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rohansdisciple · 6 months

Text

𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 ★ .

summary : elliot breeding after you say ‘yes’ to him asking for a baby ♥︎ .

warnings : romance / smut / nsfw . fem / afab reader . established relationship / married . pet names used . nipple play . sex toy ( vibrator ) . oral ( fem receiving ) . squirting . p in v sex . light marking . breeding . and i think that’s it ! tell me if i missed something ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ !

word count : about 3.1 k *

reading time : about 12 minutes *

other : 16+ ** . takes place in the stardew we all know and love, i believe i changed some minor things so the plot makes sense ! may have some minor grammatical errors && the entire story is written in lower case and the punctuation has double spacing in between the words * .

a / n : so last month while i was playing stardew valley elliott asked for a baby . which made me freeze in my seat by the way , then i said yes and moved on . then when my character had the baby , i froze once again . but that time i got an idea to write about him asking for the baby and the first baby making attempt :D ! so enjoy pookie bears ^ ^ !

credits to @ rookthornesartistry on tumblr and @ crispyporkbelly on deviant art for the dividers !

" finally , i reached the 100th floor ... " you sigh , finally arriving at the location you've been attempting to reach for weeks . you look at the time to see how long you've been down in the mines — it's almost 11 p.m . " i should call it a day and go home , " you think as you board the elevator to the top . when you exit the mines , you choose to use the warp totem to get to the farm since you have no desire to make the 30 - minute walk back to the house at this hour .

once you get to the house , you toss all your findings and valuables into a chest until you can sort and look at them all tomorrow . because right now , all you were concerned about was showering and then getting in bed with your husband . when you walk into the house , you head to the bathroom quietly , trying not to make too much noise since elliott is usually asleep at this time . when you switch on the bathroom light , you discover a nicely folded pair of your pajamas resting on top of the counter ; which is just a simple tank top and shorts . and it came with a note on top that said , ' enjoy your shower , love elliott ' . you grin once you finish reading the short note , and you have to remember to thank elliott for being so thoughtful and conveniently setting out your pajamas for you .

after enjoying your hot shower , you get out, get dressed , and then you make your way to the bedroom to rest for the night . you notice a dim light glowing beneath the bedroom door as you approach it . " maybe elliott forgot to turn the light off before he fell asleep ? " you think to yourself , still under the impression that he's sleeping . when you enter the bedroom , elliott is fully awake and reading a book in bed . it seems like he was waiting for you to come and join him .

“ hey babes , i didn’t expect to see you up at this hour ; whatcha doing up - ? ” you ask while you get into bed with him . “ i was too deep in thought that i couldn’t fall asleep , so i decided to read a book and wait for you to return , my love ... ” elliott chuckles as he places his book and reading glasses on the nightstand before lying down with you . " oh , by the way , thank you for setting out some clothes for me , sweetheart . i really do appreciate it , " you say softly . elliott places a kiss on your forehead and then says , " no problem, honey ... it's the least I can do when you work so hard every day , " he replies .

" did everything go well today , sweetheart ? " elliott asks as he caresses your cheek with his thumb . " mhm ... i got really lucky today in the mines , so i got a lot accomplished , " you reply in a hushed tone , closing your eyes for just a moment . " that's wonderful , my love ... " he says softly , his words trailing off .

for a while , neither of you speaks ; you're too busy enjoying elliott's touch , and he's preoccupied with his thoughts , which creates a brief moment of silence between the two of you. he can't decide whether this is a good time to talk to you about what’s been on his mind or if he should just drop it and talk to you about it some other time . once elliott convinces himself that now is the perfect time to talk about the thing that's been on his mind , he speaks up .

" can i talk to you about something , honey ? " " it's been on my mind for a while now - " elliott nervously says to you . " of course , what's on your mind , honey ? " you ask , sitting up and leaning against the bed's headboard . once he knows he has your full attention , he speaks , " so , i've been thinking about ... talking to you about trying for a child . " he pauses for a few seconds then continues , " i've always wanted to be a father , and now that i have such a lovely wife , i'd really like to have kids with you — if you want them , that is . " when he stops talking , elliott anxiously awaits your reply .

you consider what he said for a moment , and it suddenly hits you as to why elliott has been ' subtly ' mentioning babies and talking about how you two would be ' wonderful parents , ' and how the farm would be ' an amazing place for a child to grow up in ' . you sit there for a few minutes , silently considering whether you and elliott are ready to start a family , and all signs lead to the answer being yes . the house has enough space to raise a child ; you're financially secure , and you've always wanted to be a mother . " sure , let's try for a baby , elliott , " you say , smiling .

" a - are you sure , honey ? " elliott asks you . " mhm , i thought it through ; i think we're ready for a baby , " you say . elliott hugs you tightly and exclaims , " that's amazing , darling ! i'm happy that you said yes ! " " i'd be down to start trying right now, actually , " you offer boldly . " really ? ! r - right now , hon ? but aren't you tired from the day ... ? " elliott asks , slightly flustered by your suggestion . " i'm not that tired , sweetheart . and , besides , i can see you want to start trying now , too , " you tease , looking at the slight bulge in his sweatpants.

" you got me there , my love . the very thought of me getting you pregnant is exciting ... " elliott whispers , his face flushed as he caresses your waist . " you're just too beautiful to resist ... " he mutters as he draws you into a kiss . the kisses you two share start off soft and slow , but they quickly turn into more passionate ones as you both begin to caress and crave one another . elliott's hands quickly find their way under your shirt , and you tremble when you feel his cold hands grope your bare boobs . " mmh ... your hands are so cold - " you pant once you pull away from the kiss .

elliott chuckles when he hears you say that his hands are cold , and he says , " sorry, baby , they'll definitely warm up if i touch you some more , though ... " elliott teases as he removes his shirt and begins to shift his body on the bed . you watch as elliott positions himself to lean against the headboard of the bed . " come sit , my love ... with your back to my chest , " elliott says to you , patting his lap and pointing to the space in between where he wants you to sit . " o - okay ... " you murmur as you crawl closer to him , your gaze fixed on the growing tint in his sweats .

once you get situated , elliott takes off your shirt and places his big hands over your boobs . " you have such beautiful breasts , honey ... i love how sensitive your nipples are to my touch ... " elliott whispers in your ear , making you shiver . " ngh- " you moan as his fingers run over your nipples . " you like that , baby ? " elliott asks , placing soft kisses on your neck . " m-mhm ... i love it - " you gasp , savoring the sensation of him rolling your nipples in between his thumb and index finger . laying back and letting elliott pleasure your body has to be one of your favorite things ; every touch he gives you makes you tremble with excitement .

when elliott notices that you're practically shaking from him teasing your nipples , he knows you're craving for him to touch you . " e - elliott , please , touch me ... " you whine . elliott chuckles as he hears your desperate pleas for his touch , " alright , hon . lift your hips for me ... " he says as he begins to remove your shorts and panties . you do what he says , feeling yourself getting wetter with each second he doesn't touch you .

" open your legs too, darling ... i need to feel how wet you are for me , " elliott tells you as he puts his hands on your knees . " mmh , okay ... " you say breathily as you slowly open your legs for him . elliott's hands then run down your body slowly , making their way down to your wet pussy . " you're so wet for me , sweetheart ... it seems like the thought of me breeding you gets you excited too ... " elliott says teasingly as he spreads your pussy lips . " i - i charged the vibrator the other day ... could you use that on me , baby ? " you ask him . " oh , of course, darling ... anything for you , " he replies as he opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out the vibrator .

" you want the lowest setting first , right , hon ? " elliott asks as he sets the vibrator on your clit and switches it on , the low vibrations causing your entire body to flush with heat when it comes into contact with your sensitive clit . " mmh ... y - yeah , that's good right there ... " you mumble . elliott moves the vibrator in slow circles against your clit while he teases your nipples with his unoccupied hand . " m - mph ... m - more ... please , baby ? " you whine . elliott turns the vibrator on the highest setting when he hears you ask for more .

" okay , hon ... does that feel good ? " he asks . " hngh-! y - yes ... " you moan loudly as you grip onto elliott's thighs , attempting to stay in place . not even a minute later , elliott notices you were about to cum from how uncontrollable your moans became . " i - i'm gonna cum - ! c - can i cum ... " you cry out . elliott then takes the vibrator off your throbbing clit and puts it aside , which causes whimpers to fall from your lips . " not yet , dear ... i want you to cum on my face , " he says to you as he shifts his body to where he's laying on the pillows .

" come sit , sweetheart , let me take care of you ... " elliott says inviting you to sit on his face . you immediately do what he asked , hovering your wet pussy above his mouth since you're desperate for some sort of release . that , combined with the fact that you enjoy it when elliott eats you out because he has a very good tongue got you even more excited than you already were . " i - is this good , babe ? " you ask elliott . " i told you to sit , not hover , darling ... " elliott replies as he squeezes your ass . " but , honey , i don't want to suffocate you - " you explain , having only sat on his face once before . " you don't have to be worried , sweetie . " elliott says , " just sit ... " he says , guiding you down until you are fully seated on his face .

" o - oh my god ... e - elliott ! " you moan in pure ecstasy as his tongue begins to suck on your aching clit . elliott laps and sucks at your clit like he's a starved man who hasn't eaten in weeks , causing you to only think about the immense pleasure you're feeling . elliott can tell how close you are to cumming from how much your body is shaking . " hngh! b - baby ... i - i'm so close ... " you say , holding onto the headboard for support as the knot in your stomach tightens .

when elliott hears those words leave your lips , he focuses on getting you to your climax , continuing to slip his tongue in and out of your wet hole , his nose brushing over your clit as he does . seconds later , you feel the knot in your stomach beginning to unravel . " mph! m'cumming - ! " you moan loudly as your intense orgasm hits you , making you accidentally squirt on elliott's face .

when you come down from your high , you return to your senses and you get off elliott's face . " are you okay , babe ? " you ask , staring at all the fluids you've left on his face . " hehe , i'm more than okay , baby , " elliott says with a contented smile as he wipes his mouth and sits up . " but i'm not done with you yet , darling ... " he says as he removes his boxers and sweatpants, revealing his stiff cock . the pre - cum dripping from his rosy red tip alone is enough to make you drool . you want him inside of you badly ; you desperately want him to breed you right now . " now , on your back , honey ... we're not done just yet . " he whispers in your ear .

when you lay on your back , elliott traps your body beneath his , pinning you down to the bed . " i love you , y / n , " elliott says softly as his fingers intertwine with yours and your lips meet in a passionate kiss . " baby , is it alright if i put it in now ? " elliott maintains a low voice . " i'm afraid i won't be able to contain myself for much longer . " " as i said earlier , you're too beautiful for me to resist ... " he adds , his cock twitching against you . " mhm , go ahead , darling ... " you reply , touching his flushed face . elliott then rubs the tip of his cock on your clit before slowly pushing his cock inside your warm pussy while letting out a low moan .

" you doing okay there , love ? " he asks once he bottoms out . " m - mhm ... m'good , " you say , your walls clenching around elliott's shaft . " do you need a minute to adjust , my dear ? " elliott asks . you merely nod in response . " alright ... let me know when you're ready , okay ? " he adds lovingly as he caresses your cheek .

after a few moments , you say , " i've adjusted ... you can move now , baby . " alright , darling ... " elliott says as he begins to move . elliott let's out a soft grunt as he thrusts into you , your warm walls feel amazing around his cock . that , combined with the fact that you two haven't had sex in weeks , makes him feel like he's in heaven right now . " y - you feel so good , my love ... " elliott says as his pace quickens . " mmh ... s'good - " you moan softly as you rub fast circles on your clit .

elliott's hands then grip your waist to keep a steady pace , so every thrust gives you the pleasure your body deserves and desires . " mph ... y - you're so beautiful , y / n ... " elliott whispers in your ear through his moans . elliott begins to place small hickeys on your neck as he attempts to find that spot inside of you that drives you insane every time . when the tip of elliott's cock hits your g - spot , your eyes roll to the back of your head with ease . " hngh-! r - right there - ! d-don't stop - ! " you moan loudly . " you like that , baby ? i'll keep doing it then - " elliott pants .

the bedroom is quickly filled with the sounds of skin slapping together , your moans , and elliott's low groans and pants . both of you are clinging to each other so desperately , like the pleasure you two are feeling would just stop if either of you let go . elliott pounds into you mercilessly as you feel the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter by the second . elliott can tell you're close to your orgasm from the way your walls are clenching around him . " y - you're gonna cum , yeah ? j - just let go , baby - " elliott says to you . with a few more deep thrusts and touches to your clit , you can feel the knot in your stomach unraveling . " mmph ! m'cumming ! " you moan , your whole body shaking violently as you cling to elliott .

it took every fiber of elliott's being not to cum inside of you right then and there as your walls pulsated around his cock as he continued to thrust into you as fast as he could . " mph! it's s'deep - " you whine . you couldn't deny that elliott looked so hot with his hair clinging to his sweaty forehead as he pounded into your sloppily wet cunt . you can tell from how erratic and rough elliott's thrusts were becoming and the way his face was twisting in pleasure that he was close to reaching his orgasm .

" y - y / n ... i - i can cum inside , right ? " elliott asks , wanting to make sure that this is what you wanted . " y - yes ... mph- ...stuff me full w - with your cum - " you say in between moans . now that you've told elliott that you wanted him to cum inside of you , he's only focused on two things — getting off and , most importantly , breeding you . elliott continued at his rough and fast pace , not letting up until he felt his orgasm approaching . " hngh-! baby , i - i'm cumming - ! " elliott moans as his body shakes as he cums deep inside of you , his cock filling your pussy with thick ropes of cum .

when elliott comes down from his high , he lays his body on top of yours and places his head in the crook of your neck , softly panting in your ear , attempting to get your body as close to his as possible . " i wasn't too rough , right , hon ? " elliott questions you once he catches his breath . " of course not , love . i feel amazing , actually , " you reply with a slight chuckle as you run your fingers through his long ginger locks . " you being satisfied is all that matters to me , my love , " elliott adds softly . " now , let's get you cleaned up , dear , " elliott says , lifting his body off of yours .

when elliott pulls out , his face immediately flushes with a red tint when he notices his cum slowly oozing out of you . " i - i'll be right back , honey - " elliott says as he gets out of bed and dashes out of the bedroom flustered . a few short moments later , elliott comes back to the room with a bowl and a washcloth in hand . " what's inside the bowl ? " you ask as elliott places it on the nightstand . " just some warm water to wipe you off , dear , " elliott replies , dipping the washcloth in the water . " all right , hon ... open your legs for me , " he says as he climbs onto the bed .

when you realize he's just trying to wipe you off down there before you two go to bed , you open your legs . " is the water too hot ? " elliott asks as he gently wipes you down . " no , it's warm , baby ... " you respond with a breath of relaxation . you lay there in bed , relishing in the sensation of the warm cloth and elliott's gentle touch , your eyes beginning to feel heavy .

" there , all done , " elliott says as he puts the washcloth back in the bowl . when he looks at you , he immediately smiles when he sees how relaxed and sleepy you look . elliott then lays next to you in bed and pulls you close . " i love you so much , y / n ... " he says in a hushed tone while rubbing slow circles on your back . " i love you even more , elliott ... " you murmur , clinging to him for warmth . elliott watches as you begin to slowly fall asleep in his arms . you truly were his world , his everything . " whatever the future holds for us , i'm looking forward to spending each moment with you , my love , " elliott whispers as he kisses your forehead before drifting off alongside you.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍 ★ ...

read the second part here 🍂 !

#rohans fanfics ☁︎ …#☆* rohansdisciple writes ! ☆*#stardew #stardew valley #stardew elliott #stardew valley elliott #elliott sdv #sdv elliott #sdv elliott x reader #sdv elliott x fem reader #sdv elliot x farmer #sdv elliot x black reader #sdv elliot x black fem reader #stardew fanfic #spotify #rohansdisciple

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ellethespaceunicorn · 8 months

Text

Don't Take My Sunshine Away, Part III

Title: Don’t Take My Sunshine Away, Part III

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader (Sunshine)

Fandom: The Gray Man

Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: You lived your life on a schedule. Everything is planned out from sunrise to sunset. But what happens when you go out on a limb and out of your comfort zone? Will it have dire consequences?

Chapter Summary: Lloyd defends your honor and tells you a bedtime story.

Warnings: Murder Daddy™, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering (f receiving), clit spanking, a splash of somnophilia, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mentions of murder, mention of stalking, Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: So, this part took a little longer, but we are right on schedule. Hope you enjoy it! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Spotify Playlist is here.

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

You spend most of the day with Sir in his office. Men flood in now and then to speak with him. No doubt surprised by your presence but smart enough not to mention it. For the most part anyway.

Then there’s the poor bastard that couldn’t stop staring at you in the evening briefing. He had the nerve to turn his entire head in your direction while you lounged on one of the couches. You were engrossed in American Psycho, caught in the intricate web that Bret Easton Ellis wove.

You had just made it to the point where Patrick is recalling how he corrected Stash using the word cappuccino instead of carpaccio when you feel the weight of eyes on you. You assume Lloyd is the perpetrator, but you’re surprised when you glance at him and see that he’s looking elsewhere.

Your eyes skim over the men in the room and notice a set of bright green eyes raking over your body. You quickly rise from your position on your belly, dropping your book in the process. The clatter alerted everyone in the room to look at you.

“Sunshine? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of—” Lloyd stops in his tracks when you stand and walk behind him to block the man’s view from you. You whisper in his ear so that the other men can’t hear and Lloyd nods, motioning for you to sit in the desk chair.

As you move around the desk, Lloyd puts his hands in his pockets and sighs.

“I guess I wasn’t clear about this, but this lovely little gem behind me is Sunshine. Sunshine belongs to me. I didn’t bring her here to be the object of your lecherous eyes,” He turns to where you sit and winks at you before addressing the men again, “Now, Price, you’ve only been with me for, what? Few weeks or so?” He sits on the edge of the desk, one hand on his knee.

“Yes, Sir.” The green-eyed deviant has the presence of mind to answer formally rather than just nodding.

“Right. So, you’ve been around long enough to know I’m not exactly the sharing type. When something is mine, it’s mine alone. But you decided to stare at my girl like she was here for your entertainment or something—”

“Sir, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

A barrage of bullets cuts through the apology that Price tries to give, too little too late. Sir stands over his corpse and spits at him, “I was talking, you piece of shit!”

He gives the gun back to the man he took it from, coming back to sit on the edge of the desk. You can see the blood spatter on his face, neck, and shirt.

“Does anyone else wanna make me kill them?” He looks around at all the faces in the room, “Good. Dismissed. Get the fuck out. And take this asshole with you.”

After the men leave, dragging the dead man behind them, you rise from the desk chair and walk around to stand in front of Sir. You couldn’t stop yourself from wiping your thumb across the blood drop on his cheekbone. As it smears into his skin instead of wiping it away, you look into Sir’s eyes.

His hand comes up to your wrist and he tilts his head down a fraction, that asshole smirk painting itself on his face. “Just a little blood, Sunshine. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of it, I just...you...killed that man because he looked at me. I mean, yeah, I felt weird, but I...didn’t think you’d kill him.” You feel his thumb on your pulse point, lightly pressing into your skin.

“If you didn’t want me to kill him, why’s your heart beating so fast?” Sir narrows his eyes at you, and you can feel the weight of his stare. “Because it looks like my little Sunshine liked that I defended her honor.”

He lets go of your wrist and lightly taps your chin. Letting his hand glide down your body until it escapes into the slit of your dress, he cups your sex and it radiates heat into his palm. His middle finger presses upward and between your folds to find your warm nectar leaking from your snatch. He fully coats his finger, pulling his hand out from under your dress. “Open your mouth, Sunshine.”

You do as you’re told, sticking your tongue out for good measure. Sir lays his finger on your tongue, and you close your lips over it. You treat his thick digit like a popsicle, cleaning it off with your tongue while sucking it. You like the taste of yourself on Sir’s finger, sweet and tangy notes dance across your tastebuds.

A sharp sucking noise fills the room as Sir pulls his finger out of your mouth, replacing it with his lips to kiss you deeply. His tongue chases yours in a scramble to taste your sweet pussy juice. His hands find your hips and pull you close, and you can feel how excited he is. His weighty erection pushes against his chinos.

Sir breaks the kiss first, resting his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you taste fucking phenomenal. Bend over the desk. And put that leg up.” He moves around you and presses down on your upper back while helping to lift your knee to rest on the desk. “Now you stay right fucking there, Sunshine.”

Sir is on you in seconds, the thud of his knees hitting the floor echoes in the room. Large paws slap each asscheek before he grips them tight and lets them go again, loving the crescent-shaped dents left in your skin by his fingernails.

Gently spreading your cunt open with his thumbs, he leans in and swirls his tongue around your slick entrance. You bite your lip so only the tiniest moan escapes. Sir stops and addresses you.

“Don’t you bite back that fucking moan, darling. I want to hear you. And if I’m being honest, I kinda want my men to hear you too. I want them to know who you belong to. Am I understood, Sunshine?” Sir lands a slap on your ass when you don’t reply with words, the ‘mhm’ you murmured is not appreciated.

“Yes, Sir!” You yelp, the sting of the slap still reverberating across your skin.

“That’s my girl.” Sir returns his tongue to your opening, sliding a hand under you to fondle your clit.

Pinching your nub quickly, he is rewarded with your guttural noises. Stiffening his tongue, he inserts it straight into your pussy and the unexpected movement has you pushing back into him.

“Yes, Sir, please! Just like that!” You fuck yourself on his tongue, working your hips up and down doing all the work.

Sir removes his tongue from your cunt, a mix of saliva and your cum connects his tongue to your hole. Two fingers soon replace his tongue, fucking into you at break-neck speed, massaging your inner sweet spot at the same time. With one hand still focusing on your clit, you were overwhelmed soon enough by how persistent he was.

“Sir, please, may I cum?” You tried your best to maintain but you were hanging on by a thread.

Shoving a third digit inside you, Sir picks up where he left off, driving into your core like a fucking piston. You feel your walls starting to tighten and Sir must feel it too because he finally relents, and your wish is granted.

“Fucking cum for me, Sunshine.” As he pulls his fingers from your squelching snatch, your legs buckle in an orgasm that pulls from you a series of wails that you suspect fill the halls of the house.

Landing a few slaps to your clit, Sir stands and steadies your hips before you slide off the desk. Wrapping an arm around your front, he pulls you against his tall frame, leaving kisses along your neck. He sways gently to a song you can’t hear, and it feels good to be in his arms. You let your body be turned sideways and be picked up so gently, with more care than he’s shown you before.

“I think you have a little more in you.” Sir smiles down at you, chuckling at your poor attempt at smiling. You nod when the muscles in your face betray you. “Let’s get you into bed so I can really fuck you stupid.” Your head rests on his shoulder as you look up into bright blue eyes.

You don’t remember when your eyes slid shut, but you are startled awake when you feel the blunt head of Sir’s dick break through your swollen womanhood. Your first instinct is to fight him off, but two strong hands grab your wrists and pin them above your head. Holding them there with one hand, the other finds your cheek.

“Shh, shh, it’s just me. You nodded off there for a second. Figured some dick would wake you up, and I was right.” He pulls his hips back and slams into your heat again, groaning at the way your face contorts in pleasurable pain, a high-pitched moan leaving your lips. “Don’t hold back, Sunshine, let ‘em hear you.”

Moving his hands away from your face and wrists, he wraps one hand around your neck while the other goes to clutch at the sheets next to your head. As he fucks into you, the wet, slapping sounds of flesh bounce off the walls and hit your ears. His grunts in your ear are so close, you can feel his hot breath puffing against your skin as his hand tightens on the sides of your throat.

