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#fic: oh baby
honey-boyyoongi · 2 months
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Oh, baby!
Reader x Yoongi | Part 60//?
Summary ➪ Min Yoongi, is a simple man. He likes his coffee black and iced, he enjoys his job, and he loves his baby girl. But what happens when the new neighbor, quite literally, drops into his life?
Warnings ➪ any typos are mine; angst lol; some cursing; talk of physical assault; mentions of toxic parent/child relationship??; if your name is crossed out it’s because I couldn’t tag you;
A/n: hey besties, this year I’m hoping to write more so please look forward to that. Feedback is appreciated and if you’d like to be added to the tag list please let me know.
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Tag List: @unicornbabylover @halesandy @supernoonanyc @aianloveseven @hannahdinse8 @lyndseygoregasmxo @aunoiire @brbkpop @nochuwastaken @tinyoonsblog @borahae-reads @jinscharms @phenomenalgirl9 @yoongiigolden @girlwithluv0613 @yaboiithewreck @mint--yoongs @ysljoon @hyunjingin @yu-justme @damn-u-min-yoongi @lovelytaes-blog @so-da-1 @cruelsummer-s @seolaquotes @lovelgirl22 @dreamamubarak @leanimal90 @atinymonbebestay @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @jaiuneamesolitaiire @proudbtsstanfightmebeach @bookoffracturedescapes @fairywriter-oracle @sakunasrealgf
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mrghostrat · 2 months
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Though he’d promised Aziraphale his attention, his head was turned towards a screen on his right, and the angle of his camera suggested the phone was tucked at the base of his keyboard and monitor. Aziraphale was actually grateful for it; Crowley’s momentary distractedness gave him the time to recover from the sight of him dressed up so professionally. “I, er— yes. I need your help though.” Crowley turned to him suddenly, leaning in close and grinning like a shared secret. Big Name Feelings • 3. Speeding Up
i am so at peace. 5 hrs totally zenned out on these colours. i'm gonna see his face in my dreams 🥰
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temeyes · 2 months
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hehe dad!soap likes matching with his kid
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tiny-and-witchy · 6 months
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I was reading a merthur fic (this one) today and..
In the fic Merlin tells Arthur that he has magic, and Arthur asks why has Merlin never told him and then.. this..
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"Just because Arthur could trust Merlin with his life didn't mean Merlin could do the same."
"JUST BECAUSE ARTHUR COULD TRUST MERLIN WITH HIS LIFE DIDN'T MEAN MERLIN COULD DO THE SAME."
This.. is the most devastating line I have ever read in a Merthur fic, ever..
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Little baby man idea
So damian finds little baby man and decides he's damians new baby
A few months pass and damian is kidnapped by the LoA, and separated from little baby man, after he sees the batfam loosing their minds about damian being kidnapped danny goes full overprotective mode
When the rescue plan happens there was a mistake and the mission fails and all the batfam are about to be killed
When little babyman comes out of one of the batfams clothes
Damian, seeing him, tries to get little baby man danny to run away
Ra seeing damian care about this creature decides to use it to torment him, goes on a rant about how he's become weak and all that
Little baby man is now full obssession and his ghost king powers kick in
Little baby man is now big demon man
Danny growes to the size of a building, sharp needle teeth with ectoplasm leaking out of his mouth like drool, pitch black eyes that look like black holes, an ice crown floating above his head with a ring of fire on his finger,hissing that sounds like the screaming souls of the dead, blue skin, black claws and tail wrapping protectively around the tied up batfam
Everyone watches in horror as damians most recent pet becomes a terrifying pit demon
Danny destroys the lair and kills all the assasins he can, he ends up hurtin Ra al Ghul so much he looses both his arms
Then he goes over to damian and wrapes him up with his tail with the other batfam
Then it looks like space and time itself bend to his will and suddenly their in the batcave still tied up
They look around to see little baby man, back to being little taring at damians restaurants and looking him over, and just being a protective and caring creature
Everyone except damian is terrified
Damian is proud of danny and is already making a list of treats to give him
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eddiebun · 2 years
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liar • 18+
pairing ; eddie munson x fem!reader
summary ; day dreaming about your dreamy boyfriend who just wants your attention, ironic..
genre ; smut, a little fluffy, established relationship!AU
warning ; this content is 18+ only. sexual tension, explicit sexual content (minors away !! grrr), drugs, oral m receiving, spitting, salvia, dacryphilia?? big dick eddie, praise, reader is coy and dramatic but eddie has a soft spot for her, he’s all mushy for her. teasing, kinda sensitive eddie, he gets tingles from her whispering ehehe. reader is playful and likes breaking eddie’s cocky demeanor, starting to think i dragged out the start.. or is it too rushed oh no. reader goes dumb for eddie’s cock, yeah. i wanna suck his dick and listen ik he’d be more of a giver rather than a receiver but i will give him that gluglug any day, time, place idc
wc ; 2.9k
fairy note ; i haven’t written like this in so many years and i thought i never would have again but oh boy, eddie munson.. anyway i hope this is bearable enough to get through if not i’ll just pretend i left this in the drafts for me myself and i. also if i missed any warnings please let me know, i really haven’t dabbled much in writing on tumblr until now.
not proofread
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eddie had been watching you aimlessly twiddle and glide his hefty silver sculpted rings back and forth each of his digits, only breaking the comfortable silence when he chuckled under his breath, almost inaudible.
“what are you thinking about?” he spoke in what would’ve been more like a whisper to anyone else in the room but you heard him perfectly clear, feeling his breath by your ear and the curls in his hair tickling your cheek and neck pleasantly.
“mmh..” you murmured, feeling like anything louder would’ve broken the delicate atmosphere surrounding you both.
you could smell that strawberry conditioner he used (you left it in his bathroom and he just started using it), mixed with the scent of cigarettes that was lingering on his shirt he hadn’t bothered changing out of for a couple days now despite your nagging for him to ‘just make another hellfire shirt!’
“y’know, mmh isn’t really an answer sweetheart.” he couldn’t help but find it amusing, it seemed like you were so lost in everything but nothing at the same time, eyelashes fluttering every now and then when you’d come back to reality.
in truth you were just daydreaming about eddie, your sweet eddie and his calloused fingertips from plucking away at his guitar all day contrasted with his soft pillowy palm you could feel against your thighs every time you closed your eyes and recalled the countless times he had dropped down right there, on his knees, pushed your skirt out of his way and in moments had your underwear tugged off and thrown over his shoulder, practically taking your inhibition along with them uhm which he would totally store away for his own collection, just shrugging when you ask where your undies are and changing the topic
eddie was such a pleaser, a giver, a make you come until you’re crying whilst mumbling sweet praises and coos against your pussy with his mouth and chin covered in saliva and cum for hours on end.
you wish you got the chance to give just as much, it’s not like you had to or felt obliged but he deserved it.
you could’ve sworn he would be able to feel the way you shivered thinking about those filthy thoughts swilving around in your brain.
“well.. i’m not thinking of anything.” your bottom lip jutted out and you shook your head.
“liar.” he playfully scowled, “aww c’mon baby, tell me.” he insisted, a tight squeeze at your hips, pulling you further against him as you sat in his lap with your eyes still fixed on his fingers though you were ogling his arms now too.
as if he could read your thoughts despite asking to know them, his arms came up and wrapped around your waist, now feeling your back flush against his chest and it had you hearing your heartbeat in your eardrums.
you could feel him under the thin fabric of your underwear, though the denim distressed pants he was wearing was thick, you could still feel the warmth and shape of him.
gosh, it’s not even like you and eddie had never shared intimate moments before so you didn’t know why you got so flustered and coy so easy with him.
he was gorgeous, tattoos littered over his body and the way the glow of the lamp casted shadows in all the right places was only egging on the bubbling feeling of arousal under your skin.
“stop that.” you grumbled, trying to sound displeased which was the farthest from the truth and he knew it. you could’ve cried right then and there when you felt that knowingly smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“stop what?”
it was his turn to play dumb and dismissive and you could’ve turned around and bickered at him but you sat still, his grip was solid on you anyway.
you pursed your lips together in annoyance, eddie munson was going to be the death of you, with his hold on you only getting tighter and you could’ve sworn you just felt him raise his hips and push himself up against you further, almost tauntingly.
“I can’t read minds my love.” that was true, your boyfriend couldn’t read your mind but you would be a liar if you said you didn’t believe he was just teasing you now!
your hands came up and you squeezed onto one of his forearms, “babyyy,” you dragged out the word, playing it sweet because eddie munson had the biggest soft spot for you, his girl and you had milked that since the start, always matching his big doe eyes and giving him that look when you wanted something and of course he was putty in your hands every time.
“no nu uh, don’t baby me, i know what you’re doing and it won’t work!” he raised his chin a little, tone defensive as he glanced back and forth between your softened expression then the squeeze you had on his arm.
so you shifted around until his hold on you loosened enough that you now faced him as you sat on his lap with either of your legs each side of him and oh god he looked so beautiful so close like this, you almost stuttered as you leaned in to whisper against his ear,
“baby, i’m just thinking about you, you’re so warm..” you sighed out, hands instinctively moving up and under his shirt, so warm.
“don’t whisper in my ear like that.” you felt him inch away a little, sensitive.
bingo, you got him.
his tongue poked out, swiping along his top lip. now it looked like eddie was the one deep in thought as your hands pressed against his chest and you were still close, breathing on his ear trying not to let a mischievous giggle leave your lips.
“am i warm?” once again, speaking against his ear, not missing the way his breathing picked up, matching the pace of your own breathing.
he only nodded, calm disposition as he pulled back enough to come face to face with you, “so warm here, right?” he questioned, other hand pushing your hips down to press against his lap, feeling how aroused he was, “yeah?” he hummed in approval whether you agreed or not.
it was like that action alone had rendered you dumb, head suddenly full of thoughts, the most disgusting ones, “well don’t start drooling already baby.” he felt smug, that one definitely went to his ego.
