silence wrapped around you three like a soft blanket, the songs of the birds filling the air in the meantime. It was a moment where time slowed, and something changed in the air between you two. If he tried enough he could place the feeling, but that scared him, so instead he just breathed in the fresh spring air, speaking his thoughts without saying a word.

That moment lasted quite the while. Eventually, you spoke up.

"Ellie?" You chirped.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Can you give us a minute? Joel and I need to...talk for a second."

"Huh? about--"

"Ellie." Joel chided, not so much in an annoyed tone but more so in a tone that a parent would express to their child.

She raised he hands up in surrender. "Geez, I'm going Mr. heart eyes. You haven't blinked in like a minute. It's weird man." She walked away after that, giving the two of you some space.

All the while, your eyes remained ensnared by the other's.

"She was really excited to give those to you. It took her nearly a half an hour."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He dared a step closer to you, hoping that whatever it was that changed wasn't one-sided. "And did you pick any? It's quite the bunch of flowers."

"In fact, I did." You took a step towards him as well, the distance between you slowly but surely becoming less and less. A warm gust of air brushed past him, and with the next step he took he closed most of the remaining distance. "You see that one right there? The purple one?" You lightly touched the flower of your discussion, a lovely bell-shaped violet blossom.

"It's called a Prairie Bluebell, and there's actually a little secret to it."

His mind was going a mile a minute, a mixture of don't you dare mess this up Joel and they're just a friend, right? playing through his head. But he wanted more, and he suspected his suspicions were right.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" He tried to add a little bit of a deeper tone to his voice, hoping it didn't make him sound like an idiot.

"Well--" Your face was close to his now, and you briefly looked down at the flower. "--It's said that if you're able to turn a Prairie Bluebell inside-out without tearing it, you'll win the one you love." A tiny smile accompanied the tail of your sentence, and both of you looked at each other, then back down at the flower.

Sure enough, it was exactly as you said, turned perfectly inside-out. He didn't know how you did it, but there it was.

He looked to your lips then. "Would you look at that. Anyone catch your fancy as of recent?" That smile of yours grew with his words.

"Oh, I've got my eyes on someone, but he and I are just friends." You started to lean in.

"He must be real lucky then. I'm sure if it's who I have in mind, he doesn't think you're just friends." He could feel the breath of your lips. "Is this okay?"

"Joel, it's much more than okay." Without another word, your lips collided. It was like water that rushed onto the beach, spontaneous and lovely. A perfect match, like wildflowers in the middle of Wyoming. And when you two broke away, a jovial laugh burst from the both of you. Maybe you were both losing it a little, but it was alright--you were together.

Your words were almost lost to the air, and if he hadn't been so close to you he might have missed it. "God, I love you."

He responded with another kiss, just as heartfelt as the previous time. "I don't think I just love you, I think I am utterly in love with you."

Your hand wrapped around the one holding the bouquet, giving it a squeeze. You both rested your foreheads on each other, breathing in the peace of this point in time.

The world may have been falling apart, but you weren't in it alone.

Joel woke up early that next morning. It was odd, these new emotions, but oh boy did he welcome them. The sun was just on the rise, and as he walked back out to that meadow, a plan became set in his head. The oranges and yellows of the sunrise painted the sky, welcoming the coming day in the hope of something new. You and him had slept next to each other, placing sleeping bags near as the stars provided comfort watching over you three.

And as you rose from sleep, the smell of breakfast cooking on the makeshift campfire filled your nose. Ellie was over there reading jokes to Joel, no doubt having asked what happened when she wandered off the previous night.

A smidge of purple caught your eye then and you looked over to his sleeping bag, lying partially open.

There, right in the middle, was a purple Prairie Bluebell, perfectly turned inside-out.

#joel miller x reader #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #oneshot #gn!reader #fluff

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wolfstarshipping · 9 months

Note

I’m in a reading slump, do you have any good fics that you can recommend me?

Hi, thanks for asking lovely anon! I've thought about this and I have several different approaches on how to answer your ask, so this'll be a longer list, I hope you find something you like!

First category: Texting Fics!

I love text fics because they're usually very fast-paced and easy to read, so I think they might be a good way to combat a reading slump!

You could either go with the iconic Text Talk by merlywhirls (141.250 words), a boarding school AU with a home-schooled, chronically ill Remus, a true classic and the fic that started the whole wolfstar texting fic trend back in the day!

Or, one of my personal favorites from the same era for purely nostalgic reasons, aesthetic: trash boys by Emaly/merlywhirls (89.473 words, everyone is super queer, strong chosen family vibes, with an HIV positive Remus and genderqueer Sirius).

Or if you want a modern text fic classic, there's always Staying Strangers by 3amAndCounting (319.368 words, university AU, this is one of those fics I've reread a couple of times already, just because I love it so much, especially the texting in the beginning).

Snow In June by BrigidFaye (25.561 words) is a magical AU set in the US that also has some texting elements, even though it's not as text-heavy as the fics mentioned above, but the worldbuilding and the setting is wonderful, and lumberjack Remus is everything I ever needed in my life!

Dear Your Holiness by @mollymarymarie (142.264 words) is a priest AU and band AU, with a bit of texting, though this one is also already kind of moving into the next category of fics mentioned below. Obviously the whole catholic priest theme is not going to be for everybody, but if you think you might enjoy that, I highly recommend it, it's so, so good! And if you don't think you'll enjoy the themes of this fic, check out literally any other fic by mollymarymarie, I think at this point I've read almost all of them and enjoyed every single one I read immensely!!

Alright, so now the next category is fics with plots that will get you out of any reading slump:

I've recently become obsessed with @lynxindisguise's fics, so I'd also recommend checking out all of them, but since I've mostly recommended longer fics on this list so far, I'll go with a shorter one: in the dark, there is discovery (11.796 words) is a wonderful pirate AU that you can easily read in one evening, and it has beautiful world building, Remus Lupin as a seamonster and my new favorite trope - there was only one hammock.

Let Me Get What I Want (This Time) by Sierra_Sitruc (69.878 words) is a plot-driven and amazing fix-it-fic, that I keep thinking about even months after I've read it, and that had me stay awake at ungodly hours just because I couldn't put it down and wanted to know how it ended!

The Bent by @ebp-brain (40.257 words) is an incredible fic about queer lives, politics and art, oppression and resistance, so if any of those things sound like something you'd enjoy I highly recommend reading it, I always love earlybloomingparentheses' writing, it's so, so beautiful and powerful!

take me as i am (48.494 words) has one of the most unique settings I've ever read - it features Sirius as an (adorable) sleep demon, who is supposed to give Remus nightmares, and I also love the way this fic depicts various mental illnesses.

In saccharine by moonymoment (26.447 words) Sirius is a ghost haunting Remus's apartment, and this is another one of those fics I keep thinking about because it was just so so good.

full moon twofold by renaissance (12,031 words) is a Gothic-romance style AU and an incredible take on the question "what if Remus never went to Hogwarts?".

And now maybe a few shorter fics:

The first rec in this category is not even a specific fic but just a tumblr account: @wolfstarmicrofic, if you scroll through their blog you'll find lots and lots of really short fics which might just be what you need to get back into reading!

In You, I Count Stars by @wolfpants (1.540 words) is a wonderful hogwarts-era oneshot set in the Astronomy Tower with a pining Sirius.

It's Cold Outside by Remustrash (1.788 words) is a very fluffy and cosy there-was-only-one-bed fic, featuring the most oblivious of all oblivious puppies!

June, and Other Natural Disasters by montparnasse (5.524 words) is a beautifully written fic that made me feel all the feels and has great summer vibes!

Okay and the last category is fics with A+ vibes that'll make you forget all about your reading slump:

The Long Way Home by @hollyivydruzy (177.337 words) is a university AU and the kind of fic I didn't want to ever end, because the characters felt so incredibly real, and it's so easy to get completely immersed and lost in their wonderful, chaotic world and follow along on all their university adventures.

this desperate in love by drowsyanddazed (20.776 words) is a very cute high school AU, and reading it felt like watching a coming of age / teen movie in the best kind of way!

wading in waist-high water by @colgatebluemintygel (82.060 words) is a Great British Bake-Off AU that features Remus as a contestant and and Sirius as a host who's thirsting after Remus, and I just love the whole setting and atmosphere of the fic, as well as the writing! And this fic's Arthur Weasley needs to be protected at all costs, I love him a lot!

A Brief History of Dragons by @eyra (23.488 words) is an incredibly cosy and wonderful modern AU set in Cornwall, I absolutely ADORE Remus in this fic and love the way his and Sirius's relationship slowly develops, this fic has such a special place in my heart.

Alright I think I could keep going and add to this list forever but I'll stop now, let me know if you read any of these, and I hope they'll end your reading slump! x

#wolfstar #wolfstar rec list #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #rec list #fic rec list #ask #anon #reading slump #also I know this is just me second guessing myself but obviously the fics i put into the great plot category also have A+ vibes #and the fics i put into the vibe category also have great plots etc etc #just wanted that to be said #these are all just great fics and i wanted to make lil categories and this is what my brain came up with yesteday at 3am okay #i love getting fic request asks!! i have about 90 unanswered fic request asks sitting in my inbox #abt 89 of those are from pre 2016 though but i still might answer some of them in the future for the lols

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slugtranslation-hypmic · 9 months

Note

Hi Slug! If you've listened to the full songs in the new EP, have your opinions of the trailers changed? Also, the new dramas are HEAVY, so if you've listened to them, I'm curious to know what you thought of them. As always, thanks for the translations!

I like listening to Hypmic music on shuffle during workouts, so I've most of the new songs in full by now. I don't think my opinions have changed majorly. I really enjoy Black and White, and Move Your Body Till You Die is a phenomenal work of art.

As for the drama tracks... truth be told, I haven't even listened to the one that came out in April, so I'll read through some TLs now and record thoughts below the cut:

No One Lives Forever, translation courtesy of shinseimcd on Twitter

"Anti-Party of Words faction" Huh, like a government faction? I'm surprised the PoW allows other political parties or at the very least open dissenters. There was talk in some chapters of the manga of them punishing protesters, not to mention the way they crushed the TDD rebellion in its primacy. Either way, interesting, and I hope we learn more about this as time goes on.

Ichijiku and Nemu baking together is really cute lol

I love the way Ichijiku's whole personality shifts around Otome. Gap moe (????)

It's a cool tidbit that Nemu tends to prefer plainer outfits, as that tracks with how she dresses in TDD. Also, Nemu and Ichijiku shopping together is kind of bittersweet, since Ichijiku is clearly using Nemu as a replacement figure for her deceased sister...

Ichijiku secretly wanting to fall on the cute side of the cute/elegant spectrum is a pretty classic trope but a fun detail that's been hinted at already, since we've seen that she keeps a bow collection.

??? Rei's lab is on Battleship Island? Ohhhhhhhhh this is why Twitter was blowing up with controversy right after this track released... The IRL Battleship Island was home to forced labor of Korean and Chinese citizens during the twentieth-century push of Japanese imperialism which was later, iirc, denied in part or totally by the Japanese government to immense international backlash. Using this as a setpiece for Hypmic is oddly provocative, and I can't think why the writers would want to do that. On a much lighter note, this is also a headscratcher to me because isn't this a UNESCO World Heritage Site? The whole point of that is conservation, and I don't think building a clone lab counts as conservation... Unless they're implying the clone lab was built prior to the 1950s? Hm. Let's not go down this rabbit hole.

"I would like all of the True Hypnosis Mics. As well as all the Amemura clones." Oh? Are there more still alive? I thought Honobono ordered the death of the last remaining three... Well, that scraps a piece of writing I was working on LOL

"Your biometric data is required to access the mic storage facility" So how did the PoW get in?

Her? Heart stop beating? Oh for fuck's sake, is Rei's wife also in a coma? How many fucking characters are in a coma in this series... Whichever mfer invents a device that restores people from comas with no significant brain damage will make a fortune in this universe

"And I won't try anything funny." I do not believe this for one instant

Hmm, the framing of Otome planning this and the way she brushed past talk of countermeasures for the anti-PoW faction implies that Rei is heading this faction.

Oh, so they couldn't get past the biometric locks after all, I see.

