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fayes-fics · 4 days

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Vibe & Vexation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU w/ Regency roleplay

Summary: Watching Pride & Prejudice evokes playtime in Benedict.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, established couple, Regency era sexual roleplay, teasing, remote vibrator, dirty talk, female orgasm, brief vaginal sex. Also features lake!Darcy!Benedict, anachronistic costumes (just like the real show this season tbh) and absolutely unacceptable use of Jane Austen.

Word count: 2.4k

Authors Note: Yes, the title is a terrible play on Pride & Prejudice. Listen, I don't know what this is either, and I'm posting before I lose my nerve after 3 weeks of writer's block. This is dedicated to @godofstory whose casual comment on one of my fics finally dislodged my brain block. This is modern Benedict roleplaying Regency. Also thanks to @colettebronte for reading through, being kind and saying I haven’t lost my mind. Well, not completely. Err, enjoy? <3

“Ben, don't be silly…”

“Are you suggesting that I wouldn't look dashing in a frilly shirt and snug trousers?” he teases, raising his head from your belly and twisting to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint as the credits roll on the Austen film you've been idly watching on a rainy Sunday.

“No, I'm not saying that,” you chuckle, your fingers touselling his hair. “You look good in everything and nothing…” you tease, enjoying the prideful swell of his chest at your compliment. “But I'm not in the mood to track down Regency outfits for a little sexy role play.”

“Leave the details to me, my love.” He waves a dismissive hand as he flips over and begins to crawl over you. “I will be your Mr Darcy….” he attests, lowering his voice to that rumble which always makes your belly flutter.

“But I don't have a lake in this flat,” you deadpan, perhaps not helpfully referencing a different adaptation, but too distracted to care, his crooked smile hovering right above you now.

“‘Tis a pity,” he agrees, quirking his lips, “but I shall think of something….” he winks before capturing your lips with his.

And, just like that, you forget all about the subject…

—

Two days later

“They didn't have any fusilli, so I got penne; I hope that's okay…” you call out as you enter your flat, dropping the heavy bag of shopping from your shoulder and flinging off your shoes, grateful to be out of them and home.

When there is no answer, you frown. When you texted on your way home, he sent back a list of supplies for dinner.

“Ben…?” you round the corner into the kitchen and realise it's empty, nothing cooking on the hob. “You're not even cooking….?” you raise your arms in a shrugging gesture, nonplussed, apparently talking to yourself in what appears to be an empty flat.

“Ms Bennet….”

His voice rings out resonant, a teasing lilt that has you spinning around. And almost toppling over.

There, in the doorway to your bathroom, is Benedict…. dressed up as a Regency gentleman.

Well, partially dressed. And what he is dressed in is damp and clinging to his skin in a way that gives away absolutely everything about why you cannot resist him. Broad shoulders and a tapered torso, completely visible through the most transparent white frilled shirt you could ever imagine. Snug blue trousers that, again, give everything away. He must have hopped into the shower to achieve this effect, his clothing virtually painted upon his skin.

You literally bite the edge of your tongue.

“Mr Darcy….” you stumble, incapable of any other words, mouth falling open as he saunters towards you with a confident gait, his trousers straining over his thighs as he does so.

“My eyes are up here, Ms Bennet…” he teases as yours ping guiltily to his face, knowing you are being entirely called out for your ogling.

“What if your eyes are the very last thing I am interested in, Mr Darcy?” you finally find your voice, stepping into the role of a feisty, historic heroine you enjoy so much.

“The eyes are the window to the soul…” he tilts his head challengingly, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s Shakespeare, not Austen,” you shoot back pointedly.

“All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes,” he corrects, indeed a quote from Pride and Prejudice. He has obviously been revising—something about that is as adorable as it is arousing.

“You don't fight fair…” you whisper as he closes in on you with a handsome smirk, but it hardly feels like defeat as his long fingers spider up your jacket buttons, the warm fug of his clothes amplifying the mouthwatering scent he wears under them.

“All is fair in love and war,” he counters, sliding nearer, his lips warm on your temple now as he flicks open your topmost button.

“Are you going to talk in literary quotes all night?”

Your ask is much breathier than you intend, very much not a protest about what is transpiring—a tingle down your sternum where his fingers trail over your skin down to the next button. You feel the curve of his cheek against your face from his responding smile.

“I might stop,” he proposes airily. ”But perhaps only to tease you until you pass out…”

“How?”

The question falls from you unbidden, curiosity seizing your lips.

“With the help of things poor Mr Darcy never had access to…” he offers enigmatically. “But for now, how about you go change into your outfit, Ms Bennet?”

“I have an outfit too?” your breath catching at the idea he has planned a whole scenario.

“Oh yes, ‘tis hanging in your room, fair lady,” he mutters, taking a half pace back. But before you go, he grabs your hand, raising it to his mouth and dropping a kiss that is anything but chaste—wet, plush lips with a slight edge of teeth dragging over your knuckles as his hot tongue lathes between your fingers lasciviously.

—

“I'm not sure this is quite Regency accurate…” you assert as you swan back into the living room a few minutes later, even as there is a frisson over your skin at the very sexy outfit he has chosen.

“Perhaps not,” he concedes, his eyes lingering on the pronounced swell of your breasts as you sashay closer. “But yet, I cannot fault my choice.”

“More Marquis de Sade than Jane Austen…” you opine, revelling in his stare, the time spent fastening each hook and eye down the front of the ivory corset worth it for that hungry look and the nascent swelling you see in his clinging trousers. The silk, frilled French knickers he picked out are new, which you are grateful for, but they match perfectly. There was an odd weight to them as you pulled them on, though, but you did not spend much time contemplating it, so keen to get back to the scene.

“Ms Bennet, how dare you turn up to my home so scandalously dressed when I am entertaining company?” he admonishes, his tone suddenly brusque, stepping fully into his roleplay, gesturing to the empty kitchen area as if it were filled with guests.

“Mr Darcy, I can only apologise. I thought you were away on business,” you improvise, clutching your hands over your body in a futile attempt to conceal your state of undress, acting horrified to be caught.

“Do you make a habit of trespassing in my home and flouncing around so slatternly?” he snaps tersely, his eyes flashing approvingly.

You know the question is rhetorical, so you just hang your head, biting your lip, playing at being ashamed and chastised for being so wanton in the home of the man you desire. This is nothing like anything in Pride and Prejudice, but you could not give less of a damn, a flutter low in your gut that this could go somewhere utterly delicious.

“I must insist you desist,” he continues imperiously. “This must never happen again! Now go to my private quarters and think upon what you have done!” he concludes, pointing to the sofa.

“Yes, Mr Darcy,” you nod and curtsy with faux demureness, which he seems to greatly enjoy based on the flash in his eyes, seemingly even more so when you break character and poke out your tongue insolently as you pass.

You take a seat on the sofa and watch, initially confused, as Benedict remains in the kitchen area, play-acting as if he is chatting to guests, supping from a wine glass and gesturing. Puzzled, you watch as he reaches for his phone casually and flicks something on the screen, his back still turned to you.

There is a sudden, sharp buzz in your underwear that steals your breath, your legs tensing, your feet kicking out reflexively, sliding your clit heavier against the vibration.

Oh fuck.

That’s why the underwear felt oddly weighted. He must have snuck a thin remote vibe pad into the lining.

He makes a half-turn and smirks over his shoulder as you pant and stare at the play of his back muscles under his translucent shirt, your fingers clawing into the sofa at the sudden not-at-all-gentle onslaught.

“Ms Bennet, are you quite well?” he calls out, a triumphant look claiming his face. “You appear somewhat flushed.”

“Mr Darcy, I find myself in a most perplexing dilemma,” you grit out between clenched teeth, impressed you can even form words. The vibe is a persistent thrum that you attempt to tilt yourself away from slightly but seem unable, always there, dragging against you in a way that makes you writhe, your back arching.

He spins around to face you entirely now, putting down his wine glass, phone casual in the other hand, thumb hovering portentously over the screen with a gleeful mien.

“What troubles you, Ms Bennet?”

His lilt is teasing and velvet, humming in your bones as much as the toy. The vibration suddenly ceases, and you collapse back into the sofa, panting mildly, the corset restricting your ability to take the gulps of air you need, your chest heaving, unable to do anything but stare slack-jawed at him.

“Have you quite forgotten your words, Ms Bennet? I thought you a creature of learning…” he needles, the painted-on regency garb he wears just more temptation, his cock straining against the wool now. He makes no move to draw closer, but he does flick open the buttons around his wrists and roll up his sleeves, his toned forearms flexing as he does so.

“I am a woman of learning,” you defend after a pause, “but I find myself rather disadvantaged tonight. I suspect deception…” You narrow your eyes at him.

He throws his head back and laughs, his Adam's apple bobbing prominently as he does so. It makes you want to pitch forward and bite it.

“Whoever would deceive such a fine woman as you?” he fires back as he tilts back down. You cry out as his thumb yet again swipes over his screen, and your underwear roars back to life—this time a softer pulsing wave, but no less titillating, an inflaming tease that staccatos against your engorged flesh.

“You might, Mr Darcy…” you accuse, but it's lighthearted at best, a toothless threat as all of your efforts are focussed on the fizzing pleasure radiating out into your pelvis.

“On the contrary, Ms Bennet. In vain have I struggled…” he begins.

That speech.

“It will not do….” he adds, shaking his head for good measure as he flicks open the buttons upon his soaked shirt, your eyes tracking the movement as each new slice of damp, heated skin is revealed in the soft, low lamplight.

“My feelings will not be repressed…”

He peels the sodden shirt from his form, and you moan as that honed body is revealed to you, glistening slightly. The vibe is a roiling wave against your clit that makes your pussy clench around nothing, wishing to be filled.

“You must allow me….” he pauses and lopsidedly grins as he roughly tugs upon the buttons of his trousers, a teasing striptease that has you spiralling fast, leaking copiously into your knickers now.

“Allow you what…?” you throw in, huffing against the restriction of the corset, something about its tight hold escalating your addled state, moaning as he drops the last vestige of his clothing, his cock springing free. His whole being glowing with pride in how much he can affect you.

“To tell you how ardently I admire and love you….” he concludes, his voice dark and smooth, settling over your skin like warm molasses as he finally prowls towards you.

You want to pitch forward and nuzzle your face into his cock. But he dips down as he approaches, pushing your legs far apart with his hands and falling to his knees, burying his face into your cleavage. He suckles vehemently on the swell of your chest, lathing his tongue over your flushed skin as you fight to gasp in enough air, the vibe and his lush mouth hurtling you fast towards oblivion, his hands a firm grip on your hips.

“I love you too, Mr Darcy,” you gulp in delayed response. “But, please release me from this torture…” you append weakly, needing reprieve from the prolonged hold.

“Is it not the sweetest torture, though?” he argues back as his nose trails up your clavicle to your neck, his mouth earnest upon a spot that always makes you pliant. “I want to see you struggle, my love, bound in my corset, sat upon my vibe, teased and vexed until you can take no more….” his words are a sinful soliloquy gusting almost wistfully into your ear, your lobe snagged under his teeth.