At this angle, you can feel as Sir stimulates your clit and your g-spot. Your body is jutting up the bed with each thrust. His chokehold on you is the only thing keeping you from slamming into the headboard. Your legs wrap around his waist, your thighs shaking as another orgasm starts to chart its way through your body.

“Sir, fuck...please!” Your cry out, staring up into the ceiling as fat tears fall from your eyes.

Lloyd’s head picks up at that moment as he hears your babbling sobs. “Oh, yes Sunshine. Cry for me, just like that.” He licks away your tears and leans up on his knees to grab your hips, plowing into you so that his dick slams into your cervix.

“Sir, may I cum, please?” You can feel the precise moment that the tightly wound band of control snaps inside you and there is no turning back.

“Cum with me, Sunshine!” Sir’s hips stutter as he finishes, and your hands clutch onto his as they rest at your sides.

“Fuuuuuuuck, yes Sir!” Your twat milks his dick dry, every spurt of cum so warm and heavy that you feel the weight of each stream as it paints your walls.

Your combined moans harmonize in the room as you enjoyed each other’s bodies. As you both come down, Sir pitches forward and catches himself with a hand on the bed before he falls completely on top of you.

Breathing erratically, you pull him down and run your hands through his sweaty mop. “Is this ok, Sir?” You freeze, not knowing if this is crossing the line.

He can only nod, still trying to catch his breath. You can’t help but smile a little to yourself because you followed your instincts and this time you chose right. You try not to think about the rest of your situation, but it’s only right that you do.

Sir’s softening cock slips free from your cunt and you both wince at the loss. Sir collapses to the side of you and you turn to face him. Following his warmth as he turns to his side, he opens his arm to welcome you into his embrace and you snuggle up to him.

“Fuck me, Sunshine! Jesus Christ, you fucking drained my balls on that one.” He sighs and pulls you closer. You yawn loudly breaking the silence between you and Sir chuckles at your cute little face before he speaks up again. “How about a bedtime story?”

You know you’ll be asleep any second, but the curiosity in you to hear what macabre thing he’ll come up with is too great. “You wanna tell me a bedtime story, Sir?”

“Yeah, it’s probably not a great story, but it’s sure to make those gears turn in that fucked-out little brain of yours.” He pokes a finger to your forehead and your eyes cross a bit to follow it. You move a hand to grab his finger, but he moves it too quickly.

“I wanna hear the story, Sir.” You sniffle a bit, blinking your eyes to try and stay awake.

“I’ll tell it, but no questions and no interruptions, you understand?” Sir holds your chin between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Yes, Sir.” Still cock-drunk, you smile lazily and nod up at him.

“That’s my good girl,” He leans in for a kiss and you oblige him, wrapping a leg around him. “Now, our story begins with a lonely girl. She had no friends. Unless you count the ones at the place where she got her morning coffee. She knew all the baristas, and they knew her order well, but they didn’t know much about the girl. Anyway, the girl would go to work every day where she spent her whole shift with her head shoved in a book. And no one really talked to her, except one man that she had banned from her work area. Poor guy.”

Your body stiffens as you recognize a part of the story.

“But even with a quiet life, the girl starts to think that there must be more to life than this monotony. She starts to feel lonelier than before. And even though she plays with her pretty little pussy every single night before she goes to sleep, she craves more. She wants the real thing. So, she decides to go to Tinder. She’s not above a quick fuck, but she’d rather have something real. She starts talking with a dude and they hit it off. It was intensely sexual at first, but then it got more real. They would talk about their hobbies and their favorite movies and all types of shit. She liked him. Soon, she makes up her mind and she’s gonna meet him for a dinner date.”

Your heart hammers in your chest and the way he pauses dramatically lets you know that he knows you see where he is going.

“She gets to the diner, and she doesn’t hear from him at all as she downs cup after cup of coffee. She gets stood up; can you believe it? Well, I can believe it. This guy wasn’t right for her. He wouldn’t know how to please her, he wouldn’t know her drink order, and he couldn’t possibly be what she was looking for. No, no. The man who shared her reading interests in the library who she referred to as a creep, that guy was right for her. Mentioning how much he also liked Bret Easton Ellis over Chuck Palahniuk was funny at that moment, but I guess as she thought about it, she was a little worried. And that was just too damn bad.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Mr. Tinder, or whatever his name was, was super surprised in the parking lot that night. He never saw that knife coming. But that was one less player on the board, which made the odds a little better for a knight in shining armor to come and save her from some asswipe in an alleyway who should’ve kept his hands to himself. Right, Sunshine?”

Your breath was coming in shallow gasps, and you blinked away tears that fell without your permission. You looked up into bright blue eyes and he continued to speak.

“For so long, I watched you. I watched and I waited for you to come to your senses. But you picked the first guy to give you attention on the internet, instead of the man who thought you were the most beautiful thing he ever set his eyes on. I had to have you, Sunshine. His grubby little mitts wouldn’t have known what to do with you. I bet he wouldn’t have given a fuck if you even came during sex at all. And all you ever need to do is tell me you need it, and I will drop everything and make sure you cum until you’re exhausted. As I said before, Sunshine, you’re the one. I knew I needed you, and I will do anything to show you how much you need me.”

“I do need you, Sir. You're all I have.” The words leave your mouth so quickly; you start to accept them yourself.

“You’re all I have, Sunshine. You are everything.” His hand on your face is so warm, comforting even.

“You won’t let anything happen to me.” It was a statement, one that you wished to be true.

“Never.” You believed him. The way he killed a man for you and the way he washed your body so gently in the bathtub. Of course, you were starting to believe every safe and reassuring word he said.

To your credit, you still have that tiny sliver of reality in your thoughts that stops you from diving into the deep end. In that tiny space inside your brain, you hold the idea that he could kill you at any time. The collar you wear keeps you safe, but it was also contingent on your good behavior.

“Thank you, Sir. May I sleep now?” You yawn at the perfect time to sell your tiredness.

“Sleep, Sunshine. You’ve had quite a day.” He places a kiss on the top of your head, a yawn pulling at his face.

Curling into Sir’s embrace, the welcoming warmth is enough to have you feeling safe and guarded in seconds, your soft snores soon filling the room.

Sir watches you sleep for a while, letting a finger glide across your smooth features before he shuts his eyes to join you.

Part IV (coming soon)

A/N: Who doesn’t love a good bedtime story? See you next time. 😉

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ginoeh · 2 months

Text

This is the second part of three for my entry for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang 2024! The awesome banners were done by @lalaithquetzallicaresi who is also on Deviant Art !

The story is available on AO3, where I will post chapters serialized!

To the Edge of Night

Explicit || Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless || Part 2 of 3 || 14k

Part 1

Part 2

*** *** ***

Chapter Three

The reconstruction of the New Inn was coming along swimmingly. The tap room was nearly all done which was great, really, because that meant Hob was perfectly in time for the day of the planned grand opening. He’d set it, nostalgic fool that he was, for the 7th of June.

But on the other hand, there was this:

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to work behind the bar, Bobbie?”

Hob sighed and resisted rolling his eyes at Martin. The man understandably thought he was ‘Bobbie’s’ elder by several decades. But Hob could really do without his repeated attempts at motherhenning him into a healthier lifestyle. Which, according to Martin, included more friends and more social interaction.

Usually, Hob would agree. It was just… well, it was just that so far, his attempts at interaction had been met with mixed results. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want more friends apart from Emily and Oswin. The actual reality of that was turning out to be somewhat more difficult to achieve, though.

It was hard to be entirely genuine when he knew the fears and nightmares of every person he came across. He simply didn’t know how to work with that, yet. Maybe in time he’d get used to it all. So far, all he’d managed to do was inadvertently alienate a lot of people; his inborn sociable nature didn’t fare well when coupled with this new kind of knowledge.

Martin sighed as well but he wasn’t half as good as Hob when it came to hide annoyance and concern.

“Kiddo, you need to get out more. I kept telling the same to your uncle. Ya need friends and people to talk to! Bartending is exactly what you want right now.”

It wasn’t but Hob had to concede the point. He did need to get used to people.

“I can do the late shifts, if you absolutely insist.”

Hob made sure to sound as longsuffering as possible. Wouldn’t do to seem like he was giving in too easily, after all. Otherwise, next he turned around, Martin would try to ply him the sunday roast left-overs from his wife. It was very much enough that Emily kept trying to get him to eat.

Hob was perfectly aware that he didn’t necessarily need to eat, to stay alive. That didn’t mean that he enjoyed starving but the thing was, he simply didn’t. He wasn’t hungry because he didn’t need the food. He was not starving. He knew intimately how that felt, after all. Looking back, Hob was pretty sure it had started at the same time when his lucid dreams began to outnumber his normal nights, at the same time that he started seeing the shape of people’s fear in their eyes.

He wasn’t sure he liked the conclusions that could be drawn from this.

“The late shifts? That is a stupid idea if I ever heard one, Bobbie.”

Hob shrugged. He appreciated Martin, he really did, but he had to put his foot down somewhere. He wasn’t going to let the man dictate the schedule of his waking hours, after all, no matter if he’d usually find the caring nature endearing.

“That’s all I can offer right now. You do know that I have my coursework to do, right? If you say it would be good for me to get out more, then the late shifts it is.”

Martin levelled him with a dark glower that Hob was sure not to find too amusing, and set his empty glass of coke onto the table between them. For a guy in his seventies he sure had a lot of life in him yet.

“Three nights a week, tops.”

“Are we really haggling over this now, Martin? I’m still your boss.”

Martin crossed his arms on the table and kept his large hand on the signed papers that declared him manager of the New Inn.

“You want me in charge of the staff as well, Bobbie. And I take care of my staff, believe me. Three nights a week. Four during semester breaks.”

Hob smothered a laugh at the stubborn look his future manager shot him. Exactly that was why ‘Bobbie’ had insisted to employ Martin, his ‘uncle’s’ closest living friend.

“Okay okay. You win.”

Hob ginned and gamely shook Martin’s hand in agreement. There wasn’t really any reason to tell the other man that Hob hadn’t actually felt any real need for sleep in weeks - months maybe even - and therefore the late shifts wouldn’t impact him at all.

*** *** ***

The rise on which the forest ends slopes down gently into the valley. There is fog hanging around bare tree tops and over the houses and a pale sun lurks behind a thin white cloud cover. Hob becomes aware of the dream, or maybe steps into it might be a better descriptor at this point, at the edge of the forest, half lying between the tall stalks of damp, yellow winter grass. He appears to be wearing something like a cloak this time, its unadorned black fading away into wisps of smokey grey towards the frayed hem. Underneath, there might be just a normal jumper and trouser combo but Hob finds he’s entirely unable to concentrate his sleeping mind to look beyond the shadows of the ominous cloak.

It feels a bit like a game the dreamworld is playing with him and Hob is amused despite himself. He’s had the usual nightmares of being butt naked in the middle of the city so he’s a bit glad it’s not that.

The Gargoyle that he has glimpsed the last time gamboles around the shingled roofs and over a crooked chimney, dips playfully behind a barn and clips one wing on the branches of a massive oak tree before it rights itself midair and continues its dizzying game of hide and seek. Hob makes his way down, the nightmare Otter - and he thinks he should maybe find a name for it - contently lingering on his shoulders. It’s an unexpectedly reassuring weight even if it offers no warmth like a mortal creature might.

It’s when he draws closer to the two storeyed houses that a rather stately figure with carefully coiffed hair steps through one doorway. He’s in a three piece suit but bears an iron rake in one hand that gleams like polished steel knives.

Hob slows down when he approaches an old bridge that leads on into the yard between both houses. The man stands on its other end, one arm at his hip and the other tightly wound around the rake that he holds in front of him like a weapon.

“Who goes here.”

His voice is a nice baritone but it carries his mistrust as easily as his drawn brows do and Hob is, for once, thrown. This is the first time since entering this world of dreams that someone - or some-thing - isn’t naturally inclined to be friendly towards him.

It’s also the first time since his very first awakening that an inhabitant of his dreams speaks to him in an audible voice. This might be the chance he’s been waiting for to gain a bit more information about this strange strange world he’s in.

“I’m just… passing through,” he says and holds up both hands placatingly. In answer, the man grips the rake harder.

“To where.” It’s less a question and very much a demand.

“Um…I don’t know? On, I suppose?” Hob gestures vaguely into the direction of the valley behind the two houses, where he now knows a large part of the landscape centres around something like a palace.

The man frowns, annoyed, and levels Hob with a look that speaks volumes as to the intellect he thinks Hob possesses.

“So you come here, to the gateway of the Nightmare marshes, and you don’t know where you’re going? Are you mocking me?”

This is turning out to be one very unique dreaming experience, Hob realises. It’s not an unpleasant realisation at all. Hob is living for new experiences after all, and while he certainly loves the land he has for some reason been chosen to traverse in his dreams so far, this is a welcome interruption.

On his shoulders, the Otter lifts its head to lay a proprietary claw against Hob’s neck. The man startles at that and Hob looks a bit closer. There’s apprehension in his eyes, something that looks like anger but veers closely towards fear.

And quite suddenly, Hob has another epiphany. The strange mind-reading powers that he has gained while awake, the same thing that lets him feel his little nightmares intentions, work just as well on this different dream-creature. Because no matter how human he looks, Hob is pretty sure that the man before him is both less and more than simply a human man.

“Are you,” he starts and lifts one careful hand to cover the smile that threatens to break out on his face, “perhaps afraid of intruders?” Of old enemies, he wants to say, or rogue nightmares, because that is what he sees when he concentrates. But he’s not really looking to make the man more uncomfortable than he already is.

“I’m Hob,” he offers instead, when there is no answer, “And I think I’m on my way to… the palace.”

The man gears up to say something cutting, Hob can see the way his shoulders draw up and how his glower deepens when they are interrupted by a cheery yell.

“H-hey b-broth-ther! Is this a g-g-guest you’re holding u-uu-up there? Ca-can w-we inv-vite him in fo-fo-for t-tea?”

The man that turns around the corner of the leftmost house looks nearly exactly like the one barring Hob entrance - they are brothers, without a doubt, even if the way he eyes his much more personable sibling promises murder.

“Shut your jabbering gob, Abel. He’s a dreamer. He’s not supposed to be here. So no, we can not invite him for tea.”

The so-called Abel hurries closer, an amicable smile on his face for Hob and a fearful glance for his brother. In it, Hob sees flashes of blood and pain, shallow graves and wooden crosses. He winces. This is… not what he’d expected, really.

“B-b-but h-h-he’s a r-real my-my-my-mystery, r-r-right? Don-don-don’t y-you want to k-know it? Really?”

Despite his fear of violence and death by the hand of his brother, Abel rolls neatly past him and manages to make him lose his grip on the rake. He comes to stand in front of Hob, a hopeful smile on his face, and holds out a meaty hand.

“I-I’m Abel. And h-h-he’s C-cain. Welcome t-to- the H-house o-o-of Secrets! W-we have t-t-tea. An-and c-c-cookies.”

The vision of blood and murder flashes across Hob’s new sense again and Hob knows, intrinsically, that these are ‘the’ Cain and ‘the’ Abel. It’s all a bit much to swallow and he’s sure that if this weren’t a dream with all the ingrained suspension of disbelief he’s desperately been clinging on to since his journey started, he'd be much more pole-axed by this revelation. Instead, Hob shakes the hand of the first murder victim.

“And I have Earl Grey and digestives,” the biblical Cain, first murderer, interjects. He looks miffed but the threatening rake has been abandoned for now and he as well holds out his hand. “I welcome you to my house of Mystery. I’d be honoured to have you as my guest, dreamer. You can tell me all about how you came to be here.”

“B-but he was my guest f-f-first! A-and I can tell him nice s-s-secrets. Ma-maybe the o-o-one about th-th-the Thing in the b-b-b-basement!”

Hob does end up going with Cain first. He has the vague hope that it might avoid or at least postpone the clearly inevitable bloodshed that’s sure to be in Able’s future. There are a lot of crooked crosses and mounds of overturned earth that peek from the strip of land that borders the half-hidden backyard of the houses.

His nightmare, though, has no inclination of going with him. As soon as they reach the door, it nimbly hops off Hob’s shoulder. Cain casts it a long glance.

“If you don’t wish to come, you can visit Gregory. My soft-hearted fool of a brother insists that he’s getting lonely. You wouldn't owe me either way.”

The Otter bares its teeth in something that Hob thinks might be equal parts amusement and threat. Cain just scoffs and turns to step through the door.

The nightmare glances at Hob and if there were words they’d be a flippant ‘so long’ before it summarily abandons Hob for the first time since he’d arrived on these shores.

“Oh very well then,” he says gamely, “no one forces you to have tea, after all.”

Cain’s house is dark and warm and narrow. Everything is wood panelled, from the carved ceiling squares to the soft grey planks of spruce that make up the walls, and down to the unnaturally long and gleaming floorboards.

There aren’t many right angles in the house. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t seem to be built sturdy, quite the contrary even. But the angles are all just slightly off and despite the bookshelves, knick knacks and homely fireplace, there is something eerie to the place.

Cain is backlit by the glow of the fireplace where he takes a steaming pot of water from the hanger with a glowing poker.

“Gregory is the Gargoyle, I’m guessing?”

“Gregory the gargoyle, yes. He lives here.”

Hob thinks this is a paltry amount of information to give about an actual Gargoyle but then again, this is the land of dreams and nightmares. So maybe having a mythical creature as pet isn’t all that strange, all things considered.

“How did you come to be here,” Cain asks abruptly after they sit over sturdy mugs of tea.

“What do you mean, how?” Hob swallows around his digestives. They taste of nothing. Neither does the tea.

“You are a dreamer, a human one at that. You should not be able to traverse the Dreaming like you do.”

The firelight reflects eerily in Cain’s thin glasses. In the background the iron poker heats up in the open fire. This, Hob realises, is still a nightmare, after all.

“This is what the place is called, then? The Dreaming?”

“Don’t you know? These lands are the sleeping marches, the nightmare lands, where all dreams and nightmares dwell.”

Queen Mab’s country after all, after a fashion Hob thinks with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. No wonder his Otter had been so thrown by naming the offering he’d made. Hob’s wild guess had been close to the truth, after all. Though he’s reasonably sure that’s not all there is to it.

“Huh. I knew I was sleeping. Dreaming, as it were but - I didn’t know that there is a name attached to the place. Are you telling me that this isn’t just… in my mind, then?”

Cain stares at Hob and Hob can’t read his expression at all.

“Are you asking me if you made all of this,” he gestures around and to himself, “up in your sleeping mind?”

Hob has the grace to look chagrined. He’d been lucid dreaming for months now. Years if he wants to count the many times he’d been dragged into the sea of dreams and nightmares by the nightmare he now has as a travelling companion. He has developed strange insights while awake and he has had more than just a suspicion that these dreams hold more truth to them than mere figments of his imagination.

“No. No, not really, I guess,” he finally mutters. “I s’ppose this is as real as anything I experience when I’m awake.”

Cain looks at least marginally mollified.

“So you don’t know how or why you arrived here, I gather? That… is disappointing. Rarely do things like these happen without reason or will of our Lord.”

There are many things Hob wants to unpack here; so this isn’t the first time someone has gained access to the Dreaming in a way that resembles his; and there is a Lord - and not a queen - who holds the power of this place. He’d known that one already, considering that he’d been greeted once, so very long ago, by this Lord’s librarian.

“Who is this Lord,” he decides to ask, “and isn’t he… missing?”

Cain straightens and spears Hob with his glare.

“And how have you come by this information? Has your… nightmare blabbered? Talked about abandoning the realm?”

“Nothing of the sort,” though now Hob wonders; had many nightmares left the Dreaming? What then about those that he encountered? “When I first woke up - at that dock over the endless sea? - there was this woman, Lucienne. She told me.”

Cain doesn’t look convinced at all. He stands with narrowed eyes and leaves Hob at the table in favour of stoking the fire with the red-hot poker. Hob debates telling him about the neglected air of the places he’d travelled, about the feeling of bruised and yearning emptiness he'd seen in every world he’d rushed by on his mad dive through the nightmare sea. He decides not to, in the end. It feels… personal, somehow.

“Why would Lucienne travel all the way to the Dreaming Sea, just to greet a… dreamer. Now this is a mystery…”

Hob snorts. “Well, her greeting wasn’t all that enthusiastic. Was surprised to see that I wasn’t her Lord after all.”

It is silent for a while apart from the crackling fire. Hob discards the tea and digestives; he doesn’t know why he thought dream food would do anything for him, really. When he’s about decided to leave the brooding Cain to his own devices and instead go and try his luck with Abel, the man finally turns.

“Yes… there is something about you, dreamer. Hob. I thought for a moment at first, that you might be… but that was foolish, of course. You are nothing like Lord Morpheus, after all.”

“So that’s your missing Lord’s name?” It does have a bit of a ring to it, admittedly, even if it’s only due to Hob’s much longer memory of Morpheus the roman god of dreams that he doesn’t immediately think of the new movie that has just hit the cinemas. He doesn’t suppose Lord Morpheus looks quite like Laurence Fishburn in The Matrix.

“The Dreaming is the Realm of Dream of the Endless. Morpheus is one of many names he holds. And why he’s missing or where he’s gone - that is the greatest mystery of all, isn’t it?”

Hob leaves Cain’s house feeling not one jot more knowledgeable than when he entered it.

“The Dreaming is governed by Dream. Go figure.” He makes sure to keep his voice down but this one is a bit of a let down. At least he’s rather sure that Lucienne the palace librarian is something of a known entity. Which in turn promises the palace he’d glimpsed in the Ruby’s facets to be an actual place as well.

But this Lord… there is his missing Stranger in the waking world, there is a missing Lord on this side of dreams and between them, a deeply magical Ruby has found its way into his hands. Hob isn’t sure how much he believes in coincidences like that.

He’s nearly bowled over by a diving Gargoyle when he clears the awning of Cain’s house. Shingles shatter on the crooked pavement in his wake and a wildly gesticulating Abel rounds the corner.

“Gr-gregory, s-s-stop that!”

Abel hurries over on the beast's heels but doesn’t manage to deter him at all. The Gargoyle dances around Hob a few times, inspecting him, it seems like, before it comes to a stand squarely in front of him.

“Hello there,” Hob croons, enchanted.

Intelligent eyes consider him, before he bobs into the likeness of a shallow bow. Then, he buts up gently against Hob’s side.

“G-gregoy don’t bo-bo-bother our g-g-guest!”

When Hob’s hand comes into contact with Gregory’s rough scales, something like knowledge suddenly sparks between them.

“So you’re a nightmare, too.” Hob strokes Gregory’s scales behind the spikes on his head. “Or were, at any rate. You like this better now, don’t you?”

Gregory puffs hot breath across his neck in silent bliss.

“Have you met my- the nightmare I arrived with, yet?”

Hob gets the impression of sleek black fur rolling between moss and stone and grins.

“G-g-gregory c-can you p-p-please s-stop destroying m-my house!” Abel looks forlornly at the shards of mossy green shingles he’s swept into a sad little pile. “It’s ge-ge-getting worse a-and worse e-e-either w-way. N-no need to ma-ma-make it g-go f-f-faster.”

Gregory looks repentant but Hob gets the sense that the Gargoyle, however much he might want to try, can't really stop destroying things in his wake. It’s in his nature to be disruptive and playful.

“I can help,” he offers instead.