I strongly dislike the idea of thirty clones for thirty mics and the nonchalance in which Rei goes, "Yeah, I'll ship them off to Chuuouku" like they're a parcel and not human beings, but that's my personal bone to pick w/ this character and setting.

I was intrigued by the notion of the PoW holding caucuses, implying there's some sort of democratic process in terms of choosing their own party members or positions, but the JPN audio doesn't specify that exactly.

"We no longer require the cooperation of Jakurai Jinguji." I know that this took like four years in real time, but in terms of the Hypmic universe... I mean, Jakurai didn't even do anything for them, did he? He went through all that moral dilemma for nothing, as far as I can tell. (I get that it sets up the reconciliation with Ramuda, but that's it? Seriously?) That's disappointing to roll it back so quickly.

"During the Division Rap Battle, the people of our nation will be focused on the tournament, giving us the opportunity to use the True Hypnosis Mics to mind hack the Anti-Party of Words faction who stand in our way, ultimately pulling them over to our side." Otome always has the most batshit plans. God bless. A consequence of her needing to drive the plot forward is that she'll say some of the truly silliest things I've ever heard. What a complete misappropriation of government funds lol. Also... is this stating there are only 30 dissidents (????), or can the True Hypmics brainwash more than one person at a time?

"Once that is complete, we will move on to other countries. And when we have taken over the world, then, in the true sense of the word, peace through the power of words will be achieved." LMAO? I'm sorry, this isn't very considerate of me, but in my initial impressions of this, I am well and truly gobsmacked. What in the actual fuck. How many clones will die for this? How much money will it cost? How does she think she stands any chance at governing so many people across such an area, even with a downsized population after WWIII? Homie... Never change, Hypmic, you are the wildest.

I can't believe Ichijiku is so whipped she's willing to go along with an absolutely nonsensical plan for world domination. Ma'am, Otome is not going to fuck you, and even if she is, it's not worth it! Ma'am!!! I'm sorry, I'm being petty and not giving this a lot of in-depth thought but LORD this is a trip on first read.

A FUCKING CLONE UPRISING AT THE HANDS OF REI? HAHAHAHAHA.

"World domination, huh, what a joke." Man after my own heart.

I'm actually quite interested in how this "mics are disabled forever" thing works. I guess the mics have a kill switch in them? I vaguely recall someone saying that in the manga years and years ago... Oh yeah, it was Ramuda in TDD 12. Huh, interesting if that was intentional foreshadowing (I'm not sure if I want to be that charitable). At any rate, can't everyone in the room just get new mics? Or does it affect their speakers and such too? I'm curious how that works, like if you build an affinity with a certain mic or some nonsense.

"looks like we won't be having any Division Rap Battles from here on out." Ah, and this is why the other half of Twitter was up in arms like "No more DRB??? End of Hypmic??" I guess.

The Block Party tracks are quite long, and since it's getting rather late for me, I'm going to leave off here for the moment. I'd like to continue this at my next available opportunity... WHAT a ride. Not sure when that will be, but I will add to this with a reblog when I can. And I know it's been months since this track came out, but I would love to hear other people's thoughts. I wasn't around much when it first launched, so I missed most of the commentary on it.

#not a translation #asks #hypmic asks

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sleepsentry · 4 months

Note

Hi i love your billford art soso much and im not confident enough to reblog it rn bc people im friends with have been weird about me shipping it and im not ready to defend myself just yet but i still want you to know that your art!!!! Is so great and i love how you draw ford so scrungly and bill is a creature and i think you are really cool ok gbye

It's a shame to feel shame over something so "trivial" for lack of a better word.

I'd argue that's all the more reason to reblog and share, if people are going to be wierd about something objectively harmless, that's on them.

I've noticed not many people reblog my billford art and sometimes they do but don't add any tags, as if they're quietly embarrassed by enjoying something that's percieved as "sacrilegious" to the commonly accepted interpretation.

Rather than make me upset or insulted it makes me a bit sad honestly.

To hell with that! Enjoy yourself! Reblog and share and proudly tag whatever it may be!

And if you're friends are gonna make you feel bad about enjoying a thing that they don't like, then they need to learn to be less petty.

*climbs down from soapbox*

Thank you for the ask.

I hope you'll feel less ashamed of a simple personal preference eventually.

There's more dramatic and serious things worthy of that kind of thought and attention, so please don't lose your time and energy feeling self conscious over ships and fiction.

I know from experience that it's very difficult to do so, but it's genuinely never worth the energy and time lost to what often ends up being simple schoolyard bullying.

And maybe talk to your friends about not losing their time and energy to making others self conscious over differences in opinion. ^^'

#asks and answers #gravity falls #text posts #not art

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 1 year

Text

Hello, dears! This fic was written for my dear friend @loveinthekeyofx! Alcina with a curvy stable worker 👀 There lots of gay panic, thigh riding and mold horses! It's fairly long so most will go under a cut, but I do hope some of you will enjoy it! ❤️

TW: Body issues, references to bullying.

***

You wiped the sweat from your brow, the last barrel of hay finally loaded into it's trough after a long day of work. You looked up to find dark eyes staring out at you from the back of the stable.

"Come on, Spider. You gotta eat."

You always found it rather endearing that the youngest of the Lady's daughters had insisted on naming each of the horses based on their personalities. Spider, for instance, was black, had spindly legs and preferred her days spent in solitude. Though, on occasion, she would allow Daniela, and only Daniela, to ride her.

The moody creature huffed in your direction before walking over to her trough and reluctantly began to eat.

"That's my good girl." You replied with a smile, pulling out a few sugar cubes from the pocket of your uniform.

"You certainly have a way with them, Frances."

The Lady's voice caught you off guard, causing you to squeak loudly and nearly drop the sugar cubes from your hand.

"Shit! Ah- .. sorry, my lady. And th-thank you?"

Your voice raised in a way that made your reply sound more like a question rather than a response. Alcina chuckled, her profound frame moving slowly through the large doors of the barn - one of the few entryways on the castle grounds she could enter through without ducking.

“Due praise, dear. I’ve been watching you for quite awhile.”

The look of surprise upon your face brought a prompt and melodic laugh to the Lady’s lips - a sound you could nearly get enough of.

“I- .. You have??”

“Mh.. you are rather hard to miss.”

“Oh.” Your face reddened. Your reply was soft, eyes to the side. Hands tugging at your uniform before your arms quickly came over your chest as if to shield you. It was instinctual in nature. One taught and bred into you since you were a young child. And though you did your best not to give completely into the urge to cover your body, the Lady noticed. Immediately realizing her folly she shook her head.

“Not like that, little one.” Alcina paused before chuckling. “As if I out of all people would ever deem to comment on the size of another person.”

You chuckled in turn, smiling a little sheepishly.

“As it was…” She continued, “I find most humans to be.. rather petite.”

At this your face grew even hotter. Petite was not a word anyone had ever used to describe you. Voluptuous.. curvy.. thick - sure. Fat by your childhood bullies, and once by a friend.. but never.. petite.

In fact, the thought alone that someone could view you as such made your mouth go a little dry.

You swallowed hard, chuckling nervously. “You are too kind, my lady.”

The Countess’ eyes flared as they locked onto yours - liquid embers boring into you.

“I am nothing but honest, Frances. Why.. I could easily carry you and one of your stable mates around this entire castle several times before tiring of it.”

You stood there for a moment - mouth agape and face on fire. The image of her carrying you around anywhere was… well..

error 404, Frances not working

“I.. that..” You paused, clearing your throat. “I have absolutely no doubts about that.”

The Lady smirked, leaning down ever so slightly in your direction.

“Yes, I’m sure you don’t.”

At this you only squeaked, pulling another laugh from the large woman.

“Adorable.”

Every cell in your body was on the verge of a thermal meltdown, but you did your best to breathe.

“Ahem.. ah.. may I ask you something, my lady?”

“By all means.”

“Well.. you said you’ve been watching me?”

“Mh.”

“I.. I mean, why?”

The regal Countess before you stared silently for a moment before rising to her full height.

“My dear… you wouldn’t ask someone in a museum why they're staring at a piece of art.” She paused, her finger coming to your chin. “They’re looking for one reason and one reason alone - to admire.”

“O-oh.” You swallowed.

Alcina chuckled. “Mh.. well, as much as I’m enjoying seeing how red I can get you.. I am actually here for a reason.”

You were honestly thankful for having a moment to regain your composure, the Lady’s affect on you all too prevalent.

“O-of course, my lady.”

“As I said, I’ve been watching you… and your connection to the animals on the grounds is something that was immediately apparent to me. Especially your connection with Al.”

Your eyes instantly wandered towards the stable at the far end of the barn. There was no doubt about it.. Al, or ‘Big Al’ as Dani liked to call her,.. was by far your favorite. For a couple reasons:

1. She had to be the most beautiful Fresian you had ever laid eyes on. Hair as dark as night and eyes that glistened with intelligence. She was a truly captivating creature, and she knew it 2. Due to your larger stature - She was the only horse in the barn that you felt completely comfortable riding. You could ride her with no restraints, with absolute freedom. And some days, it honestly felt like flying. 3. She was affectionately, and much to the Countess’ dismay, named after Alcina (both for her immense size and her regal stature) and you couldn’t help but think of the Lady just a little bit whenever you looked at her.

“I mean, Big Al is a rare case, my lady." You answered. "She is a rather beautiful horse.”

“Mh.. that, she is.” The Countess replied, giving you a knowing look. "But the connection is still very much there with every animal I’ve seen you interact with thus far, Frances. Which is what brings me to my proposition.”

“Ah.. propo.. sition? My lady?”

She gave you a little smirk and clasped her hands before continuing. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about other animals being on the grounds, kept away and secret.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the playful glint in her eyes but you nodded. That was one of the first stories most people heard when they arrived at the castle. It’s one of the reasons the staff is told to stay away from the forests that border the massive manor at night.

Or so people say, anyways…

“Well, then I’m sure you’ve also heard the rumors that those animals are dangerous - mutated. Kept as a secret weapon against the hunters or any other man-thing that may deem us harm. As a second defense, of course.”

“I-I have.”

“Mh.. I’ll be honest with you, dear. Some of the animals we keep here, even Cassandra, wouldn't cross at night.” She paused, staring out at the tree line for a moment. “With that being said, we also house a rather extraordinary rare breed of horse here. One enhanced by the cadou. And that, my dear Frances, is where you come in."

You looked at her awestruck for a minute, voice trembling slightly when you finally spoke.

"M-my lady? I.. I'm not quite sure I understand."

The Lady sighed heavily, the years growing more and more visible within the deep lines of her face.

"Some rather unfortunate circumstances have recently come up. Very suddenly leaving me without the servant who's been regularly tending to them."

You swallowed hard, not entirely sure if you even wanted to know the answer. "Ah, may I ask what kind of circumstances?"

The Countess stood silent for a moment, thinking. Her brow furrowed in the cutest of ways.

"Mh.. I'd rather not get into specifics, little one, but let's just say the woman made the mistake of putting her hands on one of my daughters.. without their consent."

"Ah." You shuddered, the mere thought of the consequences such a person would be fated to made you all too grateful that the Countess had spared you the details.

“Mh.”

“Heh.. I’m honestly a little surprised the four of you let her leave the castle alive.”

Alcina looked down at you, a devilish smirk curling across her lips. “I don’t recall ever saying we did.”

You swallowed. “R-right.”

She chuckled for a moment, shaking her head.

“Fret not, Frances. As of now Arleen is .. well, mostly safe in the dungeons. Her fate will now reside in the hands of my daughters.”

You nodded. “I understand, my lady.”

“Good.”

“May.. May I ask which daughter it was?”

“Hm.. curious thing, are we?”

You blushed, averting your eyes. “Ah, a bit, yes.. sorry, my lady.”

The large woman’s gaze lingered over you a second before answering.

“Cassandra.”

“Oof.”

A soft chuckle.

“Indeed.”

It was well known among the staff that the Lady’s middle daughter was the least of the three you wanted to make angry. Under any circumstance. With Daniela being the most lenient, of course. Especially if she found you particularly funny (or cute, for that matter).The Countess rose to her full height, stretching a little as she straightened her back. And the soft moan that wandered off her lips was all it took to make your mouth go a little more dry.

“So as you can see, Frances.” She continued. “I find myself in a bit of a.. bind.”