“Take pity upon me, please; I am distressed,” you appeal, feeling a slight wooziness as you circle a chasm of pleasure that licks teasingly at your edges.

“You are beautiful,” he counters, a firm hand cupping the back of your head and puppets you to stare into his blown pupils, his rigid cock trailing a sticky line over your thigh as he rumbles more debauched. “Now come for me, Ms Bennet, and then I shall have you…”

You screw your eyes shut just as he flicks to a higher setting on the vibe and can no longer fight or struggle, letting your body break, febrile, a dew on your back as it arches, you screaming to the ceiling as you are thrown into the stars and the earth at the same time, torn in a hundred directions by the intense pulse radiating out from your core and fanning across your whole body, every muscle tensing and releasing in a sudden wave.

Hazily, you hear his jubilant praises ringing in your ears, but it feels far away even as his hands and mouth are hot and heavy on your skin, ripping the corset and knickers from your body with a vehemence that would shock you were you in less of a euphoric, altered state. He pulled you bodily to the edge of the sofa, teasing his cock against your throbbing clit, making you groan and paw at him, the need rising again as you return to your surroundings.

“You have bewitched me body and soul,” he pants as he slides into your body, a surging insistence that has your fingernail curling into the sinew on his forearms, your toes curling around the fuzzy meat of his thighs. “I never wish to be parted from you for a second. I love you..,” his tone rough, broken, stuttering as he bottoms out inside you, quoting the film you watched together the other night before taking you urgently towards another blissful peak.

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tj-dragonblade · 6 days

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[FIC] Customer Service

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4460 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, oral sex, no deep throat, just normal skill-level bj, face-fucking, not rough, coming in mouth, facial, dirty talk, hand job

Notes: Originally inspired by this post and also for the Day 5 prompt 'dirty' for Dreamling Week 2024 organized by @mr-sadman

Summary: Mechanic Hob's just trying to fix the rich guy's Porsche but the rich guy is looking at Hob like he's a five-course meal

On AO3

It's hot, in the garage.

Hob's got the windows open, fans at strategic points to stir the air, but it's still warm enough he's stripped off beneath his coveralls and left them open to the waist, only his underwear beneath. It's just him in today, replacing the clutch on the rich guy's Porsche; technically he could be working naked if it weren't for the possibility of customers dropping in. And it's warm enough he's tempted.

The Porsche is secured up on the ramps and he's on his back on the creeper half underneath it, singing along with the retro rock he's got playing on the shop speakers as he works, when suddenly there's the sound of a throat being loudly and deliberately cleared and a nudge to his foot.

"Bloody—" Hob starts, fumbling the wrench without dropping it and grabbing the side of the car to scoot himself out. "What—?"

It's the rich guy, Mr. Ateleíotes, and Hob is abruptly conscious of the figure he cuts, sprawled on his back with a wrench in one hand, legs splayed and his coveralls open, no shirt, sweat and grease smears all over him and his clothes.

And his greasy fingers planted on the pristine smoky-grey paint job of this guy's car.

Oops.

"Don't worry, I'll give her a good cleaning 'fore I give her back to you—"

But the guy's not even looking at where Hob has dirtied his Porsche. His eyes are fixed on Hob, or rather, they're sweeping over his body, lingering on his exposed chest, the grease smears on his torso and the sweat-damp trail of hair disappearing into the open vee of his unzipped coveralls. It's a tangible gaze, and Hob can feel his body responding as the guy sweeps it back up to his face.

He's as pretty as Hob remembers, prettier with that hungry look in his eyes; porcelain-pale skin, artfully-messy black hair, casual tailored black suit with the jacket open and Hob swallows, feels his body flushing under the attention.

"I am sure you will." That voice is as pretty as Hob remembers too, deep and melodious and captivating. He speaks, and Hob wants to drop everything and listen. "I was in the vicinity, and thought to stop in, to see how the repairs are progressing? No one was at the desk."

"Uhm." Get it together, Hob. He sets the wrench aside, sits up, which puts him eye-level to the guy's crotch and oh, hello, he's not the only one with a growing 'problem'. "Yeah, 's just—just me today. Repair's coming along as expected; should be ready for you tomorrow." He stands as he speaks, grunting with the effort. "Clutch replacement will be done before I leave tonight and then I'll do the full tune-up in the morning, so. Like I said—by tomorrow afternoon." His eyes drop to the guy's lips and he jerks them back up, licking his own lips briefly. He shifts his stance, cocking one hip, acutely aware of his open coveralls and how the zip doesn't come together until a good three fingers beneath his navel; he drags the back of his arm across his face, shoving sweaty hair off his forehead and leaving a smudge of grease behind, not blind to the way that blue eyes darken as they follow the movement. "Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Ateleíotes?"

He only half-meant it to sound like a come-on; it's a perfectly plausible customer service question, but he's also seen half a dozen pornos that start just like this and Mr. Ateleíotes certainly seems interested. Hob's a professional and not about to proposition a customer outright, but if possibilities are on offer, he's not one to let them pass him by.

"There is, indeed, Mr. Gadling," Mr. Ateleíotes purrs—and Hob's dick jumps as the guy reaches to touch him, one pale fingertip tracing through his chest hair, through the grease smear just below. "The mechanic repairing my car, he is absolutely. Mouthwatering." He casts a molten glance up through his eyelashes. "And I would very much like. To suck. His cock." He rubs his thumb against his finger, spreading the grease between the two, and smiles at Hob, simmering and invitational. "Might your shop accommodate such a request?"

Fucking hell— Hob takes a sharp breath; the heat of the shop and the concentration of blood away from his brain are doing him no favors and he fears for half a delirious second he might pass out, but he rallies quickly. "Absolutely," he grins, dick throbbing. "We are a full service garage, after all. Did you want to see about that now, or make an appointment?" He winks.

"Immediately, please," Mr. Atelíotes replies, and there's a spark in his eye, a glint of delight at Hob's carrying of the customer-service bit, and Hob is giddy with it all.

"Right then, let me just clean up real quick—" He's pulled a greasy rag from his back pocket, which won't actually do much but take off half a layer while he heads to the shop sink, but a slim pale hand on his arm stops him.

"No. As you are now, please." The guy steps closer, hungry and intent; Hob's pulse trips into double time.

"I'm kind of filthy though?"

The guy's blue, blue eyes glitter darkly. "I am aware, yes." And then those slender hands are curled in the open edges of Hob's grimy coveralls and the sinful pink of his mouth is pressed up against Hob's.

The sound Hob makes is a little embarrassing, but then there's a supple tongue slipping in next to his own and Mr. Atelíotes gives his own little moan and that's alright then, the guy's a damn good kisser and Hob finds it's really easy to stop caring about dignity in the moment. He surges into the kiss, hands coming up and hovering, painfully aware of the dirt and grease that clings to him and the probable price tag of that tailored suit.

"Touch me," Mr. Atelíotes says, flush against his mouth before kissing again, and it is very much not a suggestion.

Hob pulls away just enough to answer. "Sorry, my hands—don't want to mess up your clothes, love—"

Mr. Atelíotes grabs both of his hands by the wrist and, much to Hob's shock, plants them firmly on the pristine white of his shirt under the suit jacket, guides Hob's grease-stained fingers to clench in the fabric. "Touch me," he repeats, low and heated, winding his hands back beneath Hob's sweaty hair. "Dirty me, dirty my clothes, my skin; I wish to be. Marked by you, stained, with your ardor—"

Hob whimpers, just a little, clenches tight around the fistfuls of now-sullied fabric and pulls him back into a kiss.

Mr. Atelíotes makes a sound of approval, maneuvers him around the front of the car and presses forward, backing Hob against the bonnet. His hips push insistently into Hob's and the feel of his hard-on in those tailored trousers is so fucking gratifying; Hob grinds against him in return, still kissing fiercely, and fumbles at the placket of the ruined shirt.

"Can I unbutton you, love?"

"You needn't ask permission," the guy pants, both hands around the back of Hob's head, his mouth dragging wetly along Hob's jaw. "The shirt will not be salvaged." His teeth latch onto Hob's earlobe, joined next by his tongue, and then warm lips ghost over the shell of Hob's ear, a low murmur following after. "Tear it from me, if you like."

Hob would like, very much, and so he does. He realizes that he has perhaps made a mistake as he hears the buttons pinging and bouncing in every direction; he will never find them all and in the back of his mind he imagines Matty returning from his trip home to the states, asking why he keeps finding these pearly buttons all over the shop, staring Hob down with his beady little all-knowing eyes while Hob burns with the mortification of being Known.

But that is a problem for future Hob; present Hob is occupied with reverently smoothing his unclean hands over the snowy-white skin exposed beneath the torn-open shirt of the gorgeous man who wants to suck his cock. The shirt took a lot of the surface grease but there's still enough on Hob's hands to leave grey-black smudges across the guy's smooth chest that seem to turn him on as much as anything else Hob is doing, which. Okay. Not even close to the strangest sex thing he's ever encountered, and he can definitely work with it.

"God, you look good, sweetheart—" He smooths his hands around bony ribs, smudging dirt and grease and grinning warmly as the guy's eyelids droop almost imperceptibly. "Bit of grime suits you, I think—"

He's cut off as Mr. Atelíotes kisses him again, hot and wet and demanding. Hob's very sure that he's been slotted into this rich guy's fantasy of slumming it with the working class, and that's more than okay too. He'll gladly play it up; not like he's never entertained that sort of idea himself.

He sucks in a breath when the kiss breaks at last. "How am I so lucky that a posh pretty thing like you wants to get your knees dirty for me, hmm?"

"It was not my intention when I arrived," the guy says, panting, forehead resting against Hob's. "But then you rolled out from beneath my car. Gleaming, and. Dirty. And I could think of little else."

Hob chuckles, shivers as slender hands delve back into his sweat-damp hair. "No complaints from me, darling. Delighted that all my natural glory does it for you."

"Dream," Mr. Atelíotes says, fingertips scratching lightly along Hob's scalp.

"Uh?" Hob blinks, not sure quite what he's meant to do with that word.

"My name," Mr. Atelíotes clarifies, leaning in to mouth wetly beneath the corner of Hob's jaw. "Call me what you wish, I am not averse to your endearments—" his tongue takes a path down the sweat-damp curve of Hob's neck "—but should you like to use it. My name—" his lips drag up Hob's throat, over the cleft of his chin "—is Dream." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's open mouth.

"Dream," Hob manages, when he's let up to breathe a moment later. "Beautiful name for a beautiful man—"

"Silver tongue," the guy says, nipping hungrily, helpessly at his mouth. "Such uses I have in mind for it…"

"I'm game, love, anything you like," Hob breathes, enchanted with the possibilities. "Sure you just wanna suck me off? 'Cause you talk like a bloke who'd like to get proper fucked."

That earns him a full-body shiver and a sharp inhale. "I would very much like to be fucked by you, Hob Gadling, in this garage, over this car. But as I did not have the foresight to prepare for that possibility, I will content myself with having your prick in my mouth and your hands in my hair and my name on your lips when you spill."