“Th-that’s t-t-terribly n-nnice b-but the r-repairs ne-ne-never stick anyway.” He pokes the pile with the tip of his shoe. It’s so pitiful that Hob feels like it’s a kicked puppy and not a grown man.

“Why don’t they, though? Mine alway do.”

He kneels at Abel’s side and takes a few fitting pieces out of the shard pile. They slot together easily.

“I've repaired a lot of things on my way here. My repairs always go well.”

He swipes over the shingle in his hand and some of the moss comes off, leaving it a faded, dusty red. The breaks are thin lines still, but it all holds together. He’s really gotten better at this.

Abel watches him, something guarded in his jovial face.

“N-no repair ha-has stayed wh-wh-whole, since o-o-our L-Lord le-le-left.”

Hob thinks of the dock that regained its sturdiness, or the little bridges in the moor that repaired themselves with barely any effort from him. Then he glances back at the forest that rises over the valley’s far side and takes in the lush dark green it has become in his wake, teeming with lively nightmares.

“I don’t know,” he says and smiles, “maybe you need to have a bit more faith in this whole thing. It works fine for me.”

He holds up the shingle for Abel’s inspection. It’s unbroken again.

“I think most things here know what they’re meant to be. It’s a dreamworld, after all. Just help them get back to that. That’s all. Do you have a ladder?”

Abel does have a ladder, though it’s a rickety thing when Hob starts ascending it. He’s pretty sure that on his way down it will be much sturdier. It is not hard work to set the roof to rights again, Hob has had much more strenuous jobs over the centuries. Though admittedly he’d never been a roofer before.

“H-hob?”

Abel calls him over where he’s taken off his shirt - it does after all exists under that terrible cloak - because the sun has decided to peek out behind the thin white cloud cover. It fits his mood well; he has a goal now and something like a plan.

“I w-want to t-tell you so-something. I-it’s a se-se-secret.”

“What is it?”

“A d-dreamer who rem-m-members h-himself ca-ca-can ch-change th-their d-d-d-dreams.”

Hob thinks he knows all about lucid dreaming by now and this seems spot on, even if it’s not really a secret. Abel and Cain both aren’t really very inclined to part with useful information, it seems like. It does pose an interesting question though.

“And you and Cain, you aren’t dreamers, are you? But then, how does the upkeep of this world work? Only by the Dreamlord’s will?”

Abel shrugs. “The D-dreaming sh-shapes itself o-o-only for th-those that l-l-love it. B-but a-a-a few ca-can do th-things, w-w-with His b-b-blessing.”

It sounds as mystical as impractical - and this power imbalance surely has its drawbacks, considering the state the Dreaming is in with its Lord’s disappearance.

“Maybe he should consider sharing a bit of his power then,” Hob mutters and slips into his shirt again. It’s time to go on, he thinks. There’s the palace waiting for him and possibly, hopefully, answers to his questions.

“L-lord Mo-mo-morpheus d-doesn’t share. He i-is the D-d-d-dreaming.”

The strange emphasis Abel puts on the last sentence perlocates in Hob’s mind, sleeping and waking, long after.

***

He leaves the Houses of Mysteries and Secrets behind without mentioning the magical Ruby or the Stranger that used to wear it. Neither does he mention anything about his immortality or the growing suspicion that the Dreamlord’s absence and Hob’s presence in the Dreaming are intrinsically connected.

Instead, he finally starts to tell his nightmare companion a bit about his life. He starts, of course, with the greatest reget he holds. It’s a nightmare after all, and probably much more interested in the things Hob has had nightmares about than in the general comings and goings of a human life.

“He could just as well have simply left me hanging to prove a point, you know,” he tells the Otter when the Houses of Mystery and Secrets behind them are swallowed into the last wisps of fog. “I mean I was a bit of a berk, all things considered. Not that I wanted to be, but you know how it goes, don’t you? Wanting something so much that you just… overreach. And by doing so destroy what you try to build.”

The Otter doesn’t answer, of course. But it does clamber up Hob’s truly terribly threadbare cloak and settles again on his shoulders.

“Thanks, my friend. I really appreciate that. I hope one day I can apologise and make it up to him. I mean it’s been a hundred and fifteen years now since that cursed meeting. Who knows what happened to him in the meantime…”

Hob thinks of the invisible weight of the Ruby at his chest and wonders how or why the Stranger had lost it. Because there is no way he had gotten rid of it on purpose. Not with the way it had been the main and centre piece of each of his statement outfits. It was important.

The muddy path underneath his feet stretches into the far distance, where the cloud cover isn’t quite as heavy any more. There is the pink light of a friendly sunset that beckons him on in a perfect reflection of his own tentative hope.

Maybe he’ll meet his Stranger again. Maybe he’ll find answers at the palace. All he needs to do is make his way there. He needs to find Lucienne.

*** *** ***

His dreams were occupying Hob’s quiet hours more and more. Sometimes, after waking, he thought the reflection in his bathroom mirror mocked him - there was red and black in his eyes where there should be the browns he was born with, the shadows he cast looked like writhing masses of nightmares and the deepest waters, his face the same one he had seen when he’d thrown the flower crown into the cursed pond. And then, within the blink of an eye the illusions were gone again.

The Ruby was warm, as always these days, when he took it out of the box. He’d bought a new chain to match its delicate gold casing and wondered if it was normal for a magical jewel to seem proprietary and unwilling to leave its owners hands. All the same, it looked entirely unchanged in all other respects and he knew that if he looked closer, there’d be the same pictures, the same views in its facets as the last time he’d done so.

There hadn’t been any more incidents of surprise souvenirs from his dreams after that first time. Instead, the phantom sensation of wearing the Ruby as a pendant underneath his clothes didn’t stop with his dreams.

But there were two other things that reluctantly joined Hob’s mental list of changes that were most likely connected to the jewel:

Emily had kept up pestering him about eating - it was the thing that had started their friendship two years ago. But by now, Hob was starting to become suspicious of his lack of need for food. Usually, he loved eating. Physical pleasures were part of the experience, after all, and food was one of the many things that changed constantly, to Hob’s neverending delight.

And the newest and most concerning thing: Hob didn’t remember the last time that he had felt truly tired.

The Ruby, even though he was never wearing it, rested like an unseen weight on his chest.

*** *** ***

As if the Houses are a gateway that Hob has passed, beyond them the Dreaming feels like a different world. He finds himself in an endless landscape that looks like it's been well tended and designed but with harrowing signs of neglect everywhere. There are skeletons of trees where a lush forest once grew, dry earth and cracked stone in place of meadows and rivers.

Hob doesn’t see any paths or streets as such, at first glance but he discovers fast that wherever he steps, paths try to form or emerge from the debris.

The Otter on his shoulders grows quiet - Hob hadn’t noticed actively because of course the little nightmare has never made so much as a sound at him; but there had been, for lack of a better description, a sort of humming at the back of Hob’s mind, a susurration of unheard whispers that conveyed laughter and wit, disdain and hope and all things the nightmare wanted Hob to know.

It’s never been as clear to Hob as now when it is entirely absent, how the Otter has indeed talked to him in its own way.

“This is wrong, somehow, isn’t it?” Hob hushes his voice down to fit the horrifyingly despondent mood of his surroundings. He’s equally as horrified if he’s being truthful. This is not how it’s supposed to look, he knows that much without needing it explained.

“Where do I even start setting this to rights again?”

He can’t see what most of the landscape was supposed to look like so he doesn’t know how to start fitting things back into place. There are no structure for him to mend, only barren landscape.

“You don’t, “ says a high-pitched voice at his back.

Hob swivels around and feels his Otter’s needle sharp claws prick through his clothing to keep its place. Behind him are two androgynous figures, holding hands. They look like children at first glance, if children were monocolored including skin and hair.

“You can’t,” says the second one, voice nearly identical with the first.

They sound like children as well.

“And… why can’t I?” Hob gentles his voice even though he knows that these are, of course, not actual children.

They feel like nightmares as much as his Otter does and as Gregory did. Where their hands touch, their skin is the oppressing colour-leached grey of foreboding twilight; otherwise, one is entirely white and the other, entirely black.

The first one, black as a moonless night, shrugs.

“The power here,” they start.

“It’s gone back to the palace,” the other finishes.

“It’s needed there,” the white one whispers.

“Because if that place vanishes…”

They look at each other and Hob can sense their fear. But that means that he can probably help more at the palace or close to it, where there is something left to draw from and form. Here, he only feels the hollow phantom pain of a missing limb when he tries to look and see what the ephemeral path he’s on wants to become.

His own capability of repairing the Dreaming seems to be dependent on the power of the Dreaming itself, at least in parts.

“Then what about the other part of the Dreaming? The ones I came through?” Hob gestures to the far away reaches of the Dreaming, where he woke.

Again they shrug in tandem.

“Oh that’s a bit different…”

“...it’s nightmare country, after all.”

“They’re wild.”

“And know how to take…

“...and take…”

“...what they need…”

“...from the dreamers.”

The Otter shifts on Hob’s shoulder and Hob finally finds that its quiet stream of thoughts and feelings are back. What it projects feels to Hob a lot like dissociation - a loss of identity and directed thought, of watching from the outside, going under and only remembering in short glimpses when breaching through the surface of confusion. It’s helplessness and impotence and a strange kernel of hope when the little nightmare looks at Hob.

“And it takes from the nightmares, too,” Hob realises out loud and for the first time, dares to run a hand over his nightmare’s slippery fur, “you were once… something bigger, weren’t you. The Nightmare of Drowning. Until the sea swallowed you up.”

The Otter presses into Hob’s careful fingers and he understands more. The sadness and rage of being diminished, the knowledge of going back to what it was before its creation, the hope when it found, in Hob’s dreams, persisting memories of itself and then clinging to them.

The twin nightmares share a glance but don’t contradict.

“That’s why the two of you are here. Instead of there.”

“We didn’t want to…”, they begin.

“...disassemble. We like…”

“...how we were made.”

“So we came here,” they finish in tandem.

“We could have left,” white mutters, discomfited and black squeezes their hand. “No. We’re not Arcana. We’re not strong enough to last long.”

“I travel to the palace. Do you want to come with me?” Hob has offered the same to the nightmares of the nightmare country after all.

They share another long glance, a communication that Hob feels but doesn’t yet understand. He thinks he might, one day if he keeps trying. He rubs his chest and thinks of the Ruby in his bedroom.

“For a part of the way,” they finally decide.

“We can’t go everywhere here.”

“Lead the way, dreamer.”

Hob turns, leaving both of them in his shadow and walks for a few short steps before he suddenly stops. He can’t help the delighted laugh. He’s been thoroughly had there.

“I know who you are now,” his grin is so broad that it rings in his voice.” I used to know you well when I was still young.”

“Yes you did,” they giggle.

“C’mon then, you terrible two. Let’s get going.”

He doesn’t need to turn to know they are following. After all, behind him walk the Nightmare of Being Chased Through Empty Streets and the Nightmare of Being Too Slow. Hob grins quietly to himself for the better part of this dream.

***

Sometimes, Hob thinks he hears the churning waves of the sea of nightmares and dreams from the shadows of this scorched landscape. It takes him a while to realise that what he hears is an echo of a place within himself. He doesn’t know how it works but he knows that he’s hollowed out a part of himself to make space for that which is the foundation of the Dreaming.

He’s not sure if he can ever make that undone. And he doesn’t know if he even wants to. He loves the place, after all.

Sometimes, they come acrossother nightmares. All of those who cross their path are small. They might have been bigger once and found sanctuary in this powerless stretch of the Dreaming out of fear of being swallowed back into the sea. He talks to them, the many-eyed and tooth-limbed and creeping-fears, even if they can’t answer back like the twins do. The way he’s learned to listen to his Otter works on them as well. So he listens when they in turn tell of themselves.

They meet only two more of the bigger nightmares; where the rest is, Hob doesn’t want to know. There is the Nightmare of Empty Houses that Should Be Lived In and the Nightmare of Gone Loved Ones - both of them Hob recognizes at first glance - but other than them, it is empty here. He wonders where all the dreams have gone.

“Closer to the palace,” the Nightmare of Gone Loved Ones answers.

“It has been empty here for a long time now,” the Nightmare of Empty Houses adds.

They don’t walk with him far, not like the twins who still follow in his shadow, but they do offer their help if Hob needs them.

***

Hob doesn’t know how many nights and dreams he has spent traversing this part of the Dreaming. He’s never counted any of them and anyway, he can’t decide if he should count nights in the waking spent sleeping or rather the progress of time as it flows in the Dreaming. They are not at all the same, after all.

Rather, he measures his progress by how far he feels he still has to go to reach the palace. And that is, despite all of Hob’s attempts to measure the distance any other way, the only manner to do it: by some vague compass in his chest - if he had to put money on it, he’d probably say that it is the Ruby and its strange connection to the Dreaming that helps him out.

During one visit, he comes across the most wretched sight he’s ever seen. Or not seen as it were. Before him is a stretch of land that simply - isn’t. A place that has once been somewhere, but now exists only in broad strokes of bareness - like an artist colour blocking the barest shapes of a background; the reverse of an actualized idea.

“I can’t go through there.”

The words barely make it past his lips and after they leave them, they seem to vanish in the vague emptiness. His head hurts from looking at the stretch of - of bloodless heart-tissue. His own heart hurts as well.

“You must, if it’s the way,” says black, unimpressed.

“You are the one deciding on the path,” adds white.

“Can’t I go around?”

He knows before he speaks that that’s impossible. He knows the way and to detour from it is not a good idea. There are places here that he might get lost in and never leave again.

A suggestion of darkness and soft fur swims into his mind’s eye.

“Do you think that will work?” he asks the Otter, “Don’t you think that I should see where I’m going?”

The equivalent of a mocking ‘are you an idiot?’ tickles his ears without sound.

Hob sighs. “No, of course I don’t. This is a dream after all. Why would I need my eyes to see, really.”

The Otter stretches, satisfied in Hob’s answer. The twins, though, remain silent.

“We won’t go through here,” black finally says.

“It’s not a place any more.”

“It hurts to go in…”

“What is it then? Or, what was it before it became - this?”

“It was Fiddler’s Green…”

“...the Heart of the Dreaming.”

Hob shudders and averts his eyes from the stretch of horrifying bareness. The place left behind when a dream leaves, when a heart is gone…The Ruby he’s not wearing beats a warm and calming rhythm against Hob’s skin. What does one put in the place left empty by a missing heart, Hob wonders. It’s probably not so surprising that the Dreaming is so receptive to Hob's attempts to help - he’s grown to love the place after all and a thing without its heart… Hob wonders if he’s reading much into it. ‘Heart of the Dreaming’ might be an entirely metaphorical name after all.

The Otter, impatient as his little nightmare is, clearly decides that it has had enough of Hob’s woolgathering and puts its tail firmly across Hob’s eyes. It is unexpectedly soft but doesn’t budge one bit when Hob tries to push it down again. Bossy little bugger his nightmare is. He feels the tickle of laughter at the back of his mind

“Thank you for keeping me company, you two,” he says and gives up trying to dislodge the tail.

“You are welcome.”

“We will wait here and listen…”

“Incase you need us.”

Hob smiles in the nightmares’ direction, or he hopes at least that it’s the right direction, and concludes that he definitely won’t call for them if travelling closer to the palace is something they’re uncomfortable with.

“Take care.”

In his mind’s eye, the Ruby glows. Beneath his feet, a street starts forming in the dark of his imagination. He hopes the Otter can see it too and won’t lead him astray.

*** *** ***

Hob’s shift at the bar is long over, the New Inn empty and dark. He’s moved into the freshly finished upstairs flat only a week ago and already it feels more like a home than the apartment he’s had for nearly five years ever did.

He hasn’t switched on the light after coming in. It’s not really necessary, after all. While the streetlights are more than enough for navigating the space, he feels comfortable in the darkened shadows. He can feel them, like an extension of the Dreaming or doors connecting into it. They are the home of many nightmares. Hob wonders how many of them he’s gotten to know during his travels through the Dreaming.

He perches at the edge of his bed and stares listlessly into the London summer night beyond his window. He’s not tired at all, but strangely hollowed out even here in the world of the waking hours, where he’s nothing more than a human with a magical jewel. The ebb and flow of the sea of nightmares and dreams thrums underneath his breastbones at all times, by now. Something is missing but he doesn’t what it is.

The bed sheets are nicely cool underneath Hob’s bare thighs when he finally decides to settle. He doesn’t really feel like he needs the rest but all the same he’ll dream as soon as he’ll have closed his eyes. There have only been the lucid dreams for him, for weeks now.

Next to him the ruby sits on the bedside table, sparkling invitingly. He’s given up keeping it in the metal box. When Hob closes his hands around it, it beats in time with his pulse. In the mirror on his new wardrobe he thinks for a moment that he can see into the Dreaming, a bird’s view of a ravaged landscape yearning for its Lord.

The ruby screams in his mind and Hob flinches.

And then he realises that whatever it is he is missing - love, life, his heart maybe - it has come alive in the ruby, has fed it and given it power.

*** *** ***

On the other side of the missing Fiddler's Green, the palace suddenly looms closer than ever. There is a cobblestone road stretching from where he stands and into a quaint assemblage of houses and huts. To his right there are steep hills with the obvious ambition of becoming mountains at one point. To his left, there are swaths of burnt and grey meadows and dried out rivers but between them, the remnants of flowers and fields still shimmer like fading dreams.

The sound of a hammer being swung rhythmically onto wood drifts from the village. With the sound comes the smell of tobacco and the low scratch of off-key singing.

Chapter 4. → chapter 6?

There is a man with a pumpkinhead trying to fix a bullock cart. Or maybe it’s a pumpkin that play-pretends to be a man. He - it - he wears a simple white shirt underneath a worker’s overall. There is a cheroot cigar clenched in his gaping black mouth and puffs of its stinking smoke spiral slowly out from beneath the cut out lid of the pumpkin’s stalk. He hums a terrible rendition of ‘In the Army Now’ that has Hob’s toes curl in sympathy with his ears.

“Hi there”, Hob tries.

The Pumpkin man doesn’t react.

“Hello, good sir,” Hob begins again, several decibels louder and takes a step closer.

“Fer fuck’s sake what -” The pumpkin whirls around, angry words dying on his lips when he sees Hob. The hammer falls and narrowly misses the wooden sticks that serve as his legs and feet.

“Who’re you then?” He squints at Hob who holds up his hands placatingly. “And watcha doin here. Huh!?”

He rudely points a wooden finger straight into Hob’s face and leans closer.

“If ye’re an intruder then ye’re shit outta luck, my man. Cause I’m gonna flatten yer ass and feed ya remains to the birds. Ya hear me?”

Hob does hear and that’s the only thing he gets from the pumpkin man except for his general presence as part of the Dreaming; there are no flashes of fears, no general sense of what he wants or feels. This, Hob concludes tentatively, is probably a dream.

“Okay,” Hob says, “then it’s a good thing I’m not an intruder. I‘m here to see Lucienne the Librarian. Do you know her?”

It’s likely, after all, this close to the frankly enormous palace that looms behind the little hamlet.

“Sure do. What’ch want with ’er?”

“I need to ask her something that I’m sure she can help me with. See, I might have come across something that originally belonged to the Dreaming.”

“Something from here? But ye’re a dreamer. Dreamstuff doesn’t live long in the Waking ‘s far as I know.”

Hob shrugs. “So you see that I do need to talk to her, right? I’m Hob Gadling, by the way. Pleasure to meet you. Can you tell me where I can find her?”

The pumpkin-man spits his cigar onto the dry ground and stomps one of his wooden stick feet on it. Hob wonders if he’s ever managed to set himself smouldering on accident.

“I can do ya one better. I’ll bring ya to her. You’ll need a guide into the palace of the dreamlord. Not just anyone can come and go as they please.”

He puffs out his chest.

“Mervyn is the name and I'm the facility manager of this dump.”

He gestures around himself grandly and kicks the offendingly rickety ox cart. One wheel tilts sadly sideways on its frayed hub.

***

Mervyn prattles on and on as they make their way around the outer reaches of the palace. It’s forebodingly large this close to it. The onion domes, turrets and minarets he’d seen from afar tower so high above him that they might as well belong to the clouds. It probably was once a gleaming white jewel but now, there are signs of decay everywhere.

They detour around fallen remains of grand arches, climb over broken pieces of beautifully carved balustrades and take a shortcut through something that might have once been a rose garden.

“We gotta go all th’ way round to the front. Used to be doors here too but they’ve all vanished - poof - a while after Lord Murphy left. There’s only the Bridge now ‘n’ the main gate.”

The bridge is magnificent. Was magnificent and Hob sees only the sad echo of something fantastically great. There are hands holding it up over a ridiculously broad moat but they are crumbling, missing whole fingers that lay broken and shattered in the dried out basin like the remains of some grand beast.

The dereliction makes Hob’s heart ache. He wishes he could make it go back to how it was before but this… he eyes the broken balustrade and the deep drop where part of the bridge has fallen. Beneath his skin, he feels the Ruby like a physical weight.

Could he? If he tried - if he threw everything he has into it - could he repair this?

“There ya are,” Mervyn says and stops them before a pair of grand doors that hang askew on their hinges. “Used ta quibble with tha gate guardians. The pegasus is a right uppity li’l shit if ya ask me. They stopped movin’ though. It’s just Lucienne holdin’ down the fort now.”

There’s sadness behind Mervyn’s gruff words.

“Great woman, tha’ Lady. Must’a been an incredible raven to his Lordship back in the days.”

Hob is too close to his goal now to ask after either the fantastical gatekeepers or how Lucienne was once a raven. The only thing he wants to know is what the Ruby is, and how his stranger is connected to the Dreaming. The palace calls for him, or something in it does. He can feel it better, now that he’s closer but it is the same thing that helped him navigate the dead parts of the Dreaming after leaving Cain and Abel. Or maybe, it calls for the Ruby.

“So we just go in?”

“Nah.” Mervyn cups his hands around his mouth. “LOOSH! LUCIENNE! YA GOT A GUEST!”

He clears his throat while Hob’s ears still ring and adds, a bit awkwardly, “I don’t like entering the palace anymore. Haven’t been in there in forever.”

They wait in silence.

Once, Hob thinks the Pegasus - no matter how uppity it might have been - blinks but he’s not entirely sure. He is sure, though, that the Griffin on the other side of the door has turned his head towards them.

It doesn’t take long until a figure emerges in a brisk pace from the darkness beyond the gate.

Lucienne looks exactly as Hob remembers her from his very first foray into the Dreaming, sharp suit and sharper eyes.

“Mervyn. What are you shouting about?”

***

She notices him right away, of course, before she’s stepped far enough into the entrance hall to be seen. There is a dreamer at Mervyn’s side and he’s very clearly lucid. He is also familiar.

Much more familiar than he has any right to be, even considering that she once found him, aware of himself, on the dock to the dreaming sea. He’d been a strange case back then already. His arrival in the Dreaming proper had been felt by her in a swell of power that swept through her entirely unexpectedly. For a few painfully hopeful moments she had thought that the surge might herald Lord Morpheus’ return. She’d hurried to where it had come from, taking every shortcut the Dreaming could still provide for its last keeper. But even on the way there, she’d felt the quick decline. Still, she continued to hope.

Instead, she’d found a dreamer on the dock. Yes, he’d reeked of remnants of Lord Morpheus’ power but it was fading fast, becoming nothing more than a quiet little hum until it finally vanished from her innate raven sense for Dream of the Endless completely.

It is back now though, steady and strong, like a thread woven through the dreamer’s own soul.

“Ya know the guy, Loosh?”

“We’ve met before,” is all she says to Mervyn, “thank you for bringing him.”