Gods, the way her tongue danced over her bottom lip as she said that, wettening it. A soft twinkle of heat flickering in her eyes that quickly imprinted images of plump flesh peeking through soft white rope.

A bind, yes.

You cleared your throat. “ And.. y-you want me to fill her position?”

The Countess nodded.

“But.. are you sure? I mean.. I’m twice the age as most of the women here-”

“Oh? Is that all?” The Lady gave you a smirk before sighing. “Yes, I’m quite sure, Frances, and I’m not one who’s used to having her judgement questioned.”

“S-sorry, my lady.”

The Countess waved her hand dismissively before her large frame turned back towards the door.

“Now.. if you would kindly follow me, dear, I'd prefer we get the introductions over with before the sun sets."

You nodded, only hesitating for a moment as the Countess quickly disappeared behind the tree line. Surely the Lady would keep you safe from whatever lurked deep within those woods, surely she wouldn't be leading you straight into your untimely death.

Surely..

"Frances, do keep up the pace. I'd rather not lose another servant today."

"Sorry, my lady!"

The scent of wet earth surrounded you as you entered the dark Romanian forest. Sounds of a nocturnal life slowly coming to wake as the dusk of a promised night filled the cool, crisp air. And while the sun still shone brightly on the outside of the thick tree line, you could barely see Alcina's large silhouette in front of you. The steady swish of the Countess’ dress the only thing keeping you from getting lost the further the two of you went in.

“Just about there, little one.”

You nodded, though the Lady couldn’t see you. The insistent shiver that was slowly taking over your body only grew stronger with each step - with each strange sound that echoed through the dark forest. Like the name of a long lost lover whispered into the night. And even with the knowledge that anything that may have been watching.. or following.. was no match for the woman that accompanied you, you were still all too grateful when the warm lights of the stables finally came into view.

You let out a sigh of relief, not even aware that you'd been holding your breath practically the entire time. The Countess chuckled.

"Mh, these woods do tend to have an effect on people."

You chuckled in turn. "I'll say."

"Nevertheless, this was the safest place to house them. Not that these horses are necessarily dangerous, by any means, but the sight of them always seems to make the staff a little uneasy."

You nodded, a feeling you were more familiar with than you'd care to admit. Most of the staff had never really taken to you. You were older, bigger and probably kinder to most of them than they deserved. Making you a prime target for bullying. Something you feared you might never outgrow. But how can one change their genetics? Their age? Their heart?

You sighed and Alcina’s gaze caught yours, looking you over once before turning to open the doors of the barn. A soft crinkle to her eyes when she turned back to you.

"As for you, Frances, something tells me that you're the perfect person to care for these animals."

You blushed slightly at her praise - even if misguided, you thought. Surely the Lady wasn't that good at reading people. Though, the way she looked at you made you feel otherwise. The way she looked at you made you feel exposed - seen. As if each lingering gaze from the Countess stripped another layer from your person. Peeling back the walls with nothing more than a look.

Being quite a bit smaller than the main stables the Lady ducked to enter and you quickly followed. The inside of the barn was much warmer than you had expected it to be, almost humid - with even the warmest of Romanian nights still bearing a slight chill to them. There were eight stables that you could count, four on each side, with only six of which were occupied. The rather prominent mustiness to the air made your nose crinkle the moment you stepped inside..

“I do apologize for the smell. It is a rather unfortunate side effect given the mold.”

You shook your head. "No worries. I can take it."

Before you had even realized the implications to your words Alcina smirked.

"Mh.. I have no doubts." She replied with a chuckle.

You cleared your throat and tried to swallow back the blush that was steadily taking claim of your face.

"A-anyays."

The Lady chuckled again, giving you a look before moving further into the barn to allow you space to look around.

At first you weren't even sure what you were looking at. The Lady wasn't wrong, necessarily - each animal was equestrian in nature, sure, but they were also other worldly. Skeletal. With big black eyes that glistened at you with each slow movement. And while you could understand why some may have found them to be a bit off-putting, you personally found them to be rather beautiful. As if someone had taken the skeleton of a very large horse and dipped it in the blackest glitter.

"They're.. beautiful, my lady." You said softly.

"In their own way, yes. The cadou can sometimes create very beautiful things."

"Well, that's a given."

You blushed even as you quietly said the words. A slight advert to your eyes as you did your best not to make any eye contact. Even if you could feel Alcina's gaze boring into you.

The Countess hummed in thought. "Perhaps."

Once you moved in a little closer to the creatures you could start to see the distinguishing features between them all. With each one being unique to itself. And much like the stables on the grounds, each one had a silver plate on their doors with a name engraved in it. Something that couldn't help but make you laugh.

"I see Dani's gift for naming things continues on."

"Mh.. whether it’s a gift or a curse remains to be seen, dear."

And while the Lady's tone remained neutral, the soft adoration in her eyes only spoke volumes for how much she loved and appreciated each of her daughters. She gave you a small wink before moving even further into the barn, the quiet swish of fabric following her graceful migration.

“Take a moment to familiarize yourself. I’ll need you3 to start here first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, my lady.”

You couldn’t help but find yourself ever more fascinated with each step you took closer to the stables. And you were almost certain that the creatures before you seemed to be just as enamored with you. Their eyes gently stalking your slow and steady movements. Of course in true Dani form, each animal was named after a defining characteristic, and most having some sort of play on the word ‘mold’. You almost laughed out loud when you came across the nameplate of a rather ornery looking one, one with an insufferable air around it and eyes that seemed to judge your very existence.

“Moldranda?” You snorted, “I’m sure the High Priestess wasn’t happy about that one.”

“Mh.. bold of you assume I would have told her.” The Countess chuckled.

“Hah, fair enough.”

You continued down the first row, coming across a one-eyed horse named ‘Moldyclops’ and an exceptionally beautiful one simply named ‘Athena’. With the last stable empty you turned to make your way over to the other side of the barn, immediately noticing the rather large wings two out of the three creatures sported. You felt your eyes widen as you walked closer to them, a slight flutter to their wings as you did. A curious tilt to your head as you read the first nameplate.

"Donut?" You chuckled.

"Mh.. Daniela said that one’s brain is ‘filled with holes’." The Lady chuckled. "He was one of our first in the trial and not very bright."

"Ah." You replied, walking over to the next one whose name perplexed you just as much.

"And Moldred? Was this one named after someone Dani knew?"

"Actually, no." Alcina replied. "Take a closer look at her, little one."

You took another step closer and even within the low lighting of the room you could see the small red dots that covered the otherwise flawless black mold. You immediately shook your head and laughed.

"Red mold.. mold red.. Moldred."

"Precisely."

As for the last horse in the row's name - it was perfect and honestly, you would have expected nothing less of the youngest Dimitrescu. With long black tendrils that wove around her head like snakes, Moldusa gave you a friendly huff the moment you stood in front of her.

"Well, hello to you." You said, holding out your hand which the horse quickly nuzzled into. The sensation was not what one your were expecting, though. Similar to stroking over a moss covered rock only not as slimy. You couldn't help but smile when she allowed you to continue to move your hand upwards, petting the tentacles that sat on her head only to message them gently.

"Does that feel good, sweet girl? Having your tentacles messaged? Hm?"

From over your shoulder you could feel the Countess watching you, an unreadable emotion burning within her gaze. Immediately you blushed, turning to face your employer with a stutter.

"A-ah.. I m-mean.. I'm sure it's relaxing! Er.. having them massaged that is.."

The Lady smirked, only fueling your inner panic.

"Oh geez! Not like that! I mean.. I'm sure if you let me massage yours, you'd find it relaxing too-!"

And just like that, you wanted to die.

Alcina remained very still, her eyes lingering over you ever so slowly before she spoke.

"Mh.. I'll be sure to keep that in mind, sweet thing."

Yep, kill me now.

You were almost certain that for a single moment your brain completely flatlined - a radio wave of nothing but static and impure thoughts. Surely the Lady had to know the effect she was starting to have on you. Surely the smug smirk painted over her crimson lips told you exactly that.

You cleared your throat before taking a steadying breath, the pink flush across your cheeks deepening. Though the Lady held her gaze, eyes drinking you in as if you were a bottle of her favorite vintage. You gave Moldusa a final stroke over her nose and took a step back.

“So, ah.. yeahh...” You said before pausing, which only made Alcina chuckle.

“Mh? Yes, dear?”

Gods, how indulgently smooth her voice was.. how utterly teasing. Before another wave of gay panic had the chance to come through and render you completely brainless, you quickly changed the subject.

"So, uh.. am I safe in assuming these horses don't just eat regular hay?"

"You are. Such a clever little thing, hm?"

"I-"

You swallowed hard. This woman was going to be the death of you.

A melodic chuckle trickled off the Lady's lips.

"Adorable." She added with a pause. "But yes, these horses have a very special mixture made for them each day by a local butcher. If you're familiar with a common bait fisherman use for larger fish called 'chum', it's similar to that."

"Ah… should I even ask what sort of meat goes into it?"

"Mh.. not if you're of weak stomach, no." She smirked.

You chuckled nervously. "Heh.. noted."

"The food will be here for you in the morning by the time you arrive. I pay extra to have it delivered promptly by five am and I expect you to be here no later than six. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lady."

The Countess nodded before turning back towards the door. The world that laid outside the warmth of the barn nearly pitch black.

"Unless you have any other questions, little one, we should really be heading back to the castle. It's already quite a bit later than I would prefer to have my staff out in these woods."

"I think I'm good for now, thank you. But if I think of anything else, I'll make note of it."

"Good. Right, then."

The Lady began to lower her large frame as she prepared herself to duck through the semi large doors of the barn but stopped short and turned back to you. A single finger tapping her bottom lip in thought.

"My dear.. would you be opposed to me doing something to quicken our journey back to the grounds?"

Considering you could barely even make out the trees that surrounded the stables, you shook your head.

"Not at all. What did you have in mind?"

Without a single word of response, the Countess swiftly stepped forward and lifted you into her arms, earning herself a sharp cry of surprise.

"M-my lady-! Wait! You shouldn't- .. I'm too-"

Before you could even finish your sentence Alcina had you positioned in a full bridal carry, her large arms cradling you safely against her bosom.

"You're too what, little one?"

You blushed deeply, biting your bottom lip.

"A-ah.. h-heavy, my lady." You answered, averting your eyes from her obvious glare.

And while you were almost expecting a stern response, the Lady only laughed. Loud and boisterously - a laugh that made her whole body - as well as yours - jiggle.

"Oh, sweet thing." She paused, still laughing. "Why, you're light as a feather. Barely even noticeable in my arms at all."

"Oh, I'm.. erm.."

You could feel your face growing hotter by the second and without much thought, you buried your face into the softness of her chest. An act you were sure would get you a reprimand, but the Lady only held you closer.

"Mh.. I take it that's not something you're accustomed to hearing."

Half muffled in your reply, you answered.

"Truthfully? I'm more accustomed to hearing the exact opposite. My size has never really been.. well, you know.."

Your voice trailed off, heated tears now threatening to stain the fine fabric of Alcina's dress. She let out a large sigh, fingers coming to softly stroke your hair.

"I am more than familiar with how cruel the world can be if one does not fit into society's view of what is considered attractive."

You looked up at her in surprise, the steadiness of her walk casting moonlit shadows across the deep lines of her face.

"But.. but you're gorgeous!"

And though it could have easily been wishful thinking, you could have sworn that trapped within a single sliver of moonlight was the subtle dusting of pink upon Alcina's cheeks.

"Nevertheless.." She cleared her throat, "My reputation does tend to precede me. A beautiful disaster, as it was. A monster."

With the forest far too dark to see much else, the only thing clear enough to make out were the broken shimmers that seemed to haunt the otherwise warm embers within the Countess' eyes.

“Pft. Well. at least they got the beautiful part right.”

The heat of her breath tickled your face as she chuckled. “Charming little pet.”

“I-”

You opened your mouth and then quickly shut it, your fluster stopping your brain short.

Alcina chuckled again.

“Mh.. seems as if we’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that, regardless of what the small minds of society think, we both find the other quite beautiful… won’t we?”

As soon as the two of you broke the tree line, the Countess’ illustrious body basked in a wash of silver, you could see the want in her eyes. The desire that slowly stoked beneath her heavy gaze and the hunger that burned within it. There were no falsities to her words, no flattery. Her tongue licking over her bottom lip as she leaned in a little closer, step slowing ever so slightly.