“i’m sorry, i wanna taste you so bad.” you spoke up, gripping his arms and arching your back to push back against his lap, your mind suddenly on one thing only which was feeling the weight of eddie’s cock in your mouth.
he blinked a couple of times, stunned by the apology and if he wasn’t totally turned on and ready to fold he would’ve laughed but the sudden admission had him almost jumping to his feet.
any other day he would’ve insisted you rode his face or came on his fingers until you were too sore and limp to move instead but fuck, watching you on his lap, hips already stuttering and this desperate twinge of need in your eyes, who was he to deny that? no way.
your breathing stuttered a little, concentrating on the way your clothed clit was perfectly pressing against the raised denim above the zipper on his denim pants and you tried your best not to just dry hump his lap right then and there. your thoughts and urges got pushed aside momentarily as you felt his plush lips on yours and you indulged, nails digging in to the skin of his abdomen as his tongue pushed passed your lips and swirled with yours, greedy.
when he pulled away there was a string of salvia between the both of your lips, eddie wiping it away with his thumb, “Go on then,” he encouraged, “get on the floor, kneeling.”
he didn’t have to say anything further and you heard the way he snickered when you pathetically scrambled to shuffle up and get in position. eddie stood up afterward and he looked down at you, admiring the way you were practically bouncing with excitement just to have him in your mouth, you are such a gem for him.
“are you that excited?” he mused, going to tug off his belt when he felt you slap his hand away, “let me.” you frowned at him, offended that he didn’t let you do it.
“okay, okay!” he laughed, throwing his hands up in the air like he had just been scolded.
he let you work your fingers through the belt clasp and loops until you successfully take it off and moved to discard his pants next. it didn’t take long, eddie cautiously helping you tug them down his thighs a little, happy when you didn’t snap at him this time.
he was big, pushing against his underwear and looking delicious but you wanted to pace yourself- the best you could.
leaning in you flattened your tongue, swiping along the cotton fabric and feeling him twitch in the confinements, hearing a frustrated groan leave his lips. you wanted to look up so bad, you knew he looked so pretty with his eyebrows furrowed and big brown eyes fixated on you but instead you were a bit cruel, playfully plucking the elastic band of his underwear and letting it snap back against his skin, hearing him hiss.
you giggled, hearing him go to curse out but getting distracted when you tug his underwear down finally, flicking your tongue back and forth along the tip of him. you could get use to this, his cock was so pretty, tall and the tip was a flushed red, tasting him on your tongue and hearing him stutter out your name as you enclosed your lips around him was the icing on the cake.
“oh, fuck..nghh y/n..” his eyes squinted, composing himself as his hand found place at your cheek, comfortingly swiping his thumb along your skin. your mouth felt so warm and wet and you were only toying with his tip so far, he didn’t know how he waited this long without his cock down your throat.
his excitement was matched, a gleeful giggle muffling against his tip against your tongue before you pulled back up a little to let yourself drool over the length of his cock.
“here.” you heard him above you before you felt him tapping your chin.
once you looked up at him he pushed your mouth open encouragingly with his thumb before leaning down a little and spitting directly into your mouth.
you could’ve risked it all right then and there, feeling the way his salvia glides down your tongue, he didn’t miss the way you moaned at the action either. you didn’t waste the gift he gave you even though you would’ve swallowed it if he said otherwise but you looked back down, letting your mixtures of spit drip down his hard cock.
“you’re so hot, like it’s insane sweetheart, look at you.” he groaned, stepping closer and pressing the soaked tip of himself against your lips and you let him push back into your mouth, enjoying the heavy feeling of him on your tongue.
your eyes fluttered shut and you concentrated on pushing him into your mouth and it was a stretch, you could feel your jaw threatening to lock up but his encouraging moans and pleased sighs made it so worth it. your nose hit the hairs by the base of him and he let out the most delicious guttural groan you’d ever heard, he was in complete awe of you.
you pushed back up when you felt yourself gagging a little but you didn’t pull off of him, you hollowed out your cheeks and let him sloppily fuck your mouth.
“oh fuck.. baby, baby, mhm!” he chanted out, eyes lidded and a sheen of sweat building on his neck, his hand now at the back of your head, encouragingly pushing you further down his cock.
you let him, relaxing yourself and enjoying the sultry sounds spill from his lips, hearing how wet his thrusts were in your mouth had you clenching your thighs around nothing.
one of your hands came up, thumb swiping along his balls and hearing him gasp out in pleasure, your other hand pumping what was a struggle to fit into your mouth, feeling a particularly prominent vein running along your hand whilst you pumped him.
“okay, okay, fuck..” he rasped out, pulling your hand away and stilling his thrusting, “cant keep going, i’ll cum.” he breathed out.
you pulled away a little and looked up at him, “i want you to, i need you to fuck my throat till your cumming baby. please, please eddie.” you whined out prettily and there was that feeling again, that pang in his heart every time you wanted to get your way.
“ughh, you are going to drive me insane.” he threw his head back, laughing because he knew he wanted nothing more in the moment.
when he looked back down at you he tutted when you bought your hands back up to stroke him, “no, like before. you can do it, right sweetheart?” he asked, big eyes staring down at you.
that question alone paired with his gaze had you immediately nodding, you’d do anything he wanted if he asked like that, you needed him more and more back on your tongue with each second that went by.
but he was still standing there staring down at you, waiting for an answer, “mmh, i can do it, better this time.”
“ohhh, good girl.” he praised, that sickly sweet and heart-pounding smile on his face.
good girl. your heart was pounding and you felt yourself completely soaking your panties by now.
Without another thought or word, he made an encouraging “ahhh” sound and you opened your mouth, inviting him back in.
this time you could taste the bitter bead of precum on his tip, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw relaxing once more as you felt him start a steady pace thrusting into your mouth, steadily breathing out of your nose as he inches closer and closer to the back of your throat.
“you’re doing so good baby, m’ so proud of you, mhm that’s it.” he drew out a moan as he briefly held himself at the back of your throat, only letting up when he heard you gurgle but you only further whined, wanting him back down your throat as soon as he left, chasing his dick with your mouth.
“shh, shh, you got it baby girl, it’s okay.” he swiped a loose tear from under your eye, it only further turning him on, crying because of how much you loved his cock? he was in some sort of heaven.
“yeah, oh fuck.. mouths so good, just like your pussy.” he hissed out when he picked up the pace of his hips, he couldn’t resist it, he needed to chase that feeling, “just wanted to please me hmm? good, yeah?” he hummed, checking in and smirking when he saw her give him an assuring nod.
despite the nature of his sweet words and praise he was filthily pushing himself back down your throat, this time with more purpose and intensity and you could feel it, your jaw ached and you swore you were making a mess of the floor now too with how wet you were.
“shit, ah fuck! i’m really close to cumming, gonna take it down your throat, all my cum? mmh?” he rasped out, head thrown back and you watched him through glassy eyes, he was so fucking gorgeous you could do this all day, just blinking through the tears as you felt the encouraging push at the back of your head whilst he chased his orgasm.
his moans and cursing only got more and more high pitched as he got closer, stuttering out a spew or curse words and your name, “m’ cumming oh fuck! fuck, y/n! oh baby!” he gasped out breathlessly as you felt him release strings of cum down your throat, heavy on your tongue.
he sloppily thrusted into your mouth, hips languid as he panted out, skin sparkling with sweat, stepping back and pushing any mess that spilled out, back into your mouth with his thumb.
you pridefully swallowed down the filth, your mouth dropping open as you caught your breath, head feeling like it was spinning as you rested your head at his abdomen, squeezing onto his waist to ground yourself.
“that was so hot baby, you have no fucking idea.” he grumbled out, voice hoarse as he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed you, settling you back on his lap, lips instantly moulding against yours, even tasting himself on your tongue.
“my girlfriend has the best pussy to eat, fuck and gives crazy good head? i lucked out.” he winked despite how cheesy it sounded, groaning when you playfully nudge his chest, “but seriously fuck..i’m in love with you.” he laughed in complete euphoria, grabbing a rolled up joint from the bedside table and lighting it, placing it between his lips.
“gonna have to eat your pussy out all night and morning huh? my sweet thing.” he snickered, enjoying teasing you.
“you’re crazy Eddie Munson.” you rolled your eyes, every word he said sending waves of arousal to your core as you plucked the joint from his lips and took a drag, breathing out the excess towards his direction.
“yeah yeah yeah! blah blah, now come sit on my face before i pounce on you because i’m so crazy.” he laid back smugly, voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back, his arms tucked behind his head enticingly.
ahhhhh i’m ending it there because idk how to feel about this or how anyone will feel about this,, i just wanna suck eddie munson‘s dick but maybe i shouldn’t have started writing this at 1am until 4 am. pls do not perceive me gbye
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jarofstyles · 4 months
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Oh Baby, Baby! Five
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Warnings- Pregnancy, hormones, etc.
WC- 2.3k
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Y/N was certain that she was going to kill someone. 
This was why she normally had Harry go to the shops by himself. Her non pregnant self could barely deal with a Saturday crowd. Pregnant Y/N? She was homicidal. 
People didn’t know how to walk. How to say ‘pardon me’. How to talk at a normal volume. Her eye was twitching as her hands tightened on the stopping trolly, taking a deep inhale as she watched Harry place a bag of cucumber into the basket. “Think that should be good in the Veg.”   He chirped, looking at the list on his phone. She could see the little bubbles being filled in and going down each time he checked off an item. Thankfully he still had a functioning mind because hers was feeling like TV static as she tried to keep herself calm.
Her belly had begun to show a bit more and she was extremely protective of her little bump. Hand rested on it, she self soothed by rubbing over it, her stretchy cotton tee shirt dress moving with her hand. She’d chosen the green because Harry specifically liked her in that color, but she was more than aware of how she had begun to stress sweat and he would more than likely be exposed to the stains it would leave behind. 
“Hey..” His hand on her shoulder startled her, making her jump. When had he even approached her? “You okay, love?” His hand shoved the phone into his pocket, instead gently tilting her head up towards him. The look of true concern made her soften her tense shoulders a tad, sighing as she nodded. This newer side to him, having to admit that she was his and he was hers, that they were an actual item, was still somewhat new. It was a weird mix of things that still was hard to understand. On one hand, it spooked her when he was openly affectionate like this, but the bigger side felt like it was natural. Settling into a place it always should have been, perhaps this aspect being the piece she felt somewhat missing in their friendship prior to this. 