Mervyn squints suspiciously at the dreamer who looks entirely nonplussed - there’s even an amused smile at his lips if she’s reading him right.

“She’s right. And thanks Mervyn.”

“If ya say so Loosh…” He grumbles and turns to the human, “if ya so much as put a toe out of place, I’ll find ya and mince ya.”

He leaves with the threat, throwing occasional glances back at her and the dreamer until he vanishes behind the broken southern hand of the bridge. The dreamer stays, eyes focussed neither on her nor on Mervyn but on the solid statues of the former gate guards. Lucienne remembers the grim loneliness that had settled once the both of them had grown back into stone.

“I think the Griffin turned his head,” the human says and tilts his own.

“That is unlikely. They have not moved for a long time now.” Still, when she turns around and follows his gaze, the Griffin indeed looks different.

His whole head is turned towards the dreamer, inclined as if the lifeless statue had tried for a bow.

Impossible.

She’s unable to keep the hope and fear contained completely and she knows it shows through her next words. They aren’t as unaffected as she wants them to be.

“Usually I wouldn’t have to ask but since these are the most unusual circumstances I am without a choice: What is your name, dreamer?”

He finally ends his appraisal of the Griffin and gives her a most charming grin. There are dimples at his cheeks and his eyes nearly sparkle. He looks … warm, all around.

“I’m Hob Gadling, my Lady. And you are Lucienne, the Palace Librarian.” He says the name like the title it is. “A pleasure to finally meet you properly. I’d apologise for taking so long, but it was a while until I realised that this is where I have to go.”

Not an unknown entity after all, she thinks, slightly validated in finding him familiar.

There has been talk about Hob Gadling the Immortal in the Dreaming, once long ago; the only connection close to something like friendship their Lord has ever had. The emotions his meetings with the human could evoke in Lord Morpheus had been rivalled only by those he expended for his lovers and family.

Hob Gadling, as far as she is aware, is neither.

That setup had lent itself to both positive and negative outcomes. There’d been bouts of furious creativity, begetting dreams of hope and nightmares for healing, there was April weather, capricious and bewildering, and of course the oppressive tension of 1789 where even decades later there had still been gossipy wondering whether that had been budding anger or another tension all together.

The dreary and awful weather that had persisted for a good while after his meeting in 1889 had prompted her to seek out Jessamy in a bid to find out what had gone wrong. Her Lord had been - furious and upset. More upset than furious if she was being honest but she hadn’t gotten a good enough look on him afterwards to ascertain if the tears in his eyes had been of hurt or of anger. With Dream of the Endless, it was often both at once if someone did manage to get close enough to truly hurt him - the kind of privilege rarely afforded to anyone.

When Hob Gadling bows, half in jest and half serious court manners that she knows are the genuine learned thing of a noble, she notices that what she’d thought was an odd patch of uneven sable fur on the strange clothes he wears, can move and nimbly clambers down from his shoulders.

The human doesn't look surprised in the least.

“So you don’t want to come with me?” he crouches down and Lucienne can’t see what it is he does but then he says, “I see. Take care and - thanks for … bringing me here.”

This is a nightmare, Lucienne realises and watches in disbelief as the human continues to hold a conversation with it.

“I’m glad I could help. You don’t owe – okay then. Anyway, you were a great guide.”

The nightmare in the form of an Otter gives her a mocking half-bow and a leer and then slinks into the shadows along the edges of the bridge until it vanishes through a gap between several broken columns. Hob Gadling seems absolutely unfazed and the smile with which he follows the curious form of the nightmare is fond.

“Sorry about that. That was the Nightmare of Drowning. It… found me, I guess you could say, and stuck around.” He grins quickly and Lucienne is sure that he has no idea about the unlikeliness of what he has just said. Nightmares do not ‘stick around’ dreamers like that. Neither do they converse with them or share their names. This one nightmare in particular, if the human has the right of it, she had thought lost or dissolved back into raw dreamstuff decades ago.

It is… heartening, to see that it is not so. There is one more dreamthing left in the Dreaming when she had feared that their number had nearly reached zero.

“I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind? I think I … might have found something that came from here, originally. But I'm not sure. May I - come inside?” He gestures towards the shaded awning, and a bit of tension creeps into his shoulders. There might be something like a frown on his face as well.

“You are welcome,” she decides and hopes that this is not a mistake, “You may follow me.”

He crosses the threshold in front of her and then wavers. It’s a movement small enough that Lucienne nearly wouldn’t have noticed it if there hadn’t been at the same time a flash of red that ran across him and drawn her curiosity. Hob Gadling is half turned towards her and so she sees how he presses a hand against his chest where the light seems to gather for a short moment. The curious hum of Lord Morpheus’ power that seems to hang around him, grows stronger.

Before she can even blink the human straightens and keeps walking.

Lucienne hesitates too long then and before she can decide on a course of action - maybe it would have been better to bar Hob Gadling entrance after all - the man starts walking into the depth of the palace by himself, feet carrying him in a straight line towards the corridor that leads on the shortest route into its heart.

He could not have seen the corridor from where they stand, Lucienne is sure. Silently, she follows him. Maybe she should warn him about staying on the path - the palace isn’t any nicer about lost wanderers notwithstanding Lord Morpheus’ absence, after all.

She does not and stays behind him.

“You have come far since I last met you, Hob Gadling.”

“Just Hob is fine, Lady Lucienne. And yes, it was a long way. I suppose you took a shortcut to the palace?”

“Of course I did.”

She doesn’t offer him the same familiarity of using her given name and has no intention of using his but - Hob Gadling seems like the embodiment of friendliness, despite the strangeness of his presence.

He laughs. It’s a warm sound like the palace hasn’t heard in the longest time. Longer than the century Lord Morpheus was gone. She wants to believe that he is a sympathetic character. They walk in the dim light of the corridors, past junctions and up several stairs, around twisting bends - a spiralling, illogical maze that makes sense to exactly no one but Lord Morpheus and, at best, those that he allows to serve him in the palace.

It should be impossible for a dreamer to navigate it without following a clearly set path.

And yet… Hob Gadling does.

Lucienne takes care to stay just half a step behind him at all times, just to be entirely sure. He never hesitates, he never slows his steps or turns to Lucienne to take point. On the contrary, he seems entirely unaware that she is the one following, instead of him.

“Why did you seek out the heart of Lord Morpheus’ Realm?”

“I thought that title went to Fiddler’s Green?” The question sounds like idle small talk, not something Lucienne likes to indulge in normally, but it has been so long since things have been normal in the Dreaming.

“How do you know of Fiddler’s Green? Has the Drowning told you?”

“The Drow- oh yeah right,” he laughs sheepishly, “I suppose ‘The Nightmare of Drowning’ is a bit of a mouthful. And no, I met other nightmares on the way. A few of them fled to…”

He flounders for words for a moment and doesn’t seem to notice how the crumbling relief on the wall he musingly runs his fingers over while walking is glowing with a red sheen.

Everything about this human is ludicrously impossible.

“...hm that strip of scorched Dreaming that starts after you leave the Houses of Mysteries and Secrets in the direction of the palace? I don’t know what it’s called. It’s not the nightmares’ country any longer, though.”

There is no such thing as a direction in the Dreaming, least of all for dreamers.

The relief he has touched starts reassembling, stone chips and dust gently lifting from the floor he walks on and agglomerating in pristine shapes along the wall.

Absolutely, gallingly impossible.

She swallows a soft inhale and when her eyes start watering, she tries to tell herself that it is just the unexpected dust. This is a sort of power and care that she has last seen employed in the hands of Lord Morpheus.

“The Heart of the Dreaming - It is the title Lord Morpheus bestowed on one of his Arcana - Fiddler's Green, a long time ago,” she finally answers when she finds her voice again. “But this here, the palace, it is where Dream of the Endless resides. Without him, there is no Dreaming. It is all him.”

Hob Gadlings looks contemplative at that, as if the words remind him of something.

“…It empty though,” he finally says, some unnamable thing in his voice. “I know that Lord Morpheus is missing. You told me so already. But still it’s… empty.”

“So he does. I did not expect you to remember. Dreamers rarely do.”

They come to a stand in front of elegant double doors. And Lucienne realises that she hasn’t kept an eye on their path at all for a while now.

Despite this, Hob Gadling has unerringly brought them to the remains of the throne room.

***

There is power in every stone, every filament and tapestry. It suffuses what he breathes as air, and the hollow part in him that has been replaced with the Sea and the Ruby vibrates. It’s a high pitched humming at the back of his mind that nearly makes him want to scratch at the inside of his skull.

It’s hard to keep still, to not try and touch everything. It crackles under his fingertips, the power he associates with the Ruby, like the prelude to a storm. The palace is empty, yes, and it is yearning, screaming, pleading for its missing Lord. And Hob isn’t it; what it wants is not Hob and his power but it’s rightful ruler.

“What would happen if Lord Morpheus never returns?”

He’s curiously pushing at the double doors. They are finely wrought in carvings of illusive fairytale scenes and end in a pointed arch that makes him think of the gothic architecture of the Minster of York.

“The Dreaming would decay entirely. The waking world as you know it would descend into chaos.”

What is left in the absence of a dream; or Dream, in this case. Weren’t dreams and hopes two sides of the same coin?

“That sounds… awful, actually.”

“Very. Yes.” Lucienne steps up beside him. “So far, his absence has caused an ailment called Encephalitis Lethargica in the Waking. We still have dreamers here that have not left the realm in decades, and some who do not even reach us. I dare not imagine what would follow were the Realm to collapse entirely.”

Hob… can, actually. There were friends with him in the trenches that never woke up after falling asleep in 1916. He remembers the confusion and horror vividly. A new weapon of the Germans, they’d feared. More though, never found true rest again. They’d called it shellshock and yes, trauma was surely a large part of it but…The onset of the Sleepy Sickness was followed by the worst stretch of the First World War.

Nausea churns in his stomach. To imagine that the impact has already been felt in the Waking - it’s hard to swallow that a world of dreams might have such an influence on the Waking. What would the world look like if its access to respite and hope was - restricted; or gone entirely. He doesn’t want to remember the Second World War at all. If it got to be even worse…

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, right?” He hopes his grin isn’t as shaky as he feels.

Then, he finally pushed open the doors in front of him.

Lucienne slips past him, when he can’t manage to gather his wits fast enough in the face of what lies beyond. There’s something curious in the press of her lips, something between disapproval and naked hope.

“This is the throne room of Dream of the Endless, Hob Gadling. Will you not come in? You have led us here, after all.”

The room is grand.

Or rather, it was grand but the decay has not left even this innermost room of the palace untouched. The room stretches long before him, debris strewn in columns and shards up to the foot of winding stairs that rise unsupported towards three magnificent stained-glass windows.

The windows are unbroken, filtering colourful beams of ambient light into the cavernous room. It illuminates the remains of enormous arches that reach up high above him like the skeletal ribs of a slain beast. Beyond them, there is no ceiling. Glittering stars and nebulae make Hob feel as if he’s falling into space.

Hob doesn’t have a lot of time to take it all in.

The moment he has crossed into the room, a wave of power expands within him. It’s the nightmare sea’s full weight, it’s the ruby’s unfiltered heat and it drowns out every other sensation with him. He’s vaguely aware that he stumbles and manages to barely catch himself against the wall beside the entrance. His visions swims and he thinks he might lose consciousness if something like this was possible inside a dream

Under the hand he uses to support himself, marble carvings, once finely wrought like thinnest porcelain but now broken and chipped, regains their pristine edges and shapes. He hadn’t even meant to repair this.

He takes a deep breath and then another, trying in vain to pull the power back underneath his skin and into himself. It’s there to stay.

Lucienne, the only orderly thing inside the chaos of the throne room, observes him with sharp eyes.

When he finally manages to right himself and steps between the debris and shards of glass to join Lucienne, dust starts to swirl around his feet and the insistent pull of the ruby’s power has him stumbling like a newborn foal. He’s too small for it, not enough by far.

“Lady Lucienne? I think… I think we really need to talk about what I came here for, now.”

It’s hard to swallow around the words, his teeth and tongue are unwieldy.

“Indeed, we should.” Her voice is quiet and barely makes it above the insistent sound of crashing waves and static humming he hears. There is a careful hand on her shoulder and he finds himself led to the set of impossible stairs where he sits heavily.

“I found something in the Waking,” he forces out and does his best to calm the grip the ruby and the nightmare sea have on him. It’s… exhausting, and his stomach churns uneasily under the greedily pulling sensation.

“A jewel. I think. I think it might have come from here.”

“A jewel you say?”

“A… ruby. Or at least it looks like one. Since I found it, I have started this - this dreaming journey. It has… a strange power to it.”

Lucienne’s face is shuttered and her glasses make it hard for Hob to evaluate her ecpression. She’s taken a step back from him, tense and straight but her words are gentle.

“There are many magical stones and artefacts in the Waking, Hob Gadling. Some of them, in the right hands, might even allow you some measure of control over yourself in this realm. They must not necessarily have come from here, to let you dream lucidly as you do.”

That would explain the very beginning he guesses but nothing of the rest of it all.

“This here is not exactly the same as lucid dreaming, though, is it?” He makes sure that he’s as gentle as she is, that nothing of his fight to stay above the pull of the ruby gets out. “This is not really my dream at all, am I right? This is the place where dreams and nightmares dwell and I don’t think I should be able to perceive it like I do.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Before she unfolds her staunchly crossed arms.

“You are not wrong, Hob Gadling. There is a way to prove it, once and for all. If this jewel is truly of the Dreaming, then you should be able to take it with you when you come here. If it is of the Waking, it cannot cross into your dreams with you and retain its properties.”

“Just like that? I could have proven-”

Hob breaks off. There’s no need to make himself look even more foolish. If he’d just dared to wear the ruby after all…

“Yes. Just like that.” The small crinkle of her nose and eyes is silent laughter. There’s unexpected warmth to it.

Hob grins self-deprecatingly and braces himself for having to wait out his time in the Dreaming. He’ll have to leave the palace before long; he doesn’t think he can sustain himself against the power of the ruby very long any more. He feels as empty as the palace, hollowed out and scraped clean by the tides of the Dreaming Sea and the jewel. There’s not a lot left for him to give without getting something, anything really, in return. Otherwise there’ll be nothing left of him.

He shudders and makes to stand with trembling knees.

“I need to wait until I wake.” It goes without speaking, that in Dreaming time that could take a long long while, still.

There’s something considering in Lucienne’s gaze before she turns and walks towards the part of the wall he’d accidentally repaired when coming in. She runs a hand over the intricately carved wall cornice musingly and looks between him and the broken stairs to the throne.

“Try willing it,” she says quietly.

“What?”

“Try it. Tell yourself that this dream is over and will yourself awake.”

“I don’t think that’ll really work.”

It couldn’t be that easy, could it? He could just -

***

Hob opens his eyes in the dark of his bedroom and rears upright with his heart rabbiting against his ribcage. It did work; and it was truly that easy.

“Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face. He’s not sleepy but wide awake. Like always.

“What the actual -”

It worked. How has that worked? Granted, he’s never before tried to actively make himself wake up - why would he after all - but this was just… this was too easy and too real. The power he’d felt in the palace tingles in his fingertips like static. It’s not gone entirely but for now, in the Waking, it’s manageable.

He disentangles himself from his bedsheets and plants his feet squarely onto the cool floorboards. It doesn’t help much against the feeling of waves crashing against his insides.

The ruby glows where it sits innocuously on his bedside table, hypnotic as always. It resonates somewhere within Hob’s mind and makes his head ring faintly. It stays, no matter how hard Hob rubs his face.

“You’re the real thing then.”

Dread pulls at his stomach. This has terrible implications for his Stranger. If he even is a stranger any longer. Because if this ruby is of the Dreaming - what are the chances that his Stranger isn’t. There are many dreams and nightmares missing, as far as Hob has seen, but there is not a particularly large likelihood that someone who holds a power that belongs to the palace of Dream of the Endless is a mere dreamthing.

It’s… a staggering thought and Hob shies away from it. Waking up on purpose is not enough proof. He needs to bring the ruby back to Lucienne. It’s the only way to be absolutely certain about what he fears.

The gem is warm to the touch and slips around Hob's neck without second thought - as if it belongs there. It’s unexpectedly heavy and the fine gold chain he’d bought seems suddenly insufficient to carry its weight in the long run. The moment the stone settles on his skin the ringing in his head stops. So does the staticky feeling. Instead, it’s just the deeply thrumming growl of waves breaking against waves.

It fills him, every nook and cranny and pore of him until he feels he might burst with the sheer might that suddenly runs through his much too human body.

He’s too small, too tiny in the scope of things to hold this power without it changing him irrevocably.

He doesn’t know what is different this time; it's by far not the first time he touches the stone. But maybe it's not mere physical contact at all, he realises slowly, thoughts nearly sluggish under the weight of the Dreaming Sea and the ruby combined. He is now actively acknowledging its power, after all; for the first time he accepts it in a way he has never dared to before.

He’s always felt it reaching for him, surely. It’s only now that he is reaching back. He’s made space for the ruby and its power after all. It’s time to accept what it gives in return.

Hob only realises that he’s closed his eyes, when he finally deigns to open them again. He’s still sitting on the bed in his flat above the New Inn. It’s still the night hours of a new day. Around him, there is a spread of awareness that reaches out into the world. It starts small but he can feel it expanding with every heartbeat.

His neighbour is still sleeping, as is the old couple one floor up. Their visiting grandson teeters on the edge of waking. Across the street a man is in the last throes of a nightmare, its presence a brush of warm water to Hob’s cold black sea. Fears, old and new, linger in the wake of the shadows.

There is a shimmer to the world, a curtain behind which he glimpses the Waking in strands of truth and story and fears.

He becomes aware, mind reeled back into himself, at the window. London is sleeping and Hob can feel all those dreamers like little pebbles sinking through the Dreaming sea. And beyond the humans, beyond London and England - he snuffs the thought, suddenly nauseous, his unspooled awareness like the sting of a rubber band that has been stretched too far before snapping back.

Is this how his Stranger had felt when he’d worn the ruby? Because this is more than just a paltry bit of magical power. This is responsibility and duty. Hob could decide hold them all, those Dreamers, and guide them … or clench his hand mercilessly and -

This is inconceivable.

He falls heavily into his armchair. The ruby needs to go to Lucienne, as fast as possible. Natural sleep, though, feels a million miles out of his reach at the moment. On the other hand, he did will himself awake once already. Curiously, he prodds the veil that sits ephemeral somewhere at the back of his too small mind.

He might just as well try the reverse of waking up and will himself to sleep. Slowly he leans back and gets comfortable in the armchair.

“Sleep, Hobsie,” he mutters as he reaches into the power of the stone and pulls at the veil.

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes before he appears in the throne room between one heartbeat and the next, the ruby hanging heavily around his neck.

Beyond the palace, there's the raging sound of heavy rain and booming thunder.

***

Interlude

Dream cannot stop the shudder that runs through his crafted, cold body when it happens. He carefully unfolds his limbs until he is upright again and sitting in his temporary prison.

Where the warm flow of stories had settled underneath his skin, there is now the gentle hum of power. He cannot reach for it, not through the bindings of the circle but it is there nonetheless - the ebb and flow of his might and his realm as he hasn’t felt it in longer than a century.

It is the culmination of a development the true reason of which he can only speculate on. The warmth that had burrowed unbiddenly underneath Dream’s skin has persisted. No, not persisted. It has grown - steadily and unnoticeably at first until it flowed nearly like mortal blood though every part of him.

But it’s not only power and warmth he feels.

He has bent his whole focus on it, dissected its flow, its cause, its effect. What he has found is gentle care shown to the Dreaming that has grown into something more. So much more that it changes him even in his prison. He is the Dreaming, even here, even cut off from it.

There is endurance in his limbs where there was the strength of rage before. The colour of faith is a new blush on his cheeks and lips, a trickle of spring that contrasts the winter of his cell. He has - grown used to it, over the months. Cherished it. Awaited each increase.

This, now, is more than that. It is a surge, a rising wave that blazes through him without an inkling of remorse. He tilts his head up and smiles at the painted ceiling. A large part of his power has just been fully returned the Dreaming.

Someone has brought his ruby back and restored it to its primary purpose.

He wonders how long it will be until he finds an opportunity to leave. He wants to see for himself who serves him undaunted and bold like this.

***

It’s worse than wearing it in the Waking.

Much much worse.

The jewel is heavy, chain cutting deeply into his neck. It's bright, nearly too bright to look into and it hums with the voices of millions, billions of Dreamers all vying for Hob’s attention at once simply for being there. When Hob closes his eyes, he’s swimming in a dark, endless sea, lost in between all the beings that make up this realm.

Quickly he slams his eyes back open, panting as if he’d really been caught in the deep sea. For the longest moment he can’t differentiate between the thunder crashing around the palace and the booming waves of power pounding inside him.

There‘s too much in his head. His skin is wrong, his body is wrong.

In the many facets of the ruby, he can see his own face - thinner than he's used to, black-bleeding eyes staring back at him. There’s no trace of the brown he’s used to, only the same black he knows from the eyes of the nightmare of Drowning.

“I knew it,” he pants, out of breath simply from trying to hold on to his sense of self, “I knew it was from here.”

The grin he shoots at Lucienne is probably more a grimace.

She doesn’t return it anyway. She has a hand in front of her mouth and there are unmistakably tears running down her cheeks even if she’s quick in wiping away the evidence. She’s not looking at Hob at all, though. She’s entirely fixated on the ruby that lays heavily on his chest.

“Yes,” she breathes, voice thick, “this is a thing of the Dreaming. It is Lord Morpheus’ Dreamstone.”

She brushes new tears away before they fall. “He would never be parted from it of his own will. It is an extension of his power, a sign of his sovereignty.”

“Lord Morpheus’... Dreamstone.”

He’d known it, hadn’t he? At one point, he thinks, he must have realised the possibility that his Stranger and the missing Lord of the Dreaming were one and the same, right? He’d simply - decided to ignore it.

“Do you want to know why I kept it at all after I came across it? It wasn’t for any kind of power I felt from it. To be honest, I didn’t feel shit at first.”

Hob hears himself laugh but it’s an ugly, self-deprecating sound.

“I kept it because it reminded me of my Stranger. The one I met up with over the many centuries of life he gifted me with. One century, one meeting. I kept it because it reminded me of the stupidly large gemstone he would wear each century. Except he didn’t show up last time, did he? And I… missed him; miss him now even, more than a decade later.”

His eyes are hot and he doesnt think he could stop the tears if he tried. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling so betrayed by this. He’d come here purely because he wanted to know about a magical stone. He was an idiot. An utter and complete fool.

“You’re telling me- What you’re telling me is, that the man - being - who I owe my immortality to, who is most likely missing in action, is your Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.”

A foolish human meddling with forces beyond his imagination. Why is he so angry that this is the way he learns about his Stranger? It’s not as if it makes a lick of difference. Hob still misses him, still wishes he could have had a chance or a way to show him that he’s come to care for him.

“Yes, of course that is him.”

“What do you mean, of c- “ He breaks off at the curious expression she looks at him with. It’s nearly apprehension. It dawns on him at once “… You knew. You knew who I was the moment I said my name, am I right?”

“I did. There has been a lot of talk in the palace about you over the centuries, Hob Gadling.”

The storm outside howls against the stained glass windows and Lucienne frowns uneasily.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” But why should she have? Hob himself had given no inkling of recognizing her Lord’s name or station after all. He’d given her no reason - he’d only asked for advice.

“I… apologise,” she says, “I should not have held back the information.”