"Fucking christ," Hob swears, as Mr. Atelíotes—Dream, as Dream slides to his knees in his neat tailored trousers on the dirty shop floor, lips dragging down Hob's stomach as he goes, hands following behind. He glances back up as he reaches the zipper, smiles coyly as he grasps it and draws it all the way down so the coveralls flag completely open down past his crotch. Hob makes no move to take them any further off; Dream has shown no hesitation to tell him exactly what he wants up to now and Hob figures if he wanted them off-off, he'd say so.

Dream curls his fingers in the waistband of Hob's underwear and pulls it low, reaches around to tug it down past his arse cheeks so it stays put and dips into the front with both hands to draw Hob out. Hob shudders at the touch, bites his lip with a stifled sound and leans back on the bonnet. Dream just smiles wider.

"You are as magnificent as I had hoped," he murmurs, cradling Hob's cock to his face, delicately kissing the tip. He grasps it underhand and pulls it down, laves the flat of his tongue along the thick vein on top from crown up to base in a long slow lick, exhales his pleasure on a decadent moan. He reverses his grip, points Hob's dick skyward and nuzzles into his balls, breathing deep. Hob has a flash of self-consciousness—he's been working all day in a shop with no AC, he's got to be a bit ripe—but Dream doesn't seem offput in the least. Rather the opposite, in fact; he buries his nose in Hob's sweat-damp crotch with another moan, mouths wetly at his testicles and sucks each in turn. "Exquisite," he declares to the base of Hob's cock, and drags his tongue lovingly up the underside all the way back to the tip.

Hob's never had his dick worshipped quite like this, he thinks feverishly, every muscle in his thighs and buttocks tensing and flexing against the car as Dream mouths and licks at the head of him with all the enthusiasm of a kid on a melting ice lolly. The heat of the shop and Dream's attentions to his dick have him panting, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, trembling with anticipation as Dream finally opens wide and takes him in.

It's so fucking good, the soft wet warmth enclosing him, the slide of plush lips down his shaft and back up, again, and again, and Hob is so, so grateful to be in the right place at the right time. Never had he imagined he would find himself here, leaning back against the bonnet of some rich guy's Porsche with that self-same rich guy on his knees on the dirty shop floor, pretty pink lips stretched around him. Dream sucks with skill and enthusiasm and his tongue is positively magical and he's really into the eye contact, gazing up adoringly like having his mouth full of Hob's prick is all he could have wished for when he woke up this morning. It's heady and exhilarating and he's so fucking beautiful, looking at Hob as he glides up and down, hands wrapped around Hob's hips beneath his coveralls, and Hob. He's not always the brightest but he's definitely caught on to the theme of this tryst by now, and Dream's face is entirely too clean.

He lifts a thumb to his chest, smears it through the grease still adorning him there, lowers it to Dream's face. He watches as Dream's eyes widen, rubs a light smear of black across Dream's cheekbone and smiles at the way Dream's pupils dilate, the way Dream whines around his cock. He strokes his other hand through Dream's hair, gently holds him still, drags his greasy thumb down along the corner of Dream's mouth stretched wide around his girth; that earns him a whimper and Dream shivers, eyes fluttering briefly closed. He sucks harder, tongue flicking delicately against the tip, eyes pleading now with Hob, and he takes Hob's free hand, guides it to rest in his own hair like the other. Hob takes the hint, holds Dream's head still in both hands and gives a gentle roll of his hips; his cock slides out of Dream's mouth and back in and that's. Yes. Another roll of his hips, out and back and Dream whimpers and fuck, but it's good—

"God you're gorgeous," he moans, carefully combing his fingers through Dream's hair, heat blazing in his belly as he watches his dick sliding between Dream's luscious lips. Dream is making the sweetest little sounds now, cheeks flushed beneath the grease stain, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazes up at Hob like this is everything he could have wanted; he drops his hands to undo his belt, to pull himself out and start stroking, and that's just. That's it.

Dream splays his free hand across Hob's thigh over the coveralls and Hob fucks, careful and shallow, driven by the view before him and the thought of how they look together and the hungry eager noises Dream makes around him. He can feel himself climbing, soaring up to his peak, sweet and steady; the hot-wet slide in and out of Dream's mouth and the way his tongue wriggles along the underside on every stroke are making short work of the journey and Hob is panting out sharp desperate grunts and moans as it looms closer and closer. His balls are drawn up tight and full and he's close, so close, and he can't just—he's got to give him warning—

"Dream, sweetheart, I'm about to pop—"

But Dream only moves his hand from Hob's thigh to wrap around Hob's cock and doubles down on whatever he's doing with his tongue, and Hob moans, hips stuttering, Dream working him masterfully up to the crest; helpless, with a breathless grunting cry, Hob tips over the edge.

Dream takes the first shot of his come with a delighted little moan and then quickly pulls off of Hob's dick as he spurts again. It lands across Dream's face, white against the black smears of grease; the next shot falls a little shorter, half on his cheek and half in his open mouth and then Dream is diving back onto his cock for the rest, sucking hard with a desperate needy little whimper. The tip of his tongue worries at Hob's slit in search of every last drop and Hob groans, body clenching and spasming again and again to give this insatiable hungry creature everything that he wants.

But at last he has nothing left to give and his cock is shrinking from Dream's ravenous mouth, overstimulated by the way Dream still nurses at the tip, the grip Dream's got around the base of it. Firmly but gently Hob flexes his hands in Dream's tousled hair and eases him back, off. Dream gazes up at him, flushed and heavy-eyed, panting with his shirt and suit and trousers open, stroking himself steadily.

His tongue curls out to lick Hob's come from his upper lip, and his smile is sultry, hungry.

"Get up here, beautiful." Hob pulls Dream to his feet, slides a hand around the back of Dream's neck, smears his come liberally across Dream's grease-stained cheek with his thumb on the way. Dream's mouth opens and Hob plunges in, kissing him fiercely, tasting himself with a heady sort of satisfaction. Being wanted feels so good, whatever the reason.

Dream is still stroking himself, his easy rhythm speeding up, fist bumping against Hob's hip each time, and Hob breaks the kiss after a moment. "D'you want me to suck you off?"

"No, no—but touch me—" He seizes Hob's hand, brings it down to his own dick.

Hob hesitates for half a second—scrubbing automotive grease off your chest or hands or even your face is one thing; scrubbing it off your dick would be quite another and he's not interested in putting Dream through that sort of grief. But his hands have touched enough in the last fifteen minutes that all the easily-transferable grime is gone; it's really just the deeper-level staining going on and a bit of heavy petting shouldn't create a problem. So he takes Dream in hand, slides his other arm around Dream's back for support and strokes his lovely cock with relish, claims his sticky mouth in another kiss.

Dream whines into it, eager and open, and brings his hand to Hob's chest. He plants it in that grease smear that's still got some substance to it and splays his fingers wide, spreads it around like it's lotion and okay, maybe it is kind of hot Hob decides. Maybe it'll be a bitch to clean up but he's not about to stop the gorgeous creature in his arms from making a bigger mess of his body hair if it's getting him off. He's enjoyed being the fantasy this pretty posh thing needs, is still happy to play his part until the end.

He starts stroking a bit faster and breaks the kiss, drags his lips across Dream's messy cheek to his ear.

"God I'd love to fuck you, spread you open and pound you senseless, leave my dirty handprints all over your pretty white arse—"

Dream makes a raw little sound of want and buries his face against Hob's throat, panting open-mouthed. He smears his greasy hand down Hob's torso again, slips it around beneath the open coveralls, fingertips sliding into the sweaty dip of Hob's spine, hanging on as Hob works him up to the edge. His other hand clings to the grimy fabric at Hob's shoulder.

Hob flicks his tongue along the shell of Dream's ear, a soft tease, speaks again. "I would make such a sweet sweet mess of you, darling, fuck you until you've had enough and then pump you so full of my come that it runs down your beautiful thighs—"

"Hob—"

"Sure I can't get my mouth on you?" Hob tightens his fingers around Dream's cock, stroking faster, caught up in the thrill of the fantasy he's spinning. "I'll bet you taste amazing, Dream, especially after I've had my filthy hands all over you—"

Dream is tense in his arms, breath shallow and rapid and he shakes his head, trembling. "Hob—ahh—Hob—" He dips, pulling the shoulder of Hob's coveralls aside and nudging desperately beneath their edge until he finds Hob's armpit; he mouths at the crease of it, wet and open with the most wanton little sound. He inhales and whines, high and sharp and short; he gasps out another whine, and another, higher and more urgent each time and then he is coming, head lolling back with a broken cry as he throbs and pulses in Hob's hand.

Hob pulls his cock tight, lets Dream shoot all over him, his arm and his belly; he keeps his other arm around Dream as he sags a long instant later, forehead falling against Hob's shoulder, panting, spent. Dream's hand twitches against Hob's spine and his fingers drag sensually slow around the curve of Hob's waist.

Hob wipes his messy hand on the side of his coveralls—best he's gonna get right now—and then curls his knuckle under Dream's chin, tipping his pretty face up.

"Alright then?" he asks, as those gorgeous blue eyes blink open, and Dream gives the faintest nod into Hob's gentle touch.

"Mmh." His face is soft, sated and open and inviting what with the way his lips are parted, and Hob can't quite stop himself dipping in for a kiss.

Dream welcomes it, meets him halfway with mellow eagerness and Hob sighs into it, awash in his own post-orgasmic high. This kiss. This kiss. It's sweet, and languid, and god but Hob could lose himself in it, in the thought of keeping this guy.

Dangerous, that.

So he breaks the kiss at last with a grin, then steps back and pulls his underwear up where it belongs again. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up here." He moves toward the shop sink, hums a little distractedly along to the music on the speakers that has just filtered back into his awareness.

Dream follows, but makes no move to clean the smeared grease from his skin.

"No, I think not," he says, in that low effortlessly-sensual voice that plucks quivering notes of interest all along Hob's spine even now, in the aftermath. "I should like to carry your marks home with me." He takes up his pristine shirttails and wipes his hands deliberately on them, eyes on Hob all the while.

It's not his business if Dream wants to show up at home dirty and disheveled with his shirt torn open and looking absolutely debauched; maybe he lives alone and there's no one to comment, maybe he wants to flaunt his dalliance in the face of a parent or sibling or servant or who knows—no concern of Hob's at all, he reiterates, but damned if the idea of Dream proudly showing off the mess Hob's made of him doesn't turn him right the hell back on again.

"As you wish," he says, but plucks one of the many sample-sized bottles of Matty's favorite Orange Goop off the shelf and holds it out. "But take this with you; whenever you are ready to clean up, it'll be a big help."

Dream takes the bottle, slides it into the pocket of his trousers, which he has just re-fastened; he draws his suit jacket together over the ruin of his shirt and buttons it, making himself semi-presentable for his drive home. His eyes linger on Hob, however, on grease-smeared chest hair and the remains of his own orgasm on Hob's belly, on the shape of Hob in his underwear where he still hasn't bothered re-zipping his coveralls.

Dream's eyes flick up to Hob's, dark with banked heat.

"I really ought to learn more about the proper care and maintenance of this vehicle," he says, ostensibly about the Porsche, but his gaze stays fixed on Hob. "Will you be working alone tomorrow, as well?"