Harry wasn’t just her best friend anymore. He was her lover. The fucking father of her child! They were going to be around each other forever. 
“Yeah.” She said tiredly, letting her face fall into his hand. “I’m a bit overwhelmed, honestly. Knew I needed to get out of the house but I forgot what a madhouse the store turns into on weekends.” A weak smile was pulled to the corner of her lips as his brows furrowed at her answer. Yes, it had been her idea to go. She had been holing up inside of the home and she needed to get some more fresh air and stimulation, but the grocery store was proving to be a bit much. 
Pregnancy was a lot more strenuous than she had imagined and she knew it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Mentally it had been taxing, worrying about her abilities to be a mother and also cultivating and nourishing this new relationship with Harry, she had been anxious for a while despite it all. She was hopeful, anyways, because there was no one else she would ever dream of having a baby with. 
With all that was going on, Harry had been a saving grace. A shoulder to lean on and a confidant, now that the layers had been shed and she knew that her feelings for him were not at all one sided. He seemed to thrive, actually, by feeling needed. It was something that had initially shocked her because he used to run away or pull back in the face of commitment, but he was already talking about what they’d make a tradition for their baby's birthday, how they were going to do the holidays, if they’d request their families to come together or split their times… It was incredible but also a bit weird to see. He had slid into the role like he had been born for it. 
He’d even suggested they attend birthing classes together. Picked up more parenting books than she had. Gave her the prenatal vitamins and changed all the coffee in the house to decaf, much to her dismay. He was excited and happy and it felt bad that at times she felt a bit like a grinch. To which he would remind her that she was the one growing a little baby inside of her and had her body changing. That it was his job to do the other preparations because she needed to focus on keeping herself and the baby healthy. He was infuriatingly understanding.  
“M’sorry. I forgot a bit, I kind of space out in my own head.” He mumbled. “Do you want to leave? I can come back later and get some of the stuff.” See? How was he being so good? 
“No, no. That’s ridiculous, we’re halfway through the list. I’m just adjusting, I think. Hyperaware.” She laughed. “Just need to get through it. We’re getting lunch after so I can unwind there. The Bluebird Cafe still okay with you?” She asked, letting his hand fall back to her arm. 
“Anything that’s good with you. Y’know I’m not picky, babe.” He chuckled. “They’ve got the good sandwich and salad combinations. I’m not on the cleanse anymore.” She had forgotten about that. A juice cleanse was a little ridiculous to her but apparently he said it helped his gut. To her that meant his bowel movements must be incredibly unpleasant. “Let’s power through the other half of the shopping, I’ll stop home and run it up, and then we can go fill your hunger. All good.”
“Okay.” It wasn’t much to argue, instead letting him pull her in for a quick hug and a press of his lips on her head. She really didn’t know what she would do without him.
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“So.” Harry’s hands folded against one another. Their food order had been taken and Y/N was sat comfortably in the booth across from Harry, her feet tangled with his. He’d ordered for her, being all too aware of what she had been prattling on about in the car, along with a smoothie he just simply knew that she liked. It was little things like that that caught her off guard. How much had he always been paying attention to that she didn’t even realize? 
“Yes?” She asked, amused as she ran her hand absentmindedly over the growing swell of her stomach. The habit was human nature and Harry expressed jealousy sometimes that he couldn’t always be stroking over their growing baby, but he wanted to remain somewhat normal. He was already so fastidious about everything else, something neither of them had anticipated in this whole journey, so he didn’t want to smother Y/N with his eagerness. 
“How are we….” He leaned on the table on his elbows, hands clasped. “How do we tell the parents?” It was a loaded question considering they really did need to tell them, sooner rather than later. Neither knew Harry and Y/N were even together, let alone that he was fathering a rapidly growing child inside of Y/N’s tummy. They’d kept it quiet for Y/N’s sake and superstition, wanting to make sure she made it into a safer part of the growth to tell people. It had been Y/N’s idea to have a child, even if she had been a bit impulsive, but she was trying to keep this intimate piece just to themselves for as long as they could. What had started as something off the cuff had become even more important to her than she had anticipated- and that was saying a lot.
“I mean, they’re going to be thrilled.” Harry started again, seeing the little wrinkle between her brows that always formed when she thought too hard. “They’ve been rooting for us to get together since we met. I know the baby part is going to kind of… throw things off, but I know they’re going to be overjoyed to learn that we’re havin’ our little Sprout.” The fondness could be seen physically on his features, like he was floating when he spoke about them. Their little baby, the sprout he was keeping track of every week on an app on his phone. He had quite a few downloaded, actually, but one in particular had been purchased with the premium membership. 
‘Might be useful after Sprout, too.’ He had simply shrugged when she asked why he bothered paying for the lifetime membership. It still set the butterflies in her stomach on flight whenever she thought of that little instance. 
Her bashful smile was his response, brushing imaginary lint off her dress before daring to meet his eyes. Harry had been more confident about this whole thing even though she had been the one to say she wanted it, and it had been like they sort of switched places. His confidence was starting to be a bit infectious. 
“I think we should tell them together.” She finally conceded. “I have no idea how, really. We can check pinterest or just tell them? I know it's the first grandchild for both of them so I want it to be special but I don’t want to overdo it. You know?” Y/N knew Harry would get exactly what she meant. “We can do ultrasound pictures in gift bags, or the tee shirts that say grandma on them? I’ve never done it before.” She peeped, flushing to herself. No shit, this was their first child. This would all be a learning curve for everyone involved. 
“No, no. I understand, pretty.” He reached out to grab her fingers that had been fiddling with the edge of the paper napkin, ripping it up slightly. A nervous habit. Instead he spread her fingers out and curled his around hers, running his index finger down the middle of her palm. “I think the ultrasound frame would be the best option. A keepsake that they’ll both like. Maybe we can have them over for a spring dinner, do it then?” The calming touch had it’s intended effect, Harry’s sharp eyes watching as her shoulders relaxed slightly and she nodded at the idea. “Perfect. I don’t mind keeping it to just us for a bit but, you know how gossipy people are. They’re gonna start talking about us going to the appointments and shopping. Don’t want to get everything online.” Harry had been a big advocate for them going out to have the full experience. He wanted to help her choose a crib, a playpen, a baby monitor- all after scouring the safety ratings and reviews, obviously- He wanted to be the one who put together the crib, the one who helped build the nursery. He’d expressed how involved he wanted to be not only in the baby’s day to day, but her pregnancy. How could she say no? How could she not lean all the way into it when she saw just how incredibly happy it made him? 
“I know. Everyone is nosy.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “It’s okay, though. I just want to make sure random people don’t come up and feel my stomach. Maybe get me a sign that says ‘ask before touching’ to put on me.” Her joke made him chuckle but it was a real concern of hers. Y/N liked to keep her physical touch to a minimal with strangers. Harry wouldn’t stand for her being uncomfortable. “It’s different around family, like if we go to family stuff, but a lot of strangers just go up to people and touch and it’s weird.” A fake shudder exaggerated her disgust. 
“Yeah, m’not sure why that’s a thing, my love. I’ll work something out.” Knowing him, he may very well get her a sign to stick on her tummy, but she would see. “We’ve got the telling our parents squared away, so I suppose my next question is when would you like to go shopping?” The eagerness for that was not well hidden, if he was even trying to hide it. Y/N doubted it. 
“Probably soon after we tell them? We can start looking online. You’ve already got the baby locks taken care of.” Her eyes rolled in her head, making him pout. That was still something that he took seriously! He’d seen too many horror stories. “When Sprout, y’know, Blooms, we are going to be overwhelmed and probably busy. I don’t want there to be an accident and we just forget to babyproof something because we have other stuff going on.” He paused, bringing her hand to his face to kiss the knuckles. “I want this to be as stress free for you as possible. Just want you to focus on growing our baby, taking care of yourself. So m’gonna try and take care of stuff in the background so there's no worry, or sudden panic for you.” 
Harry truly managed to blow her mind every day. Little things like this, his pure thoughtfulness made her a bit speechless. How she’d managed to snag the best baby daddy of all time, she didn’t know, but it would be something she was always thankful for. There wasn’t enough time to thank him for it, their food approaching as she was trying to find the words, but she was quick to squeeze his hand back and snug their legs up a bit more as she brought the straw of her smoothie to her mouth. 
Life had somehow stuck her with the best person to grow with. 
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spicy-apple-pie · 7 months
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I wanted to practice my graphic design skills so I made a fake cover for @cdelphiki 's fic The Time Before. She's force feeding me Baby Jason but I'm not complaining.
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gardenofnoah · 11 months
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i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u 
summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds. 
tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k
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much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often. 
you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance. 
he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.
and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be? 
“where’s your girl?”
“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”
that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning. 
“sure she’s not.”
it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting. 
when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”.  he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother. 
there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise. 
lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction. 
he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him. 
“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”
“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”
“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?” 
he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again. 
“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him. 
he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites. 
he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. 
“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth. 
“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding. 
“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”
he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”
he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. 
“a drink? my—oh. wait.”
your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—
“forget it—“
“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”
he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you. 
“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.” 
you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually. 
“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.” 
he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off. 
“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.” 
he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself. 
“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him. 
“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous. 
“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.” 
you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up. 
“can i meet him?” 
he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall. 
“c’mon then.” 
it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy. 
“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“
“oh, who cares. let me see him!” 
he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—
and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting. 
you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting. 
“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”
“you—huh?” 
“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”
“…yeah?”
“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.” 
Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply. 
“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”
that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish. 
“i—uh. didn’t.” 
you blink at him, processing, and then you frown. 
“are you kidding me?”
he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment. 
you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.” 
as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor. 
“why?” 
“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.” 
Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar. 
“alright. Buck it is, then.” 
you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit. 
“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.” 
he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead. 
“see you Friday?”
he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright. 
“okay. see you, Touya.” 
“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.” 
every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him. 