Again she throws a tense glance at the windows. She says more but Hob can't hear her over the howling inside his dreaming body and the winds battering the palace noisily. He’s angry - at himself mostly or at fate maybe. Why hadn’t he wanted to wear the ruby? If he had, would he have found out earlier? He hurts, everything hurts and bends and stretches in ways that are impossible even in his worst nightmares.

His Stranger hasn’t come to their meeting, Dream of the Endless doesn’t freely part with his Dreamstone, has been missing since 1916 if Lucienne is to be believed - something horrible must have happened. And Hob has squandered precious years by dithering, pitying himself, by being to much of a coward to-

He grips his arms with nails that are much too long to belong to him. They shimmer, black and shiny and sharp. He feels thin and hollow and angry. Something in him hungers. He hasn’t felt hunger in so long.

“Sir! Hob Gadling! Hob!” Lucienne’s hand on his too pale arm rips him out of his spiral.

“L-Lucienne. What is-”

“I apologise,” she says again, more softly this time and despite the howling in Hob’s ears he hears her easily, her touch on his skin a steady grounding point. “I should have been frank with you from the moment I recognized who you are.”

“It’s- it’s fine. I’m mostly angry at myself,” he grits out and then closes his mouth again. There is something wrong with his teeth.

“What is happening to me?”

“I do not know, Sir,” Lucienne's voice startles him despite having expected it. She’s much too close now, nearly hovering. “But whatever it is that the Dreaming is doing to you, it is trying to help you fulfil the purpose you set for yourself. It… is partial to you. Very much so, I fear.”

“It’s the ruby, though. Not the - not the Dreaming.”

“There’s no difference. None that matters at least,” she says, “The Dreamstones are as much a part of the Dreaming as they are a part of Lord Morpheus. Here, in his Realm, it is the Dreaming’s tool. Just as it is Lord Morpheus’ when he wields it.”

Hob's smile is a shaky thing as a long overdue realisation slowly takes shape.

“The purpose I set myself, huh… What I wanted…”

What had he wanted, at first? He’d wanted to see his stranger again when he first found the ruby, wanted to find him and apologise. Then, when he began his journey in the Dreaming, he'd been curious, and enchanted.

But after that, he'd just wanted to help - help those sadly decaying things of beauty he’d come across - full of teeming possibilities but slowly falling prey to hopeless dereliction - help that fantastical landscape who’s scorched bones screamed for something that had been ripped away.

And he’d wished to help that depthless sea that had hummed and whispered underneath his skin and in the shadows of the world he had so easily come to love the longer he had walked in it…

“I wanted to help this place,” he whispers, “because I've… grown to love it.”

The Dreaming and Dream of the Endless are the same, he remembers. He doesn’t think it makes any difference at all to disentangle which one he’s fallen in love with.

It’s okay, though, he thinks as he considers his nails and feels his teeth. He’d given freely of himself and he doesn’t begrudge the Dreaming for trying to give something back. It’s only fair. He’s not going to eschew the gift it offers in reciprocity.

#hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #centennialhusbandsbigbang #centennial husbands big bang #ginoeh writes #lucienne the librarian

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marblemoovt · 2 years

Text

Recipe For A Good Time - Jeff The Killer/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: None, just good ol’ fluff.

Summary:

You own a bakery and Jeff decides to tag along one day to learn how to bake a cake.

Aka: a JTK fanfic that's actually fluffy and wholesome??

------

“Don’t forget that promise you made,” Jeff says.

You open your closet and pick an outfit for the day. Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “What promise?”

Jeff chuckles. “Are you kidding me? You forgot already?” He’s out of bed now and comes up behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel his chest against your head.

You look up and smile sweetly. “I didn’t forget. You’re just terrible at reminding me.” He leans down, his hair tickling your face.

Jeff hums. “Oh sure, blame it on me.” He plants a kiss on your forehead. “You promised to teach me how to bake a cake today.” You soak in the affection, your brain still processing his words. Wait…. You did what??

Note:

A majority of the creepypasta reader inserts I see don't involve healthy relationships or there's always the risk of death. If you've read any of my works, which I highly recommend if you haven't, you'll notice that I am partial to fluff. So since I couldn't find what I wanted to read, I wrote it instead. I hope anyone else that's looking for some nice fluff with Jeff appreciates this. I honestly didn't expect the word count to go this high. The story just kinda ran on its own. But hey, more fluff for you guys.

I also recently learned that Jeffrey Woods is actually a fanfic based on Jeffrey Hodek (insert the more you know meme). The Jeff in this fic is the Hodek one, but it doesn't impact the plot too much. I spent a while in the deviant art rabbit hole trying to learn as much as I could about Jeffrey Hodek (who belongs to sesseur), but I'm honestly clueless how to capture his behaviour. I do prefer the Hodek version if anyone was curious. Mainly because that Jeff has a lot more depth to him and his overall story feels more believable.

Happy reading! (＾Ｕ＾)ノ

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Thump.

Thud.

Thunk.

You shift in your sleep and roll onto your back, bringing the blankets closer when there’s a sudden draft in the room. Footsteps slowly rouse you awake. When you crack open an eye, a heavy weight pins you to your bed. You grunt and try to sit up, but it’s no use. You’re fully awake now, but the darkness in your bedroom robs you of your sight. The metallic scent of blood fills your nostrils, and you groan when you barely make out the eyes staring back at you.

“I could slit your throat, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.” Jeff’s accent greets your ears. You do not have time for his bullshit right now.

“I told you to stop climbing through my window in the middle of the night,” you chastise. Fumbling around, you reach the switch at your bedside and turn on a lamp.

“Hey, beautiful.” Jeff’s straddling your hips, and he’s heavy. Your sleep paralysis demons have nothing on this man. You rub your eyes to adjust them to the light, and you can clearly see the shit-eating grin on his face. A pang of annoyance twinges in your chest.

“Fuck off.” You roll your hips to buck him off, but he grabs your waist and clicks his tongue.

“How about I fuck you instead?” He wraps a hand around your throat, and his nails press against your skin. There isn’t any pressure, but his hold keeps you in place. Jeff doesn’t usually throw himself at you unless he’s come back from a kill.

“You’re high on adrenaline, aren’t you?” Your nose scrunches in distaste at the state of his clothes; they’re definitely going in the wash first thing in the morning. “I have work in a couple of hours.” Owning a bakery means waking up at ungodly hours because you have to wake up before the early risers.

Jeff smirks and squeezes your throat gently. “All I’m hearing is that we have enough time for multiple rounds.” You stare at him. It’s three in the morning, and you need to be up at six to get ready for work. There’s no way you’re going to let Jeff’s horny ass interrupt your sleep.

You firmly grab his wrist. “No, Jeff. Now go shower; you stink.” He releases your neck and pouts. It doesn’t have the desired effect since it still looks like he’s smiling.

“What? You don’t like the smell of blood?” He tugs on his sweater and admires the red stains.

You groan and try to shove him off, but he doesn’t even budge. “I don’t like cleaning it off my sheets either. Shower or leave. Your choice,” you say, giving him an ultimatum. You’re hoping that this will force him off of you. Otherwise, you’ll be sorely tempted to punch that smirk off his face.

Jeff hums and strokes his chin. “You drive a hard bargain, doll. What if I say no?”

You shrug your shoulders. “My house, my rules.”

Jeff puts a hand over his heart. Once again, the downturn of his lips does nothing for you. “Don’t I live here too?” he asks. You scoff, getting cranky from being kept awake.

“Excuse me? Do you contribute to rent? What about the bills?” You place your hands on your hips and frown.

Jeff puts his hands up in surrender and crawls off of you. “Geez, mom. I’m going, I’m going.” You continue to glare at him the entire time he walks to the bathroom, which is located on the other side of your bedroom. You glance at the clock, which you know you shouldn’t do, and curse when you see it’s almost four in the morning. You pull the blanket over your head and shut your eyes. You try to make the most of the two hours you have left.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

“Babe.” Poke. “Baaaaabee.” A harsher poke this time. You grunt and peek out of the blankets to see Jeff lying next to you on his side, his hand propping up his head. He waves lazily at you.

“You are an absolute menace.” You blink to clear your bleary vision. The sunlight streaming through the curtains is not helping.

Jeff looks amused. “That’s the thanks I get for making sure you don’t sleep in?”

You bolt upright and glance at your alarm clock. 6:15. Shit. “Thanks,” you say, genuinely meaning it. You ruffle Jeff’s hair and add, “you're still a menace.” He rolls his eyes, but the pleased smile on his face is hard to miss. You lean over to kiss his cheek before getting out of bed.

“Don’t forget that promise you made,” Jeff says.

You open your closet and pick an outfit for the day. Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “What promise?”

Jeff chuckles. “Are you kidding me? You forgot already?” He’s out of bed now and comes up behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel his chest against your head.

You look up and smile sweetly. “I didn’t forget. You’re just terrible at reminding me.” He leans down, his hair tickling your face.

“I did? How did you get me to agree to that?” Your tone is full of disbelief. You love Jeff, but he can be a hot mess in the kitchen. You’re assuming that this will translate to baking.

Jeff laughs again, and you feel the rumble from his chest. His arms pull you closer to his body. “Ouch, sweetheart. I ain’t exactly a Michelin star chef, but how hard can a cake be? It’s cake.” You don’t think Jeff realizes how much precision baking requires. You think you’ll have to clean up the mess when he learns the hard way.

“I don’t know. You always find a way to surprise me,” you remark on his uncanny ability to cause trouble.

Jeff shrugs and grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me get ready, and then we can head out.” You turn around and kiss him. Pulling away, you begin stripping and changing into the clothes you picked. Jeff is already dressed, and you suddenly remember that you need to do the laundry before you leave. You head into the bathroom and grab the hamper of dirty clothes.

Jeff follows you and asks, “Can I drive?” You open the washing machine and toss all the clothes inside. Neither you nor Jeff wear much white, so you don’t bother separating your laundry by colour.

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth, remembering what happened the last time you let him drive. Some guy didn’t signal properly and cut him off. The road rage that the incident induced was… interesting. You had to convince Jeff not to do anything rash, refusing to take over the wheel when he wanted to get close to the other car so he could jump over. “...I’ll think about it,” you finally say. Grabbing a Tyde pod, you toss it in with the clothes and shut the door. With one push of a button, the wash cycle starts, and you need to get your ass in the car now if you don’t want to be late. Being your own boss has its perks, but most of your regulars show up around opening, so being late is not an option.

Jeff increases his strides to keep up with your pace. “I promise I won’t get into an accident again! It’s not my fault someone decided to give licences to idiots.” You give him the side-eye, and he shrugs with both hands up.

“Mhmm. Explains why they gave you one, then.” You elbow his side, and he recoils. He holds your hand after you lock the front door.

“I’ll have you know I’m far better than those bozos. I actually have more than one brain cell,” Jeff states.

“Heh. Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby.” You unlock the car and flush when Jeff leans in to whisper into your ear.

“Nah, just need you.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The car ride is short. You actually end up letting Jeff drive, and miraculously, no accidents occur. Of course, it was helpful that there were barely any other drivers. Waking up at six means beating traffic and rush hour.

Jeff pulls over and parks in the small parking lot beside the cafe. He’s wearing his usual pair of sunglasses and a face mask.

“See? No accidents.” You can't see his face, but you can hear the pride in his voice.

“Good job, baby,” you compliment him. The tips of his ears and his neck are noticeably red. Jeff doesn’t respond and instead gets out of the car. You follow after him, silently laughing at how stiff his walk is.

You enter the cafe through the back door, which leads directly to the kitchen. There’s a faint smell of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. It’s Fall, and that means pies and pumpkins are very popular right now. Luckily, pies are easy to prepare the day before.

Jeff sticks out in the kitchen like a sore thumb. You’re tempted to take a picture. It’s like someone’s poorly photoshopped him into a stock image. You take off and hang your jacket on the coat rack, rolling up your shirt sleeves. Washing your hands, you tell Jeff to do the same. “Oh, and you can take your glasses and mask off,” you add. He hesitates at that. “Only if you’re comfortable. I do enjoy seeing your handsome face.”

“Shut up,” Jeff grumbles. His appearance has always been a sore spot. There are good days and bad days. Some days Jeff will cover himself up and not leave a single inch of skin exposed. Today seems to be a bad day. You hope to change that.

“Maybe at least your sunglasses so you can see clearly?” You reach out to him. He flinches, which causes you to freeze. You bring your arm back and cradle it to your chest. Clearing your throat, you continue the conversation. “I need to prepare some things for opening. Do you want to help?” You turn around and grab an apron each for the two of you.

“Sure,” Jeff responds. He’s closed himself up behind his walls again, and you have no idea how to get through them. Biting your lip, you hand him the apron, your hand lingering in the air for a while before he snatches it from you.

“I have some frozen cookie dough you can put in the oven. I need to put together the pies and bake those too.” You spin around the kitchen. There’s a nagging feeling that you should be doing something right now. You gasp, “Oh! I can’t forget about the macarons in the fridge!” You spin again and see pie shells littering one of the counters. You spend the next ten minutes frantically travelling back and forth between the kitchen and storefront with cases of macarons.

Jeff finds your stash of cookie dough and looks for a baking tray next. There’s a whole rack of trays next to the oven, along with a box of parchment paper. Grabbing a sheet, he lines a tray and evenly spaces out the unbaked cookies. “Is it always this hectic?” he asks, watching you fuss and complain about how ‘there’s so much to do!’ It reminds him of his mother whenever they had guests visiting.

“Not normally.” You reach over Jeff’s shoulder and preheat the oven. “Those bake for 15 minutes, by the way. Anyway, where was I?” You scan the kitchen, and there’s still the nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something important.

“You were going to teach me how to bake a cake?” Jeff suggests, to which you shake your head. The cookies are in the oven, and the macarons are on display. What did you forget this time?

“I will, but not now. What else am I forgetting?” You notice the minefield of pie shells on the counter, and none of them are filled. “How strong are your arms?” You eye his arms, and though he may not be ripped, you know that Jeff works out.

Jeff examines his arms and shrugs. “I would say they’re pretty strong. Why?”

“I need you to mix enough filling to make 20 pies,” you say. Jeff stands there, stunned for a few seconds before he realizes you’re dead serious.

“What kinda army are you feeding??”

You shrug and casually answer with, “Capitalist slaves.”

Jeff’s eyes are still hidden behind his sunglasses, but you can still feel the disappointment in his stare. “I’m gonna ignore whatever joke you were trying to make. What am I mixing?”

“Apple, mixed berry, and pumpkin!” you list off, counting with your fingers. Your lips quirk into a sly grin. “It’s the season where people treat pumpkin spice like it’s crack, and we’re taking advantage of that.” It’s an unspoken rule that people go crazy over pumpkin spice during Fall. Your latte and pie sales always go through the roof during this season.

“Exploiting addicts? That’s a sleazy move, doll.” There’s a lilt to Jeff’s voice. The grin in his tone makes you feel all fuzzy inside. “I like it.”

“I knew you would approve. I’ve set up all the ingredients; you just have to mix them together.” You walk him to another counter with three gigantic bowls and their respective recipe ingredients. Everything is already measured and weighed. Jeff only has to follow the recipe and mix the right ingredients together. If he can meticulously plan a murder, then surely he can do this. A recipe is basically just a set of instructions. Except, instead of a corpse, you end up with something delicious! Although, you suppose murder can still be delicious if you’re a cannibal….

Jeff stares at the ridiculous amount of apples, berries, and canned pumpkins. He whistles lowly and looks at you. “Shit. You weren’t kidding about 20 pies.” The mountain on the counter has become a regular sight for you. To put it into perspective, an average apple pie uses about five apples. Multiply that by six, and you have a lot of apples (you didn’t feel the need to use actual math, so ‘a lot’ is the correct answer).

You tilt your head to the side. “Why would I joke about that?” You like to mess with him, but your paycheck is riding on these pies.

Jeff shrugs. “I dunno. To fuck with me?”

You shake your head. “Nah. 20 Is the bare minimum right now.” You have flashbacks of customers getting angry at you for running out of pies. Especially those who come near closing. You’re not some magician who conjures a pie whenever someone wants to buy one. There’s a limited amount for each item you can bake in a day. Honestly, food service sucks because customers can be such idiots sometimes. The second perk of being your own boss: you get to kick people out whenever you feel like it.

Jeff’s question pulls you out of your thoughts. “How much do you normally make?”

You drum your fingers on your thighs and blow a raspberry. “At least twice as much, sometimes more.” You give him a rough estimate, but once again, he looks like he’s waiting for the punchline of a joke. “People really like pies,” you say with a shrug.

Jeff picks up a bowl of flour and inspects it closely. “You’re not secretly slipping in cocaine or something, are you?” As if this city isn’t crazy enough. You’re pretty sure that if you laced your products with drugs, some riot would happen. OR , you would create a world-class drug cartel that uses cafes as a front. You think you could pull off a suit and—oh right, Jeff just questioned your baking skills. Offended. You were feeling offended.

Pushing aside any schemes to raise a drug empire, you scoff and cross your arms. “Rude. Is it so far-fetched that my baking is amazing?”

Jeff sets down the flour and leans against the counter. You can feel his gaze wash over you like he’s trying to figure you out. “I don’t know, sweet cheeks. I guess I’ll find out today.” Despite dating for a year, Jeff hasn’t tried any of your baking. He says it’s because he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, and you would never push him to try. Anytime he takes baked goods home, it’s for his niece and nephews.

You grimace at the pet name. “I told you to stop calling me that,” you say, and Jeff snickers. He thinks it’s funny because you’re a baker. And while you have to agree with some of his points—you do have a nice ass, thank you very much—the amount of embarrassment it causes is lethal.

“I think it’s fitting.” He appreciatively pats your bottom. You swat his hand away and ignore the heat in your chest that spreads up your neck and face like wildfire.

“Then you need an equally fitting nickname,” you say. Maybe if you come up with something so embarrassing, he’ll have no choice but to stop calling you that horrid name.

Jeff crosses his arms and nods. “Alright. Hit me.”

You stare at him, cycling through the various names in your head. You finally settle on one. “How about hot stuff?” (And no, you’re not making fun of him for that one time he accidentally spilled acid on himself.)

Jeff shakes his head and shuffles his feet. “You can forget about it.” Once again, the tips of his ears glow red. It’s a shame you can’t see the rest of his face.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” you say. “Would you prefer if I called you Ghostface?”

Jeff clicks his tongue. “Wrong killer, doll.”

“It was just an example,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. Maybe pleading would work? Yeah! All you have to do is bat your eyelashes at Jeff, and he’ll become putty in your hands. You walk up to him and pout, giving him puppy eyes. Jeff groans and looks up at the ceiling. You hear him mumbling to himself but can’t make out what he’s saying.

Jeff lets out a sigh. “Fine.” His shoulders slump. The counter is supporting a majority of his weight now.

An amused smirk flashes across your face. “Really? You caved in that easily?” You honestly thought he would put up more of a fight. Jeff can be really stubborn at times. A part of you was actually hoping for a challenge.

“Just don’t use it in public. If Liu finds out, I’m never gonna hear the end of it.” You deduce from the groan Jeff lets out that he’s already thinking about the consequences.

You rub his back in a comforting gesture. “If you can handle a few bullets, then a little embarrassment won’t kill you.” You probably should feel bad, but it’s not often that Jeff will let you get away with teasing him.

Jeff chortles. “I think you’re underestimating emotional damage.” And damn, do you try hard not to think about a meme you saw on the internet. You plant a kiss on his jawline and tell him to call for you if he needs anything. As you start to turn, Jeff stops you. “Hey, could you take off my sunglasses for me? I can’t read the recipes with them on.” Before you can ask him why he can’t do it himself, you see that his hands are a mess of sugar, berries, and cornstarch. You’re beginning to think that maybe you expected too much from Jeff because the whisk is sitting on the counter, untouched and clearly visible.

“I told you that you wouldn’t be able to see a thing,” you scold, but it’s lighthearted, and you know he’s rolling his eyes while trying to hold back a smile. You reach up and gently slide the sunglasses off his face, careful to not poke him in the eye with the temples (who decided to name the little arm thingies ‘temples’ anyway?)

His green eyes are striking, and you can’t tear your gaze away. You always did like how pretty they are. You don’t realize you’re staring until Jeff decides to break the silence.

“Hey,” he whispers. His voice is huskier, and you wet your dry lips with your tongue.

“Hi,” you respond in an equally hushed tone. You continue staring, burning the image into your memory. Jeff’s eyes flicker to your parted lips, and a magnetic pull draws you closer to him. Your hand is still firmly gripping his sunglasses while the other has wandered up to his face. You trace where the edges of his mouth are beneath the fabric. You hear his breathing deepen. Deciding to tease him some more, you plant a kiss on his mask.

“Don’t,” Jeff pleads. He sounds so vulnerable that it throws you off for a second. His arms are wrapped around your waist. He’s looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars in the sky. You can feel the love and adoration he holds for you, and you also know how hesitant he is to show it. While Jeff doesn’t believe that emotions make a person weak, you know that he struggles to communicate his feelings and how to cope with certain ones.

You stroke his cheek, and the mask is smooth under your thumb. “Don’t what?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t make me regret keeping this stupid mask on,” Jeff replies. His eyes are begging you now, and it takes you everything not to pull his mask down and shower him with kisses. His hands are rubbing circles into your waist, and now it’s really hard not to kiss him silly.

You brush some of his hair out of his eyes and grin. “Sounds like you’re already regretting it if you’re calling it stupid,” you point out.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeff’s question is abrupt but straight to the point.

Your fingers toy with the ear loops of his mask. “I was going to if you weren’t.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs. Jeff tugs his mask down and kisses you with fervour. You manage to set his sunglasses on the counter, and your hands instinctively thread his hair. He groans, and you take the opportunity to slip in your tongue, which he enthusiastically greets with his own. It’s all so warm, and the little noises Jeff makes are so pretty, and the way he protests when you tell him that…. It makes you want to spoil him rotten . It’s no surprise that years of little contact with other people has left Jeff with some ‘side-effects’. You know he doesn’t want to label himself as ‘touch-starved,’ so he tries to cover it up with other terms to lighten the implications. But the signs are unmistakable.

Whenever you’re sitting on the couch, Jeff will sit next to you, only to end up with his head in your lap and your fingers massaging his scalp. Every night you find yourself in his embrace, pressed flush against his chest. Sometimes he’ll cling to you in the kitchen while you cook dinner. It was difficult at first to navigate while Jeff clings to you like a baby koala, but now it’s become second nature.

You leave a trail of kisses down his throat, stopping to suck on his pulse point. As you’re making your way toward his shoulder, the oven timer goes off. The sound jumpscares both of you, and you accidentally bite down. Jeff hisses, and you pull away to apologize profusely. Jeff’s arms keep you from moving too far back. You take a moment to admire your handiwork. His lips are swollen, and you’re sure yours are too. His entire body looks flushed, and you can still hear him panting. You smile as you trace the hickey that’s starting to form on his neck. Then you see the bite mark. Oh god . Right between his shoulder and neck are a shallow imprint of your teeth. And honestly? It’s kinda hot.

Jeff clears his throat. “I, uh, better start mixing.” His fingers run over where you tried to take a bite out of him moments ago.

You glance at the clock on the wall and notice that the cafe is supposed to open in ten minutes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll… I’ll bring everything else to the front.” Your head is still feeling a little fuzzy.

“I need you to let go of me if I wanna use my arms.” Jeff’s voice brings some clarity to your mind, and you notice that your hands are still gripping his arms. His very muscular arms. You give them a squeeze, and Jeff coughs to catch your attention.