“M-my lady?”

“Apologies, little one… but you smell divine. It.. would probably be best if I return you directly to the servants quarters, lest I lose my control.”

You swallowed hard, heart beating faster than it had in the entirety of your forty some odd years.

“And.. if I wanted you to lose control?” You asked softly, head tilted back.

The next few minutes were nothing but a blur of haze, as if the thick fog that slowly crept it’s way across the castle grounds had wrapped you in it’s cold embrace. The Lady’s lips crashing into yours as she pulled a soft moan from your body. You weren’t even sure how you had gotten back inside the castle so quickly, let alone how you ended up inside her bedroom with your back against the wall and her thigh between your parted legs.

Your chest heaved as you panted, Alcina's gaze all but a smolder of lust as it lingered over you. You knew that she could smell how aroused you were, how badly you wanted her - with her firm thigh flexing against your core just because it could. And when she slowly unsheathed her claws to cut your uniform from your plump body, you couldn't even stop the needy whimper that fell all too eagerly from your lips.

"Mmh.. exquisite."

The way her tongue curled when she spoke - a faint aroma of wine still lingering on her palate so divine that you could almost taste it. And you wanted to. You wanted to taste every inch of her. You wanted to feel her large body pressed against your own and her lips claiming yours.

“My lady.. plea-”

A single claw against your lips - smooth, cool to the touch.

“Hush, now, pet. Allow me the honor of worshiping you properly first, hm? You’re quite the feast and I’d prefer to be able to savor every second of you.”

You only nodded - not that you would’ve been able to articulate any words after such a statement anyways.

"Mh.. that's a good girl."

The remaining fabric of your uniform fell to the floor in a single fluid motion as Alcina ripped the rest of it from your body, exposing to her every supple curve that you had to offer. A hunger in her eyes that you had yet to see before. Nostrils flaring as she breathed in your scent and leaned in even closer.

You swallowed hard, feeling her warm breath as it skated over your skin. Your body tingling with anticipation, filled with an unhindered heat the moment her lips pressed against you. Tongue swirling over sensitive flesh and she sucked on it ever so lightly. And of course you moaned - needlessly, wordlessly - the slight scrape of the Lady's fangs across your skin slowly building that subtle throb between your legs.

Each kiss followed closely by another, each claim of your skin - of your eager body - only leading to the next as Alcina's lips danced tangentially across you. They were softer than you imagined them to be, yet rough to the touch. A single finger trailing up your inner thigh as it inched its way closer to your core and forced you to buck in need.

"Keep your hips still until I say otherwise, pet."

You whimpered. "Yes, my lady. Sorry."

"And you will address me as Mistress from here on out. Is that understood?"

You swallowed hard, face overcome with heat.

"Y-yes, Mistress."

She hummed against your skin, willing a wave of goosebumps across your body so strong it made you shiver. The silk of her dress between your fingers as you grabbed onto her, pulling the Countess even closer to you.

“So needy.”

A single phrase followed by a nip at your skin… followed by another, and another. The sting of her teeth becoming ever more prevalent with each one, a rush of blood marking each spot as her large frame moved over your body. And oh, how she claimed you, claimed you like you were a world to conquer and she a war general. With every touch calculated - every caress focused. From your thighs to your belly, to your breasts to your shoulders and neck. You knew her thigh beneath you had to be soaked, the subtle throb between your legs now a deep ache.

“H-harder.. please.. Mistress.”

Alcina pulled back for a moment and looked at you, teeth a mere inches from the supple skin of your neck.

“I’m not certain you’re fully aware of what you’re asking me to do, little one. Once I break the skin, I won’t be able to stop.”

“I-I’m.. I’m aware.”

The Countess hesitated and you lengthened the column of your neck.

“Please, my lady.. I want you to” You added softly.

Her pupils dilated, breath tickling your skin as she breathed you in an almost primal nature. Her fingers slowly moving - inching closer to your core. And it took everything in you not to buck, not to grind down onto her when a finger came to rest directly against your clit.

“Mmh.. indulgent little thing.”

In an instant your hips were raised, moaning outright as soon as you felt it - Acina’s finger sliding into you the moment her teeth sank deeply into your supple flesh, forcefully breaking the skin.

“Mmph-!”

You lowered your hips slowly, allowing the width of the large digit to fill you. A subtle swirl of the Ladys’ tongue over your skin as she drew your very essence into her mouth, moaning sinfully as she did.

“And such an exquisite taste.. So robust.”

You could see the blood trickling off one single fang as she looked up at you with a smirk, a quick sweep of her tongue over her bottom lip before her teeth were back inside you - her finger thrusting in.

The duality of sensations was almost overwhelming. The slow thrusts of her finger, the long pulls of blood from your neck. Both heated, both a perfect mix of pleasure and pain. Each arousing you just the same. The cool tip of her fangs an exquisite contrast to the heat of the bite as she drank from you.

She allowed your hips to rock, matching in perfect rhythm to her finger. A needy whimper falling almost all too breathless from your lips when she pressed her body into yours, forcing the chilled walls of the castle against your back.

"Mmmmh."

A final moan against the crook of your neck before Alcina took her final sip of you, licking drops of crimson from your skin with an indulgent sigh.

"Wouldn't want you passing out on me now would we, sweet thing?"

Her breath smelled slightly metallic - sweet - lips stopping just short of your own as she rose to face you. The soft pulses of her finger steadily coaxed your arousal higher as the Countess leaned in for a kiss. Gaze lingering over your supple curves before her body was pressed even more firmly into yours. The fine fabric of her dress cool against your heated flesh and your hands placed gently over your head.

"Such a sweet girl.. taking me so well."

Intoxicating praises whispered sweetly into your lips, the length of her finger driving in and out of your dripping core at a teasingly slow rate as her tongue began to dance over yours. It was a dance of lovers came to met, a swirl of succulent sweeps as she kissed the breath from your body. You moaned earnestly, hips picking up their pace as you did your best to take in as much of her as you could. Her dress soaked beneath your trembling legs.

"Mh.. be a good girl and come for me, hm?"

Sinful words punctuated by a single sweep over your clit. And that was it, that was all you needed - a soft command and a Lady's touch - to will the stars behind your eyes to collide, to force universes to touch and your whole body to convulse. A prickling heat spreading over you like an inferno as your core clenched around the width of her and forced your desire out, coating her wrist and drenching her upper thigh.

For a moment all you could do was shake, riding out the orgasm until the last shudder fell from your body. The Countess holding you close, allowing you the time you needed to come down from your high before she slowly slid her finger out from under you and placed it to your lips. You blushed, opening your mouth.

"Obedient little pet."

You nodded, dutifully cleaning the taste of yourself from her skin.

Though, as soon as Alcina's finger fell from your mouth a wave of exhaustion quickly began to take residence across your body. You yawned, making the Lady chuckle.

"Mh.. seems I've worn you out, little one."

Another yawn.

"M-maybe a little."

Alcina held you in place as she grabbed the remnants of your uniform off the floor and wrapped them around your still naked body. A soft kiss coming to your forehead and the strength of her embrace holding you close as she began to carry you.

Where to, you weren't certain. Though you were sure it likely wasn't her bed. You couldn't imagine the Countess letting just anyone share her bedside-

Another yawn.

"Sleep, my dear. I've got you."

With that you felt safer than you had in your entire life and snuggled into the crook of her arm. With your needs and wants perfectly tended to and your body more relaxed than it had ever been. You wondered if you'd think it was all a dream come the morning. You wondered if you'd believe it even happened at all. But the reddened marks that adorned your body would quickly prove to you that it had, and everyone in the castle would surely be aware of Lady Dimitrescu's claim on you by lunch.

***

#resident evil village #loveinthekeyofx #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x curvy reader #lady dimitrescu x frances #tw: bullying #tw: body issues #lots of gay up in this fic #that is all 😂#my fanfiction #re8 fanfiction #re8 asks

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tio-trile · 10 months

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have you seen the coffee theory? it would explain why aziraphale was so out of character and picked heaven in the finale (it’s the only explanation for why zira picked heaven over crowley that i will accept)

also after reading your takes on s2 i feel so conflicted. i love it but i cant enjoy it properly because of the pre-fall aziracrow friendship/the implication of crowley being a big deal in heaven

i’ve been a fan of your works for a long time, and i saw you mention you might not post anymore gomens tv fanart. i’m genuinely devastated but i wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for the fandom lmao. you’ve helped me so much throughout my art journey. i hope you have a good day

Omg hi! I remember your Book Omens fanarts, they're really cute!

My friend told me about the coffee theory and......honestly, it doesn't make much sense to me

The acting choices for Aziraphale at the end really doesn't make sense if he's under any kind of...control? Why would he cry and then say "I forgive you" if that's the case? What kind of drug makes you carry out a normal conversation and then do...that? 🤣 Also, if Aziraphale is just really not himself, wouldn't Crowley immediately be able to tell? They've known each other for 6000 years. What type of DRUG is this high-tech/magical to pull this off?

And yeah like I said, I don't like the pre-fall relationship, nor that they're both big-names in their respective...organizations (?) now. I loved them because they're kind of like loser nobody working-class entities for rival companies, and the juxtaposition that these companies are Heaven and Hell is just so funny. In a sense, I just don't see my relatable employee character suddenly taking a COO position of the company he hated and ranted about for 6000 years to his friend from the rival company.

I don't see myself posting TV Omens art in the future, but I may still post book omens art. To be honest, I'm just in the fandom for my own happiness and amusement and I don't do it for anyone but myself, so as soon as it stops making me happy, I'm out (for my own sake). Best of luck to you, and thank you for all the kind words! Who knows, perhaps our fandom paths will one day cross again in the future? ;)

#ask #nice ppl #good omens critical #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #long post

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mihai-florescu · 29 days

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i think i feel pretty similar to you in that the world is terrible, depressing, it sucks. that’s it’s natural state and we will always return there. but i thank that even though it hurts there are ideals unhampered by reality, stories we can create where that cycle ends for a moment in a happier direction. it isnt our job or duty as there isnt any grand purpose like that, but there is an opportunity out there to create a story with our lives. whether it’s a well known story or lost by the wayside, those who acknowledge the layer beneath the cheery “reality” that is peddled can be writers of their own. i might be delusional and there really is no hope but i hope to create stories for people to enjoy that elusive dream in if only for a temporary respite and cant give up until i well and truly fail. i don’t know if any of my thoughts speak to you in any meaningful way, but i felt compelled to share as while i think we share beliefs we seem to have come to rather different conclusions. i want to give my life to a story, an art, that will hold ideals the real world can never truly embody and thus cannot really give up as every taste of the real reality only strengthens my resolve. is there something like that for you? i’ve read your blog for a while and in my mind (which is an inexperienced mind so I apologize for sharing its fallible perceptions) you seemed like a fascinating person who holds ideals the world refuses to embody and is slowly sinking under that weight. i know it’s not really my place, so i apologize for my audacity, but i believe that you are the sort of person who can create a true happiness for yourself eventually. well, i mean i kind of have to if i believe that for myself. i have more to say, but it seems this is become a ridiculously long message. i apologize, my words likely have crossed between ideas and lost sense at times. i hope they help, or at least don’t harm. i hope you find loveliness loveliness in your day as you deserve it.

I've been journaling about this yesterday... my entire outlook on life i guess? I know i used to be creative and make projects that i found fun, but i cant find this drive in me anymore, i'm more than ready to give up (if only upset at the way it ended so im pressuring myself to make a good Last Project, but nothing is good anymore. It's all so...plain. useless. banal. there's no wit or multilayer to anything i can come up with anymore. I cant develop an idea anymore. There are enough stories, enough artworks, plenty of them bad, theres no need for me to add to it). Im sure it's just burnout stacked on top of depression and general worsening misanthropy and paranoia, but i don't think i will ever feel more hopeful again.