Hob hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his flagged-open coveralls, lets his hip jut forward just a little. "Yeah, Matty's out all week, so it's just me for a couple more days."

"Then perhaps I will. Arrive early, to pick up my car, and you can show me your best techniques for finishing the job."

The warm weight in his tone, the smouldering heat of his gaze, the way he'd talked earlier about getting fucked over the bonnet—his intent is crystal clear, and Hob is one hundred percent on board.

"Brilliant plan," he says, with a broad smile, and Dream's lips curl sweetly in response.

"Should I book an appointment, to ensure your availability?"

Hob waves a hand dismissively. "If you like, but it's not necessary? Just show up when it's convenient and I'll fit you right in." He winks.

"Truly, you take excellent care of your customers." Dream's smile is positively feline at this point.

"I'm just delighted I can help you out with all your maintenance needs." Hob lets a hint of mischief seep into his own smile, just enough to promise this pretty posh thing that coming back is definitely worth his while.

Dream's eyes lower and he inclines his head, an old-fashioned little bow of farewell that suits him perfectly. "Then I will see you tomorrow, Hob Gadling. My thanks for your…irreproachable service."

And he sweeps back out of the shop, Hob watching him go every step of the way.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 6/1/24 Posted: 6/4/25

#TJs Fics #Dreamling #Sandman #Dreamling Week 2024

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valeriianz · 6 months

Note

Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

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These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation.

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly.

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly.

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute.

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

#dreamling #hob x dream #omg i managed to write a semi-holiday themed fic!#so sorry this took a hundred years lol #im slowly working on all the prompts sent to me from this list #thank you so much for sending one in!!#i hope you love it!#my writing #happy holidays!#this is sfw mostly

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the-kr8tor · 11 months

Text

Under the clocktower

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Synopsis: Hobie's stuck in a time loop where he keeps seeing you die over and over again. He tries to find a way to escape the loop, at the same time saving you from your fate.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, TW death, TW injuries, TW violence, established relationship. Time loop AU, angst.

My masterlist

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Hobie opens his eyes, the blinding light from the early morning sun mixed with the smell of burning breakfast wakes him up instantly. He jumps off the bed running towards the smell.

His body feels heavy somehow, his lungs sit weirdly in his chest, his eyes wide and alert. It's like he swung around the city while asleep.

He shakes it off attributing it to not sleeping well. Shutting off the stove he sighs at the burnt omelet. He briefly sees the clock on the stove in his peripheral- 8:00 am

Good thing he reached the kitchen before the fire alarm went off, he grabbed a nearby rag to fan away the smoke. Suddenly hearing wet feet squelch across the wooden floors, Hobie instinctively looks towards it.

"Fuck, the eggs!" You run around the corner in your bathrobe, your hair wrapped in a fluffy towel. Running too fast on your wet feet, you slide across the floor, hitting your hip against the table. You're sure it would leave a nasty bruise.

"It's too early to burn down the flat, don't you think so, love?" Hobie puts his hands on his hips, annoyed that he woke up so early. Sweats hang low on his waist, an old band shirt ripped at the sleeves, his arms and midriff on full display.

"Ow, sorry Hob," you rub your aching hip, "I'm sorry I woke you up, grumpy" you close the small distance.

"You better be sorry," he grabs you by the waist, inching his hand toward the hastily wrapped belt of your bathrobe. "I'm still bloody tired" he says with a yawn.

"Aww, my poor baby Hobie," you cup his cheeks, "let me kiss it better" you peck the corner of his eye, your soap and strawberry scented shampoo fills his senses.

While you're distracted, he slowly unties your robe. Noticing the sly movement, you grab at Hobie's wrist. "Tsk tsk. Not today, babe. First day at my new job, remember?"

"Ah shit, that's today?"

"Yep, can't be late" you kiss his lips quickly before he escalates things. "You can go back to bed, I'll see you tonight" you push yourself off Hobie.

"Good luck" he pulls you back by your hand, "remember they're lucky to have you, not the other way around" Hobie kisses your knuckles while looking into your eyes.

You chuckle, "I know what you're doing, Hobie Brown. It's not gonna work"

"Worth a shot" he finally lets you go.

The doorbell rings, both of you looking at the intrusion. Who could that be this early?

"I've got it, Love. Can't have you answering the door in your robe can I?" Hobie winks at you tiredly, which makes his eyelid move slowly.

"Very sexy, babe" you shake your head as you head back towards the bathroom.

Grabbing the door, he sees your neighbour mid knock.

"Ohh, hey!" He looks disappointed "Morning neighbour!" Hobie winces at how chipper this man is this early in the morning.

"What is it?" Hobie asks flatly, leaning on the doorway.

"Ah," he subtly looks behind Hobie "do you have any sugar, white preferably. You see I'm making ensaymada -"

"Wait there" Hobie cuts him off, disinterested at whatever information he was about to share. He just wants to go back to bed.

He shuts the door with a bang.

"Who's at the door?" Your muffled voice rings out.

"No one, just your neighbour!" Hobie yells out so that the man outside hears it.

He grabs a bag of sugar from your pantry, Hobie opens the door, quickly handing it off.

"Thanks! Can you tell-" He gets shut down again when Hobie closes the door in his face.

"Welcome"

Hobie plops himself back on the bed, he groans when his back cracks. He falls asleep to the sound of your humming.

Chaos rains downtown, buildings crumble around Hobie while he pursues Green goblin. Everything went bad so fast, he didn't see it coming. Green goblin cackles menacingly while she randomly throws bombs below her hoverboard.

She went completely off the rails when Hobie got a few punches in, desperate to get away, she just started chucking random stuff at him, conveniently one of them was a bomb. The explosion threw him off, Goblin got a few blocks ahead of him, but Hobie's determined.

He swings after the flash of green, he hears the familiar chime of big ben - 6:00pm

Goblin leads him towards the tower bridge, it's packed with vehicles because of the rush hour, that's not good.

"Catch, Spider-Punk!" Goblin chucks another bomb below her, she clearly knows this one will surely cause chaos on the bridge.

With his quick thinking, Hobie grabs the bomb with his web, slinging it away from the crowd below. A shockwave resonates through the old bridge, its old wiring swings letting out a metallic groan. puffs of green smoke cloud above the area.

Hobie hears screams below him, looking down he sees the crowd scrambling away from danger. His senses send electricity through him, he looks back toward Goblin, she's now just hovering in place, in both of her hands she holds belts full of spherical bombs, she holds it against the edge of her hoverboard, threatening to let go.

"Don't you dare!" Hobie webs up both of the belts holding the spheres, ready to fling it away. Before he could do just that, the clips holding the bombs give out, time seems to slow down as Hobie watches in horror, the little balls of destruction falling down like rain. Goblin's shrill laugh pierces Hobie's ear drums.

He ignores the crazy lady, instead he goes after the green orbs. He webs as much as he can reach, quickly throwing them off the bridge, they go off the second they hit the water below. He keeps repeating this process till he's sure he got all of them out.

He lands breathlessly on the concrete, he points towards the nearest end of the bridge, guiding the remaining people off the bridge. Roaming his eyes above to see where Goblin could be.

His senses go off again, Hobie's ears perk up towards the faint ticking sound. He sees the ball bounce off a taxi, it doesn't go off, instead it just lands down the concrete with a clink. He eases up a bit, figuring it might be a dud. Until he looks inside the black taxi, Hobie sees your terrified face against the taxi's window, you're struggling to open the door.

Electricity pulses through him, sounding off alarms. The whites of his mask widen when the sphere stops ticking.

It's not defective, it was just counting down.

You finally notice him, frozen in fear. He tries to reach you, but the shockwave from the explosion stops him, Knocking him down.

The sheer force of the explosion flips the taxi, tethering close to the edge of the bridge. Green smoke covers Hobie's vision, he can barely make out the silhouette of the dark car, he throws caution into the wind, he doesn't look for more ticking bombs, instead he quickly runs toward the creaking metal.

He finally reaches you, as the car finally falls. Hobie quickly webs up the trunk of the car sticking its end on stagnant cars, and columns. He hears your muffled screams inside the deathtrap.

"Hobie!" You desperately scream for him, clinging to the car's headrest, the taxi swings against the wind. You can see him trying to pull you up.

Seeing Goblin wreaking havoc, you see her throw more bombs towards fleeing civilians, you make the conscious decision to yell at him to help them instead.

"Hobie! On your left!" Your throat burns trying to get his attention.

Thanks to his spidey senses and your desperate pleas, Hobie understands quickly, he ties the web he's holding onto a nearby truck, hopeful that it sticks until he can get you out.

"I can do both" Hobie whispers

He yanks Goblin down from her hoverboard with one precise shot of his web, she falls hard on the concrete. In one swift movement Hobie grabs his guitar on his back, using it as a bat, he swings it against the ticking bombs, before its countdown ends.

They explode in mid air, green clouds rain over the historic bridge.

Hobie runs back to you, on his way he notices that Goblin recovered and is nowhere to be seen. He'll find her later, right now he needs to save you.

He swings towards the edge where he last saw you, the only thing he sees is the cold rushing water swallowing the taxi.

His breath hitches in his throat. His knees threatened to collapse under his weight.

"No, not you" he weakly says.

Before he follows you towards the black depths, Hobie sees the Green Goblin rise up from under the bridge right in front of him, a sickenly bloody smile on her face.

"Got your little birdy, spidey" she shakes your terrified form, her claw-covered hand covers the bottom half of your face painfully, your feet floating a few inches off her board.

"Mmph!" You yelp for him as you try to reach him with your hands.

"Let them go! Or I swear I will tear you apart!" Hobie barks out, he doesn't recognize his own voice.

"Oh, okay!"

Your terrified eyes look back at him.

One minute you were in Goblin's hand, the next you were falling to your demise.

Electricity cackles around Hobie, he leaps off the edge, everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Shooting a web towards you, he curses gravity, his web merely a hair's width away from your form. Your fingertips graze its ends.

Your head hits the water in a horrible cracking sound.

A cold splash hits Hobie's masked face, he braces for impact.

The water hits him like a truck, but he shakes it off, adrenaline pulses in his body like never before. He tries to find your form under the dark water.

It's dark and quiet under, the only thing he could hear is his own heart thumping in his chest. He hopes to hear yours too.

He roams his eyes, his eyes squinted looking for your familiar silhouette. Hobie finally spots you, slowly floating down towards the endless void. He swims down as fast as his limbs could, his air is running out, he's afraid yours might be too.

He grabs hold of your arm, Hobie quickly brings you against his chest, he ignores the absent beating of your heart.

Reaching the surface was an uphill battle, but he finally got you out. Stopping by the riverbank, he doesn't waste any time doing CPR.

He dares to look at your face, Hobie lets out a pained sound when he sees your dull eyes looking up at nothing, your lips slowly turning blue. He counts in his head to keep track of his chest compressions.

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

" C'mon lovey, breathe for me please"

25 26 27 28 29

Your lips are now a harsh blue color, he whispers your name like a prayer.

He quickly puts his lips on yours to breathe into it, he does it twice, desperation increasing in every breath he gives you. He counts again.