“Sorry!” You bring your arms to your side and drum your fingers against your thigh again to keep them occupied.” Let me know when the fillings are done, and we can start baking the pies. And please use the whisk this time.”

“You got it, boss.” Jeff salutes with two fingers and presses a kiss to the side of your head before you leave. You remove the cookies from the oven and bring them to the front to cool before you put them on display. Your reflection in the glass display case is a mess, which means you look like a mess right now. You try to smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and tidy your mussed hair.

A loud clatter resonates from the kitchen. It sounds like someone smashed a giant gong.

“Don’t worry about that!” You have to stifle your laughter at the slight panic in Jeff’s voice.

He’s a bigger mess than you are.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The day continues like usual. Your regular customers show up on their way to work and often leave with a drink and a pastry. Jeff managed to mix all the pie fillings in twenty minutes, so now all the pies are sitting on display. They’re selling out like you expected, which is why you set some aside for Jeff. You saw him eying the pies while they were baking, but he declined when you offered him a slice. Declining food when offered the first time seems to be some unspoken rule most humans follow. So now there’s a pie slice of each flavour in a container that you put in the fridge. Jeff stays in the back, mostly because he doesn’t feel like being subjected to the stares he knows he’ll get. You did tell him that you would kick out anyone that looks at him funny, but he only thanked you and said that would be unnecessary.

It’s about time for lunch, and you just finished convincing an elderly woman that you cannot sell her all the pies you currently have because there are other people wanting pies. She argues that it shouldn’t be a problem if she has the money to pay for it all. You manage to compromise on a third of your pies. But still, what does one do with seven pies?? It’s honestly hilarious watching this old woman shimmy out of your cafe with a stack of pies that tower over her. Hopefully, she doesn’t drop any of them on the way to her car. You flip the little sign on the door to ‘closed’ and untie your apron.

“Jeeeeeeeeeeffffff. I have time to teach you how to bake a cake now,” you call out, making your way to the kitchen. You don’t get a response. “Jeff? Helloooo?” You hang your apron by the door and step inside. “You didn’t die while messing around in my kitchen, did you? Cause that would be a really sad way to die, considering how hard it is to kill you.” The fridge starts beeping, and you notice one of its doors is ajar.

“Shit. Would you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to be sneaky here,” Jeff hisses. He’s not talking to you. He’s scolding the fridge.

“And just what are you doing?” You walk up to him and peer behind the door to see what he’s up to.

The fridge slams shut before you can see much. “Just, uh, enjoying the scenery,” Jeff says. If the context wasn’t so ridiculous, you would believe the nonchalance in his tone.

“Of my fridge?” You give him a skeptical look.

Jeff nods solemnly and pats your fridge. “It’s a really nice fridge.” And it is. You managed to snag it while it was on sale. But that’s not important right now. What’s important is the open container you saw inside the fridge.

“You’re not eating the pies you said you didn’t want?” You narrow your eyes, and Jeff shifts around on the spot.

He looks away from you. “Why would I eat something I didn’t want?”

The evidence outweighs his logic. “I don’t know. Why is there whipped cream around your mouth?” You point out the remains of pie on his face. There’s also a fork haphazardly sticking out of his pocket, but you’ll let him have at least a little bit of dignity.

Jeff shrugs. “So I had some whipped cream, big deal.”

“And the pies underneath the whipped cream from the looks of it.” You go to open the fridge, but Jeff leans heavily against the door.

“It’s not my fault that they’re so addicting. You must be slipping something into your pies!”

You stare at him, unblinking. “Yes. I thought we established that it was talent and skill. Do you want to learn how to bake a cake or not?”

Jeff straightens his posture. “I do.”

“Then say I’m the best baker ever, and you love my pies,” you demand with a smirk.

“What? Why?!” Jeff’s face scrunches up, and you school your expression,

“Humour me,” you say.

Jeff’s eyebrows raise, then furrow, followed by a devious grin. “I’m the best baker ever, and you love my pies.”

You shove him playfully and roll your eyes. “Smartass,”

“I’m kidding. Your baking is witchcraft, and your pies are delicious.” He pulls you into his arms and kisses the crown of your head.

“Close enough.” You look at him and silently beg for more kisses. Jeff’s expression softens, and he places another kiss on your forehead. Fuck does this man make you soft. “Did you have any specific type of cake in mind?” you ask, playing with the collar of his shirt.

Jeff ponders. The vibrations from his humming tickle your skin. He replies with, “Something chocolate, and maybe with fruits?” You nod your head. A classic combination.

“Have you ever had a black forest cake?” you ask, not seeing any recognition in his eyes.

“What kinda name for a cake is that?” He rubs a spot of flour from your cheek and takes in your serious expression. “No. I haven’t.”

You place a kiss on his hand in thanks. “It’s basically a chocolate cake with cherries. Does that sound good to you?” The smile on Jeff’s face is infectious, and he’s radiating with warmth and energy. Your chest swells with affection. You would have tried to teach him how to bake earlier if you knew this would be his reaction.

Jeff’s eyes are bright, and he squeezes your waist in excitement. “You had me at chocolate and cherries.”

You grin and kiss his cheek before pulling away. His scar is rough against your lips, but you don't mind at all. Heading to the pantry, you grab all the necessary ingredients and assemble them on the counter. You grab a scale off the shelf, along with a few bowls.

“Ok, so this is a scale. We’re going to use it to weigh our ingredients. Have you ever used one before?” you ask Jeff. He comes up behind you and latches on like a baby koala. The warm, spicy scent of his cologne envelopes you.

“Not for, uh, food,” Jeff answers. You don’t want to know what he’s used a scale for. There was this one time when the grocery store forgot to label the weight of the beef. Jeff grabbed one of the packages and bobbed his hand before giving you a near-perfect estimate. You didn’t want to ask how he developed that particular skill. Instead, you thanked him and made roast beef for dinner to preserve your sanity.

“The process is pretty much the same. You can measure all the dry ingredients and mix them together. I’m going to mix the wet ingredients.” Jeff reluctantly releases you and carefully measures the flour and cocoa while you mix the vanilla and oil in a separate bowl.

Jeff pours some sugar and stops when the scale reaches the right weight. “Is there a reason we’re not using measuring cups?” he asks.

“You can, but I prefer weighing. Less chance of messing up,” you reply, adding buttermilk to your mixture. “I do use measuring spoons for stuff like spices.” Jeff nods and reaches for the measuring spoons on the table. He adds baking powder and soda, along with salt, and mixes the dry ingredients together,

Jeff stares at his bowl and then looks at you, lost. “What do I do now?”

“Now we’re going to slowly combine the wet and dry ingredients.” You slowly add the dry ingredients while Jeff mixes. “Yeah, like that. Good job, baby!” you praise him, and the whisk clangs harshly against the metal bowl.

“I’m just moving a whisk. I don’t see what’s so special about that.” Jeff continues to mix aggressively, but it does nothing to hide the redness of his cheeks.

You tilt your head to the side and smile at him. “But this is your first time baking a cake, and I think you’re doing fantastic!”

Jeff gives the batter a final jab before setting the whisk against the bowl. “W-what’s next?” You don’t acknowledge the wobble in his voice and head to the fridge.

“Next, we add the eggs in one at a time. After that, we pour them into pans and pop them into the oven.” You crack in an egg, and Jeff combines it with the batter. This repeats another three times until the batter is a good consistency between thick and runny.

“That’s it?” Jeff furrows his brows, and you bite your lip to hold back a dopey grin.

“Yep,” you nod. Jeff stares at the dark, glossy batter with a searching look. You refrain from saying anything and opt to hum to fill the void of silence. He immediately recognizes the melody of Reflection and shoots you a half-hearted glare. You smile and wave at him.

“I always thought it would be more… complicated,” Jeff admits. There’s something hilarious about how he struggles with domestic activities when he’s an accomplished killer. The man can commit murder and evade the police, but god forbid he has to cook or bake. Although, he is proficient at cleaning—like really proficient. Again, you don’t ask. You’re just thankful the house is always clean when you come home from work.

“Baking can be pretty simple,” you say. Jeff divides the batter between two lined pans and puts them into the oven you preheated earlier. “While those are baking, we can make the whipped cream. I already have some cherry jam and syrup we can use.”

“Can’t you use the stuff they have in cans?” Jeff’s question is innocent enough, but he unknowingly asked you to commit a baking sin.

You let out a horrified gasp and firmly place a hand on his shoulder. “My dear Jeffrey. Fear not. I will show you the wonders of whipped cream made from scratch.”

Jeff chuckles at your determined expression. “When you tell me to fear not, I will fear anyway.” He boops your nose, causing you to scrunch it in response

You grin and push him towards the shelves. “Can you grab the hand mixer while I get the cream and sugar?”

“Yes, boss.” Jeff mock salutes and marches the five-step journey to the hand mixer. You giggle at his silliness, and the way his expression brightens does not go unnoticed.

“Alright, we’re going to add some sugar and vanilla to our cream before we whip it.” You eyeball the amount of powdered sugar and add a splash of vanilla extract.

“Ooh, sounds kinky,” Jeff teases. You shake your head, but you can’t stop the smile stretching across your face.

“Pay attention,” you admonish. “This is the step where you can make the final adjustments to the taste.” You dip your pinkie into the mixture and pop it into your mouth. The cream is sweet but not enough to make your teeth ache. The rich taste of vanilla is always a delight. You hum a noise of approval and turn towards Jeff. “I think it’s sweet enough. What do you—”

Jeff kisses you, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He pulls away and licks his lips. “Mhmm, tastes good to me.” His smug grin douses gasoline on the fire consuming your body.

“Jeffrey Hodek, you are an absolute menace.” He’s going to be the death of you, and he won’t even have to stab or shoot you to do it.

“Always the same song and dance with you, doll. I know you liked it.” And to prove his point, he kisses you again. The way his tongue runs over your gums elicits a moan from you. He pulls away, and you avoid eye contact. The smirk on his face is baiting you for another kiss.

“Whip cream. Now .” Your tone is firm. Any more teasing and you might just combust.

“Alright, alright.” Jeff picks up the hand mixer and sets it into the bowl. He’s about to turn it on but pauses. “And how do I know when to stop?”

“When you get stiff peaks.” And you immediately realize what you’ve done. Jeff snickers and you become increasingly embarrassed. “It’s not funny!” You cross your arms with a frown.

Jeff bumps his hips lightly against yours. “C’mon, sugar. You have to admit, baking sounds like it has a lotta euphemisms.”

“Just hold the bowl upside-down over your head. If you don’t get drenched in whipped cream, then it’s ready.” If the whipped cream can hold its shape, it should barely move in the bowl.

Jeff blinks and says nothing for a few seconds. His brows furrow and he searches your face. “You’re fucking with me again, right?” He sees the saccharine smile on your lips. “Oh, you’re definitely not fucking with me. What kinda method is that? What if I spill cream everywhere?”

“What was that? Was that… a euphemism ?” You let out a dramatic gasp. “Then I would say you need more practice,” you add with a grin.

“Piss off.” Jeff grunts and turns on the hand mixer.

“Ok! I’ll come back then to check on you during my next break!” You kiss his cheek and make your way back to the front.

Jeff freezes. “B-but the whipped cream?” His voice pitches and you feel a slight pang of pity. He did tease you a lot earlier, so the feeling is soon squashed.

“Stick it in the fridge when it’s done and you’ll be fine!” you say over your shoulder. You give Jeff a thumbs up, and he only replies with an indignant noise.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

“Mrs. Smith, I told you that you can’t buy all my pies.” The old lady who bought seven pies from you is back, and she wants the rest of your stock.

“I’m too old for ‘Mrs’ now, dear. Everyone calls me Granny. As I was saying, I’m holding an annual crochet competition, and I need your pies.” She offers no further explanation, fully expecting you to give in to her demands.

“I’ve already sold you seven pies. Surely you don’t need all of them,” you say with exasperation in your tone. Your reasoning only increases her determination.

“Baker, I am going into a crochet competition, and I need all your pies.” You can only assume the pies are for herself, and what does someone even do with 20 pies?

“You can’t eat all those pies, Mrs. Smith. There are too many,” you tell her. But it seems your insistence is only agitating her.

“I’m telling you, dear, I’m going into a crochet competition! I’m going into a crochet competition, and I need all your pies if I’m to win!” She is hysterical now. Are pies to old ladies who crochet what steroids are to athletes? Even if it is for a group of people, seven pies seem like a reasonable amount to you.

Still, you refuse. “I can’t give you all my pies because they’re not meant to be sold in bulk! If I let one person buy all the pies, then that leaves nothing for everyone else.” You could make some quick cash if you sold her all your pies, but there’s something clearly deranged about this woman. Your gut is telling you not to sell her any more pies.

“Well, then that’s it, Baker. I’ll go elsewhere for my pies.” She storms out of the cafe, and the bell above the door smacks against the wooden frame.

“What a weird lady,” you mumble to yourself, unable to shake off the feeling of déjà vu. You glance at the clock and notice it’s 5pm. “I think that’s enough for today.” You untie your apron and drape it across the counter. “Hey, Jeff! I’m closing up the cafe now!” You begin counting the money in the cash register.

“You want any help?” Jeff asks, poking his head from the kitchen doorway.

“Yes, please.” And so Jeff cleans the tables and puts up the chairs. You sweep the floor while Jeff puts away whatever leftovers he can for the next day. Anything that’s not good after a day is often donated to the nearest shelter, or Jeff will take it for the kids to eat. Once the front is cleaned up, it’s time for the kitchen. You walk ahead of Jeff, but he gently grabs your arm and tugs you back.

“Wait here,” Jeff commands. He shields the doorway with his body.

You look at him with suspicion. “You didn’t break something in my kitchen, did you?” Kitchen equipment is stupidly expensive, and you don’t want to replace anything right now.

Jeff scoffs. “I’m not that incompetent.” He takes both of your hands and squeezes them. “Close your eyes.”

You shake your head but follow his instructions. “I’m closing them.” Your shoes squeak as they transition from wood to tile. Jeff leads you steadily inside the kitchen. He lets go of your hands and tells you to wait. You stand there patiently, hearing the rummaging of utensils and plates. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, curiosity turning into anticipation.

“Surprise.” At Jeff’s words, you open your eyes. He’s holding a small bundle of the skewers you use for tiered cakes. At the tips of the skewers are strawberries cut into the shape of roses.

“Jeff… how did—they’re beautiful!” You marvel at the delicate knife work that went into cutting each petal.

Jeff pushes the bouquet towards you. “I got bored after making the whipped cream. Saw the strawberries and thought I could put my knife skills to use,” he says with a shrug.

You reach out to accept the bundle of strawberries but pause. “Your hands!” One of your hands takes the bouquet while the other holds Jeff’s hand. You examine the skin and see small slices. You chew on your bottom lip and look at him for an explanation.

“Just some scratches,” he mumbles and avoids your gaze. “Turns out cutting fruit into flowers takes a lot more dexterity than stabbing people.” He shrugs in a carefree manner. You think back to how long you left Jeff alone and unsupervised. A few hours, at least.

You drag him with you. “I have some bandages in the bathroom—and disinfectant! We need to clean your wounds and—” Jeff stills, and suddenly, you can’t move him. He grips your shoulders.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m fine.” Jeff shows you his hands, turning them over. “See? They’re already sealed. I won’t say no to you kissing them better, though.” His eyes look at you pitifully, and the slight pout on his lips is irresistible.

You make grabby motions at him. “Well, bring them here, then. I’ll give them many smooches.” Jeff puts his hands in front of your face, and you shower them with kisses, cut or no cut. He looks at you like you’re everything to him, and you melt on the spot. This man is too adorable for his own good. “Thank you for the ‘flowers’. It’s very sweet of you.” You resist the urge to eat them right away; the guilt you would feel during the fallout would be tremendous.

Jeff shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “If anyone’s sweet, it’s you, sugar. You could give me a toothache with your sweetness.” You flush under his attention. They say that the human pupil will dilate when looking at a person they like. Jeff’s eyes are a ring of green swallowed by black right now, and you’re sure it’s the same for yourself. There’s something intimate about maintaining eye contact with someone for an extended period of time. You stand there, unable to tear your gaze from his. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and you pull him in for a kiss. You can feel him smile, and a giggle bubbles in the back of your throat.

You pull away first and place another kiss on his wounded hand. “Alright, hot stuff. Enough flirting, more decorating.” You lead him to the counter where you’ve set everything up beforehand. The ‘flowers’ are placed in a mason jar to keep them upright and out of the way.

Jeff looks intimidated by all the different tools on the counter. You tried to select the bare minimum required for cake decorating. His shoulders loosen when he sees the encouraging smile on your face. “I’ve never decorated a cake before. I’m honestly fucking ecstatic right now,” Jeff says.

“I’ll cut the cake, and you can assemble the layers,” you say, grabbing your trusty knife.

An amused smile crosses Jeff’s face. “I’m the one with the exceptional knife skills.”

You shake your head. “Nuh-uh. Not after you cut yourself up making strawberry roses. Besides, I don’t want you to feel disappointed if the layers end up lopsided.” Cutting a cake into layers can be hard . Why else are there so many hacks and gadgets specifically made for this? There was a time when you used the dental floss method (unflavoured because an unintentionally minty cake is yucky). Now that you’re experienced, you can perfectly level and cut cakes with a knife.

Jeff ponders and says, “So if the cake gets fucked up, it’s your fault.”

“Jeff!”

“That’s basically what you said!” Jeff throws up his hands.

You scoff and shove a baking spatula into his chest. “I’m going to make you eat your words.”

The smirk on his face fans the flames. “Challange accepted, doll.”

“Now shut up and start layering,” you command, already slicing through the second cake.

Jeff examines and turns over the spatula in his hand. “You haven’t told me what to do. Do I just slather shit on the cake? Throw cherries at it? Commit a blood sacrifice?” He pokes you in the ribs, and you jump, nearly stabbing him with the knife you’re holding. You give him the side eye, and he grins like he wasn’t this close to being levelled himself.

“Brush some cherry syrup on the cake before adding a layer of whipped cream. Then add some cherries and the next layer of cake. Rinse and repeat until there are no more layers.” You break the layering down into simple steps, adding any tips you think he would find helpful. Jeff nods, but you can already tell that most of what you said went in one ear and out the other. “Normally, I sacrifice a virgin at the end, but I ran out of stock yesterday,” you say, shrugging in a what-can-you-do manner. Jeff straightens. Well, he definitely heard that step.

Jeff chuckles and begins painting the top of the layer of cake with syrup. “You are fucking adorable.” The smile on his face is full of fondness. Next, he spreads the whipped cream and adds the cherries. “This is oddly satisfying,” Jeff comments, finding the process therapeutic.

“I know, right?! I love decorating, but sometimes I'm too lazy to bake anything.” You laugh at the irony of your statement. You notice Jeff was struggling earlier at spreading an even layer of whipped cream. “Here, let me show you something.” You inch closer, and he takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist. Grabbing the plate of the turntable, you spin it as you smoothly spread whipped cream on the cake.

Jeff’s jaw drops. He looks at you in bewilderment. “It sPiNs?!?!”

You giggle at his reaction and nod. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“No fucking way. I told you. Witchcraft ,” he hisses the last part. Jeff spends the next minute spinning the cake in one direction before spinning it again in the opposite way. He finishes all the layering, and what’s left is a naked cake. “Do we get to add more cherries?” he asks.

“Yeah, give me a minute to pipe some whipped cream at the top,” you answer. You also decide to give the entire cake a thin coat of whipped cream. When Jeff sees you pipe whipped cream, he insists on giving it a try. His first attempt results in a ginormous blob. You smooth it out with the spatula and comfort him while he sulks. The next few attempts have much more control and turn out decent. “Do you want to add more chocolate? I can quickly shave some.”

Jeff grins. “Do you even have to ask?” And so you shave some chocolate while Jeff carefully places the cherries on top of the cake.

“It’s a monstrosity,” you say when you look at the finished product. For some reason, you thought it would be a good idea to give Jeff control over how much chocolate is added. You can barely see the whipped cream beneath all the chocolate shavings. Thankfully, the top is left untouched, so only the sides are buried.

Jeff puffs out his chest. “Yeah, but it’s our monstrosity. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” He cuts himself a slice and takes a bite. Too bad this isn’t a cooking anime. You would have liked to see Jeff’s soul dramatically leave his body or whatever weird stimulation the characters go through when they taste a dish. “Holy shit, this should be illegal.”

“Good?” You cut yourself a slice, already knowing his answer.

Jeff takes another bite and closes his eyes. “Fucking delicious .” He moans, and you nearly have a fit over how sexual the sounds he’s making are. You eat your slice slowly, content with watching Jeff enjoy the cake. When he finishes, he immediately goes to cut a second piece.

“Are you going to take the rest to Liu and the kids later?” you ask. If there even is anything left to take. He’s going to demolish the cake at this point.

Jeff grins sheepishly. “Would it be selfish of me to keep this for myself?”

You shrug and wipe away the whipped cream at the corner of his mouth. “I won’t judge you, but the kids will give you hell for it if they ever find out.” Never underestimate the wrath of children. Especially when they discover you withheld sugar from them.

Jeff exhales loudly. “Fuck, you’re right.” He points his fork at you. “I have to get rid of any witnesses to prevent them from finding out.” You lean forward and eat the piece of cake off his fork. Jeff gapes at you while you smugly chew. The mock betrayal in his eyes elicits a giggle from you.

“I can always bake you more, which I won’t be able to if you get rid of me,” you say.

Jeff kisses the side of your head. You whine and try to shove him away, much to his amusement. “You’re contractually obligated to keep that promise now,” he says.

You blink slowly, brushing crumbs out of your hair. “But I didn’t sign anything?”

Jeff caresses your cheek and says, “It’s a verbal agreement.” His words hold a tone of finality.

You hum and lean into his touch. “But what are the rules? The duration? Honestly, this is a terrible contract.” You smile brightly despite desperately trying to frown.

Jeff leans his forehead against yours, bringing his lips tantalizingly close. “Don’t act like you hate the idea of spending the rest of your life with me.” His warm breath fans over your mouth.

You hum and decide to tease him some more. “Jeffrey Hodek, are you proposing? How unconventional of you.”

Jeff chuckles in disbelief and bites his lip afterwards. “Sweetheart, I don’t need a ring to know I’m yours. But that’s a conversation for another time.” He pecks your lips before darting to the fridge. You feel bamboozled until you recognize what he takes out. “C’mon, it’s getting late. I sneaked out earlier and bought a bottle of your favourite drink. How about we stuff ourselves with more cake while you vent about your day? I’ll even run you a bath, and we can cuddle after.”

“That sounds amazing,” you admit. The aches and pains in your body feel more prominent at the mention of a bath. Jeff packs the rest of the cake, and you remember to grab the strawberry roses before you leave. The idea of candying the strawberries did pop into your head at some point. You think Jeff would be interested in the process. But for now, you just want to go home and cuddle with Jeff. He holds your hand on the way to the car. “There was an old lady today who was very adamant about my pies….”

You continue to tell Jeff about the notable interactions you had today. You remain unaware of the box he’s fingering in his pocket.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

The first fanfic I ever wrote was for JTK (I never posted it and never will), so this is kinda a redemption for my younger self. I'm honestly just glad that I managed to finish this so my eyes don't have to glaze over anymore when I read it for edits.

Personally, I do not find the yandere trope attractive, specifically for reader inserts. I don't mind if it's for other characters, but when it's a reader insert... I just don't understand the appeal. I can enjoy it when it's in a comedic context, but it's a complete turn-off for me in romance. I respect the trope, but I don't think I'll ever understand why people like it.