However i do think art, literature, games, even just stories from other people are keeping me grounded. They're also humanity's only redeeming quality - imagination will save our souls... but my position isn't to be an artist anymore, i cant spare the energy and i dont see a point in it either. I cant do a single basic living thing anymore that others seem to be able to do? I very much feel like an npc trying to do my most necessary tasks as best i can, failing more often than not. I hate getting asked what i'll do on a day off (it used to be often at my internship. I dont even want to imagine what they thought about me, that's another can of worms that still haunts me and contributed to why i became like this). The answer is quite literally Pretend I Dont Exist. I will not do anything. I cant do anything. I stop existing the second you stop seeing me, im just in bed dreading the next time i have to be human. I think when other people say they didnt do anything it's a hyperbole, but i can go weeks, and i have gone months even, without leaving the house, if i wasnt expected to.

Part of me wants to think, hope, i could maybe even get interested in making things again if there was no expectation for me to be a person for a few years, completely disappear off the grid (the expectation to be a person that just doesnt come natural to me anymore... and a specific one at that - achieving goals and moving forward, working, with ambitions or any sort of drive, young and energetic, an only child with a good education earning a living... i despise the idea of making money. I despise consumerism too. I want to fund artists, family owned restaurants, bookshops, cafes, and i do, i spend so much money without realising, but i'm really worried i'll run out and not be able to make any to survive once im older and wont get funds from my parents anymore. So i try to save and fail... My family friends, same age or even younger, are buying their own cars and apartments, successfully working multiple well paying jobs at the same time, with plans for the future...? Id like to know both how and why. How do you have the energy and why do you care. But even if they tell me the answers it doesnt change how i feel in my own life)

But this also has skewed my perception of other people... it connects to how i dont actually understand friendships anymore, im sure i mentioned it recently. Like with being an artist, there was a time i did understand and had deep friendships, i think, but it's quite alien to me now? In the way im not real until i have to interact with someone else, and even then, debatable, theyre not real to me either. Like i know this isnt a good mindset to have but it's either everything is real and i genuinely believe we need to disappear, to put an end to this sad species soon, or nothing is real and everyone's just playing a role in a story i get to watch. In a way taking away people's humanity and making them characters in my head is out of kindness, im being delusionally optimistic and quite frankly parasocial even with "friends", but it keeps me floating, stable. Ish. Still kind of empty but entertained enough. But then actually having a conversation outside my head with them is scary, unpredictable... on good days that can be fun too. My roommate always says i end up on side quests a lot if i leave the house, i think im just open to witnessing new stories... just on good, no, great days though, i cant stress that part enough. Great days are getting rarer and rarer. Most days pass by while im in bed and in my head trying to process anything, where i can barely have a coherent thought, and i wait for the day to end. Today was good for example but i still didnt manage to do anything to earn me the title of person, yet it was good because i 1. Ate, and 2. Didnt cry.

The part of your ask that hit me the most was when you said i seemed like a fascinating person, past tense. Im sure i was, but nowadays im very little even a person. Cant be helped. I hope i managed to explain how and why. If you ever want to share your art, my dms are open, i can maybe tell you about my gallery of failure wips i cant stand to look at anymore. I saw the followup ask with your personal info but im not quite sure what else to say... even this ask took too long to answer and now i need a nappp

#ask #anon #long post

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lifewtr · 2 months

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∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹ * fan fic tag game * ∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹

HELLO @krankittoeleven! THANKS FOR THE TAG, WE ARE DEFINITELY HOMIES NOW :D i enjoyed your answers a lot; it's nice to meet you! ♥

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

as of today, i have 50 fics on the archive!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

426,518. jeez.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

predominantly avatar: the last airbender, though i have certainly dabbled in others over the years. right now i'm slowly working my way into the jujutsu kaisen fandom ♥♥

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Lemon, Two Sugars (zutara, rated M): 905 kudos.

Give It Up (zutara, rated E): 824 kudos.

Half Joy (vinceno, rated E): 457 kudos.

Lyk Dis (zutara, rated E): 425 kudos.

Put It Down (zutara, rated E): 414 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I DO I'M JUST ABYSMAL WITH TIMELY REPLIES. I'M SORRY I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND I READ EVERY SINGLE ONE I SWEAR <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

like the homie krankittoeleven, i pretty much only use angst as a plot device - there are only happy/hopeful endings in this household lmao - but if i consider context, the fic with the angstiest ending is probably Honorfall (zutara, rated E). maybe Of All the Things My Hands Have Held (zutaraang, rated M)..?

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

lots of my fics have happy endings ;))))) as for the happiest... ahh, probably If It Means a Lot to You (zukaang, rated M) and Flowers Never Pick Themselves (zutaraang, rated M).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

er, yes and no? i feel like hate is a strong word. it's more so that there are some readers who have simply ~disliked~ certain premises of mine, which, y'know, is what it is! click away or write your own shit! ♥

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

the good kind, baby, and absolutely nothing less. if it doesn't make me wet, i don't post it!

10. Do you write crossovers?

i used to! especially with and amongst irl friends. if there was a fandom i/we were into, there was a harry potter crossover in our shared docs to go with it LOL.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

an entire fic? no, not to my knowledge anyway. but i've definitely had some scenes and dialogue grabbed and scattered across the web over the years.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no ;-; i've never even had art made for/inspired by my fics ;-;;;; one day though. one day i am going to write something [clenches fist] so fucking good...

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

several times! said fics will not be seeing the light of today, but yes! i love a good co-write!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

once again, like the new homie i will not be picking just one and you will simply have to deal with it LOL. i am extremely down bad for tony stark/bucky barnes, tony stark/t'challa, tony stark/stephen strange.. okay i'm tony-centric, fuckin sue me. anyways. i still really love sesshomaru/kagome, zuko/katara, harry potter/hermione granger, trevor/alucard/sypha, and now gojo/nanami. when i tell you i am fERAL ABOUT NANAGO—

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Take Care (zutara, rated M), and several other zutara fics that i have put into a graveyard so that even though they're unlikely to be completed, they can still be appreciated!

16. What are your writing strengths?

mmm. this is a bit hard for me to answer because i feel like i could use improvement everywhere, always. i could probably use some more work in my dialogue though (just having more of it, i think). with conflict resolution as well - circling back to angst, i usually gloss over it because i want [my] characters to have nothing but good times and good endings. i need to be less wary of putting them through some shit, which i am working on!

anywayyy. my biggest strength is my prose!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

up for debate, but personally my weakness is outlines. i try to use them but my brain does not like having "rules" when it comes to creating a story, even if i am the one to write them ;;

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

i'm a native (american) english speaker, so this question feels.. odd? bc ~american~? but as a native english speaker, i absolutely don't mind at all. i love languages and i love letting them into my brain! i myself use words from different languages, especially in what i'm writing is based in another country/place of origin.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

inuyasha! no you cannot see it, it's lost in the ether!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Real War is Far Easier (zutaraang, rated M) and Performance Issues (zutara, rated E), which was a gift to the wonderful @zutarawasrobbed! there's a whole universe there that nobody but the two of us know about and i can't wait for the day that everyone can laugh about it as much as we do LOL

∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹ *∘⋆∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹⊹․⊹․∘⟡

tagging: @nire-the-mithridatist @gemgirl28 @andthedicestopped and @fidget-scribbles ♥

#who is she and what has she done with ky #this was nice and fun thank you!!!!#nanago #zutara #zukaang #about #one of these days i will actually go back to writing castlevania #litarlly blame jjk sorry guys;;;#zutaraang #chayenzo #vincenzo

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starflungwaddledee · 6 months

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clearing my inbox of a variety of asks with text replies, or ones that will get art answers later but that i still figured i could get back to now with simpler responses in the interim.

lots of anons, but i'll ping anyone who i can!

topics include: general nice words + people's theories (thank you!!), dededesign, daroach (sorry), sentient ancient artifacts, magolor (sorry...), whispy woods (SORRY...). there's also a decent scattering of awtdy and clockwork heart tidbits but they're all over the place, and a small collection of increasingly desperate asks hoping bandee will be released from morpho dee 😂

oohh this one is actually super old, sorry that i never got back to it! i get a little overwhelmed by the Nice Words ones sometimes and i'm not sure what to say besides 'thank you!!' because it means a lot to me and 'thank you!' just sometimes feels like it doesn't cut it...?

anyway, i'm very grateful!! i'm thrilled if i could inspire you to try out any constructed-language work of your own!! i'd love to see more of that going on in the kirbyverse so if you ever give it a crack feel free to lmk!

i'm glad you like the full penguin dededesign; quite a few folks seemed to enjoy that actually and i was pleasantly surprised! i haven't drawn that much of most characters besides bandee, to be fair, but the next comic will be about dedede and should answer some of the other questions i've been getting about him too!

i should say that it's likely the totally full penguin design won't make it for the comic, because it's hard to draw the sheer length of their bills from many angles or having the expressiveness i need for dedede, and i really only did that one for funsies. but i'll hopefully find a nice compromise!

aaaa the joy of being mentally unwell about The Characters and The Story. thank you, glad i can be of service! 👍

this is quite perceptive of you to notice and it's definitely something that occurs in the timeline. due to galacta knight's influence (and kirby's altered reputation) visitors and threats- both international and intergalactic- start to think twice before risking an approach.

alas, because daroach appears in the timeline before galacta knight's switch-in occurs, he would already be in contact and friendship with kirby. that unfortunately means he'd meet the same fate as the rest of kirby's existing allies.

@i-only-created-this-to-read a little similar to the above ask, yes, the intergalactic picture of popstar is definitely changed by the presence of a violent, otherworldly warrior and a ruthless hero. i also answered your questions about necrodeus previously and am not sure what else to say about him.

i have confirmed before that dedede is not dead, and more about his scenario and overall role in the plot will be revealed in comics. but i will say that he's a smart guy, despite his silliness, and a loving king. he absolutely came to the same conclusion about the frequency of his own possessions as well, through no small amount of heartbreak.

i definitely headcanon the Lor as sentient; in the light novels, bandee also speaks to her fairly directly. i actually headcanon all the Ancient artifacts as having an amount of sentience (this seem in line with what we've seen in canon, so i don't think it's a reach) and the lor herself seems especially benevolent to me.

our headcanons for the novas are different to yours, though that plays more of a role in the clockwork heart au. i quite enjoy your theories about how the ending might go and you've definitely picked up some details!! i won't confirm or deny anything, but i will say the lor is present in the AU, and that magolor has enough knowledge of artifacts to know that a wish on a wishing star could be a viable solution.

it took a while for folks to start asking me about magolor actually, which i found kind of amusing because he's the deuteragonist (second protagonist, after bandee) of the au!

i do definitely think that canonically magolor lives on the lor starcutter; though he does say he wants to buy a holiday home on popstar! however in awtdy, unlike the dream land four three, magolor's entire timeline is trashed from the get-go by galacta knight's arrival

some of these answers will take me longer to get to as i'll provide them in comics (it should be a fun reveal at least), but i will say: he hates popstar. he hates it there. he'd give just about anything to be anywhere else.

until he meets bandee, of course.

the rest of popstar fare a little better or a little worse at various points in the au, kind of like in the mainline canon timeline. for the most part, galacta knight isn't that interested in most of popstar. he enjoys living there, it's peaceful and undeniably pleasant, and frankly he'd like to continue doing so!

he can be convinced (by kirby, and the maintenance of the lie) to perform care to some of its citizens when necessary- such as rebuilding after a crisis. but in general he minds his business in dream land, and occasionally off-world or interdimensionally with kirby and bandee on missions.

whispy, who also keeps to his own in the woods and is just a cantankerous old tree, is probably fine. at least up until star allies, when he, you know. gets possessed.

@pumpkinnkidd oh absolutely.

@torrentialchaos2 that would be a different story to chrysalis au, i think! one i could write, but haven't. chrysalis au is specifically about bandee, you can't really extract him from it? 😭 but if morpho possessed magolor it would depend on a lot of things: like what is everyone's relationship to him when it happens? i think even when he comes back from his redemption arc, magolor and the gang are friends, but it's not the same as bandee, who is a core member of their unit.

we've already seen what happens when magolor gets possessed and kirby has to Beat His Ass to get him back to normal. and we've seen that when morpho possesses others who are capable fighters, kirby doesn't hold back. so maybe that? magolor is a magical little guy; he's got a better chance of getting spat back out unscathed.

i could however probably write a version of this for magicapple if i wanted, which would be much more emotionally pulverising lmao

@trainerbob23 thank you!! this one took me a bit to respond to sorry, but i'm grateful for the warm welcome! the AUs are definitely my primary investment and i'm glad that folks are enjoying seeing them develop! some of them are connected to each other (awtdy + it's various endings/alts) but others are separate.

i also do have some backstory/lore for starstruck dee, which i'll hopefully get to soon as well. i would say that she is... very much related to stars and the cosmos, yes.