10 11 12 13 14 15

He lets out a pained sob, he bites his lips to stop more from coming out.

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

"I can fix this" he ignores the aching in his arms.

26 27 28 29 30

He breathes into you again and again. He takes a step back to examine you, no reaction.

Desperation, fear and anger flows through every crevice of his body. But his mind fills with you, only you.

He takes his stance again-

Silence

Searing pain ebbs out of his chest, crimson flows from the wound, Hobie finds himself impaled on Goblin's hoverboard, his back trapped in between a wall. Green Goblin lets out a victory screech.

He groans out, his blood seeps through his mouth, gagging on it.

He's dying.

How poetic he thought, dying mere minutes after you. You once joked that you're soulmates, he now thinks you're right.

"I DID IT, I KILLED SPIDER-PUNK!" Her laugh slowly fades away, like he's walking away from her.

He imagines that he does and instead of your lifeless body waiting for him, he imagines that you're standing there, smiling at him. His only wish is that you both end up at the same place.

Big Ben's clock rings out again.

"I should've tried harder," He murmurs. Darkness embraces him like an old friend.

Hobie opens his eyes, sunlight tears his red eyes open. He quickly sits up breathless. He grabs his chest, kneading it with his knuckles. He smells something burning.

Hobie gets up, heading towards the smell. He stares at the pan - omelette or what it used to be an omelette.

"Fuck, the eggs!" You run around the corner in your bathrobe, Running too fast on your wet feet, you slide across the floor, almost hitting your hip against the table. Hobie stops you mid slide with his web shooters. You would've hit the table pretty hard.

Why did he know that?

You look towards Hobie looking dumbfounded. "Hobie, why are you just standing there? Turn it off!"

He snaps out of his stupor, turning down the knob he looks at you, his breathing heavy.

"Shit, sorry for yelling, Hob" you grab a rag to fan the smoke out.

You look at Hobie, he has a weird look on his face. He hugs you suddenly, his face landing on the crook of your neck. Hobie recognizes the smell of your soap and strawberry scented shampoo, he takes a deep breath.

That was just a dream, right?

"You better be sorry"

"Aw, my poor baby Hobie, did I wake you up with my culinary skills?" You rub his cheek with your thumb, "I'm sorry I woke you up, grumpy. Let me kiss it better" you crane your neck to peck the side of his head.

Just a dream, right?

Hobie anxiously fiddles with the belt around your robe, you take it as flirting. "Tsk tsk. Not today, babe. First day at my new job, remember?"

You pull away from his warmth, cupping his face, you look directly at his eyes. Hobie briefly sees your lifeless eyes staring back at him.

You take his lack of response to being sleep deprived. "Can't be late" you kiss his lips "You can go back to bed, I'll see you tonight" you push yourself off Hobie.

He calls after you, "remember they're lucky to have you, not the other way -" your doorbell rings.

"Could you get that for me?"

Grabbing the door, he sees your neighbour mid knock.

"Ohh, hey!" He looks behind Hobie completely ignoring him, staring at your bathrobe clad body "Morning neighbour!"

You wave at him awkwardly while you fix your robe to cover yourself up more.

Hobie notices, his eye twitches at the realization. He closes the door slightly, so he's blocking the creepy neighbor from you.

"What is it?" Hobie asks flatly, leaning on the doorway.

"Ah," he subtly tries to take a peek at you behind Hobie "do you have any sugar, white preferably. You see I'm making ensaymada -"

Hobie's ears perk at the last word. He stares at the man suspiciously.

"What did you say?"

"Ensaymada, it's a pastry with-"

"I know what the fuck that is, it's their favourite, why the fuck-"

A dream, right?

"Wait there" Hobie cuts him off, he shuts the door with a bang.

He grabs a bag of sugar from your pantry, Hobie opens the door, tossing it off.

"Oof, Thanks! Can you tell-" He gets shut down again when Hobie closes the door in his face.

Hobie slowly walks back towards the bedroom, he sits on the foot of your bed. He feels tired, wondering what the hell is happening to him. He lifts his shirt to look at his chest, no sign of a wound. He looks around your room, nothing seems out of place, it's the same cream colored walls, the same bed, and dresser, the same lab coat hangs on it, ready for your first day at work.

Hobie plops down, his muscles aching for relief, he starts to drift back to sleep, until he hears you humming the same tune, in the same cadence. Hobie's eyes open in a flash.

"This already happened"

–-

Hobie goes about his day, knowing what happens today, he has the advantage. He can save you this time.

Hobie anticipates every move Goblin makes, he dodges everything she throws at him. Bombs still get thrown about, but now he has the time to react before it causes chaos.

She can't get a single hit in, watching every precise movement he makes, knowing her every move before she even does, it terrified her, so she just flies away crossing the Thames, she sees an opportunity to stop Spider-Punk from chasing her.

Goblin in her desperation, haphazardly throws every single one of her bombs below, Hobie tries to fling them away but he couldn't stop every single one of them from detonating. Loud booms and green smoke cover the iconic bridge.

What did he do wrong?

Spotting you from above, Hobie dive bombs towards you, he's a few feet above you, he reaches out to you, your fingers brush against each other as a bomb explodes near your feet.

Hobie opens his eyes, he feels a harsh heat staying on his face, like a lingering taste.

"FUCK!" He screams, "this can't be happening" he holds his head in his hands.

"Babe you okay?" You come out of the bathroom, smoke fills Hobie's nostrils like some kind of cruel joke.

"No! My breakfast!" You rush out.

He follows you, as you fan away the fumes, Hobie hugs you from behind.

"Hey grumpy, sorry about that" you lean against his chest, you crane your neck so he could slip his head on the crook of it.

Hobie smells your familiar scent along with a hint of smoke, he promises into your skin that he would try harder to save you, no matter how many tries it takes him.

"Are you okay? You seem out of it"

"Just tired, lovey"

"You know that I love you, right? I'm right here, you can tell me anything"

"I know"

He left your flat at the same time as you, following closely behind your cab. He's paranoid that Goblin knows that she's in a loop too and might try to get the upper hand.

Hobie finds Goblin before she could find him. He leaves her body beaten on the pavement.

How she reacts with his questions with every angry hit, it's safe to say, she doesn't know about the day resetting.

Hobie continues on throughout the day, Big Ben rings its bell - 6:00pm

This time instead of the Green Goblin surprising him, it's the Vulture.

They fight, and eventually end up on the bridge. They clash against each other, Hobie doesn't have the advantage of precognition this time, but what he has is pure unadulterated anger.

Hobie tries everything, but you still fall. Grasping your limp body, he lets the vulture take his revenge.

The clock chimes again

Hobie opens his eyes. This time he doesn't waste time, he swings away immediately, leaving you confused.

He finds Goblin, then the Vulture, but still another Villain replaces them.

Hobie almost beats the Lizard but alas with his enhanced healing he gets up over and over again. Hobie, exhausted and bleeding, watches you cradle his limp body, Lizard's massive shadow falls over you.

You both die in the hands of the Lizard.

>47

Hobie opens his eyes, he starts to count how many times he looped back.

No matter how he keeps killing and trapping all the villains that somehow keeps replacing each other on that bridge. More and more obscure ones start filling the role of your murderer. They seemed endless.

You and Hobie have been impaled, electrocuted, burned, and tossed into a vacuum of space. And yet he keeps coming back to the same day, on the same bed, waking up to the same smell.

He ignores it, he wonders what he did to deserve this. Seeing you die over and over again is hell. That must be it, he's in hell, he doesn't believe in it, but after hearing your pained screams, and countless times he tried to revive you, he's starting to believe in it.

You jump out of the shower, running towards your stove, you don't notice him awake.

After seeing you alive and well, he's sure this isn't hell, because if it is you wouldn't be in it.

>81

He tries something new, he confronts your weird neighbor, he lets his anger get the best of him. Hobie dumps the bag of sugar on his head, letting it fall on him like snowflakes.

You still drown, he still gets killed by Goblin.

>104

He wakes up with anger boiling inside him. Why can't he save you? Why is he so slow? Why can't he figure out what's causing this time loop? He lashes out on you leaving you sobbing on your floor.

You die in his arms this time, thinking that he doesn't love you.

He curses himself, as he lets the uncontrollable fire consume him.

>141

He invents various gadgets made from scrap, to aid him in fighting. He wasted the entire day creating them.

Hobie uses them once, but he still fails. You still fall, he gets burned.

At least he gets to bring his hardwork in the next loop right?

>142

Hobie opens his eyes, his gadgets are nowhere to be found.

He curses his optimism.

>173

He has every villain's attack pattern memorized and predicted, he stares at Vulture's lifeless body on the pavement.

He finally beat one on the bridge.

Breathless he looks behind him, he stares at your wide eyes, your white lab coat is a stark comparison to the chaos around you.

He did it, now to get you home.

Hobie was just staring at you, in a split second, you're hanging from Goblin's hoverboard, the sharp end of it sticking out of your chest.

"NO!"

Goblin laughs as she throws numerous bombs at him, Hobie falls on the bridge, his right arm no more.

"I almost had it" he weakly says as the dark waters of the Thames engulf him.

>212

Hobie's falling apart at the seams.

>237

Hobie opens his eyes, his muscles feel like they're being torn away from his bones. His eyes grow heavier with every revival. His ears are still ringing from the bell's endless chiming.

He needs help, so he goes after you in the kitchen. "Hey" he says morosely.

"G'morning, grumpy-" you turn around, gasping at the sight. Taking in his slouched posture, sunken eyes, his signature smirk notably absent. He looks exhausted.

"Hobie?" You ask, as if you weren't sure it's really him. "What happened? Are you okay?" You slowly close the distance, careful not to startle him.

"Baby?" Grabbing his shoulders, he falls forward with a thud.

"I think-" he clings to you "I think I did something wrong"

Your heart breaks for him "could you tell me what it is?"

He pulls away "I'm stuck, I don't know what to do" he cups your face, for a second, he sees blood covering it, your once bright eyes turning white, then your face comes back to normal "Please, help me"

"Let's sit down, yeah?" You lead him towards your emerald couch. Was it always this colour? It reminds him of the smoke billowing from Goblin's bombs.

He puts on a brave face, "what I'm about to tell you sounds crazy, but please stay with me" and so he tells you everything, starting from the beginning to end.

He thought not telling you of your death might help you swallow it down better, so he doesn't, instead Hobie tells you that he keeps dying over and over again.

After rambling you look at him, emotion unreadable on your face.

"I believe you," you kiss his hollow cheeks "I believe you" you put your forehead against his, grounding him to reality.

"I'm so fucking sorry, it didn't work out, our plan" he murmurs.

"What? Hobie, how many times have you asked for my help?" You pull away, cringing at your tone, he might interpret it as anger.

"This is the thirteenth time"

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"Every single time I've told you, you always believed me, not once you didn't. But I've never asked you, why do you always help me?"

"Because, I love you, Hobie Brown. You could tell me that whales could walk on land, or the sky is falling and I would believe you"

For Hobie the sky IS falling, every time he sees you die, his world ends, and he's powerless to stop it.