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you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy. 
it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you. 
you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you. 
and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.
you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare. 
it was even harder to get away with it. 
“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.” 
“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.
“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?” 
“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”
he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response. 
you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him. 
“pick a color.” 
“what?”
“i said pick a color, grandpa.”
the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?” 
you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy. 
“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.” 
“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking. 
another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.
there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them. 
you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center. 
you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space. 
“whatcha thinking about?” 
he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.” 
“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch. 
“made you something.” 
“hm?”
you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”
his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands. 
“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?” 
he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”
you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them. 
“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”
“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.” 
you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering. 
“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.
he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work. 
customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor. 
“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door. 
Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.” 
you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 
“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.” 
“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.” 
“why’s that?”
you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment. 
“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter. 
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you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks. 
you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came. 
you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately. 
you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.
you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it. 
you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break. 
standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it. 
sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal
received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage
received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?
sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it
sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?
received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?
sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone 
received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow
you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong  answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family. 
you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek. 
you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.
you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier. 
like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.
“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”
“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early. 
“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—
“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”
your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth. 
“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—
and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face. 
you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look. 
she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.
“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”
he blinks. “i–uh–”
“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”
she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house. 
you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.
“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.
“you’re related to that dinosaur?”
you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”
he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light. 
dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children. 
“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this. 
“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”
you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.
“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar. 
“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”
the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”
he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”
“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”
he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”
you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”
you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it. 
the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.
“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”
you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”
he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.
“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”
“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”
you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.
“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment. 
“sometimes.”
you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know. 
“are you angry?”
he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any. 
“no.”
the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.
you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you. 
you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.
“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once. 
his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery. 
“make it quick, brat.”
you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave. 
“now go inside before y’get sick.”
you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either. 
you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.
“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”
you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.
“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”
he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.
you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.
you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn. 
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“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”
Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.
“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.
“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”
he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch. 
“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation. 
“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”
he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”
“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t. 
“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length. 
she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.” 
he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh. 
“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”
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Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened. 
he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise. 
the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely. 
he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.
immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin. 
“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”
the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”
his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny. 
“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing. 
“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered. 
shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.
he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt. 
“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”
you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.
“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”
he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.
but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire. 
a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.
“come back to mine?”
you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret. 
his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.
“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold. 
“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.
“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it. 
he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you. 
“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing. 
“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole. 
“lead the way, old man.”
he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now. 
he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.
your demeanor changes immediately.
you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch. 
“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”
"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"
he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."
it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 
no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.
“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”
something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it. 
"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits. 
he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.
you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him. 
"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.
"yes."
it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar. 
through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. 
you seem to be aware of that, too. 
you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far. 
"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing. 
"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”
you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way. 
"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."
he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you. 
"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.
you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"
he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him. 
"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."
and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp. 
"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now. 
he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried. 
adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.
what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems. 
"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely. 
he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue. 
you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache. 
"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."
he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it. 
he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again. 
you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t. 
“need you, Touya.”
he could just die. 
"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath. 
"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."
he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory. 
he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it. 
"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.
as if you'd ever need to do that. 
he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you. 
"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"
he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.
"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.
in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.
"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"
he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can. 
he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation. 
he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand. 
"you with me, kid?"
you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."
he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh. 
"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep. 
he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out. 
he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.
he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that. 
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there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you. 
it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting. 
that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else. 
“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”
you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves. 
“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”
the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you. 
it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too. 
still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder. 
“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”
“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”
you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”
it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it. 
“you could’ve fooled me.”  
he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple. 
“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch. 
“let me know if you see one, then.” 
“hey!”
he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh. 
“c’mon then, pretty lady.”
you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.  
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“you alright?”
it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.
you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down. 
despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it. 
he does. 
“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?” 
his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth. 
“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”
you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time. 
you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant. 
“s’that such a bad thing?”
your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely. 
“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts. 
“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”
“i know that you don’t do this shit.”
he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear. 
“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.” 
you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration. 
“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”
“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“
“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it. 
“you don’t—you’re not—“
“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”
“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”
you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this. 
“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.” 
you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there. 
“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.” 
his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud. 
you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion. 
“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”
he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.” 
you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put. 
“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest. 
“i love you.”
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epilogue—1 year later
Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now. 
he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.
“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”
he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying. 
walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh. 
it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart. 
“babe? you here?”
you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.
“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.
“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him. 
“what did Mam need—oh.”
you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms. 
you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.
“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve,  “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”
you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners. 
“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”
you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there. 
“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again. 
“do y’want to?”
you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”
he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”
you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”
“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—
“lunch meat.”
“...i’m sorry?”
“his name is lunch meat.”
you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body. 
“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”
he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.
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this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.    
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daily-crowley · 2 months
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Crowley Of The Day: gorgeous 😍
(I used up all my hashtags that I couldn’t do my usual GO tags that I always do lol I don’t care)
#personal update#I got into Trolls#but I mean really really really into it#new fixation the brainrot is unstoppable#it’s all I think about I’m to the point that I need all Trolls content to survive#all Trolls content HAND IT OVER! merch fanart fics ALL OF IT#I’m so in love with Branch Floyd and John Dory#Rock Zombie Branch is sooooooo#and so I’d Rock Zombie Poppy#I AM THE NUMBER ONE JOHN FORY DEFENDER LEAVE HIM ALONE HE DID NOTHING WRONG AND DOESNT DEAERVE THE HATE HE GETS#I need what Broppy have oh my fucking god it’s so cute the love they have for each other it’s consuming me#and I need more of Branch and Clay those two rule following safety loving nerds would have such a great relationship#DID YOU SEE CLAY FAWNING OVER BRANCH WHEN THEY REUNITED SQUISHING HIS CHEEKS#THATS HIS BABY BROTHER AND HES AS CUTE NOW AS HE WAS WHEN HE WAS A BABY#AND THE ENDING WHEN HE TOLD HIM HE WAS SORRY FOR MISSING HIM GROW UP BUT COULDNT WAIT FOR THWM TO HANG OUT NOW#everyone focuses on Branch and Floyd but I NEED BRANCH AND CLAY#Speaking of Floyd I love him so much. he’s all I think about. that is if I’m not thinking of Branch#John Dory is everything to me? like I’m obsessed with him in a different way. like I said I’ll defend him every single time#BRUUUUUUUCE!!! 💞💞💞💞💞#Trolls 3 is still in cinemas and I’ve literally been going to rewatch it once a week#no joke I’m going again this Wednesday#AND I HAVE THE FILM AT HOME! I have all 3 of them and I watch them every day#I’m telling you the brainrot is unstoppable I am going insane#People apparently don’t like when I talk about any other interest of mine especially Trolls#it’s like I’m almost not allowed to talk about anything other than Good Omens#so since people don’t like me doing permanent posts YOU’RE GETTING IT IN THE TAGS#okay I’m done…. for now.#Crowley#Crowley Of The Day#Good Omens
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demigod-of-the-agni · 4 months
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Local man, his two boyfriends and his two girlfriends buy TRANS ICON BLÅHAJ
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honey-boyyoongi · 8 months
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Oh, baby!
Reader x Yoongi | Part 58//?
Summary ➪ Min Yoongi, is a simple man. He likes his coffee black and iced, he enjoys his job, and he loves his baby girl. But what happens when the new neighbor, quite literally, drops into his life?
Warnings ➪ any typos are mine; angst lol; some cursing; talk of postpartum depression; gaslighting??; toxic relationship??; if post you’re name is crossed out it’s because I couldn’t tag you;
A/n: heyyyy~~~~~ sorry for disappearing. Some things are going on right now, and y’all I’m stressed. Anywho~~ as always feedback is appreciated and if you would like to be added
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Tag List: @unicornbabylover @halesandy @supernoonanyc @aianloveseven @hannahdinse8 @lyndseygoregasmxo @aunoiire @brbkpop @nochuwastaken @tinyoonsblog @borahae-reads @jinscharms @phenomenalgirl9 @yoongiigolden @girlwithluv0613 @yaboiithewreck @mint--yoongs @ysljoon @hyunjingin @yu-justme @damn-u-min-yoongi @lovelytaes-blog @so-da-1 @cruelsummer-s @seolaquotes @lovelgirl22 @dreamamubarak @leanimal90 @atinymonbebestay @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @jaiuneamesolitaiire @proudbtsstanfightmebeach @bookoffracturedescapes @fairywriter-oracle @sakunasrealgf
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A Promise Kept
“But this isn't just any flower. It's magical.” 
Steve wrinkles his nose. “Magical?” 
“Yup!” His friend's face breaks into a grin, two teeth short. “As long as you keep it, I'll always make my way back to you. It may take a while, but I'll find you eventually.” 
“Promise?” Steve murmurs. There's a lump in his throat and it comes out small and quiet.
“I promise.” The other boy winks and tugs the flower behind his ear. “That I'll find you, and that I'll always be your dragon. And now, my king … how about one final adventure?”
(Read the rest over here!!)
Drawn for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 8 prompt Idiots to Lovers.
What happens when you take two young boys who bonded over stolen afternoons at the local playground, have them make a childhood promise to stay together forever, separate them for a 10-year gap, and then have them meet again in the future where they don't recognize each other??
Wonderful chaos, that's what.
Hype took what started out as a silly little idea of mine and turned it into a romcom plot that I need to have a 50 K word fic of immediately! 😂
Please go read what they wrote it's so sweet and funny ❤️
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lenreli · 2 months
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endless pawns playing a fixed game
Explicit, 7.8k, Dream/Hob. Reacher-inspired AU with an ex-spy Hob and mafia kid Dream!
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2
[AO3]
When Hob took the Endless family bodyguard position, it was mainly for the paycheck. And also a lack of breaking kneecaps for collecting debts, which he does feel some way about. More that it’s a waste of his considerable skill, but nonetheless. 
Recent hushed rumours around the estate have made the Endless bosses more paranoid for their well-being, so he’s gathered in his time at the vast place. 