@eliastheownerof0axolotls this one was part of a longer ask (that i've answered part of, and still have another part of in my queue... sorry;; ) but i think this part- especially in terms of kirby- has probably been mostly answered by now! both kirby and dedede have significant roles!

i view dedede as having a mentor-like dynamic with bandee as well as with kirby, and they all care about each other very much! but (especially because they are all adults in my hc) he also absolutely trusts them to handle themselves.

referring to this post and the (cw angst) art at the end. i will hopefully answer some other asks about the clockwork heart au which will satisfy more of its overall premise and timeline and all, but in regards to the peculiar image...

why that picture is completely normal!! bandee is super fine and normal in it and everything is great and good and fine and fine and fine and fine!!! hhahaha!!!

(something very bad is happening, lmao. entirely doomed by the narrative.)

speaking of bandee being doomed by the narrative:

some tags here as well, but i just love the frequency of these...

bandee gets possessed one time and everybody loses it... quick!! when will he get unpossessed!!! save that little guy!!! he's sad so we're sad!! (relatable. everyone is so valid.)

the tags on the main posts about morpho dee are just full of people screaming and crying and being like "NOOO I HATE THIS SM I'M IN PAIN /pos" and it's so good hahahaha

sorry to the folks who hate to see him going through the blender, he's being spun in the microwave at like 90mph on my blog. but don't worry, chrysalis au does have a predictably good ending; though obviously bandee has some capital S Stuff to unpack afterwards!!

🌟⭐✨

aaand i think that's all for now! hopefully if you've been hanging out for an ask for a while you're answer is here, and if not (and possibly even if it is), it's most likely taking me so long because i want to do an answer with art.

i'll try not to let these build up again like this, thank you for your patience!

#won't tag all the characters mentioned but i'll tag the AUs just due to the presence of some asks being about them #or plots or storylines or clarifications. nothing too spoilery... maybe. mostly.#awtdy au #clockwork heart au #chrysalis au #asks

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tj-dragonblade · 9 months

Text

[Fic] My Song Can But Borrow Your Grace

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 6867 Tags: Dragon AU, Top Dream, Bottom Hob, dragon sex, dragon x human sex, in appearance at least, they're both dragons but Hob is in his human form, anal sex, shapeshifting, size kink, kind of, does this count as macro/mini maybe?, self-lubricating dragon dick, rimming, oral sex, a brief moment of mild sounding, anal gaping, creampie, come eating, cuddling, protective Dream, needy Hob, inspired by fic, inspired by art

Notes: This is smutty fanfic for Flatter the Mountain Tops by @teejaystumbles , specifically inspired by this art and this art. Tashina, thank you so much for letting me play with them - they were a delight to write for and I hope I've done them justice.

***If you're somehow here without having read Flatter the Mountain Tops, please be aware there are spoilers herein and this will make better sense if you've read that first.***

Summary: Hob wants Dream in dragon form to fuck him while he stays in human form; Dream is beginning to see there's more to it than just a size kink

On AO3

It would be easy to grow frustrated that Hob so often comes to him like this, yes, but. Dream understands. He knows Hob's love for humans, Hob's love of his own human shape, and he is not so unyielding as to deny his sweet amber the right to these preferences.

And besides. It is undeniably pleasant, to stretch out on his back, to have Hob's small human body perched naked atop him like this, bedecked in treasures he has selected from Dream's hoard—gold and silver chains strung with glittering gems looping about his neck and nestling into the hair on his chest, bangles and bracelets lining his wrists and arms and ankles, bejeweled rings adorning his fingers. Hob's hands stroking and petting through the soft downy feathers of Dream's belly leave him purring; he enjoys the way Hob's small human prick ruts through those same feathers while Hob rubs the cleft of his buttocks up and down against the slick exposed shaft of Dream's sex, and the way he reaches behind to angle it down and then scoots forward, lifts himself to squirm back against the tip, as if a dragon cock could possibly fit within a human arse—this never fails to stoke the heat in Dream's blood.

But tonight, Hob is not drawing up and away to transform, that they might couple properly in dragon form. No, tonight, he is still reaching behind himself and stroking the tip of Dream's cock, eliciting a rumbling purr as pleasure cascades through Dream in waves—and then he is holding it firmly against himself, rising up on his knees and bearing down upon it where he has worked himself open, is straining to tuck it within him as he sometimes does.

Dream stills, allows the indulgence; it is a heady feeling, Hob's small and delicate body stretched tight about the narrow tip of his sex, and he is always careful not to move until Hob has transformed or pulled off again.

But Hob does neither, this time.

Instead, he spreads his legs a little wider, knees damp with sweat against Dream's feathers, and the shift pushes Dream a fraction further inside him. The sound Hob makes is not entirely one of pleasure, and his scent spikes with something that is not fear and not pain, but might become either one very easily.

Dream's talons are poised along Hob's thighs, where he has been idly stroking while Hob plays; now, he settles them lightly, barely pricking against Hob's skin, a hint of a warning. "Hob."

Hob makes no answer, but squirms another centimeter onto Dream's cock instead. He leans forward with a gasp, shifting Dream within him, bracing both hands on Dream's belly. His face is flushed and damp, more exertion than pleasure, and Dream curves the length of his neck up to flick his tongue against Hob's cheek, scenting and tasting in equal measure. He smells of want, of intent, of determination, and Dream's body answers with a growl that resonates deep in his chest, vibrating the ruby and the other adornments that Hob had fastened about him.

"Hob."

"I can take it." Hob's voice is taut and trembling, but his eyes are bright and his mouth wet and smiling when he meets Dream's gaze. "I want it. Like this."

And Dream. He can imagine it, for just an instant, the impossibly tight grip of Hob stretched all around him, the pleasure of sinking fully into him; he flexes, minutely, and Hob jolts with a moan at the movement.

Dream blinks away the fantasy, strokes his talons restlessly over Hob's thighs, wings fluttering up around them both like feathered privacy screens. Hob is physically incapable of what he says he wants, his human form far too small to accommodate Dream's length and girth, but he continues to try all the same. He is making beautiful little sounds of effort, the scent of his determination rising from him in waves. None of it ever quite crosses over into pain but it is a very near thing, and Dream's feathers rustle slightly in agitation. His mate risks harming himself, and every instinct clamors to intervene, to prevent, to protect.

Hob drops down to brace on his elbows, the jewelry hung about his neck swinging to brush Dream's belly, knees spreading wider as he pushes carefully back onto Dream's length a little more. His breath sucks in sharply, sweat beading on his brow.

"Enough." Dream cannot let this continue. "Just change, Hob. Stop being so stubborn."

"Ah—n-no!" Hob pants, face tightly drawn, continuing to flex around the minimal bit of Dream within him, intent on working it deeper. "I-I'm fine!" His own prick is rigid where it hangs beneath his belly, dripping intermittently into Dream's feathers.

Dream wants to believe him, that he can bend his body to his will, wants to let him have this when it clearly means a great deal to him. But he can feel how Hob is stretched dangerously around him, one sharp move away from tearing, can scent the anxiety of pain mounting underneath whatever pleasure Hob may still be feeling.

"Hob. Stop."

Hob's fingers clench in Dreams feathers, bracelets clinking as he forces a little more of Dream's length inside him, long hair swinging to obscure his face. Dream's talons clench in turn, grazing hard over Hob's trembling thighs, drawing tiny rivulets of blood.

"I said stop!" He is alarmed, at this point, worried for Hob's safety and aggravated by his stubbornness. Hob lifts his gaze to Dream's, face flushed and damp, teeth gritted and eyes feverish with lust and determination, and rocks another increment back on and down.

"Hob!" Panic seizes Dream. "Oh, for the love of—" He shifts beneath Hob, changing his own form, shrinking into his human skin to match his stubborn mate. "Just so you know," he gasps, talons that are not quite human hands sliding around Hob's hips, "I am very angry that you made me do this!" And as his transformation halts, leaving him mostly human yet unmistakably still Dragon, the reduced length and girth of his cock allow it to slide fully and swiftly into Hob's opened body with a jolt.

Hob throws his head back at the sudden shock of falling onto it, of having Dream abruptly buried to the hilt within him; he's frozen in place, trembling, eyes wide and mouth open, a thin sound warbling out of his throat. Fluid dribbles from his rigid prick to pool on Dream's belly and his scent flares with pleasure, sharp and immediate.

Dream snarls, his own lust flaring in response, and rolls them over in a flurry of displaced feathers. His clawed fingers grip Hob's buttocks tightly, keeping them pressed flush together as he comes up on top and surges over Hob. The ruby hung around his neck drags through Hob's chest hair, makes tinkling little noises against the gold and silver draped about Hob as Dream plants his semi-shifted talons into the furs on either side of Hob and thrusts.

Hob cries out, scrabbling for a grip on Dream's biceps, legs tangling behind him as Dream thrusts hard again and again, setting into a brutal rhythm. The rings on Hob's fingers are digging into his newly-human skin and Hob's voice is sweet in his ears, singing his pleasure in a desperate cadence. Hob's scent wafts about him, less potent to his human nose but still fragrant with arousal, with lust and needs-met and building anticipation; Hob is beautiful underneath him, the mahogany of his hair splayed over the dark furs that Dream keeps for his comfort, glinting auburn and gold as he tosses his head, treasures from Dream's hoard glittering at his ears and neck and limbs.

Dream loses himself for a moment, fucking wildly into Hob as his emotions churn from aggravation at Hob's stubbornness to relief that he hasn't harmed himself and then subsume into the inferno of his own desire, the joy and the pleasure of having Hob as his even if they're both in human form, even if Hob is infuriatingly reckless and stubborn. He slows as his ardor settles and his temper cools, lengthening his strokes, shifting to curl Hob's legs more closely about himself, leaning down to nuzzle his soft naked cheek against Hob's beard while he rocks into him. His human body cannot purr the same way his true form does, but there is a rumbling growl of contentment rising in his chest all the same.

Hob's sounds of pleasure soften and his scent blooms with adoration as Dream noses against his throat, nibbles gently, his teeth dragon-sharp in his human mouth. He glides up to Hob's ear, tugs lightly on the earring there and shifts his weight. He is deep within Hob and holds his movements slow and steady, lifts his head and brings a clawed hand to comb through Hob's hair while he gazes down into his face.

"Why are you so intent on taking my true size in your human shape?" He has calmed, yes, but he does not understand, and so he asks.

Hob slides both hands up into Dream's hair and combs through it in turn, the same as Dream has done to him, an intimate gesture of grooming that never fails to make Dream's insides melt, just a little.

"Well, part of it's just that…I like the stretch? Something big can feel nice, and I like to see how far I can go sometimes."

Dream suppresses a snort of irritation, does not roll his eyes; Hob is entitled to whatever kinks he likes without being judged for them, regardless of Dream's personal opinion of the wisdom involved. "So it is the challenge that appeals."

"Yes and no? Sometimes the challenge is fun, but really I just like—" He breaks off as Dream rolls softly into him again, takes a deep breath. "I like how it feels to be so filled up, but it's best when—I want to be all filled up, by you. As much as possible. I want to feel every bit of you, stretching tight inside me, to feel small and helpless and safe because you're so much bigger. I-I know you'll take care of me, that kind of thing?" He pauses, bites his lip, adorably flushed and endearingly earnest as he speaks his mind. "I want you to mount me in dragon form while I'm still in human shape," he finally blurts, the color on his face deepening, but now that it's said he pushes on. "I want to feel all of you, everywhere around me and in me, I want your touch and your smell all over me inside and out, I want to be so thoroughly claimed that no one can ever doubt that I belong to you—" He breaks off, and his beautiful amber eyes lower, cast to the side, away from Dream. "I want the human me to be as much yours as the dragon me. And I know it's kind of physically impossible, but that doesn't stop me wanting it. Sorry if that's too much."