So a question for people who read/write those kinds of stories: What about it appeals to you?

See you guys at my next hyperfixation! ヾ(￣▽￣)

Reblogs are appreciated!

#jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer #jeffrey hodek #creepypasta #fluff #domestic fluff #established relationship #romance #banter #baking #just some wholesome Jeff #I don't see much of it so I wrote it #self-indulgent #gender-neutral reader #slight crack fic #couldn't think of a better title #no y/n

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thewildestofeyes · 8 months

Text

So Deviant Art deleted my most popular tickle story. Becuase of that, and I want to be able to easily share it with others, I've decided to post it here.

The Lee Wash

There sits a car wash located off the highway. To many it appears a regular establishment. Built long ago, providing any car a service to remove that which stains it. On its roof sits a large sign with 3 foot tall blue letters simply reading "Car Wash" placed next to a couple with large and happy smiles on their faces. Their eyes seemingly watch you as you approach. You look at them and their unblinking eyes, and feel a brief sense of trepidation. They know why you are here. And they are excited. Maybe you should turn around, you think to yourself under the sightless gaze of the couple. No.. no time for doubt now. You've come this far already.

Walking inside you are greeted by the same man whose visage covers part of the sign outside. He sits at a desk in the back corner of the room. Dressed in a polo and khaki pants, he greets you with an unnaturally large smile shared with his plastered persona. "Welcome to our car wash!" He speaks in a friendly tone. "How can we help you today? We specialize in all kinds of car cleaning methods and are happy to serve you. Our washes last forever!" His eyes stare into your own, and you swear he has yet to blink.

"I.." you take a moment to avert your gaze from the man. "I'm here for one of your... special services." Looking up you see that the man's face has not changed."Oh? What service are you interested in then? We have interior options, cleaning and painting, deep polishing..."

"The lee treatment.." You interrupt the man midsentence, and you swear that for but a moment his grin becomes even larger. In a much more toned down voice the man turns to you and speaks "oh. Well in that case, right this way." He walks to a door on the other side of the room, opens it up, and gestures for you to walk inside.

Going through the door you find yourself in a long hallway. The man doesn't say a word, walking with a brisk pace down the hall. This hallway gives you a moment to think. What are you even doing here? Was this really worth it? What happens if this is just a hoax? Before you have a chance to get lost in your own thoughts, the man stops at a door. He opens it for you and once again stares into you. "Just go right through here and speak to my wife. Tell her what you told me, and she will take care of everything. We hope you enjoy your service today".

The door closes behind you ask you walk in. You are surprised to see a similiar looking room to the one you were in before, with the only difference being the woman sitting at the corner desk. Her smile and piercing gaze matches her husbands, and her voice has the same friendly tone as she addresses you. "Why hello there! How may I help you today?"

"I... I want the lee treatement" you say in an apprehensive tone. You're starting to get rather worred about this situation. Something feels wrong, and you're almost about to turn back before you hear the woman's voice. "Wonderful to hear! You certainly won't be disappointed. We pride ourselves on providing the best services possible. Afterall, our washes last forever!" Her voice changes slightly, less energetic and more calming. "Now, how are you feeling? Are you ready to begin?"

As soon as these words reach your ears, your brain calms down. Something in her voice replaces all the fear and concern you were just struggling with not but seconds ago. You begin to feel safe here, ready for the exact services that you came here for in the first place. This woman knows what she is doing. It is a business after all.

After taking a deep breath you look at the woman, her gaze seemingly never leaving your own. You nod your head and give a grin of your own. "Ready!" The woman laughs, it's a beautiful sound. "Lovely, follow me then!" She takes your hand and leads you out into the hallway and into a room across the hall.

The room is narrow, and dimly lit. The only thing within your vision is a single trolley with a large metallic pole standing in its center and a block infront of the pole. The woman walks to one of the nearby walls, and you hear her voice "You will be getting the full treatment. This includes rinsing, deep cleaning, polishing and painting! Sound good?" You nod, "yeah" you mumble, lost in your own thoughts about just how good this sounded. You have no idea what these words mean, but your imagination runs wild with the possibilities.

You hear the woman laugh and suddenly snap back to reality. When you come to you see her standing infront of you holding some rope. "Now, in order for you to begin, you'll need to take off all those clothes and stand on that block." You follow her orders to a tee, immediately stripping down and standing infront of the pole. The trolley wiggles slightly as you step on it, but not enough for you to lose your balance. You hear the woman's voice behind you. "Now lean back onto the pole and lift your hands into the air." You once again follow her instruction. The pole is cold against your bare back, but you don't let that sway you. Suddenly you feel rope wrap around your wrists, tightly holding you against the bar. You feel the block under your feet get kicked away, leaving you dangling slighly in the air. The woman's hands grab your ankles, quickly tying your feet around the bar. Wiggling reveals that you are snugly secured to the bar, and chances to escape are minimal.

The woman's voice rings out from behind you. "Now, keep your arms and feet inside the vehicle at all times.." she chuckled at this. "Don't worry about breaking the rope, it's quite sturdy. Simply relax and enjoy the ride."

With this, the trolley suddenly begins to move at a brisk speed, catching you off guard with just how quickly you are speeding down the hallway. The hall infront of you is dimly lit, with lights on the floor illuminating your path. Two minutes pass, your anticipation increases with each second. Suddenly the trolley slows down, and you can see the faint outline of an metal bar arching over the track. As you cross through this entrance, you feel a misty liquid spray all over you. This must be the rinse you think to yourself, and to your surprise, it feels quite nice, almost reminding you of a warm shower.

After the 30 seconds of spray, your body is sufficiently moist. You quickly begin to notice however, an unexpected tingling sensation upon your skin. Soon, the trolly speeds up, and you are surprised to find that the feeling of the air against your skin causes you to giggle. Your skin has become far more sensitive than you're used to. You immediately begin to worry about what was in that liquid, but as soon as the worry enters your mind, so to does the woman's voice "relax.... enjoy the ride". You hear her giggle, and like that, your mind rids itself of panic, and excitement for the rest of the experience settles in. You let your self loose and giggle loudly as the wind lightly tickles your now highly sensitive flesh.

About 30 seconds pass, made longer given your added sensitivity. The trolley arrives to what you assume to be the second station, which you recall as "deep cleaning". Your movement stops as from the corners of your eye you notice movement in the dim light. Out from the shadows appear 8 different metalic hands, each gripping a different sized scrubbing brush. You feel your addreneline begin to rise as the hands approach you. 4 on each side, the brushes become recognizable as they enter the light; a mix between thick hairbrushes, and electric toothbrushes. You have but a second to brace yourself for the assault before the brushes begin their purpose.

In a moment your mind goes from clear to manic. Two of the electric toothbrushes whirl to life and take refuge deep into your underarms, slowly spiraling around your pits before moving to your neck, chest and ribs. Two brushes begin scrubbing side to side around your mid region, cycling back and forth between your sides, tummy, hips and butt. The four other brushes attack your feet, with the hairbrushes deeply scrubbing your soles as the toothbrushes ensure your toes are given proper attention. On a normal day, such a brutal tickling would be enough to drive you into a laughing fit, but this was no ordinary day, and thanks to the rinsing you had gone though, your hightened sensitivity multiplies these sensations by tenfold. The bristles and vibrations against your skin are maddening, with the only reprieve being the occasional sensations of pleasure while the toothbrushes near your chest focus on your sensitive nipples. This of course does not save you from the onslaught everywhere else on your body, and while the occasional moan does let itself loose, your laughter quickly becomes a constant for as long as the hands work their tasks.

After 15 minutes, the brushes stop and the hands return to their original positions. Your laughter slows as you take in deep breaths of air. Your body is sore from laughing, and while still tingly, is much more sore than it has ever been. Your skin feels raw due to the ferocity of each brush. Your nipples are hard, and your mind is close to mush. The only coherent thought that comes to mind is how much more am I to endure? Not two seconds after this thought, the trolley begins once again.

You quickly stop at a stage similiar to the rinsing station. Another liquid sprays out towards you, and suddenly the pain causing your body to scream out dulls and quietly subdues. Additionally, you notice the minty smell of whatever liquid this is, and as you breathe in the odor, your mind suddenly refreshes. In a moment, you go from worrying about surviving to looking forward to the next phase of your ... purchase? You realize you hadn't yet paid for this experience, but you suppose you will just pay at the end. As you consider this, you notice the trolley moving ahead to what you can only guess to be the polishing station.

Even in dim light, the polishing station is not difficult to identify; a long makeshift hallway of large spinners covered top to bottom with feathers varying in size and softness. You stare with a look of shock, horror and anticipation as the trolley emotionlessly continues to move you forwards towards what you can only assume to be your tickly demise. The whirl of the rollers becomes louder with each second, you fathom you don't have but 5 seconds left as you instictively struggle against your restraints. 4... 3... 2...1

Your laughter once again fills the hallway as your begin to drown in this manmade ocean of feathers. You feel them against every inch of your body, spinning with absolutely no remorse for the sensations they are putting you through. You'll admit that feathers were often hit or miss with you in the past, but something about this situation breaks you to your very core. It could be your hypersensitive skin, or it could be just the variety of feathers teasing every speck of skin you have at varying rates of speed depending on the roller. Regardless of the reason, polishing breaks you, even more so than the deep cleaning. While your laughter had previously been interrupted with moans, here they are only replaced with screams as the feathers dance around your body, teasing your flesh with their sheer numbers.

You are unsure just how many pairs of rollers you go through. You try to count at the start, but you lose count after 6 as your mind crumbles away. Each roller has a different speed and feather cluster pattern, ensuring that no place is tickled the same way for very long and preventing any chance of desensitivity. You laugh and scream and occasionally gasp for air as you get lost in the ocean of feathers you find yourself in, the sensation bringing you to madness.

After what feels like an eternity, you feel the air once more as the trolley moves you out of the last pair of rollers. Your lungs scream for air as you repeatedly stammer between your gasps "no more... please no more... i can't...." But once again you hear the woman's voice in your head. Don't worry sweetie. You're almost done! The worst is over. Just a quick paint job and you're ready! Without the brain power to wven question what you'll be ready for, you just focus on getting as much air back as possible, not noticing the next stop on the track. You don't even see the arms move towards you with paint brushes in their metal claws. You do feel the bristles against your skin as they begin to paint all over you.

Paint brushes of all shapes and sizes swarm over you. Due to your physical and mental state, only silent laughter leaves your lips as you begin to be painted in different shades of purples, blues and greens across your entire body. Small brushes work on your toes, navel, face and armpits, while larger brushes focus on everywhere else. It doesn't last very long at all, but given your current condition, it doesn't take very much to overload your already broken mentality.

The brushes retreat as the trolley moves once again. You notice a light at the end of the hallway. The end..you think to yourself. I'm done. You close your eyes, excitedly feeling the light shine on your face as the outdoor air cools your skin. Wait... outside air? Your eyes shoot open, and dread fills your heart. You are outside of what looks like a car retail store, but there are no cars here. There are only people, both male and female, tied to similar trolleys and painted in a variety of colors. Walking around and observing these captives are other humanoids, each wearing the same abnormal grin as the man and the woman who you spoke to before. You feel the trolley move you next to a young woman, probably in her late 20's to early 30's. She looks at you with a sad and knowing glance before giggling as a grinning woman gently tickles her ribs before doing the same to you, shaking her head, and moving on to on a young man in his mid 20's. The man laughs, and the creature takes his trolley, and rolls him inside a large building labeled "Leigh and Lea's Lee Dealership" with the same faces from the car wash plastered to the front. You hear his laughter all the way to the building.

You realize now why you never had to pay for your experience. Your payment is not money. Your payment is your freedom. As you look around at all the others tied in this lot, you know what is coming for all of you. You think about the young man. He asked for the same experience you did. Everyone here had... Unfortunately, this experience doesn't end.

This lee wash lasts forever.

#tickle story #tickle tease #you tickled #my story

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sakis-sweets · 1 year

Note

I need answers, provided and actual information to what I need. This is about why did "Yandev add Mida in the game?"

"Does Yandev actually likes/is okay with teacher and student relationship, so that's why he added Mida falling in love with Taro?"

"Was it confirmed that the reason why Mida was added was because of that p4 teacher who also loves to seduce young teenage males?"

The reason why I need actual information about these is because I'm not quite sure abt what people said is true smth like "The reason why dev added Mida was because he's absolutely fine with pedophile!" I support Yandev and I wanna make sure that those accusations of why Mida is in the game is false and needs actually factual check information. Can you please help me in this?

I'm not sure how much actual information there is on the topic, its not like he's directly answered that specific question and I'm not YandereDev. But we can make some educated guesses. If that's not what you're looking for, maybe send him an email? What I can tell you for certain is that he's not "fine with pedophilia", that rumor came about as a result of someone deliberately baiting him into saying something controversial and then twisting his words to defame him. Anyway - on the topic of Yandere Simulator.

You've probably noticed that most if not all rivals fulfill a certain trope or archetype. The tsundere (Osana) the genki girl (Asu) the himedere (Kizana) the Mary Sue (Megami) etc. As far as I can tell, Mida is simply one of these tropes. A box you have to check off when making a campy dating sim. Because that's what the game is meant to look like from Senpai's perspective, and to the player before shit turns into a horror game. That, or YandereDev came up with a cool elimination method that could only be done on a teacher, and that's why one of the rivals is a teacher. He's stated that this is sometimes his inspiration for certain rivals, and I believe this to be the case for Kizana due to her future sandbag elimination that he's alluded to and had art drawn of.

But with that argument comes the question of why Mida specifically is so sexualized. I don't know for sure; no one does. That's why she's such a touchy subject. Perhaps because we were missing a sexy rival. I do know that a lot of the discourse is done in bad faith. If Mida were a really sexy student instead of a really sexy teacher, people would still call YandereDev a pedophile for sexualizing someone who's "clearly meant to be a middle/high school student." So then you could argue that the entire cast should be wholly sexless. Another win for purity culture! "Snuff out the unclean! Anything and everything sexy is bad! Protect the children! By the way, trans people are just sexually deviant, right?" Do you see the problem?

Anon just remember that at the end of the day, Yandere Simulator is fiction. Creating or playing it says nothing about the individual interacting with it. It is a story created to entertain, not to be morally hyperanalyzed. And it'll probably make more sense once we actually have the full story. So don't worry too much about it. Also this is the first I've heard of anything regarding P4 inspiring the game. No idea what that's about.

#yandere simulator #yansim #drama #mida rana

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redrydersrequiem · 8 months

Text

A different tune

An Ouran high school host club fan-fiction. This is another story ive thought of off and on forever so im finaly getting it down. It will turn into a kyoya x reader fic cause hes my favorite and i feel he doesn’t get enough love. Once again I’m a baby fanfic writer and this is not proffed or anything

Part 1

Only those with excellent social standing and those from filthy rich families are lucky enough to spend their time here, at the elite private school Ouran Academy. The Ouran Host Club is where the school's handsomest boys, with too much time on their hands, entertain young ladies who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Ouran Academy’s elegant playground for the super rich and beautiful.

It’s a seemingly quiet winter day in the third music room. No events planned and only a few straggling guests left, finishing they’re refreshments and making small talk. All the host members relax in the surrounding chairs and sofas all idly talking to one another when a shrill chiming sound breaks the peaceful environment.

“Who’s phone was that?” Hikaru asks, the other boys just slightly saying not me when Haruhi hurriedly takes her phone out of her bag.

“Ohhhhh someone got a message” Kaoru chastates as he and hikaru try leaning over Haurhis shoulder to peek at her phone like the nosy boy they are.

“Who’s it from haruhi huh could it be a boyyyyyyy/ or a girl we don't care either way.” The Hitachiin twins start

“What my little Piglet is talking to a boy OHHHHHH MAMA!” Tamaki yells flinging himself against kyoya with exaggerated tears in his eyes

“There there tamaki all children have to leave the nest eventually”. Kyoya states patting the blond on the head

“Is not a boy, not that its any of your business will you three stop it”

“Then who is it Haruhi?”. Hikaru asks once more

“It’s my childhood friend ok.”

“You have a childhood friend haru-chan? Just like me and Takashi” Honey states a childlike grin on his face

“I wouldn’t say just like you guys”

Tell us about them then haruhi, are they a commoner like you, how did you guys meet, how come we’ve never heard of this friend before?”

“Once again it's rude to call people commoners to their face and ive known them since we were kids our moms were close friends.

“Oh haru chan”

“It’s fine. I'm excited to see her again. Her family moved to New York, since that's where her dads from to take over his family’s business the summer before we lost mom. They were very kind and even sent us care packages and stuff and still do her moms really sweet

“Well I for one think it's great our little piglet has an American friend, especially since i didnt think haruhi would know anyone foreign.

“Do you all just assume your the only people i know? Haruhi asks the deviants all have the nerve to simultaneously say yes.

“Well your wrong”

“Anywayyyyyyy haruhi what's your friend's message to get it this late. It’s almost midnight there.” Hikaru states bluntly “Yeah haruhi tell us”, his twin joins the both of them now singing "tell us” over and over again, tap dancing on haruhi's last nerve.

“FINE!!!! The boys immediately stopping. “If you all must know she said she’s coming down here for a visit soon.”

“A visit that's amazing we should do something we should/…… all the boys descend into plan making, haruhi trying and failing to stop them.”

“Ah tamaki I almost forgot” kyoya states setting his tablet down aging the blonds full attention as well as everyone else’s

“”The principal spoke of opening up a new position at the school. They want to bring in a talented individual to boost our fine arts/ theater scores, against Lobelia, they wanted our opinion on the matter since we’ve dealt with them before.”

“What!! Really i couldn't agree more. It’s about time that stupid Zuka club is put in their place once and for all.”

“I wouldn’t get to ahead of ourselves tamaki” kyoya tries to interject

“NO I’ve decided, whoever it is shall have the full support of the Ouran highschool host club.!!!”

Honey, hikaru and Kaoru all applaud at tamakis over the top deceleration

“Very well I will inform the principal and he'll let us know when the candidate should arrive.” Everyone descends into the rest of the afternoon while the next day halfway across the would another family rises

Readers pov

“Are you sure you want to go sweetheart?”

“Yes mama I do, I think it would be fun. I'll finally get to see japan again, be with grandma and grandpa for a while and help them out.

“Plus she'll get to see her friend again, Kana.” My dad, Sebastian Casdal, instructs comforting my mom as he goes to sit down next to her on the couch, my little brother bouncing in his arms.

“Yeah, I'll get to see Haruhi and the members of this club she always writes about. Plus it’ll be a great networking experience for me.

“I know dear but i'll miss you and you've already graduated highschool.”

“We’ll all miss her love but I agree it's a great opportunity for our little girl, plus she'll be doing her college course work with access to the great tutors and stuff they have available.”

“Plus mama it's not forever, it's for a couple of years at most, and you guys will come see me during the holidays and I'll come back during the summers.

“Oh my little girl you've got to stop growing on me. Mama states hugging me tight to her.

‘Mama,,,, you're going to smother me if you hold me any tighter.”

“I know, I know you can go my love but we’ll talk everyday ad if anything goes wrong you come straight home ok”

“Ok mama ok, don't worry you both will be so busy with the company and this little guy you won't even notice i'm gone”

“Yes we will but i know you can handle yourself, anyway let's start getting everything ready the new school term is only in a few weeks”

“I can’t wait to see haruhi's face when i show up to Ouran academy. “

#ouran high school host club #ouran host club #host club x reader #haruhi x tamaki #kyoya x reader #ouran honey #ouran kyoya #ouran tamaki

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ghoooostfellow · 1 year

Text

RSS for Artists and the People Who Follow Them

RSS is the best thing for artists that you didn't know still existed. Tired of trying to figure out what new thing you have to do this week to get your posts seen? Tired of keeping up with 8 different websites to follow all the artists you like? Do you hate Musk/Zuckerberg, the general social media experience for artists, endless scrolling, or fractured communities? Use RSS! It's a super simple and comfortable way to experience social media.

Keep reading below for the full how-to!

What is RSS and why should I care?

RSS is a standardized format at a URL that computers can read to monitor updates to a website. When a post gets made, the RSS feed gets updated containing the post's information. An RSS reader is the app you use to view these RSS feeds and subscribe to them. It displays updates to the RSS feed similar to a normal social media dashboard.

There are many more specifics we could get into, but the technical details aren't really what matter here: the main point is that you can use an RSS reader to follow all your favorite people from almost any site and never miss an update, all while being able to view the content at your own pace.

Through simple steps outlined further down, you can follow twitter, instagram, deviant art, youtube, and tumblr accounts, subreddits, personal websites, newsletters, and more! The cool thing is, unlike your twitter or instagram feed, the RSS reader has powerful tools to display the posts exactly to your liking with filters, sorting, AND posts that won't disapear until you mark them as read, so you can kiss FOMO goodbye. Of course, this does mean I don't necessarily recommend you use RSS for your general meme accounts where an endless feed is somewhat ideal, it's much better suited for following creators or others you want to keep up to date on.

I use Inoreader as my RSS reader because it's free (though you can pay for more features), has a good mobile app as well as a browser version, and a good UI that is comfortable for post viewing.

Benefits as a viewer

No algorithms (but you can set filters)

Posts stay until you see them, so you don't have to be online 24/7 to see art you followed for

You can follow people on any* site and see it all in one place

No logging into multiple accounts or checking websites for updates

No ads, sponsored posts - nothing you don't want to see

Benefits as an artist

No algorithms! Format posts any way you like without worrying about getting nerfed

Freedom to post where ever you want

If RSS became standard, you wouldn't have to worry about posting on every social media in existance; anybody can follow you easily, no matter where you are

You'll be able to reach your audience no matter the whims of social media changes

Like having a newsletter without any extra work

How to subscribe to social media feeds through RSS

Here's a quick run down of how subscribing to an RSS feed generally works:

A website exists that has RSS

You type website.com/rss/ into your RSS reader and it sees an active feed

You hit subscribe

Peace on earth is achieved

Of course, sometimes it's not that simple and a website's feed is at a different URL. There might be a little RSS button on the website you can copy the link from, or readers like Inoreader can be given the basic URL and it'll try to find if any RSS feed is attached to it.

In the past, most socials had RSS built in, but this has slowly been phased out in favor of notifications/algorithms. So unfortunately, it's not as simple as it used to be anymore. Fortunately, however, websites like rssbox or RSS-Bridge can automatically turn twitter and other social media profiles into an RSS feed.

Before we get to that, however, there is some great news: some sites, such as tumblr and DeviantArt, still have RSS built in to each profile!

Tumblr feeds are at: https://blogname.tumblr.com/rss (god bless tumblr)

DeviantArt feeds: https://backend.deviantart.com/rss.xml?type=deviation&q=by%3Adeviantname+sort%3Atime+meta%3Aall (as usual, DA likes to over complicate things)

Enter the user name of the person you want to follow in the URL where indicated, remove the asterisks, pop it into your RSS reader and you're good to go.

Youtube channels can also be followed by pasting the channel URL into your reader, where it'll grab the feed for you to follow automatically.

*Note: sometimes, there appears to be small discrepancies between someone's tumbr.com/username url and username.tumblr.com url, and you must use the second for the rss feed link even though clicking on their profile name usually send you to the first link version. If you're having trouble, I recommend going to the user's archive on tumblr and then replacing the word "archive" with "rss" in the URL you're at. This way you'll know your formatting is right.