The bosses are ― well, efficient mob, and just generally terrible people, as evidenced by shouting matches featuring Night or Time, which surely can’t be their real names― 
Then again, with their children’s names, with the many different aged children also getting into screaming matches with the parents, Hob considers his lack of family a blessing, in cases like this. 
The kids, with all sorts of D-name, are varied, and from what he gathered, either orphans gathered up for some good PR, or due to some twisted sense of actually wanting a family. Or maybe they were from people and former mob bosses the parents killed and raised, which would be an impressive sort of fucked up. The kids are mostly a non-issue for him as he does his job, and usually walks past a few of them throughout his days― 
He’s used to seeing Death’s much-too-kind smile, to Destiny being cloistered up in the library, to Desire’s comings and goings at all hours, and surely he must’ve seen Dream somewhere before that night of the attempted poisoning. 
As he looks around the room as some poor schmuck is taken, screaming and pleading, he catches blue eyes and is momentarily stunned. As Desire talks to Dream, Hob gathers that stoic, pale man mainly lives around the art quarters ― which would explain why Hob only briefly remembers him. Plus, the art quarters are very dark and moody, and this is probably the first time he’s seen Dream in actual good light, arms crossed as he talks quietly with Desire. 
As he stares at the cut of Dream’s suit, the blue eyes stare at him for a moment, and Hob catalogues the minute expressions of annoyance as Dream talks with Desire. He definitely knows those blue eyes, have felt them following him since he arrived at the estate, a background awareness of everything else, and Hob considers Dream’s pink, plush lips, low voice begging and screaming, pale skin splashed with― 
“Gadling!” His boss calls and he looks over, Dusk folding her arms and giving him an unimpressed look, “you’re needed.”
Blinking, he puts his hands into the pockets of his pants, “what about Cori?” He’s pretty sure Cori actually gets off on the torture in his job, and he’d hate to take that from him.
“Who the fuck knows. Hence, you,” Dusk drawls, and she gives him an extra glare for good measure, eyes narrowing as she looks between him and Dream. Hob nods and suppresses a smirk, thinking of how cute it is that she thinks her disapproval, or even some don’t fuck who you work for would stop him. 
-
If there’s something Hob likes about his job, it’s that there’s always plots under schemes to uncover, always people to kill ― and now, Dream’s blue eyes staring at him occasionally, like they’re drawn to him. And maybe when Hob feels like a pointless one night stand, he gets a pale twink with dark hair and bites into his neck, replacing the high whines with Dream’s deep voice, the coarse black hair he tugs with the soft-looking spikes of Dream’s hair. Just for a bit of fun. 
Hob’s always one for looking for the bright things in life, especially after getting out of his former job. 
The point is, his life is pretty good, potential firing squad due to some light treason notwithstanding. 
-
Sometimes the goons of the estate think that the Endless kids should learn how to defend themselves, which would be good, he’s sure, if said goons weren’t such idiots when it comes to teaching them. And today they’ve managed to drag a scowling Dream out of his art quarters, which is why he’s actually witnessing their poor attempts at teaching today. 
“Are you going to keep judging, or are you going to give a few pointers?” The big man frowns at him. Hob blinks and crosses his arms, leaning more on the wall as he glances at Dream, hair ruffled and scowling. 
“I’m not the teaching type,” he says with a shrug, and the goon scowls, no doubt angry at Hob as he barks orders at Dream, who looks just as impressed as Hob does with him. 
The subpar teaching makes for good entertainment, and Hob briefly considers maybe giving Dream private lessons. Or maybe not so private, if only for the good screaming and whining to be echoed throughout the grounds. 
At last, the goon gives up with a huff, and Hob stares at the bruise on Dream’s cheek, the colour matching the other’s lips as Dream straightens out his ratty black clothes, small specks of blue paint on the bottom of Dream’s shirt. 
Dream looks at him, stepping closer, absurdly plush mouth opening―and a phone rings. Dream frowns and takes out a flip phone, answering it curtly, then shortly leaving. 
-
A week after that, something is wrong. Dream has been one for Wednesday meetings with his sister in the library, and nothing. Only Death, looking faintly worried. 
Then a ransom call comes in, and Hob only gets that Dream’s been kidnapped before he holds his anger tightly, the Endless parents not even worried as the modulated voice lists their demands. Many of the fellow security and goons give him skittish looks, who have been wordlessly ribbing him for taking a liking to Dream.
Hob says nothing to the Endless parents as he leaves the room, ringing up some of his contacts to get something, and quickly ― before he decides they need some persuasion. 
In the end, it takes seven days for him to find out that Burgess, another mob boss, recently hooked up electricity to an abandoned building, the night before the ransom call. Hob briefly considers going to Fawney Rig, where Burgess’s own mansion is, then considers after, once Dream is back at the estate. 
For all the heightened security that the Endless parents put in, they’re remarkably unconcerned that their own son is kidnapped, whether out of neglect, or simply because of the people around working on it, Hob is unclear about. And, well, if they didn’t give him his income, he’d consider adding more bodies to the one’s he’s already planning on.
When he tells security of his plans, they offer to give him some goons as ‘back-up’ and Hob bites back a scoff. “I can handle it myself,” he frowns, glaring at the man until he steps back, nodding sharply. 
-
The plan is to go through the abandoned building and kill everyone that’s not Dream. A simple one, but it’s never failed him yet.
Hob is almost offended at the front door, when he goes in to see five rent-a-thugs, nothing approaching a challenge as he methodically makes his way through them. With two already dead, he uses the body of one as a shield, gunshots ringing out, but soon silenced by one of his daggers through the shooter��s heart. 
The other two go down with more daggers thrown, and once he’s collected and cleaned them off with fabric from the cheap suits of the men, he puts them away and sighs. 
Unsurprisingly, the other rooms are easy enough to go through, finally finding Dream tied up on a chair, with two men near the door, guns raised at him. Hob puts on a disarming smile, putting his hands up. “I’m going to be nice, and tell you how you die,” he says, smiling brightly. Then men are shaking, guns rattling quietly in their grips. “You,” he nods to the man on his right, “are going to try and shoot me, and then I’m going to go after your buddy here and kill him with a clean knife to the heart. Then I’m going to take it out of his body and throw it into your heart, and you’ll both be dead before you hit the ground.” 
The men seem even more freaked out, sharing scared looks ― but this isn’t about them. Maybe he wanted to show off, just a little bit, for the captive audience. Dream’s blue eyes are wide, mouth gagged with black fabric― and the man on his right moves, and it goes like he said, pulling out his dagger and cleaning it off the dead man’s body before stowing it away. 
“Hello, Dream,” the other man’s eyes go even wider, a muffled sound going through the gag as he walks up to him, leaning over the chair to cut loose the ropes holding Dream. “We haven’t met yet officially, but you can call me Hob,” he smiles as he rips off the gag, then goes to the ropes around Dream’s legs, cutting them off as he stands up. Dream also gets up, face even more pale ― and Hob’s brows furrow as he touches the corner of Dream’s mouth, where a bruise is. “Maybe I should’ve tortured them more,” he remarks. 
“Thank you,” Dream croaks, eyes a dark, deep blue and Hob hums, stepping away as he rubs his thumb, still feeling the soft skin under it. 
“Let’s get you back home, Endless.” Hob gives Dream a once-over, finding nothing out of place with the black suit, or the way Dream’s holding himself. 
“Is it just you?” Dream asks as they step outside of the room, and Dream stops, looking at the bodies lining the rooms as they go through each one. Dream always takes a moment to stop, looking at the various bodies, wide eyes leaving them to look at him ― and his clean suit, not a speck of blood on him.
“I was offered back-up, but they’d just get in the way,” he says with a shrug. Dream nods as they exit the building, and Hob opens the back car door, then stops Dream from getting in. “Burgess met you, didn’t he? Probably to gloat, he seems like the type of asshole to do that,” Dream steps back and nods as Hob leans on the car door. “Do you expressly order for me to kill him for you, or do I have to do it without it?” 
Dream’s mouth moves, opening and shutting before something hard settles over Dream’s expression, “you can kill him,” Dream says, voice breathless and Hob nods. Moving out of the way, he gets in on the other side as Dream slides in, looking at the dark screen between them and Mervyn, the driver, starts the car. 
Dream still looks shocked, wide-eyed and flushed cheeks, and Hob considers the effects of kidnapping, which are never good. Or maybe it was all the dead bodies, especially considering Dream maybe doesn’t have much experience with that. 
Hob watches as Dream takes deep breaths, suit jacket being thrown off, then shoes joining them, and Hob tilts his head, looking at pale collarbones, sweaty and glistening as Dream undoes the top buttons of the shirt, black a contrast to the white of his skin. “I need you,” Dream says roughly, eyes mostly black, and Hob blinks as Dream pulls him closer by his collar, “to fuck me,” Dream states before kissing him, biting into his lips. Or maybe, Hob thinks nonsensically, grabbing onto Dream’s waist as the other man slides into his lap. 
Hob blinks, eyebrows raised, “no complaints here, just as long as you don’t regret it,” he breathes, fingers sliding up under a black shirt, and he watches as Dream shivers, bony limbs pushing him down onto the backseat. 
“Definitely not,” Dream says sharply, cold hands tearing open his blazer, then waistcoat and shirt, and Dream pauses as his blazer is thrown off, eyes zeroed in on the bracers around his biceps ― and the daggers in them. There’s a huff as Dream takes them off, then the bracers and his waistcoat and shirt, and there’s another huff as Dream stares at the harness around his shoulders, the guns on them. “Hob.” 
Suppressing a smile, he shrugs as he toes his pointed shoes off, Dream still on his lap as he watches Hob pull out a tiny syringe, then a few small daggers and puts them on his other weapons on the floor. 
“A syringe?” Dream asks, leaning closer to look.
“Lethal poison,” he says, sitting up to sit against the car side, his hands going under Dream’s shirts to take it off, pale skin and pink nipples, and he nibbles up Dream’s neck, restraining himself from drawing blood as Dream whimpers. “This too, plus another, but you’ll have to take my pants off for that,” he whispers into Dream’s ear as he tugs the hair tie off his wrist, throwing it onto his pile of weapons. 