Hob is not articulating it as such, but Dream thinks he is beginning to understand what is at the heart of this desire. Hob had been small and helpless and in need of protection, the very first time their paths crossed, and Dream had offered neither shelter nor succour; instead, out of his head in his own grief, he had chased the desperate fledgling back into the night to fend for himself. It was hundreds of years in the past but had torn a rift between them when it came to light in their current relationship; the rift has since been mended, certainly, and Hob has selflessly forgiven him, but it is not unthinkable that Hob still carries insecurities about it buried deep in his psyche. To be taken and mated, then, accepted, claimed in his smallest weakest form, by Dream at his mightiest—it stands to reason that old wounds might thus be soothed.

And Dream wishes, above all else, to bring happiness to his mate.

He growls softly and dips to kiss Hob, that very human gesture of passion and affection that he knows Hob so favors, and rolls them back over so that Hob is on top. "No desire of yours will ever be too much," he vows, reaching up and stroking through Hob's hair again, drawing gentle clawed fingers through his beard. "You need only ask." Carefully, slowly, he breathes deep and focuses, enacting a partial transformation centered on his sex.

Hob's eyes widen as he feels Dream swelling slightly within him and he clutches at Dream's shoulders, gazing down into his face, body trembling. "Dream—!"

Dream combs through his hair again, tender and gentle. "You must tell me if it becomes too much," he murmurs, and lets himself swell a little larger.

Hob's mouth falls open and a high, wanton sound comes out, his eyes rolling as Dream flexes up into him. He gasps, blunt human nails digging into Dream's shoulders, short sharp little moans spilling out of his throat as Dream continues. He is careful, tightly controlled, letting his body shift in other small ways—scattered lines of short feathers along his limbs, clawed toenails, color darkening his talons—while he focuses on maintaining a stable consistent size inside of Hob, letting it grow larger in only the smallest of increments, the slowest of intervals. He moves his hands from Hob's hair to his hips, holding him steady, and Hob drops against him, buries his face in Dream's throat, breath panting hot and damp against Dream's collarbone. Dream's ruby and the looping chains of jewels adorning Hob's chest are body-warm between them and Hob's beard is a soft bristle against Dream's breastbone, sensations that he only gets to experience when both of them are in human form like this. It is pleasant, and when Hob lifts his head and shifts to put their mouths together again, licks into him, caresses Dream's short blunt human tongue with his own, this is also undeniably pleasant.

Perhaps he could be more enthusiastic about sex in human form, with Hob, who has shown him it is not so unpalatable, who makes it feel like something important.

That is a thought for the future, however, for tonight Hob has expressed a very specific want, and Dream intends to fulfill it.

When Hob lifts away from kissing him, Dream strokes his taloned hands lightly up his mate's back, settles them there in a gentle grip. "Be still, Hob," he murmurs, holding that beautiful amber gaze with his own, and shifts back into his dragon form, keeping his sex at its tempered human-safe size and keeping it sheathed within Hob.

Hob's eyes widen and his hands clench in Dream's feathers; his body trembles, and his scent is strong again with excitement, with eager arousal as he squeezes tight around Dream.

"Really?" he gasps, shifting up marginally and sliding back down on Dream while still trembling with the attempt to hold still, and the bare movement has Dream purring, spreading his wings languidly across the floor beneath them.

"It is my wish to give you anything you desire," he rumbles, flexing softly within his mate, and the emotion brightening Hob's eyes has him curving his head in close, nuzzling his snout along Hob's cheek. "Take your pleasure, little amber," he breathes, lifting away again, letting his talons rest alongside Hob's pleasingly-furred thighs. "I exist for no other purpose tonight."

Hob whines, squirming on his length, breathless as he arranges himself for proper leverage; he raises up on his knees, sinks back down, and the sound that comes out of his throat is pure satisfaction. He leans forward, rocks his hips down and writhes, so clearly reveling in the feel of Dream within him; he draws up and sinks down again, and again, and again and again, setting into a steady rhythm. The chains and pendants draping his chest jingle merrily and his hair swings gently about his jaw with his bouncing movement; he is making the sweetest little noises, ah and hah and oh, and his scent is ripe with pleasure and arousal. The way his fingers twitch and clench in the downy feathers of Dream's belly have him purring, and his own arousal runs hot in his loins, no effort at all to stay hard for his mate despite the focus it takes to keep his cock small enough.

It is hours of this bliss, or perhaps mere minutes that pass before Hob straightens up and then leans back, arms bracing behind him; he grasps careful handfuls of soft feathers in the creases of Dream's hindlegs, arching his spine and undulating restlessly, his own cock jutting on display at this angle. Dream strokes the side of one claw smoothly down its length; it jumps to his touch and the sound that Hob makes in response has a warm growl rising in Dream's throat, pleased. He touches again and Hob moans outright, grinds down on him harder; Dream arcs his neck and swings his head low with a rumble, dips in close to flick his tongue along the length of Hob's sex.

"Ah—" Hob gasps, faltering in his rhythm, "ah, Dream—" He shudders as Dream licks him slowly again and sinks all the way down onto Dream, shifts his hips forward, offering himself eagerly to Dream's attentions.

Dream carefully hooks a claw about Hob's shaft to hold it steady and winds his tongue around the tip, then flexes inside Hob, drawing another little moan from his throat; Hob pushes up from his backwards lean, thighs spreading wide for Dream's tongue. He reaches for Dream's face, strokes the short feathers above his eyes, combs lightly through the longer plumage of his cheek; Dream welcomes the touches, butts gently against Hob's beautifully-furred chest strung with his treasures and licks tenderly up and down the length of him in a steady rhythm. There is fluid welling from Hob at the tip and Dream laps it up like the precious nectar it is, delves into the pushed-back crown of his foreskin to claim the excess gathered there, chases it back to the source. Hob's slit is wet and welcoming as the narrow forks of his tongue slide carefully into it, first one and then the other, tasting down the inside of the shaft while his claw holds it steady.

Hob's breath hitches and his voice is full of wonder, body tensing delightedly at this new sensation. "What—ahh—" He shivers, fingers stroking through the feathers along Dream's jaw now, trembling as Dream's tongue squirms delicately within the channel of his prick. "What—nnnhh—whatever you're doing just—oh pleasedon'tstop—"

Hob approves, clearly, and so Dream continues, lamenting briefly that the forks of his tongue are not longer; he glides his free talon up Hob's thigh and around his back, steadying him, keeping him close. Hob curls both hands around Dream's horns and rubs gently, low down at the base where they're sensitive; presses his lips to the white feathers of the star between Dream's eyes in soft fervent kisses and exhales his devotion there, voice barely a murmur. "My Dream, my love, my mate—ahh—please, please take what's yours—"

Carefully, Dream rocks up into him and is rewarded by the way Hob tenses and then melts against him, the hitch in Hob's voice as he sighs yes, yes yes, the sweet rise of Hob's pre-spend to his questing tongue. Dream rocks gently upward again, setting a languid rolling rhythm complemented by his attentions to Hob's cock and Hob shudders, rocks back in tandem, clinging to Dream's horns and panting his little moans into Dream's forehead.

It is not long before Hob is moving harder, arousal rising high again in his scent and Dream leaves off from his cock, draws his head up and back, horns slipping from Hob's grasp. Hob takes hold of Dream's snout as he goes, cradling it between both hands and planting a warm kiss to the end of it before letting go. He drops forward again with a whine, buries his bejeweled fingers in Dream's downy feathers and works his hips feverishly while Dream combs gentle talons through the sweat-damp fall of his hair.

"Do you wish me larger inside you?" he asks after a moment, watching raptly the way that Hob rises and falls on his sex, the beautiful open shape of his soft human mouth around his pleasured sounds. His own pleasure is warm in his belly, heated and insistent but not yet so urgent as to demand he give it heed.

Hob pauses, seated fully down on Dream's cock. "Can you?" His voice is a bit breathless, amber eyes gleaming under drooping lids, excitement flickering in his scent—it is answer enough but Dream will still have a proper reply.

"I can," he purrs, flexing his cock purely for the satisfaction of the shiver that runs through Hob in response, the gooseflesh that pimples his delicate vulnerable skin beneath the adorning bracelets, the way his nipples tighten and peak in the glorious sea of his chest hair. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes—Dream, please, yes—"

Dream focuses again on where he's holding his sex in a partial transformation and slowly, slowly, allows it to transform further, until it is fully halfway between its human- and dragon-form sizes. Hob moans as it gently swells within him, lifting him higher on his knees. His body accepts Dream's girth so easily now that he is already inside, now that care has been taken to open Hob slowly—but the length of him has increased such that Hob cannot sit all the way down on it anymore and Hob whines, jewel-clad fingers clenching and unclenching in Dream's feathers as he tries all the same.

"I can't—ahh—ohhh, you're so big—" It is definitely praise, spoken with breathless eager reverence, but Dream can see that a limit has been reached. Hob is squirming, careful, trying in vain to reestablish his riding rhythm, physically unable to lift himself high enough; his thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping himself aloft and Dream is snugly nestled all the way inside him. He's beautifully stretched but there is little to be done about the length, and frustration is seeping into Hob's scent.

Dream purrs, soothing; he will not have his mate's desires thwarted so easily. Carefully, he slides a claw beneath Hob's bearded chin to tip it up. Hob's face is flushed, his eyes bright and wet at the corners when they meet Dream's, mouth parted on his panting breaths, and Dream's heart stutters in his chest that this beautiful creature has consented to be his. "Will you trust me?" he asks, bringing his other talon to carefully draw through Hob's hair.

Hob's eyelids droop at the grooming and he lets out a soft breath. "Of course. Yes."

"Then. Allow me, to—" He does not articulate the rest; it is easier to simply do, and trust that Hob will let him.

He moves both talons until he is carefully gripping Hob's body, claws hooked beneath his thighs and around his buttocks, his back, his waist. Hob grabs Dream's thumbs where they cross over his stomach, clinging as Dream carefully draws him up, up, not quite all the way off his cock, just the tip still tucked inside him. Hob's mouth drops open and his eyes roll back in his head, a low moan of pleasure rising in his throat at the long slide. And then Dream brings him back down, just as slowly, and Hob's head falls back, his moan rising into a sharp cry as he is filled again. Dream can feel how very tight Hob is around him, how fully and completely he has stretched his mate open, and it sends heat singing through his blood.

"Good?" he growls, unwilling to continue without confirming, and Hob shivers in his grasp.

"Good," he moans, chest heaving, "so good, Dream—" His hands scrabble briefly at Dream's talons around him, seeking a firmer grip, his rings making tiny little clicking sounds against the gleaming curve of Dream's claws. "Again. Please—"

And so Dream lifts him again, and draws him down again, and Hob tosses his head on a breathless whine. "Again!"

"As you wish," Dream rumbles, and sets into a smooth steady rhythm, sliding Hob up and down on his slick length, which only grows slicker with each pass. It feels exquisite, the stretched-tight glide of Hob's body upon him, and pleasure heats in Dream's belly, urging him faster-deeper-harder; he pushes it aside. Time enough for that in a moment; now, he wishes to revel in the sight and the sound and the smell of Hob curling into his grasp, hands braced on Dream's forelimbs, head tipped forward and mouth hanging open, saliva drooling from his slack lips. His eyes are glassy and his face aglow when he lifts it to meet Dream's gaze, and his scent is ripe with both lust and joy; he is completely lost in the pleasure of Dream's attentions and Dream purrs, swings his head in to flicker his tongue across the damp of Hob's flushed cheek. Hob is making those musical sounds again, longer and drawn out with each slide down and back up; Dream keeps his grip careful, moves Hob more quickly upon his own length, riveted by the way Hob's eyes roll back in his head and the sharpening pitch of his singing moans.

He continues on and on until Hob has gone boneless and insensate in his grasp, until his voice is one continuous note of pleasure sung in waves every time he is moved down on Dream's cock and back up, until Dream's own pleasure is no longer simmering in his loins but blazing; then, at last, he lifts Hob completely off and free, shifts his talons to carefully cradle Hob to his chest, hushing his whine of loss. With a grunt, he rolls onto his belly and places Hob on the furs before him, positioning his mate on all fours and facing away.