"I have every reason to help you, because I can't lose you"

That's a first from you. Hobie never thought of it that way. He was too focused on saving you that he forgot to save himself.

Hobie thinks of something he has never done before in a couple of hundred rotations.

"So, what if we don't do anything? We just stay here, doing nothing" Hobie asks.

"We've never done that before?"

"Never, it could work. Us staying out of danger" determination sparks in his eyes.

"Then let's do just that" you smile.

Hope sparks in Hobie's veins. It has to work.

So you don't do anything all day, you don't go to work, he doesn't do his patrol, Hobie doesn't open the door.

You do your usual things at home, eating together, cleaning the flat to pass the time, savoring each other's presence.

Hobie feels his soul slowly get stitched back together again. This could work.

Your alarm rings out, he glimpses at it 6:00pm

His heart thumps in his chest loudly, he's sure you could hear it too from where you're cuddling into him. You make a fist, before rubbing your knuckles over his chest, your way of calming him down.

You're both gonna make it to tomorrow, he's sure of it.

"I don't know how this could end, but I want you to know that I love you so fucking much. If we make it to tomorrow, know that I will continue loving you every day" he wipes a lone tear on your cheek. "If we keep reliving the same day over again, I will love you in every cycle"

You crane your neck to kiss him, he closes his eyes in anticipation. Your lips never reached his.

>238

Hobie opens his eyes, He lets out a guttural scream.

You rush out of the bathroom, concerned.

He tells you what's happening again.

You have the brilliant idea to leave, just leave the city till the sun rises the next day.

You borrow a car from a friend, grabbing a few necessities, you drive off.

Hobie watches you from the passenger seat, the sun bathes you in its light, giving you a halo of soft light around your head. He smiles tiredly, this could be it.

Once the two of you hit the outskirts of London, darkness wraps him in an embrace.

>239

Hobie opens his eyes.

They tried a train this time. Everything seems to be moving smoothly.

Until the train skids to a violent stop, derailing it. Bags and people start flying around. He tries to web them into place.

He grabs your body shielding you. The train lights shut off, bathing them in darkness while their bodies get thrashed around.

Hobie hears a harsh cracking sound.

The train finally stops, its emergency light turns on, he sees you in his arms bathed in the dim light. Why are your eyes closed?

Hobie feels something warm hit his hand, He lifts his hand away from the back of your head, gore covers his hand. Hot crimson seeps into his clothes.

Not again.

Why does he need to see this again?

Why?

Hobie weeps, as he cradles your body. He lifts his head towards nothing but at the same time looking at you.

"Why aren't you helping me?! Why are you just sitting there watching all of this-"

>240

Hobie opens his eyes. The blinding light from the early morning sun mixed with the smell of burning breakfast wakes him up instantly. He jumps off the bed running towards the smell.

>276

He hates that he's getting desensitized everytime you breathe your last.

But no matter how many times he changes some things, he will always try to save you.

Hobie's exhausted, he feels his mind get numb with every rotation.

He feels like he's watching himself, like a ghost haunting his own body.

>348

He's accepted it, after numerous times trying to get out, he accepts his fate.

Hobie convinces you to stay home and spend time with him, he doesn't tell you why, but by just looking at him, you know he needs you now more than ever. So you stay.

The rigmarole starts where he convinces you to remain home, Hobie keeps you close, you do the exact same things together until it's time for the reset.

>349

He does this over

>356

And over

>381

Again.

>391

He stares at your blue walls, was it always blue?

Your neighbour doesn't knock anymore.

>414

He notices things looking different, your once pristine oak table now looks old.

Your white lab coat is now a slight yellow.

Your kitchen ceiling is covered in soot.

What's happening?

>449

Hobie can't help but look back at you burning a hole on the side of his head with your stares.

"What is it, love?" His voice hoarse.

"You don't look too well Hobie, are you okay?" Concern fills your voice. He pretends this is the first time you've asked him that question.

"Of course I'm okay"

Liar.

"Shut up" He blurts out.

"It's just that you haven't smiled the entire day. I'm sorry, okay, I- I'll drop it" tears prick your eyes.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't- I wasn't- fuck" he rubs his tired face.

"Please tell me what's bothering you" you sniff.

You're met with silence.

"You know I love you right?" You rub his arm, comforting him.

Those three words wake him up. He remembers now, his promise to you. But it comes with a harsh realization.

"I don't think I can save you"

He tells you everything, your deaths, every violent end, every pain that could've been prevented.

Every single cycle.

You look at him, tears threatening to spill out. "You've spent a hundred lifetimes with me?"

"I'm sorry for being selfish" he hugs you tightly, your body shaking. You finally let the tears fall. "I'm so fucking sorry"

You spend a moment in his arms, contemplating your own end.

"Hobie," you reluctantly pull away, "promise me something, okay?" He nods "promise me you'll let go?"

"We-I can keep trying"

"No, you have to stop. You need to go on without me" you cup his face "Don't let me stop you from moving forward" you kiss every inch of his face to soften the blow.

"I don't think I can," his eyes shine with unshed tears.

"Yes, you can, eventually" a sob breaks out of you "eventually you will, just don't you dare ever forget that I love you so much it hurts"

You duck your head to meet his eyes "promise me in the next cycle, don't tell me anything, and you can't convince me to stay with you the entire day, okay?" You wipe his tears with your thumb "you let it happen, just like the first time"

Tears flow out of you freely. He guides you to meet his lips one last time, memorizing every second of it. "I promise. Wait for me, yeah?"

"I'll wait for you no matter how long it takes"

Your alarm rings out.

>450

Hobie's eyes open. He jumps out of bed, turning off the stove before smoke could billow out. Hobie prepares your omelette for you.

He watches you eat happily. Hobie takes a mental picture of the scene.

He lets it happen, no matter how much it hurts his soul, but he promised you, so he lets you go.

You fall.

He fights Goblin until she can't fight him anymore.

Hobie wins, but your life is forfeit. Did he even win when he can't even fulfill the promise he made hundreds of rotations ago?

He dives after your body, he knows you're already gone the second your head hits the water.

Hobie places you on the same riverbank like he has done a hundred times before.

Hobie rubs his knuckles over your heart, he says his final goodbye. "I'll see you when I get there"

He hears sirens coming towards the riverbank, you'll be okay.

He hears the familiar bell.

Hobie swings back home to your flat. His knees give out from under him. He falls on your bed with a thud, sleep hits his exhausted body.

—

Hobie opens his eyes, your telephone rings endlessly in the living room. No burning smell, no hint of strawberry in the air.

He looks at your clock- 11:00 the new date mocking him in red numbers.

Hobie did it, he broke free but now he has to live in a world where you don't exist anymore. Your promise echoes in his ears like a mantra.

A/n: I've hc'd that Hobie would definitely find out he's in a time loop by the second reset lol. Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*the picture above is from pinterest*

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gabessquishytum · 2 months

Note

Dream got turned around, honestly. He'd been in this city for concerts before, and his habit for walking around the venue after sound check to shake out any final nerves never got him recognized, chased by over-eager fans, and (hounded) into hiding. He didn't want to compound the problem by picking another public place, but he needed to get off the street so he could arrange a pick up.

When he slammed his way into the New Inn at a dead run he was only a few minutes ahead of the crowd - he really needs to stop ditching his bodyguard (and cell phone) - and he hoped he could convince the people inside to hide him.

🎤🍺🎤🍺

When the door of the pub slammed open & shut so loudly before opening, Hob was worried that it was those hooligan kids causing mischief again (as once hooligan himself, Hob understood, but no one messes with his inn.).

Instead he was greeted by world famous (infamous) music phenomenon Dream. He looked ruffled and a little scared (and achingly beautiful), and like he needed help. Helping is a deep part of who Hob is now - half the reason Hob's inn exists is to be a safe place for people who might need help,,, no matter who they might be.

Still Dream might be the most high profile person to ever need Hob's helping hand.

Hob's hullo luv snapped the beautiful head up, allowing Hob to see the rapidly spreading blush. The deep speaking voice that apologized for the trouble (will live in Hob's dreams for the rest of forever) explained that he was being chased be a large group of fans and that Dream needed to hide until they mostly left and he could arrange to get picked up before his concert. Hob never had a better reason to open the inn a little late.

Dream was trying not to stare at the pretty man with tattoos poking out of the neck of his open shirt, that seemed to be designed to show off a little of a soft-looking pelt of chest hair, and tight enough to -cup- accentuate sexy tits 😳. The hair up in a bun,,,,Dream is trying to look "respectfully," but wow is the universe paying him back for being chased through the streets.

ALASKSJSJA love at first sight is always perfect for these adorable idiots <3

Hob is super understanding and kind - he offers his (big, calloused, warm) hand for Dream to take and helps him come around the back of the bar. There's a cozy little nook where Dream gladly sits cross-legged, catching his breath... suddenly realising that he's more or less eye-level with Hob’s very shapely arse. Dream is definitely staring. He can only hope that Hob doesn't feel it.

It's a good thing he's hidden behind the bar, to be honest, because a couple of fans actually come into the inn looking for him. Hob sternly tells them that they ought to leave the poor musician alone, and that if they don't intend to purchase anything then they can skedaddle, please and thank you. Dream falls irrevocably in love with the stern tone of Hob’s voice. He can't help but imagine it ordering him around in bed.....

When the coast is clear, Hob helps Dream up from the floor (once again, those hands are gorgeous and Dream is obsessed). They share a laugh about the awkwardness of the situation... and Dream knows that he's probably got one chance not to totally blow this. He first asks if he can use a phone (to call his poor manager and arrange to be picked up). And then he asks if Hob would like a backstage pass to the concert.

Hob’s trying not to sound too eager with his "Yes, please!" but he really can't bear to let Dream go just yet. The idea of hearing the beautiful man sing is irresistible. And the fact that they're still holding hands at this point is a pretty good indicator of the fact that neither of them really want to be separated just yet...

The press get a few pictures of Dream arriving back at the venue, shyly smiling at a "mystery man" who actually waves at the cameras. But unfortunately, no pictures are taken after the concert when Dream is back in the green room - straddling Hob on the couch, kissing the breath out of him and groping his amazing tits through his shirt. Post-show adrenaline apparently gives Dream the confidence to take what he wants... and Hob truly couldn't be more thrilled about that!!

#the sandman #dreamling #cw stalking

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valiantstarlights · 10 months

Text

[The Proposal AU] The Bachelorette Party

Previous Chapter: The Babymaker Blanket

I told @valeriianz I imagined Corinthian being the stripper character in this AU, and this is me having no self-control because I just started writing about it as soon as I said it. 😂 (Also tagging @voukkake because this AU is inspired by her art. 😊)

The song playing at Dream's bach party is Pony by Ginuwine because it's the most stripper-y song I could think of rn 🤷‍♀️

CW: Stripper Corinthian, strictly hobsexual Dream, tabletop games, and as a treat, seductive Dream (towards Hob) 😏

"Bye, Hob!" Jo calls as she drags a very confused Dream behind her. "We're going to see Cori for Dream's bach party!"

Dream hears a crash from the kitchen as Hob rushes towards them, still holding a potato peeler, looking wild-eyed and frantic. "You're going to see Corinthian? For Dream's bach party?"