Dream makes a sound, cold hands getting warmer as they tug at Hob’s pants, “a hair tie?” The other man asks incredulously, belt being taken off to join the rest of the weapons as Dream takes a moment to stare at the line of tiny daggers lining the inside of the belt.
“The hair tie can also turn into barbed wire,” he offers with a smirk, “and not that, I forgot about those,” he shrugs, arousal a constant, pleasant buzz with how Dream is sitting on him. Dream mutters something, words incomprehensible as Dream sits up to tug his pants off, the underwear, knives strapped with harnesses on his thighs thrown with everything else, and Dream’s look of annoyance makes Hob bite back a laugh. 
“Is that all? Anything else?” Dream hisses, and Hob does actually smirk as Dream tugs at his chest hair. Hob hums and touches the crotch of the other’s pants, feeling a wet spot already as he unbuttons them, clearly not as turned off by all the weapons. 
“Not today,” he says. Tugging Dream closer by the zip of his pants, there’s a broken sound as they kiss filthily, and Hob’s already addicted to the feel of Dream’s smooth skin as his nails scratch down thighs, Dream’s lower clothes soon joining the rest. “I’m not taking you raw,” he drawls, smiling as Dream tugs his hair and pulls back with a huff. 
Dream mutters some more and reaches for the back of the passenger seat, revealing a compartment filled with small packets of lube and condoms. Desire, probably, Hob’s mind supplies as he takes some of the lube and a condom. “I thought this would involve more fucking, not all these―” Dream’s complaint turns into a moan as Hob pushes a finger inside Dream, and his cock twitches at the thought of going inside that warm heat as he bites at the other’s jaw. 
Dream pants, breath harsh near his ear as fingers grip his chest hair and he adds another finger, twisting and stretching the walls around them. “Hard or soft?” He asks, free hand digging into and trailing up Dream’s spine, feeling him shiver and shake as Dream clenches around his fingers. 
“Now,” is the desperate order, and Hob pulls Dream by the hair into a forceful kiss, making those pink lips even redder as he takes out his fingers and prepares his cock, lube and condom cool compared to the burning heat of Dream on top of him. Hob groans as he enters the tight heat, Dream shuddering and squeezing around him, and Dream cries out, a hand coming down from his hair to dig into the stubble of his jaw. “Yes,” Dream breathes, twitching. 
Hob takes a deep breath, smelling blood and sweat on Dream’s neck as he gets used to the feeling, a part of him wanting to drive in, but also Dream was just kidnapped, so he tries to have a modicum of care as he bottoms out, nails digging into Dream’s waist as they adjust. The tenuous self-control frays as Dream wriggles on top of him, licking into his mouth as Dream grinds down onto his cock. 
“Stop being such a pussy and fuck me,” Dream croaks ― and there’s a gasp as Hob’s free hand circles Dream’s neck, nails digging into the other’s esophagus until Dream coughs, eyes wide and dick leaking onto Hob’s stomach. 
“With the way you’re acting, no,” he frowns as Dream continues to cough, eventually nodding frantically as Dream’s hand pulls the one away from the other’s throat. 
Dream licks his lips, a bit of terror in his eyes that makes Hob’s sharp anger lessen. “Please,” Dream whispers, eyes still overtaken with black, a thin ring of deep blue as the car passes a pot-hole, jostling them and Dream wails. “Pleasepleaseplease.” 
“Better,” he breathes, tugging Dream’s hair roughly as he guides the other man up and down his cock, feeling tight walls slowly loosen up as Dream is impaled on him. Dream tries to say something, but Hob shifts him and only a cry comes out as he hits the other’s prostate, and Hob nibbles at the blossoming bruise on Dream’s throat in the shape of his hand. 
Dream sobs and claws at his chest, at his shoulder as they fuck, as his tempo rises ― and Dream comes with a sob, squeezing his cock tightly and pulling an orgasm out of him. 
-
Checking all his weapons are where they’re meant to be, he puts on his clothes as Dream frowns, glaring at him on the backseat. “Now, I have to report to security, and you’ll probably have to deal with your family, so. See you around, Dream,” he says with a lazy fingered salute as he hops out of the car. “Mervyn,” he says with a smile and a nod towards the driver. Mervyn gives him the middle finger as he leaves. 
The security briefing is, well, brief. Mainly because he doesn’t reveal the people who kidnapped Dream. So that he can go after them himself, but that’s splitting hairs. There’s a cacophony of sound, and there’s a done-up Dream, looking only a tiny bit ruffled as he’s surrounded by all his siblings as they talk at him. Dream catches his eye and sends him a desperate get me out of here look, and Hob only shrugs, leaning against the wall as Death and Delirium move on to hugging Dream, only quickly though. 
Dream scowls, bruises on his neck hidden by layers of collars and black as he steps into Hob’s space once the room has cleared out and the siblings have dispersed. “Will you join me? To my room,” Hob raises an eyebrow and Dream looks away, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, “for protection, after my ordeal.” 
Hob frowns, Dream looking so exhausted now, and he nods, following after Dream into the labyrinth of the mansion until they end up at a room near the art quarters, opening into a red and black bedroom. Hob watches as Dream sheds off his clothes, marks and bruises ― mainly from him, bright against his skin as Dream goes into the bathroom. Hob closes the bedroom door as Dream fills the bath in his en suite, eventually hopping in with a weary sigh. 
There’s only the sound of a ticking clock, a far-off, muffled television as Dream curls up in the bath, eventually hopping out after at least an hour. Hob’s heart aches, which he ignores as Dream pulls a fluffy black towel around himself. “Hob,” Dream whispers, voice rusty as Dream dries himself off, getting into a ratty black shirt and pants. “Will you stay? Until I fall asleep?” 
Dream looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, drained and tired, at how vulnerable Dream is, and he wants to make sure that no-one else ever sees that look, as much as he wants to make it even worse. However, he did say, he would deal with Dream’s captors, and he thinks of the soft touch of the other’s skin, the fiery determination, even after being rescued. 
His heart, which he long thought dead, twists at the other’s exhaustion, and the decision is simple.
“Of course.” 
-
Going through the information gathered on Fawney Rig, Hob may actually have a bit of a challenge, so he decides to take his time working out angles, and what he plans to do. Especially when he discovers that the kidnapping wasn’t the first time he’s interacted with Dream, and those haven’t been good either. Nothing as overt as kidnapping, but enough of a pattern to make Hob think of the many ways to flay an old man alive.
Afterwards, Dream asks him to his room more. Sometimes for just peace of mind, apparently. And other times for sex, which isn’t trouble at all, and Hob is happy with the way things are going in life, even as he deals with rising amounts of plots against the Endless family with no clear mastermind, much to his frustration.
However, there’s always time for some fun, this time with Dream pushing him against his bedroom door and kneeling down, hands quickly taking him out and Hob gasps at the hot mouth around his dick, sucking him to hardness. Groaning, Hob grabs onto soft dark hair as Dream pushes his hips against the door. 
“What, no undressing me first?” He says, and Dream stops to give him a withered look, clearly not in the mood to deal with his many weapons. Hob barks out a laugh as Dream licks him. 
Dream moans, long black lashes fluttering as Hob fills up in his mouth, the other’s nails digging into the harnesses under his pants, daggers cold against his skin as Dream licks and sucks. 
“You may want to move those hands,” he breathes, tugging the other’s black hair, “daggers.” Dream gives him a tired look and pulls off him, teeth lightly grazing the top of his cock, annoyance showing even more as Dream tugs down his pants to reveal the harness and taking off the daggers. 
There’s a huff as Dream’s mouth returns, one of Dream’s hands going underneath his shirt to tug at his chest hair, and the pleasure fizzles steadily, unwilling to look away from the other man.
Even just looking at Dream in this position is enough to make his arousal build, spiraling at how much Dream obviously enjoys it. “So pretty,” he whispers, and Dream shivers around him, lashes fluttering and Hob smirks as Dream’s hips move, grinding into air. “Taking me so well,” he says, a hand trailing down to touch Dream’s jaw, going down to a pale throat as Dream moans and swallows around him. “Knew you’d be good with lips like these.” 
Dream whimpers as his hand goes up to pink lips, split around his cock, a thumb pressing inside the warm heat. There’s a cry, blue eyes shiny and tears sticking to the edge of long lashes. 
His orgasm is a slow thing, helped along as he tugs Dream by his hair, making him choke and swallow around him desperately as he comes. Dream coughs, covering his mouth as he swallows the white fluid. “Was that necessary?” Dream asks, voice rough and fucked, and Hob meets on the floor with a smirk. 
“No, it was just fun,” he says with a grin, making Dream gasp as he tugs black hair roughly. Pulling him in for a messy kiss, licking some off of Dream's puffy lips as Dream whimpers. His other hand goes to black skinny jeans, swiftly undoing them―and Hob raises his eyebrows, leaning back as Dream’s face reddens. “Was it the praise or the way I used you?” 
Dream’s face burns even more as his hand feels a softening cock, come coating his fingers as he takes his hand out. 
-
A different day, and Hob’s spent hours between Dream’s sheets, wringing out orgasms until he’s had his fill, the night air cool on his skin as he sits up on the bed, a warm lamp and moonlight showing their clothes strewn about the room. He at least tries to sit up, with a skinny arm going around his waist, and there’s a groan as Hob puts some of his daggers back into their harnesses. “Cuddly, are you?” He asks. 
“No,” Dream groans, muffled against his skin as the other man curls around him, a thumb going under one of his thigh harnesses as bright blue eyes peek at him. “Surely there’s better things to do than whatever you’re planning.” 
“Like making you come even more?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he finds his syringe of poison, putting it into place. Dream huffs, pouting as Hob moves off the bed to sheathe even more of his weapons before haphazardly putting on his pants, afterglow settling in his veins.
“I could read to you,” Dream says, pride in his tone and Hob blinks, baffled as he turns to look back at Dream. “I have been told I have a good reading voice,” Dream explains as he picks up a book from his nightstand. Hob considers ― and Dream does have a good voice, and Hob did work very hard today with his own side project of dealing with Burgess. 