So what about twitter and other bastard sites? That's where our friends on github who make open source projects come in. As mentioned above, rssbox and RSS-Bridge are both great options. You can host them on your own server, if you're into that kind of thing, to ensure you never lose service and your feeds might get updated faster, but both have free to use websites that make it as easy as:

Copy the profile URL of the person you want to follow

Locate the corresponding social media section on the rssbox/rss-bridge webpage and paste the URL in

Adjust any settings you want

Copy the URL it gives you and subscribe to it in your RSS reader

*Note: Many RSS readers mention having twitter and other social support (usually with a paid subscription), but I've yet to see one that doesn't cap you at like, 20 accounts. This is a ridiculously small number. That said, Feedbro is a reader that is available as a browser extension only and DOES offer real, free, endless social media to RSS feed conversion. Personally, I hate its UI as well as the way it automatically marks things as read, but it's up to you and what works best for you. I probably just missed a reader when I was looking around, so if this matters to you do your research on what reader you use.

Another feed source of note is newsletters. Again, many readers will do this automatically for a price, but I enjoy the website Kill the Newsletter that'll do this for free. You can type in what you want to call the newsletter feed, click generate, and then sign up for the newsletter with the email address it creates for you. You'll then copy the second URL on the page (the one that ends in .xml) and this is what you'll plug into your RSS reader. Done! This is helpful for cleaning out your inbox of emails that you do want to see, but aren't important, and would otherwise end up cluttering up your inbox and burying time sensitive items.

Most websites, RSS feed or not, can have an RSS feed created for them if you're okay with it being a bit hacky. So I highly recommend doing some googling if you're interested in something I haven't mentioned here. You can also sometimes find RSS feeds for a website (if they aren't up front about it) by Inspecting the page and looking in the html head element for a .xtml or rss link. I'm passionate about this, so feel free to send me an ask if you have questions! (but also try to figure it out for yourself first)

How to get your own RSS feed

If you're on any kind of social, someone can follow an RSS feed of your art using the steps outlined above. However, I highly recommend you start posting your work somewhere with RSS built in! You don't have to do any extra work as your RSS feed is automatically made/updated on websites like tumblr and deviant art that still support RSS. I believe cohost might also be adding RSS support soon as well. I recommend following your own RSS feed so you know what is getting sent out.

If you want a space to truly call your own you can easily make a tiny website or blog. There are a lot of options for this, but if you're looking for simplicity I recommend bearblog.dev! Just make an account and start posting and your RSS feed is automatically made at: https://yourblog.bearblog.dev/feed/

Wordpress and Neocities also have built in RSS feeds, and likely a lot of other platforms that advertise blogging.

Now you have an RSS feed! And no worries about engagement from followers - it's easy to click the post link in your reader to a post, comment/like it, and then hop back into your RSS reader. It's made for that, even. Remeber to advertise your RSS feed; I hope they become the norm again, but until that happens you'll probably have to let people know it exists.

Closing Remarks

Listen, I'm realistic about this. I don't think I'm going to make this post and then RSS will return in full force to the internet like wolves being introduced back into Yellowstone. However, I spent years being dissatisfied with how I was forced to engage with artists on social media - the endless scrolling, feeling like "if I don't look at the next post I'll never see this piece of art again", the usual horrors of the internet we've fallen into - and if I can introduce a real solution to that for just one person I'll be happy.

I was born in the 90s and so can remember personal sites and forums, but never learned what RSS was and thought it was only something for power user programmers or stuffy business men. I have a feeling a lot of people have the same misconception, and it pains me to think of people out there that could benefit so much from this if only they knew of it properly. If you have ADHD, this is a game changer, I assure you.

I wish someone would've told me about this years ago. RSS is the answer to a lot of problems artists have. It's been there all along, it just hasn't been properly introduced to the wider community.

So I might not have much reach, but I feel so passionate about this; for the people this could help and the community we could create if we wiggled out from under what corporations have turned the internet into.

And oh, people have tried to fix this, sans RSS. I've watched many art websites come and go claiming to be the one to fix everything, but they usually fail because they divide the community and don't gain traction quickly enough. That, and non-artist support is extremely valuable and usually alienated in these attempts. RSS, on the other hand, is everywhere! Anybody can use it, anybody can follow it, and you aren't restricted to just one thing.

I say RSS is the solution because it's not just RSS. It's a tool that allows you to have the flexibility to make whatever solutions you need and be where ever you need to be on the internet.

RSS used to be everywhere, it used to be advertised - but of course, RSS feeds don't display ads, so it's only natural their head was on the chopping block. So my advice is such: pressure websites to add RSS back in! Make a tiny blog or website! Follow some feeds! Help reclaim the internet and regain control over the content you want to see. You don't have to be stuck in one spot, forced to use platforms you don't like, to see what you want and have your work be seen. Companies want us to consume more and more of what we don't want to see, to make us want to scroll endlessly into a stupor, and they'll do everything in their power to make us think we want it too.

So I dunno, follow some RSS feeds. Could be fun.

#ghostchatter #ghostfellow #rss feeds #rss reader #rss #inoreader #social media #twitterpocalypse #twitter #tumblr #adhd #internet #wellbeing #elon musk #artists on tumblr #art

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maleyanderecafe · 2 years

Note

hey! hope you had a fun trip :D not sure if i can call this a recommendation, as ive never played the game, but there's a pretty obscure yandere otome game named 'Lunatic Honey ~Sekai de Ichiban Kimi ga Suki~'. Someone did write about it over on deviantart, so its not completely lost

It took a bit of digging and learning how to use TextExtract, but I was able to find the game here, though the game is only in Japanese as it seems. There's not a whole ton of information on this game other than the VNDB page and the deviant art page mentioned. However, I did find two korean reviews on it that are pretty detailed, so if you are interested, try reading those. Still I played the entire thing with all endings, extras and everything, so I will be documenting as much as I can on this. It's pretty good actually, even when the translation was a bit wonky all the time (but pretty hilarious), so I really hope that someone will pick this up and properly translate it.

I will warn that almost all the endings are rather tragic and dark and there is at least one cg in this summary that involves decapitation. I won't be posting all of the CGs, but I will be posting at least one for each character.

The story of Lunatic Honey starts out with our main protagonist Yuki talking about the three yanderes in the game: Hibiki, her childhood friend who takes care of her and is a bit aloof, Haruka, the blond underclassman who adores Yuki and Ryoma the flirty and dependable upperclassman. They are all popular at school with Haruka and Ryoma having their own fanclubs (essentially) and they all love Yuki and are a bit possessive of her (oh, you know, yandere things). The first choice dictates whose route you go down, with the girls in Yuki's class asking who she likes the most.

Hibiki's route, Hibiki and Yuki head home after the school day riding on Hibiki's motorcycle after he lends her a dictionary during school. He cooks food for Yuki and then goes home, to his mother, whom he ignores and heads into his room. While his mother is begging apologizes outside of his door, Hibiki is afraid that she might try to kill him again and thinks about Yuki, praying that she'll save him. The school festival is starting soon and everyone has to participate, with Hibiki's class doing a butler cafe that Yuki wants to see. While going home, Yuki meets up with Hibiki and the two go to a restaurant to eat and paint their nails (I think it's like a prize they get since the restaurant owners thing they're a couple but it's hard to tell with the translation). Upon going home, Hibiki begs again that time will move faster so that he can see Yuki's again. The next day, after a cute exchange about the nail painting on the roof, Yuki sees someone confessing to Hibiki, who then shreds the love letter in front of the girl's face. Yuki asks why Hibiki turned her down so harshly and Hibiki states he wanted to make it clear that he didn't like her, which somehow turns to him confessing to Yuki and her turning it down (again, translations a bit rough there). Yuki goes home and cleans her room, finding a necklace that Hibiki gave her when she was younger. We get a flashback to when the two were younger, where Hibiki gives Yuki the necklace as a way to show his feelings towards her. During the festival, Yuki comes to visit Hibiki in his booth, seeing him in a waiter outfit and having a good time. After the festival, Yuki finds a cold Hibiki waiting at the entrance of her apartment and offers him to stay for the night. He takes a shower, thinking how happy he is that Yuki found him and that he will never let her go. The next morning, Yuki finds Hibiki huddled up next to the door of her room instead of on the couch. Concerned, she wakes him up and the two have breakfast. At some point, Yuki brings up the ring, and confesses her feelings, solidifying the two as a couple. At school, Hibiki reveals to the other two yanderes that they're dating, and they don't seem very happy about it, though are forced to accept it. We see how their relationship continues, with Yuki being more and more concerned about Hibiki, as he seems to know exactly where she is all the time and generally being much more possessive. On a rainy day, she sees Haruka standing in the rain and rushes to give him an umbrella, only to be stopped by Hibiki. Hibiki seems angry that she would give the umbrella to him in the first place, stating that she should only care about Hibiki. Yuki compromises and the two go together to give Haruka the umbrella. That night, Yuki remembers a memory from when she and Hibiki are younger, when Hibiki used to get very sick periodically, and ended up in the hospital. Yuki would sneak in after hours to comfort Hibiki so he wouldn't be lonely. Hibiki's mother comes in and attempts to kill Hibiki, with Yuki saving him by throwing a vase at her and promising to always be there for Hibiki. At school, Ryoma confesses to Yuki that he's worried about Yuki and Hibiki, and that it's okay to say that he's a burden. Yuki states that while Hibiki can be difficult, she loves him and wouldn't trade him for anyone else. Upon leaving, we see that Hibiki had been listening the entire time, and Ryoma warns Hibiki to not neglect her and make her sad. We then see Hibiki on the rooftop with Yuki attempting to stop him from jumping off. Hibiki talks about how it would be paradise if the two could be together, to which Yuki hugs him, promising they will have it together. Hibiki jumps off the roof with Yuki in his arms happy that the two can be together forever.

If you choose to give Haruka the umbrella and ignore Hibiki, Yuki will run out into the rain and give Haruka an umbrella. In response, Haruka will be overjoyed and forcibly kisses Yuki. Hibiki from this point on seems more cheerful and the story becomes more light hearted with Hibiki sharing his food with Haruka and Ryoma. It turns out Hibiki hid razors in their food, causing their tongues to be cut off. Yuki reacts in horror as Hibiki takes out a machete to cut off his two rival's heads off.

If you choose to tell Ryoma that Hibiki is a burden, she will cry into Ryoma's arms before leaving, leaving a very depressed Hibiki. At home, Yuki cooks one of the leftover foods that Hibiki left for her but notices something strange. To her horror, she finds either Hibiki's hand or finger floating inside the food. She gets a call from Hibiki from inside of a subway station as well as a text from Hibiki for him apologizing for being a burden and that he left his hand/finger inside the food so that he will always be a part of Yuki. The last thing Yuki hears in the phone call is Hibiki jumping into the traintracks as the subway crushes him.

If Yuki instead chooses Haruka, Yuki will go to the library to find a dictionary for her class, bumping into Haruka there. Yuki and Haruka walk together to school and Yuki finds out that Haruka is actually a full British, his family is rich and he lives on the opposite end of where Yuki lives. Haruka walks Yuki home before going home and having dinner with his family. His family seems pretty normal and generally happy, and Haruka excuses himself to his room where he listens to Yuki over a radio. During lunchtime the next day, Haruka asks Yuki what their stance is on insects, since his cousin has been collecting him. Yuki dislikes most insects though she's fine with some of them (like butterflies or dragonflies) and Haruka agrees. We also find out that at the festival, Haruka will be participating in a cosplay event and dressing up as a cat boy. At the end of school, Yuki sees Haruka sitting out of his track team. Yuki talks to him and finds out that Haruka has injured his ankle and has been sitting out. He states that the team is counting on him and that now that he's hurt himself, he's essentially useless to them. Yuki tries to cheer him up by stating that he has other good qualities as well. Haruka goes home and listens in on Yuki again, believing that she's the only one who really cares about her and that today is proof. Upon going home the next day, Yuki runs into Haruka where they essentially have a date at the arcade playing with the claw machine. During the festival, Yuki goes to visit Haruka who but is stopped by a long line of people wanting to see him. Just as she's about to leave, Haruka stops her and the two go onto the rooftop, where Haruka confesses his feelings and Yuki accepts them. While preparing for her date with Haruka, Haruka is listening in on which outfits she's choosing. Haruka mentions that he planned the trip to the amusement park specifically for her by sending fliers to her house. During the date, Haruka mentions the kind of clothes that he'd like to see on her, and guides her throughout the park, knowing exactly what she wants due to his eavesdropping. Ryoma calls her during the date, but before she can respond, Haruka becomes really jealous, having his eyes cloud over, which scares Yuki. Upon rejecting the call, the two have a good date, although Yuki was still nervous about seeing that side of Haruka. The next day, while moving some things for her class, she finds that Ryoma has fallen down the stairs. It seems that Haruka had come up the stairs as well, and she heavily suspected that Haruka was the one who pushed him down. The next day at home, she finds it strange that Hibiki has not come to visit her and instead finds Haruka at her house and walks her to school. At school, we find out that Haruka broke both his legs in a motorcycle accident, and Yuki gets walked home y Haruka. At their place, Haruka grows jealous, telling Yuki that he fell for her at the beginning of the year since she helped her and that before he was bullied because of his British Heritage. To him, he believes everyone else is simply a bug, and attempts to stab Yuki. Mortified, he begins crying and Yuki comforts him, promising to never leave him. It turns out that Haruka purposefully started crying so that she would promise him that and happily accepts it.

If Yuki attempts to break up with Haruka, he will overhear due to his tracking device. The next day, Haruka continuously rings at the doorbell and tries to get in, much to Yuki's fright. She tries to hide, but Haruka breaks in due to a key that he got off of Hibiki, with his hand still held onto it. Haruka ends up stabbing Hibiki and as she dies, he hears Haruka's expression of love over and over again.

If Yuki accepts to be with Haruka, Haruka will become more and more isolating, cutting off her friends and only hanging around Haruka. One day, while crossing the street, someone pushes Haruka into the way of a truck causing him to get hit. Yuki is pulled back by Ryoma, who takes her away, declaring his love for her.

In Ryoma's route, Yuki runs into Ryoma while looking for a dictionary and Ryoma gives it to her, flirting with her and kissing her on the head. At the end of the day, Ryoma attempts to walk home with Yuki, but is blocked off by all of his fangirls, causing Yuki to walk home with Hibiki instead. At his apartment, his mother checks in on him briefly before living him alone, and we learn that Yuki is Ryoma's first love, and that he's having a hard time expressing his love to her and hopes to claim her as his own. The next day on the rooftop, Yuki asks Ryoma what he's doing for the festival and we find out that Ryoma will actually be participating in a basketball game and hopes that Yuki will come there to support him, to which Yuki says she will try to. After school while walking home, she walks with Ryoma through the park as the autumn leaves fall. They have a romantic moment talking about their favorite seasons and how they like the autumn leaves. At home, Ryoma's love for Yuki grows stronger, with him really wanting to make him hers. The next day, before Yuki goes home, she's confronted by the members of Ryoma's fanclub and bullied before Ryoma comes in to save her. He threatens that he will kill the fangirls and they run away scared. Ryoma promises to protect Yuki and that he will make sure nothing like this happens again. During the weekend, Yuki gets a text from Ryoma asking her to go to the movies with him, to which Yuki accepts. After meeting up, they have a romantic time watching the movie, which is about a love triangle. Ryoma talks about how he would never let that happen to the female character if he was in the main lead's shoes and would rather keep her all to himself. During the festival, Yuki goes to see Ryoma at the basketball game and even cheers for him. Afterwards, Ryoma tells Yuki that he was able to win because she cheered for him. Ryoma confesses to Yuki and she accepts, having them date. The next day they have a date together and they go into Ryoma's apartment. Ryoma notes that the apartment is soundproof making it great for doing karaoke (...amongst other things). Ryoma goes to get Yuki tea and during this time she gets a strange call from Haruka, with strange breathing. When Ryoma comes back, she notes the call to him with his response stating that it was probably a prank call. Ryoma leaves again for a phone call, and Yuki hears strange noises upstairs. Tentatively, she goes up the stairs and finds a tied and beat up Haruka trapped on a chair. Ryoma finds her and wishes that she didn't do that, drugging her and making her pass out. When she wakes up, she is chained onto a bed. From then on, she is unable to escape, with Ryoma leaving to get her food, cuddle with her and even giving her a collar with a bell on it. One day, Yuki finds that Ryoma has forgotten to chain her up and attempts to leave the apartment, however, finds that Ryoma is outside. It seems that he purposefuly let them loose to test if she really loved her and decides to amputate her legs as a result. From then on, Yuki is broken, happy to see Ryoma whenever he returns, with Ryoma extremely happy as well.

If after Yuki escapes her chains she decides to look around the house, she finds that Haruka has been chopped into bits and finds Hibiki drowned in the bathroom. Ryoma while heading home thinks fondly of Yuki, happy that she didn't try to escape. However, upon opening the door is stabbed by Yuki. Ryoma stabs her back leading to the two dying on the living room floor together.

If Yuki accepts the dog collar willingly, she is continually pampered by Ryoma, essentially accepting her fate. He gifts her a coral hairpin before leaving but doesn't return. Instead, we get a Hibiki coming in and trying to save Yuki, showing her the decapitated head of Ryoma. Traumatized by his death, Yuki chooses to take her hairpin and kill herself, causing Hibiki to scream out and watch his love die.

The final (and probably least tragic as we know of) ending is if Yuki doesn't really choose any of the guys (or basically is neutral about them). On the day of the festival, she heads up to the roof, only to find the three guys there. They all confess to her, leading to her being shocked and confused at what's going on.

There are some extras as well, relating to the creator's comments and a "yandere room" with each character to ask them questions about their likes, dislikes hobbies and other things.

Going into the game I wasn't really expecting all that much, but it actually is a very good game and surprisingly tragic/brutal. Despite the fact that is a bit old, it is very well written and very much of it's time (basically it has the vibes that it came from 2014 which isn't really a bad thing it's just a feeling.) Considering the game was made by a team of three, I think it's very well made, from the backgrounds to the sprites to the songs. I'm not sure if they made the music or not, but it's very good consisting of piano rifts. My favorite one is what I call the "panic" music, which generally plays when when the yandere is doing something, well, yandere like and the use of silence is really good for some of the endings. On Hibiki's train suicide route, I was having chills down my spine because of the silence they used when they revealed that Yuki was eating curry with Hibiki's hand/fingers in it.

My favorites in order are Hibiki, Haruka and then Ryoma, with Hibiki having the most emotional route and being the most fleshed out. I think that Hibiki as a yandere is a little bit more rare in games too since he tends to be more self inflicting which isn't something I see too much. Haruka and Ryoma's routes are both good and are more based on preference which one you like the most (I like Haruka because he's cute, has a good face turn and I'm not really into confinement as much), though it does feel like Hibiki's route is the "canon" out of all of them.

Starting with Hibiki's route, I actually wasn't sure that I would like him since he comes off as rather aloof initially but as the route went on I started to feel for him the most. Out of all the love interest he's the only one that has a bad relationship with his parents (with Haruka and Ryoma, they seem to have good relationships with their parents they are simply just unaware what their children are doing), and you really feel bad for him considering when he's at home all he wants is to see Yuki again. He is the childhood friend so he's been taking care of Yuki since she was young and Yuki protected Hibiki from his mother as well when they were smaller and his route shows how vulnerable he is. I think he had the most impact in terms of bad endings because I did not expect him cut of his own hand/fingers and kill himself on the subway (I think it's the bad end that most resonates with me). His other bad ending seems a bit strange since he's really happy until he straight up cuts off Haruka and Ryoma's head since other than that he doesn't really seem to be the brutal type, though I guess it does foreshadow the bad ending in Ryoma's route considering he decapitates him.

I was kinda wondering why it took him so long to sleep over at Yuki's house. I feel that because Hibiki and Yuki are close enough that it wouldn't really be weird for him to sleep over at her place (at least on her couch) especially if he reminds her about his relationship with his mom. Maybe it's because he's trying to come off as more independent, but I just feel like he could have totally slept over if he wanted, plus he'd always be near Yuki if he did, making it so he wouldn't always be pining for her at home.

I thought it was funny that the text extract would mistranslate Hibiki's name into Echo/Sound/Ring, so much so that Cherry and I would just call him Echo-kun/Ring-kun/Sound-kun. Cherry also laments his mullet hair because it doesn't really look that good on him in the sprites and especially when he dresses up as a waitor. There's a bit of a dark joke that he likes watermelons considering in the Ryoma bad ending, Yuki initially mistakes Ryoma's head as the watermelons that Echo-kun and her would break when they were younger which is... dark haha.

Moving onto Haruka's route, I think his route did a good job with his heel face turn especially when it came to him basically going into yandere mode. Out of all the love interests, he's definitely the most pushy in terms of getting Yuki to do what he wants as well as the most isolating (socially because the actual isolation award goes to Ryoma). Yuki is so scared of him that she actively tries not to activate that side of him and tries to believe in that sweeter side of Haruka. I did think it was funny that in his bad ending Ryoma just kind of comes out of nowhere and kills Haruka. I also kept joking that because Hibiki lost his hands/fingers in Haruka's other bad ending that Hibiki is just destined to lose his hands in all of them lol.

There wasn't anything really wrong with Haruka's route, I just thought it was funny that he was like "I like my parents but they just don't understand me" moment when he initially goes into his room to listen in on Yuki. Something about it made me think he was like a brooding teenager which is sort of is, lol. Not that telling his parents that he's wiretapping the girl he likes is something he should do, I just think it's funny. I also kept on imagining when Haruka gets Hibiki into the motorcycle accident that he just straight up jump kicks him sideways because although that's probably not what happened I just think that would be the funniest way of doing it.

Text extract kept on translating his name as remote (?) for some reason. I liked his cat outfit (because I'm weak to those) but it looked kind of weird on him I'll be honest. I think it's just because he looks weirdly flat on him, but a cat outfit is a cat outfit.

Ryoma's route is surprisingly the most romantic, since in pretty much all interactions in his route, its very sweet until up to the point where he kidnaps her (I mean he's sweet to her as well, just in a different way). Ryoma is the most bold out of all the other love interests, actively flirting with Yuki and it's a bit similar to Toma in a lot of ways. I do think that his route probably has the most deaths considering in the murder suicide ending pretty much all the main characters die. I think his route does the most 180 degrees in this game going from romantic to straight up kidnapping Yuki and even amputating her legs in the true ending.

I am surprised that pretty much no one seems to really know or at least care that Yuki is gone other than Hibiki considering she gets imprisoned for like a month, or maybe they did but since we're in Yuki's point of view it doesn't seem like they really cared. I guess Hibiki does end up succeeding in looking for her in the two bad endings, but it either ends up with him or Yuki dead so I guess it wouldn't have really worked out in the first place.

His name was consistently Ryoma except for the instances where they either translated him to horse or old man. I guess it makes sense because the first character of Ryoma's name is horse (馬), though I was surprised that it was so consistent considering the other two love interest's names.

Overall, I really did like this game. I think there was a lot of love when making it and it makes me sad that this group disbanded and that none of their games were ever translated. I hope that it does get picked up one day and translated because it is genuinely very good despite the way I had to change it to English (TextExtract was mostly consistent in translations except when it would cut off some long texts for some reason). If someone were to remake/translate this game, I think it would be really good for introducing to male yandere lovers.

Hopefully you guys enjoyed my really long summary and analysis for this game. Thank you for sending this ask because without it I wouldn't have played this obscure but pretty good yandere game!

#asks #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #OTZ this ask was sent when I came back from Hawaii and now its been two vacations...#lunatic honey

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