"That's literally what I just said," Jo says as she starts to put on her shoes. Dream just stands between them, baffled at Jo's flippancy while Hob looks increasingly apprehensive. "You gone deaf or something?"

"Absolutely not," Hob says. "Dream--"

"--is allowed to have a bach party organized for him even when you declined to have your own," Jo continues. "And besides! I wanna get some calamari from The New Inn after. We'll be back soon." She glances at Dream and smiles innocently. "Or maybe it's just me and Gran who will be back soon."

Dream turns to Hob. "Corinthian?"

"He's a part-time stripper," Hob says.

"A very sexy one," Jo adds. "He might make you rethink marrying my brother, actually."

Dream doesn't know who this Corinthian fellow is, but he definitely, definitely thinks he's not going to cheat on Hob with him. Even if he and Hob aren't actually a real couple.

"I doubt it," Dream says to Jo. "I am quite set on marrying your brother." To Hob, he says, "I will be back soon, my love. Do you wish for me to get you anything while we're out?"

"No," Hob says. There's an intense look in his eyes that Dream doesn't know how to decipher. "I don't need anything else. I just want you to come back home to me."

Dream...doesn't quite know how to handle that, but he's pretty sure the tips of his ears are getting redder by the second.

Jo makes a retching sound. "Both of you are disgusting, but I'm still taking Dream to his own bach party. Now come on! Even Gran is already there!"

"I'll see you soon, love," Hob tells him, and leans forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. His eyes are dark, and more than once Dream sees him glancing down towards his lips.

He nods mutely, wishing he had the courage to reciprocate--for pretend purposes, of course, since Jo is considered part of the audience they're trying to sell their romance to--but in the end, he does nothing and just puts on his shoes before turning around to follow Jo out of the house.

Corinthian, it turns out, is the flirty waiter from the welcome party.

"I thought you were a waiter," Dream says as Corinthian slowly stalks towards where he's sitting in the middle of the stage, sexily taking his shirt off. Around them, people (mostly the women of the town) started hooting and hollering as Corinthian's muscled upper body is revealed, and he bodyrolls a little to the music, one hand on the backrest of Dream's chair.

"I can be anything you want, dreamboat," Corinthian says huskily. Dream cringes at the nickname, but allows Corinthian to dance nearer. "No? Too on the nose?"

"Quite," Dream says. "Do you really have to do this entire routine?"

Corinthian shrugs, but even that looks seductive when paired with his half-lidded eyes. "It pays the bills better than being a part-time waiter."

Dream sighs as Corinthian starts grinding and humping the air in front of his face. Dream understands that he must endure this for the sake of wedding traditions, but the music playing over the speakers irritates him, with the hook sounding like someone saying 'bleugh' over and over again.

"This doesn't do anything for you?" Corinthian asks. When Dream shakes his head, he chuckles but still very professionally continues his routine. Dream blanches as Corinthian moves his pelvis closer to Dream's face--still not making physical contact, but definitely too close for comfort. "A pity. 'Cause, not gonna lie, dreamboat, you're pretty cute."

Dream lifts his left hand where Hob's fake engagement ring sits prettily on his ring finger.

Corinthian just lifts both his hands up in a peaceful gesture, then starts unbuttoning his trousers and swaying side to side, his long legs straddling Dream's thighs. More hoots and cheers as Corinthian unzips and teasingly runs the tips of his fingers over his bulge.

"Noted," he says, as the song keeps 'bleugh'-ing in the background. "But feel free to spank me anyway. It'll get me extra tips for the night."

Dream doesn't like the way Corinthian winked when he said the word 'tips,' but what he says next is even worse. "And hey, I promise I'll try my best not to cum when you do. Your fingers look so pretty I want to choke on them."

"This is sexual harassment," Dream says futilely as, with a single rip of the fabric, Corinthian tears his trousers off completely and throws the ruined clothing towards the crowd, where Grandma Johanna successfully catches it one-handed.

"Spank me," Corinthian says to Dream as he starts to gyrate in front of his face again, this time while running his hands over his abs and pecs. "Before they inevitably peer-pressure you to do it."

"What?"

Right on cue, a large beefy guy in the crowd yells, "Spank him!"

"Smack his ass!" an old lady's voice adds. Dream recognizes it as Grandma Johanna's friend Betty's voice.

"Give him a proper lap dance, Cori!" Jo shouts.

Corinthian helpfully turns around and bends over, looking over his shoulder coquettishly as he gives Dream quite the view of his toned legs and shapely buttocks. His black thong doesn't really leave much to the imagination, especially when he's bent over like this. "Go on, dreamboat," Cori says, smiling widely and lasciviously. "It's a show. But if it makes it easier for you, spank me like how Hob spanks you."

And. Of course, Dream thinks. Of course it's a show. This entire trip is a show, and he's supposed to be acting like his life depends on it. Because it does. His life--everything he built for himself away from his toxic parents, depends on how well he acts like the beloved fiancee of this small town's golden boy.

Dream imagines Hob, with his lazy morning smiles, and his strong arms, and his capable manner in the workplace. If Hob ever spanks him, it would be because of something Dream had done. Something unforgivably naughty. If Hob ever spanks him in a sexual way, it would be like--

Dream lifts his dominant hand and strikes Corinthian's ass like how he imagines Hob would spank him if he had been a brat all day. It's easy to imagine, because Dream often feels like a brat, especially when he orders Hob around unnecessarily, asking him to get complicated coffee orders and making him work overtime even when Dream is fairly sure he can get the work done by himself. It's just, Hob is so competent and amazing at what he does, and surely two heads are better than one. And if Hob sometimes unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his shirt sleeves up, exposing his forearms--

The sound echoes throughout the room, and Corinthian's small moan of "oh fuck," and "Daddy," is lost as the crowd goes absolutely wild.

"Hey," Hob says as Dream enters his bedroom. He's sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, open book held in one hand. He doesn't look like he has made much progress. "Welcome back."

"You shouldn't have stayed up," Dream says as he looks at the wall clock pointedly. It shows that it's well past midnight. He and Jo just got back, with Grandma Johanna returning hours before they did.

Jo had dragged him over to The New Inn to get her calamari and, as luck would have it, it turns out that tonight is game night at the inn--a fact that Johanna definitely knows--and Dream was roped into playing Cards Against Humanity and half a dozen other tabletop games with names like Carcassone, which was probably inspired by the French city with the same name, and Tsuro, which means 'route' in Japanese.

(Jo called him a nerd when he took out his phone to get the English translation of the game's name.)

(And yes, apparently, Corinthian also part-times at The New Inn during game nights, where he becomes the DM to a group playing Dungeons and Dragons. Dream was mortified when Corinthian saunters up to him and leans over to whisper in his ear, "Fancy seeing you here at my other workplace, Daddy Dreamboat.")

(He's pretty sure Jo and everyone at their table heard everything.)

"Yeah, well," Hob says, which isn't much of an answer at all. "How was your party?" he asks, when Dream takes off his coat and hangs it on a coat hook behind the door.

"Exhausting," Dream replies honestly. He didn't think Jo would have that much energy in her body, but apparently, he was wrong. She must have drank more than ten cups of coffee before they went out today.

"Yeah?" Hob says, his voice sounding strangely tight.

"Yes," Dream says. "Your sister has too much energy and the appetite of a blue whale. She must have eaten three family-sized plates of calamari by herself, and beat me thoroughly at Sheriff of Nottingham. It's a pity The New Inn doesn't have Scrabble, or I would have decimated everyone at the table."

"Oh," Hob says, and now he sounds relieved. Dream is too tired to parse out what the tone of his voice meant at the moment, but he will definitely be examining it at a later time. "Yeah, no. I can't beat Jo at Sheriff of Nottingham either. She always knows when I have contraband cards."

Dream huffs a laugh as he goes to the ensuite, keeping the door cracked open a little as he changes his clothes and does his nightly routines. "I managed to smuggle golden apples past her tonight, and she accused me of trying to start a war, which was very nice of her."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Hob says from the bedroom. "Game nights at The New Inn are really fun."

Dream hums and starts washing his face. "I saw a game that looked promising on the shelves, but the owner wouldn't take it down for us to play because Jo already borrowed too many."

"What was the game?"

"Betrayal at House on the Hill."

Hob laughs a full-bellied laugh at that, and the Dream in the mirror blushes and ducks his head at the sound. "Of course it's Betrayal," Hob says. "Remind me to bring you to the New Inn next game night, and I'll play with you."

Dream's hand pauses as he applies his night cream on his face. He knows Hob meant 'I'll play with you' in an innocent way, but the note of warm laughter in his voice made the chill from Dream's bones melt entirely.

It's a sensation he did not feel even when Corinthian explicitly told him he wanted to choke on his fingers while dirty dancing in front of him.

He hurries to finish his nightly routines.

"So?" Hob asks, when Dream had been quiet for too long. "You interested?"

He is, but perhaps not in playing the horror-themed game they're currently talking about. Still, he says, "Yes," and is glad that his voice does not shake, even when his hands do as he arranges the creams and serums in his travel toiletry bag. "The game looks very intriguing."

"If you like that, then I think you'll love the other dark or horror-themed games available at The New Inn. Like Nemesis, which is...a lot, or Gloom, which I think you'll win every time. Or, hey, maybe they still have Unspeakable Words. It's not quite Scrabble, but Jo will agree to play because she adores the little Cthulhu minis."

Dream re-enters the bedroom just then, clad in Hob's old university shirt and his own side split shorts, and watches as Hob's Adam's apple bob as he takes him in. "Will you play with me?"

Hob blinks and his eyes lift from looking at Dream's legs to his face. "Wha--huh?"

Dream smiles. "All the games you mentioned," he says, then crawls into bed--not seductively, he doesn't think he can quite manage that, but slower than usual. More intentional. "Will you play all of them with me? Teach me all the rules and go easy on me?"

"Yeah," Hob says, and shifts a little to make more space for Dream on the bed. Or perhaps to shift the fall of the blankets over his covered lower half. Dream unconsciously licks his lips. "I'll...yeah."

"Then I'm looking forward to it," Dream says. Then, with the courage he lacked earlier that evening, he leans closer and kisses Hob's cheek. "Good night, Hob," he says, lips brushing against Hob's stubble, their breaths mingling together.

"Good night," Hob replies belatedly, when Dream is already lying in bed and has turned on his side so he's facing the windows. He turns off the lamp on his side of the bed and says in the dark, "Sweet Dream."

Dream smiles and subtly nuzzles against his pillow--Hob's pillow, which smells like Hob, and pretends that he's actually resting his head against Hob's strong chest.

He falls asleep with a small smile on his face.

#the proposal AU #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs

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freddiefcknmercury · 9 months

Text

Golden Brown

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader & Sam Wilson/reader

-Female coded reader

Word count: 800+

Warnings/disclaimer: Smut; penetration. That's really it lol. General reference to a poly relationship. Also maybe skip if you lactose or gluten free🤡

A/N: .....It's just smut lol. People asked for Anotha One to 'Grey' so here ya go.

Summary: Late night snack turns into a late night snack.