Hob crosses his arms and waits, although, “well, Prince of Stories?” Hob says sarcastically, and Dream blinks, shock on his face before it quickly becomes blank, Dream flipping through to the start of the book, a bookmark kept in place near the end of it. 
“Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen. In Carcosa,” Dream begins, words deep and resounding, and vaguely familiar. 
“Horror?” He says with a grin, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. Dream’s eyebrow twitches. 
“It’s what I’ve been reading,” is offered primly. Dream clears his throat and pulls the sheets over himself, eyes focused on the page in front of him intently. “Strange is the night where black stars rise. And strange moons circle through the skies But stranger still, is Lost Carcosa―”
-
Hob frowns as he walks towards the art quarters, knowing that Dream would be there, since he’s not in his room. While the mansion has many cameras, there are none in Dream’s art areas or their rooms ― and not that he’d care for them, but it’s handy, especially with what he wants to talk to Dream about. Sighing, he enters the art room, finding Dream mixing paint near a canvas. “Anything you want to tell me?” 
Dream turns around and blinks, paintbrush in his hand dripping black paint. “About?” 
“Like another attempt on your parent’s life, which I only found out about after I left your room,” he says slowly, walking closer to Dream. 
“What are you implying?” Dream asks, shock giving away to an offended glare as the paintbrush gets put down. Hob doesn’t say anything, just watches as Dream glares at him, and continues―until a tiny tic, Dream looking away momentarily. 
“You knew,” he drawls as he grabs the other’s jaw, forcing blue eyes to look at him as Dream tries to look away again. “Why?” 
“You have some gall to accuse me,” Dream breathes, trying to push his hand away and failing as Hob digs his nails into Dream’s jaw. There’s a brief look of terror from Dream as his fingers go down a pale throat, beginning to cut air from his windpipe. “It wasn’t,” Dream gasps, voice high, “I did want to spend more time with you, but also.” 
 “Again. Why?” He asks as he lets go, letting Dream wheeze and take some deep breaths. 
“They want to send Delirium off,” Dream mutters, “and we―my sibling and I, don’t want that.” 
Hob nods, rumours and attempts coalescing into a clear picture, “that’s all? They want to send her away?” 
“Among other things,” Dream says quietly, giving him a wide-eyed look, “you can’t tell anyone.” 
Hob crosses his arms as he tilts his head, “I don’t know. I do enjoy the money.” 
“Once they’re ― nothing will change with that, I swear,” Dream says, almost pleading, “just a change in who runs things.”
Sighing, Hob steps back as he pats Dream’s cheek, a brief flash of fear crossing the other’s face. And, well, he did briefly consider killing the parents himself for the way they acted with Dream’s kidnapping. “As long I get my money, do what you want,” he says curtly as he leaves. 
-
A day later, and Dream freezes once he enters his bedroom. “Hob, I thought you’d be…” Dream trails off as Hob smiles, waiting for the other man to come closer. 
“Maybe I wanted to reward you for being so honest with me,” he says, holding his hands out ― which Dream takes warily as he pulls Dream on top of him. The other man looks confused and apprehensive, even as they share biting kisses. “A gift,” he breathes, smiling as Dream’s hands go under his shirt ― and stops, the hands leaving to pat over his thighs and chest. 
“Why do you have no weapons,” Dream says flatly, patting his thighs like he expects them to suddenly materialise from where Hob stashed them in the en suite. Hob resists rolling his eyes, bringing Dream in for another kiss, licking into the other’s mouth as their clothes are shed. The arousal builds slowly as he grabs Dream’s hip, stroking up and down as Dream gets his lube. 
“No,” he whispers, and Dream lets out a sound as Hob takes the lube from Dream, coating his fingers in it ― and Dream makes another sound as Hob puts the finger in himself, feeling odd after so many years. “Like this,” he says into Dream’s lips, watching Dream’s eyes widen, mouth dropping as Hob puts another finger in, stretching himself. 
“You―what,” Dream chokes, thin hands gabbing his waist tightly as Dream stares down as Hob puts another finger in, stretch sliding from weird to pleasurable as he brushes his prostate, gasping at the jolt of it. 
“A gift,” he whispers, looking up through his lashes as he finishes prepping himself ― and putting a condom on Dream’s red, leaking dick. There’s a whimper from Dream, hands fluttering up and down his chest as Dream breeches him. “And a punishment,”  Hob says with a grin as Dream bottoms out, and he shivers through the pleasure, nails digging into Dream’s jaw to force those blue eyes to look at him. 
“Fucking you? A punishment?” Dream asks, expression flummoxed, then quickly turning into determination and cockiness as Dream holds him down. The rhythm builds quickly, sometimes brushing against that bundle of nerves and bringing Hob closer to orgasm ― and Dream looks quietly smug, blue eyes dark as Hob clenches around him.
Hob blinks, watching as Dream fucks into him, nails scratching marks into his waist as Dream gets closer to coming ― and when Dream exits him, he puts his hand around the other’s cock. Dream cries out, orgasm stopped in place by his hand. “I think I need another orgasm. You, however.” 
Dream’s eyes widen, pink mouth gaping, cockiness forgotten, “but I. No. Hob,” Dream pleads, “Hob, please.” 
Smiling at how he can feel Dream’s cock twitch and jerk in his hand, he deems the orgasm stopped ― and uses his other hand to control Dream by the hips, guiding him in. Dream cries out, body collapsing on top of him as Hob guides the other’s cock, oversensitivity making it pleasure-painful as his cock eventually starts to fill again, and there’s only the sound of slapping skin, his moans and Dream’s pleading as his next orgasm arrives slowly. 
By then, he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm once more, who continues to beg into his neck. 
His third orgasm is erring on the side of painful and dry, but he enjoys it anyway as Dream lets out a broken wail as his own orgasm is stopped, Dream’s body shaking above him, and he can feel tears on his neck. “Do you think you’ve learnt yet?” He asks breathlessly, smiling as Dream nods against his neck. “I’m not entirely sure you have, considering that stunt you pulled.” 
His fourth orgasm is entirely dry, the oversensitivity making him grit his teeth as his walls clench around Dream’s throbbing cock. Dream at this point is completely incoherent, only the suggestions of begging are almost discernible beneath broken sounds. 
It’s after he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm for the seventh time, does he take Dream out, who is a collapsed, shivery mess on top of him. As he gets up from the bed, Dream blindly reaches for him, eventually gripping onto one of his biceps. “Hob,” Dream croaks, blue eyes watery and puffy, black eyeliner running. 
“Behave, and I might let you come,” Hob purrs, pulling Dream in for a filthy kiss by his hair, and then leaving to put everything on in the en suite.
-
Next day, the soreness is pushed away with painkillers ― and the way Dream stares at him, eyes pleading and suit askew at a meeting for the family. Hob listens on with half an ear, mostly looking outside the window as he feels Dream’s gaze on him. 
“Oi!” A voice hisses next to him, and Hob turns around to see Matthew ― and a cut-off, decaying finger in a ziplock bag. “Hold this.” 
Sighing, he gets out his leather gloves, putting them on before handling that, turning it around to look at a tag also in the bag, only making out a vague Choron, “more dirty work?” 
“Trash, actually,” Matthew says as he picks up a drink. Hob gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it, I just wanted a bit of space.” 
Hob goes to say something, but catches Dream’s intense stare across the way ― the way Dream’s lips have parted as they hand at his hands. “Ever wonder how they lived with that?” He asks idly, shaking the bag and bringing it up to his eye level, Dream’s gaze pinned on his hands. 
Matthew chuckles, and there’s a gulp and sigh as Matthew drinks more of the middling beer usually on offer for such a fancy place as this, “badly, probably. Can’t imagine jerking off with a missing finger, poor fuck,” Matthew says with a laugh. Hob smirks, and the rest of the meeting passes uneventfully, and Hob watches as Dream squirms in his seat, heavy gaze resting on him all the while. 
Meeting adjourned, Hob’s unsurprised with how fast Dream appears next to him ― although, the way Dream grabs hold of his lapels and pushes him against the corridor wall is a bit of a surprise, considering the cameras as they share heated kisses. “What brought this on?” He asks, gloved hands holding onto the other’s jaw, watching as Dream shivers, body pressing against him. 
“Hob, you know why,” Dream says, tone almost desperate as he pushes his face into Hob’s hand. “Please.” 
Humming, his hand trails down the other’s torso, feeling Dream press even closer as he reaches Dream’s clothed cock, his other hand going to tug Dream’s head to the side as he bites into the marks hiding under Dream’s collar. Arousal flares as Dream whimpers, squirming against him as he opens the other’s pants, leather-clad hand stroking Dream’s leaking cock. 
“Yes,” Dream gasps, a pale hand gripping the back of his neck as he strokes Dream, almost no friction from pre-come getting onto the leather. “More,” Dream breathes and Hob looks up, catching sight of a goon staring at them. 
“Think this is good enough for now, don’t you think?” He smirks, keeping eye contact with the shocked goon as his hand in Dream’s hair ghosts down his back to slide under Dream’s shirt, feeling him shiver and cry out. The goon seems to move out of his stupor and walks out of sight, Hob tracking him as he bites further up Dream’s neck. “After all, the only reason I’m not fucking you at this moment, is if I’m not sure if you deserve it.” 
Dream lets out a pathetic sound, clutching him tighter he presses against the slit of Dream’s cock, making the other man shiver. “It won’t―that won’t happen again,” Dream pants.
Hob sighs, twisting his wrist as Dream moans, hands scrabbling desperately over his torso as it takes only a few more strokes until Dream comes. There’s a loud cry, Dream going boneless as his other hand goes to Dream’s front to pinch at pink nipples hidden under the black dress shirt. “Next time, I won’t be as nice,” he says, hand moving out of― 
Until Dream grabs his wrist, and his cock, neglected, throbs as Dream licks his come off the black leather, eyes an intense dark blue as they look at him. 
“Needy, aren’t you?” He rasps, Dream’s eyes fluttering shut as he continues to lick the his gloved hands, and Hob moans as Dream grabs his cock. Dream undoes his belt and zipper as his thumb presses Dream’s bottom lip, black glove and pink lips making his cock twitch before Dream gets his own hands on it, stroking it in a frenzied rush as Dream bites at his fingers, licking the palm of his hand as Hob comes with a groan.