Hob's arms collapse and he drops his chest to the ground, presenting his backside in the most appealing manner. He is gaping open beautifully, slick and puffy-pink around the rim, copious amounts of Dream's natural lubricant visible within him and dribbling in shiny little rivulets down into the hair on his testicles and the insides of his thighs. Dream purrs, terribly pleased with the sight and the smell of his mate thus arrayed; he dips his head in close, nuzzling into the cleft of Hob's body and eliciting a needy whimper from Hob. He takes in the scent of his own fluids and Hob's untempered arousal, savoring the heady blend, rubbing it into the short feathers of his snout. His tongue snakes out and into Hob, the way wide and welcoming, almost cavernous around him; he delves deep, seeking out the wondrous spot inside Hob that brings him such pleasure and flicking his forked tip against it.

Hob makes a loud, delirious sound of encouragement and his knees splay a little further; Dream moves with him, lingers a long moment licking deep inside until Hob is squirming on his tongue, breathless and wrung out and pleading for more. His pre-spend is leaking from him in steady drips, fragrant and arousing, and Dream feels his own need raging behind his restraint as Hob begs.

"Dream—please, please Dream—I need it, I need you—take me, fill me up, mount me, make me yours—"

Hob is already his. They have both performed courting and mating rituals to express and accept intent; they have shared their lairs and hoards, they have coupled many times, they have flown together and spiraled down out of the sky in the age-old dance of dragon pairs since time immemorial, they have made love while both in human form more than once but Dream understands—this is something very specific, very meaningful to Hob, and it feels. Momentous.

He withdraws his tongue, pulls back to watch as Hob wriggles, gets his knees further under him to lift his rear higher; Hob's hole remains open and messy, more than ready to receive him, and Dream will have him, now.

With a rumbling growl, he rises up and flows forward to crouch over Hob, wings arcing to spread on either side. His sex is still held halfway between his human and dragon sizes, smaller than he is used to in this form but yet more than enough to harm Hob if he is not careful. He leans forward, braces himself on one fore-talon, splays the other heavily across Hob's shoulders to pin him down; he flexes his cock to line himself up, and then—slowly, carefully, inexorably—he pushes himself in.

Hob is slurring out a litany of 'please please please', face pressed into the furs, voice rising higher as Dream mounts him until he is as deep as he can go, two thirds or so of his length taken in. Hob groans loudly as the motion of entry ceases and Dream can feel the way Hob tries to squeeze around him, stretched too wide for it to have any sort of force at all. Dream rumbles his pleasure, draws out and pushes back in carefully, then again, and again, Hob's voice rising in approval with every slow thrust.

"Yes—aah—more—Dream—" Hob shudders as Dream sinks into him again. "Harder, please—harder—!"

Dream growls, wings rustling, tail switching; his body says 'take', his instincts say 'claim', his mate says 'more' and he cannot help but hear them clearly. He heeds all three, heeds the harmony they play within him; he braces himself and thrusts hard, heat and satisfaction flaring through him as Hob takes a sharp breath, and so he does it again.

The sound Hob makes then is gasping and wet and beautifully strained; his scent is ripe with arousal, does not stink of pain or distress and Dream is confident that this is precisely what Hob wants as he thrusts hard again and Hob cries out in delight. His own body clamors for satiation, for the thrill and the relief of rutting full bore into his willing mate but Dream still has presence of mind enough to realize he will never forgive himself if he fails to confirm and Hob winds up hurt.

He holds himself still, eases his weight from the talon pressing Hob down. "Hob. Are you—"

"Please," Hob interrupts, voice wet, raw desperation in his tone as he writhes, "please don't stop, Dream, I need I want—I can't—please!"

Dream snarls, permission given, and bears back down on his restraining talon, rolls his hips with force, shoving into Hob again and again and Hob wails his pleasure, tiny human hands scrabbling at the furs beneath him, whatever noise his bracelets make lost under the sound of his voice. Dream has positioned them so that his thrusts will not reach further than Hob's body can accommodate, but still he is hitting hard and deep and Hob is jolting, slipping from the force despite Dream pinning him down.

Dream's tail lashes, a few feathers fluttering loose, and he growls deep in his throat. Hob whimpers and then, impossibly, he is pushing back, seeking more, and Dream cannot allow any damage to come to his reckless mate in this frenzied ardor between them. He lifts his talon from Hob's shoulders and wraps it beneath his ribs and his abdomen instead, gripping gently but implacably and lifting him just enough to deprive him of any bracing leverage at the knees.

"Be still, little amber," he instructs, his voice a whip-taut growl, "and let me claim you—"

Hob makes a noise that can only be described as a sob of pleasure and goes lax in Dream's grip. Dream moves the talon nearest Hob's cock to hook beneath it, so that each thrust rocks Hob against it, ensuring another layer of stimulation, and then he is lost to the need to take, and take, and take.

Hob's voice lilts and falls and soars beautifully as Dream unleashes his want, clinging to just enough mindfulness of Hob's delicate size to keep his partial transformation unchanged. His own body sings with pleasure and need, heat coiling through him as he moves, lightning in his blood, building higher and higher in answer to Hob's cries.

He is seized, quite suddenly, with the urge to clamp his teeth in Hob's nape as he would with Hob's dragon form; the rational part of his brain thinks it terribly unwise but he is arching his neck and snaking his head down regardless, mouth open, stopping just short of his goal. He is clutching Hob close beneath his body, pounding into him relentlessly and his mind is alight with the litany of do-not-harm do-not-harm do-not-harm but instinct has his jaws yawning, aching to sink into the mating hold as he nears his finish.

"Oh fuck," Hob swears thickly, trembling and breathless as Dream looms close with such intent, "ohfuckyes Dream please yesyesyes—" His scent is ripe with desperate want; he rolls his head and tilts it down, forward, offering his neck and Dream. Cannot—

He snorts, need and frustration exhaling in a great blast of hot breath that hits Hob precisely where he wishes to set his teeth, blowing Hob's sweat-damp hair to either side, leaving the way dangerously clear. Dream's tongue slithers over the exposed vulnerability, tasting the salt of Hob's skin and the precious metal of his own treasures adorning it and a great voiceless growl shakes out of him; Hob whimpers sharply, a sweet rising note of abject need, his scent spiking with impending climax—and Dream falls upon him, helpless in the face of it.

His teeth close on the back of Hob's neck, a shallow grip intended only to hold and Hob cries out, goes rigid as he spends abruptly. It is a sudden wet warmth over Dream's talon; the smell of it blooms hot in the air around them and Dream snarls, his own peak near to cresting as Hob's body tries to bear down on the pistoning thickness of Dream within him, to little avail. He tries to gentle his teeth when he tastes blood, desperate to keep his mate from serious harm, but the tides of his own pleasure rush inexorably onward, carrying him up and up in a glorious crescendo, in harmony with the gasping notes of Hob's climax until he crashes over the edge himself, spilling into his mewling mate with a ferocious roar.

It is a great deal of fluid for a human-sized body to receive, and he means to pull back, to pull out, that Hob need not take it all. But instinct is stronger than intent, yet again, and he is only halfway withdrawn before the sheer pulsing pleasure of his release has him pushing back in. Hob moans as he is filled again, as Dream's spend is forced out of the stretched confines of his body, overflowing viscous and wet between them; Dream's body gives another miniscule thrust, just for the heady thrill of the sheer mess of it and the wet squelching sound that accompanies it.

Hob is still making little noises as Dream's climax subsides, and the sound of them is either waning pleasure or the rising of discomfort in its aftermath; his scent is free of distress, so more likely the former. Still, Dream is careful when he finally draws Hob off his length and sets him down, careful when he licks the trickling blood from the back of Hob's neck, gentle when he lays himself beside Hob, who has collapsed with a soft groan. Hob is sprawled on his belly in the furs, head turned toward Dream, eyes gleaming warmly beneath the fall of hair scattered over his face. He is disheveled and debauched and beautiful, and Dream loves him. Fiercely.

"I'm a mess, aren't I," Hob says presently, an endearing blend of exhausted, sated, and smugly pleased. The bracelets on his wrist jangle softly as he rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair, smiles warmly up at Dream, not bothering to lift his head at all.

"Perhaps," Dream allows, idly licking Hob's spend from his talon, letting his body cool. He has released the partial transformation of his sex and allowed it to return to its full size; it is softening, drawing back within its hidden sheath, and he turns his attention fully to the state Hob is in. "Allow me to clean you up."

Hob makes a soft noise of assent and Dream rearranges himself, looming up and over, taking stock of his mate. The small wounds made by his teeth have already stopped bleeding; there are little pinpricks here and there on Hob's torso and thighs from the tips of his claws and Dream licks over each of them, making certain they're no more than superficial. Purring, he nudges his face between Hob's legs, pushing them gently further apart, applying his tongue to the spend that bedecks them. There is a great deal of it all over the backs and insides of Hob's thighs, sticky and clinging in the thick hair and Dream takes his time, thorough in his attentions. It is both grooming and aftercare, an intimately soothing ablution that Dream has always enjoyed and one he takes particular joy in sharing with Hob, wherever the mess, whatever their forms.

When he is satisfied with his work, he draws back, licks clean the disheveled short feathers of his snout, and turns his attention to Hob's arse. With careful claws he parts Hob's cheeks, gentle, delicate, and surveys the state of him.

Hob's hole is still quite open, swollen and red and laced with the remains of Dream's spend. He is not torn, is not bleeding, is gradually shrinking to close again as he should, but Dream's heart still sinks at the sight; when he gently tongues the angry flesh Hob hisses in pain, squirms a little.

"I have hurt you," Dream laments, drawing back, careful—so careful—as he lets go of Hob.

"I'll be a bit sore, I suppose," Hob says, as though it is no consequence. "Absolutely worth it, though."

"Still," Dream counters, unbalanced by Hob's nonchalance at the fact that Dream has hurt him. "I should have kept it smaller; I should have been gentler at the end. I am sor—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Hob warns, rolling over and sitting up abruptly, barely wincing, and his vehemence draws Dream up short. "I wanted it. You didn't do anything I hadn't asked for. Begged for. You gave me everything—" His voice hitches, trembling with emotion, and he swallows thickly. "Don't apologize, when it meant—it meant so much—"

Ah. Dream is focusing, he realizes, on the wrong details. Hob is near to tears, Dream can hear, and so he pulls him close, gently nestles Hob against his chest, purring. He wraps his head and tail in close, curling around Hob's small human shape protectively. "No apologies, then, my sweet amber," he assures, nuzzling at the crown of Hob's head, huffing warm breath into the still-damp mahogany of his hair. "It was. My pleasure, to give what you sought, to claim you so thoroughly."

Hob burrows into him, rubs his bearded face reverently against Dream's feathers. "Thank you," he says, soft and quiet, into the down of Dream's chest near the ruby. "I know you prefer it when we're both dragons—"

"I prefer to have my mate in whatever form he feels like sharing with me," Dream interrupts, and is mildly surprised to realise that it is true.

Hob makes an inarticulate little noise, burrowing closer. "Dream, my Dream," he murmurs, stroking his small human fingers through the soft feathers of Dream's belly, pressing his lips behind his words. "My mate, my everything. I love you."

"And I, you," Dream sighs, sated, content, sleepy. He stretches his hind legs out, switches his tail, settles comfortably and cradles Hob close to his heart with one careful talon, spreads his wing like a blanket over his mate. Hob makes a happy little noise and Dream can envision the soft smile on his face, the way his beard shapes around it and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes; he purrs, curves his head in nearer to Hob and lets his eyelids droop.

He is always pleased to sleep with Hob when Hob is in dragon form, Hob's radiant heat and golden glow cuddled up next to him, tucked against his side; likewise he is pleased, on the rare occasions it occurs, when he himself is in human form and kept warm and protected beneath the curve of Hob's wing. He is pleased enough to share Hob's bed when staying in Hob's lair, both of them in human form, comfortably cocooned in blankets and each other's arms. But ultimately, he thinks, there is something utterly irreplaceable about sleeping like this, with Hob tucked small and safe against him, held tenderly against the heart he has so thoroughly won.

=== Started: 8/9/23 Drafted: 9/3/23 Posted: 9/22/23

I very nearly titled this thing Chuck Tingle style, except 'Pounded in the Butt By My Dragon Boyfriend While I'm in Human Form (But I'm a Dragon Too)' just doesn't set the right tone, alas. Actual title I finally settled on is from Ever Dream by Nightwish.

#Dreamling #Sandman #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #TJs Fics #wip: Dragonsex

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