-
Dream has asked him to be around his art room, looking haunted ― and Hob gets the impression he’s there for more emotional support again, which. He’s a bit out of practice with, but for Dream usually just requires being in the area, so he’s sitting in one of the plush chairs and reading a book, while Dream mixes paints and glares daggers at a canvas. 
There’s a sigh, and a clatter as brushes get put down, “why do you let them do that?” Dream asks, apropos of nothing and Hob blinks, attention dragged away from his book to Dream.
“Let who do what?” He crosses his legs, placing the book down the side of the chair. 
“I heard some guards talking about you. They don’t know about you.” Dream clarifies, eyes narrow as they stare at him. 
“They don’t matter. And I like to operate so that people under-estimate me,” he shrugs, putting his face on his hands. “Art not co-operating today?” 
Dream scowls and glares once again at the canvas, then stands up and comes over to him, hands gripping his thighs. “I read about you ― or what wasn’t heavily redacted. What did you do?” 
Hob’s brows raise, and he huffs, gently pushing Dream away with his foot ― and Dream lets out a sound, blue eyes darkening as they stare at his pointed shoes. That’s always an option, Hob considers as he guides Dream onto the floor, shoe on Dream’s shoulder. Cocking his head, he thinks that Dream kneeling for him might be one of his favourite things. “A light disagreement with a former employer, nothing interesting,” he breathes. 
“It said you’re to be executed on sight, from the MI6, that wasn’t redacted,” Dream scowls, trying to hold onto getting his answers. Hob hums, smirking as he puts his other leg in between Dream’s, lightly pressing onto the other’s crotch, and Dream gasps. 
“The disagreement wasn’t so light, then,” he amends, feeling Dream’s cock fill under his shoe as Dream grabs onto his shin, nails digging into him. 
“Hob,” Dream growls, staring up at him with blue eyes swallowed by black ― and Hob’s other shoe taps against Dream’s cheek, trailing to the other’s jaw and pulling his face up, legs loosely crossed as he does. 
“Dream,” he mimics, feeling Dream shiver as he grinds his shoe into a hard cock. Hob blinks, resting his head on his hand, watching as Dream holds onto his ankles. “While you’re down there, there’s better things to do than talk about ancient history,” Hob drawls ― and Dream shivers, arching into the shoe on his groin ― and the point of the other shoe presses into Dream’s pink mouth. 
“I―I don’t,” Dream whines, muffled by his shoe as he’s given him a wide-eyed look, surprise as Dream grabs onto the shoe near his mouth. There’s a whimper as Hob continues to press onto Dream’s cock, making the other man shudder and curl in on him, Dream’s nose brushing against his other shoe, cheeks flushing red. 
“You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he purrs, own arousal making his dick hard in his pants, and he grins as Dream moans, blue eyes glazed over as they look at him, mouth open. “Look at that,” he breathes, leaning over to grip Dream’s hair, Dream following along obediently. “Now,” he guides Dream’s face to his other shoe, still grinding into Dream’s cock as the other man whimpers. “Be a good boy and lick.” 
Dream lets out a whimper, staring up at him, then to his shoe, blinking ― and there's a frisson of pleasure coiling inside at seeing a tentative lick on the top of it, blue eyes fluttering closed. There’s a broken, surprised noise as Dream kisses his shoe, hands moving to grip underneath as kisses and licks get laved upon it. 
Having been roughly involved in the BDSM scene, but again. Disagreements, and yet he’s delighted to see how easily Dream falls into subspace, feeling the scrape of teeth through leather as Dream bites at the point of the shoe, sucking it and Hob shivers, dick throbbing as he watches. Licking his lips, he lifts the one on Dream’s crotch, and Dream whines, staring at him imploringly. “If you want to come, you’ll have to work for it.” 
Reclining back in the chair and resting his fingers on his cheek, Dream takes a few deep breaths, blinking up at him. Dream moves forward, a hand coming to grip the ankle of the shoe that was grinding into him ― and he lets out a pleased sound as Dream starts to press against his shoe, chest arching into his leg as Dream moves up and down. 
“Beautiful,” he praises, stroking Dream’s red cheek as he whines and grounds up against him, licking the top of his other shoe, and there’s only the sound of their breathing, and Dream’s whining, with leather creaking as Dream works himself towards orgasm. 
Dream comes with a cry, hiding his face into Hob’s shoe as he pants, weight falling onto Hob’s legs as Dream stares up at him. 
-
A week later, Hob enters Dream’s room, who reacts with ― embarrassment, blue eyes looking away as Dream’s face starts to redden. “What?” Dream asks, voice gruff and giving him a death glare. 
“I’m going to visit a mutual friend today,” he says dryly, and Dream, hunched over a desk with a notebook, tenses as Hob pulls a gun out of the holster under his suit jacket. Refraining from rolling his eyes, he grabs the barrel of the gun, butt facing Dream as he walks up to the other man, other hand in his pants. “Remember, whose men I had to deal with to free you?” 
Dream’s eyes widen, looking between the gun and his face as Hob leans against the desk. “Why now?” 
“Had to make a plan, at least a bit of an effort regarding some things,” he shrugs, and now Dream looks more confused, closing his notebook. “As for this,” he rattles the gun, thumb moving to the side of it to show the shining gleam of it, “a kiss? For luck,” he says with a grin. 
The other man scoffs, staring down at the barrel, “why? You don’t need it,” Dream mutters, glancing between the gun and him for a few moments. Hob raises his brows, and Dream’s lips purse before he moves forward, lips pressing onto the barrel of the gun. There’s a clack of teeth against steel as Dream grabs onto his hand, eyes dark as they stare up at him. 
A pink tongue presses against the barrel and Hob takes a breath, feeling himself get half-hard as Dream pulls him down, breath almost mingling over the top of the gun―  And Hob takes the gun away, putting it back in its holster, Dream’s stare heavy and Hob forces his mind back on track, that’s not filled with Dream’s delicious cries and warm skin. “Later,” he manages, voice rough as he steps back, and eventually out of the room.
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cipher-the-sidhe · 3 months
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Hi! I just went through your entire WtTK AU and I have a (potentially sad) question :D
Has baby Eclipse ever accidentally hurt Y/N? Cause I noticed he's got some pretty big claws, and kids (especially young ones!) don't tend to have very good control of their strength and coordination when they're little
*grabbing you and shaking you*
Thank you for liking my au and for engaging! I love these fish a normal amount!!!!! As for your question~
———————🐠🐟🐠🐋🐳🦭🦈���🦐🐙
The first time it happens, Eclipse is too young to realize what he’s done. Tiny baby teeth are still sharp enough to pierce and tear, and when he mindlessly mouths at you a little too hard Moon is the first to notice the blood at your shoulder where your baby nestles his face. Sun is a mess of anxiety over the realization that your little guppy has teeth and claws sharp enough to hurt his mama now, and no will yet to prevent it. The bites don’t leave a visible scar, but the boys never forget.
It happens again, of course. Many times. Little nicks of careless baby claws and eager baby teeth. Nothing serious, and your mers are diligent in teaching Eclipse to be careful with his mama and her delicate body. Sun maybe goes to far with it really, and for a while your little boy handles you like you’re made of glass. Eventually you ease the anxiety he develops over hurting you into a more reasonable level of caution, but he’s always very careful.
But even the most careful, cautious people slip sometimes, and Eclipse is just a boy after all…
He hadn’t meant to. He swore up and down around hiccuping sobs over and over again how he hadn’t meant to and how he’s so so sorry. You coo and shush him, one hand pressed down firmly to stem the bleeding from your calf, and the other holding onto his hand (so much bigger than yours already, and covered in your blood) even as he tries to pull away.
“Clip, sweetie, look at me. I’m ok. It’s going to be ok. It was an accident. I’m not mad. It’s ok.” You talk to him as gently as you can, holding him as close as he‘ll let you. For a moment you resent how big he’s gotten so fast. Eleven years old and he’s already taller than you.
Moon doesn’t take it well, of course. Sun takes it worse. They get your injuries cleaned and stitched up, and they end up healing into four pale pink scars just a few inches above the first scratches Moon gave you on your ankle years and years ago. Eclipse doesn’t speak almost at all for weeks. He stays with Moon most of the time, and his nocturnal father uses the time to share whatever wisdom he earned from his own time as a sharp and dangerous creature on how to be gentle. Your son keeps his hands entirely to himself for that time, accepting hugs but not returning them. Your heart hurts far worse than your leg. Sun stays by your side while the other two are away, and his son won’t meet his eyes for days either.
Things get better. They heal, they scar, the marks fade and leave behind lessons for all four of you. Eclipse grows into a frighteningly deliberate predator, and those claws and teeth never do any harm that they don’t fully mean to do by the time he’s mature. Certainly after that, though he causes his fair share of carnage, he never hurts you.
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angelsdean · 8 months
Text
dean absolutely would try to name their magic angel grace + soul fusion baby zeppelin. regardless of gender he's like, "that's a perfectly good name for a baby!" (jackles did it with his kid. and dean was possessing him when he did) cas is like no<3 dean pouts abt it a lot. he's like "c'mon. zepp? zee? zeppy? lin ! soo many cute little nicknames. cas, think about it. zee. bee. zeebee. bzzzz. like a bee." cas: "you do realize i was insane when i said i was fascinated by bees. and that i thought they were the perfect representation of the oppressive angelic hierarchy?" dean: "uhhh. ok....but. you do like the honey at the farmer's market. and you have that one yellow sweater. and bees are cute 🥺 like our baby will be. our baby bee. our bizzee bee. zee! zeppy-zee. cas, please."
this is an ongoing conversation, they have not yet reached any agreement on the name. the magic baby is "due" in three weeks. no, neither of them are pregnant. but yes one of them is housing the little soul+grace orb of energy which will then be transplanted into a lump of clay earth through an ancient enochian ritual that will turn the clay into a body for the baby. yes i've thought abt this before. also both parents gotta mix their blood with the clay as an ingredient in the ritual.
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