~*As always, be Nice to me I'm delicate*~

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It's late.

Too late to be eating anything at all, but you can't sleep. This grilled cheese though, it'll fix you.

Even pulled the fancy cheese out of the fridge, the expensive ones you have to slice yourself and put it on some of the sexy bread Sam brought home yesterday. The fresh loaves with soft pillowy insides and a gorgeous crusty outside that you have to squeeze each time you get it.

If you love yourself you butter both sides of the bread.

You find a small pan and place it over the hob, letting it click a few times waiting for the flames to appear. After beginning to arrange the cheeses precisely on the bread you notice movement coming from around the corner.

Bucky still somewhat sleepily walking into the kitchen, catching you red handed at the stove after 2am. You freeze for just a moment, fully prepared for a halfhearted lecture about 'already not getting enough sleep', but decide to continue preparing your not quite breakfast anyway.

Silently he places a slightly cool metal hand on the small of your back before carefully wrapping it around you under your shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers firmly against your stomach. Resting his face against your shoulder, you feel him studying your movements for a beat before watching him turn the burner you meant to use off.

You shift slightly, turning to look at him inquisitively. After a firm squeeze of each of your shoulders he steps aside and lightly pushes into the centre of your chest with a single finger, suggesting you backwards into the kitchen island with a soft thud. Resting his forehead gently against yours Bucky reaches down, hoisting you up onto the counter. You stare back at him, he hasn't said a word yet as he tugs against your waistband. You lean back onto your palms lifting your hips up slightly for him to remove the bottoms. He takes your chin in his hand, pulling on your bottom lip exposing your tongue to him. Gently he massages it with his thumb, soaking it thoroughly before reaching down to coat himself with your saliva. He takes you by the knee, staring almost flatly back at you waiting for that first gasp to escape your lips as he slides inside. Your eyes flutter just a little, it's been a while since he felt so inclined... he grabs rough handfuls of flesh on your hips and pulls you flush against him with a groan. You wrap an arm around his shoulders to brace yourself, burying your free hand in his hair as you both rock into the island. Soft groans and whimpers fill the dimly lit kitchen for what feels like an hour when you feel a soft finger being dragged along your arm.

Sam silently leans against the island next to you, Bucky doesn't seem to notice, or couldn't care less if he does. Sam tenderly pushes the hair out of your face and squeezes the apple of your cheek with a soft smirk. You feel your face get hot; embarrassed isn't the right word for the feeling you get seeing one of your boyfriends still look at you so fondly while the other one rails you in the kitchen in front of him in the middle of the night. Your eyes follow him as Sam walks over to the stove and clicks the fire back on.

Bucky feels your focus shift off him and pushes you flat onto your back, the cold surface just a bit exhilarating. He pulls you all but into his lap, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. He kisses your stomach before reaching up to your tongue again, more desperate this time, almost frantic. He uses that thumb to gingerly massage your clit as he drills into you. He groans deep in his chest and you hear a soft sizzle coming from behind him but you're too far along to concentrate on anything else now. Your back arches and the world goes silent as Bucky pushes you over, his hand still feels determined to make you black out. You take several deep ragged breaths while struggling to grab his wrist and make him stop. Sam reaches over into a cabinet to pull down your favourite plate and you hear the burner click again. Bucky grips both hips and buries himself into you with a single raspy:

"Fuck..."

You whimper to the feeling of him twitching inside. Sam walks around the island behind you placing your food and a damp cloth off to the side. Rolling your head back to look at him you see that same soft smirk. He wipes the sweat off your forehead and places a heavy palm on the center of your chest, watching you breath for a minute as Bucky carefully exits you. He squeezes your thigh and gives you a knowing look; One you still can't explain to anybody else, before taking a bite of your sandwich and leaving you to collect yourself. After lifting yourself up into your elbows Sam gives your shoulder a light squeeze as he swiftly follows after him, you immediately hear whispered bickering in the hallway. Grabbing the cloth you side eye your almost perfect grilled cheese, suddenly not very hungry anymore...

Read Grey here

#fan fiction #one shot #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel au #Sam Wilson #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes/reader #sam wilson/reader #sam wilson fluff #bucky barnes smut #grilled cheese

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ineffablegame · 4 years

Text

Fic where Aziraphale and Crowley try to get sexy at Crowley’s flat and it’s just a complete and utter disaster:

The bed, despite Crowley’s habit of sleeping, is incredibly uncomfortable because the only bed that fit with the “posh wanker who lives here is more fixated on style than function” aesthetic was one that made you feel like you’re sleeping on a bag of rocks. So, when they finally try to make use of the thing, they can’t get comfortable. When Crowley’s on top, Aziraphale’s back hurts. When Aziraphale tries to take Crowley from behind, it’s murder on his knees. When Crowley lays between Aziraphale’s legs and takes him in his mouth, his elbows start screaming in protest.

“I thought you enjoyed sleeping,” Aziraphale grouses. “Why is this bed so beastly uncomfortable?”

“Shut up and get in, angel,” Crowley snaps back, grumpy from his bruised elbows.

When they finally find a semblance of mild discomfort and proceed, Aziraphale is distracted by the fact that the plants appear to be watching them. It’s like having twenty quiet, unblinking cats staring at you when you’re trying to do the do, only the plants are radiating a weird combination of fear and loathing. When Crowley reaches for Aziraphale, the angel balks.

“What is it?” Crowley asks.

“It’s...” Aziraphale nods toward a particularly malevolent-looking ficus. “They’re watching us, my dear.”

“Ignore them,” Crowley says, angling for a kiss.

And, to Aziraphale’s credit, he tries. But when the plants start rustling in a manner that sounds suspiciously like jeering, he can’t make himself continue.

The throne is, despite Aziraphale’s many fantasies, not conducive to fucking. It’s too tall and too narrow at the base to have a decent center of gravity. To be fair, Crowley and Aziraphale are both too distracted to notice the way it rocks when the angel climbs, naked and wanting, into the demon’s lap and begins riding him. They’re both too preoccupied to notice until it’s far too late - until the throne is at a forty-five degree angle and toppling to the floor.

They’re both rather put off the throne after that.

Crowley’s kitchen is also out. When, one morning, Aziraphale fancies himself a romantic and starts making breakfast on the hob, Crowley shuffles in and the sight of the angel in an apron with his sleeves rolled up damn-near undoes him. He saunters close and slithers his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, sneaking his fingers under the hem of his shirt while he mouths the hinge of his jaw. Aziraphale chuckles and makes a token protest, but when Crowley begins sucking on his neck, his laughter turns to a breathy moan. He turns to kiss Crowley properly, and when his knees threaten to buckle, he reaches a hand back against the stove to steady himself.

Crowley’s stove is a posh affair, with an electric hob. The sort with a perfectly smooth top, the burners indicated by drawn-on circles. Aziraphale’s hand unwittingly lands smack on the center of a circle and he rears back with a shriek.

Cooking for your darling is terribly romantic. Scraping your darling’s palm off the hob is not.

The revolving door to the throne room is the last straw. When Aziraphale and Crowley are snogging and grasping and Crowley is licking into Aziraphale’s mouth and Aziraphale is shaking with need, they decide to try a vertical surface. By the time they actually arrive at said surface, they are a trifle distracted with the mechanics of shedding their clothes, of Crowley lifting Aziraphale, of Aziraphale’s legs locking around his waist. By the time things are actually underway, Aziraphale doesn’t quibble about the hard, cool surface against his bare back-- but when it begins to shift, he lets out a squawk of surprise. Before he can warn Crowley, before he can perform a hasty miracle, the revolving door at his back is swinging wide open and the two are careening to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

“Right!” Aziraphale gasps, when Crowley has extricated himself with a wince. “Right, that does it.”

He snaps his fingers and the two are sitting in the back room of the bookshop without a stitch of clothing between them. The shop is closed, of course, but Aziraphale slams the door of the back room for good measure before hauling Crowley over to the sofa. The plush, incredibly cozy sofa, thank you very much. Crowley gasps as his naked back hits the cushions and if his erection had flagged between the door incident and being dropped without ceremony into the bookshop, it’s not flagging anymore.

“You,” Aziraphale says, straddling him, “are no longer a free demon. Am I being perfectly clear?”

“Yes,” Crowley says, grinning as his hands settle on Aziraphale’s plush thighs.

“Very good,” Aziraphale says, and leans down to kiss him. After long minutes of roaming hands and reckless mouths, they part and the angel adds, “You will sort out your flat, my dear. I simply cannot be comfortable without a suitable bed.”

“Yes.” Crowley’s breath hitches as Aziraphale positions himself and sinks down. “Yes, yes.”

“And you will exile the plants to the parlor,” Aziraphale adds as he begins to move.

“Yes, of course, angel--”

“And the throne. Bolt it to the floor. I would have you in it.”

“Go--Sa-- fuck, Aziraphale...”

“And the hob...”

“Done. Fuck, faster, please--”

Aziraphale moves his hips faster, clinging to coherence as it threatens to slip through his fingers. “And that ridiculous door must--must go. If... hah, if I’m going to have you inside me, I would prefer that... oh... that we not be disturbed.”

“’Course,” Crowley says, then groans, his entire body going rigid. “Angel--!”

And after, as they lie together in sweaty, sated silence, Aziraphale hides a grin against Crowley’s temple.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens ficlet #nsft #lemon #they're idiots and sex is ridiculous #let it be ridiculous

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all-things-fic · 5 years

Note

can you write a blurb where you're talking shit with harry and like bitching with him? i just really wanna see that one.

Just a little something I’ve put together.

Shit Talking

~*~

You closed the door, immediately resting against it as it shut to, head knocking back to lean against the glass.

With your eyes closed you took a deep breath in, smelling whatever masterpiece was being put together in the kitchen.

Heavy bags still hung to your body, thick winter coat sitting against your shoulders, shoes that were way too high on your feet.

You couldn’t help but smile as you heard him muttering something to the food he was cooking, obviously wanting to take away some of the stress that you were feeling and wanting it to be perfect in the process.

Resting your bag next to Harry’s shoes you reached down and pulled off your shoe, moaning under your breath as your feet hit the floor, toes curling to help continue to relieve the tension that you heels had brought.

As you reached for your second heel, hopping on your now bare foot, you let that one you had removed haphazardly drop to the floor slowly giving less and less of a fuck as the tension dissipated.

Walking through the house, you watched him quietly for a moment dressed in some shirt that should be worn by a convention dad but probably cost more than your most expensive designer handbag (which he had also bought you). There was the faint sound of Van Morrison coming from your lounge that he was really zoned in on as he faintly sang along with the lyrics.

Your eyes took in the kitchen once they had moved away from Harry. The mess that was left in the sink, the way whatever was on one of the hobs bubbled away. Extractor fan above the cooker turned on, two plates set out on the side ready to be plated up.

He must’ve sensed you, glancing over at you waiting in the doorway before looking back to the food. You watched him still before he looked back at you, his eyes holding yours softly.

You’d been texting him whenever you could today. The stress of work positively getting to you. A deadline that was unmeetable being handed over to you to sort out.

He’d phoned you a lunch time, a growled “again”, leaving his lips when you spoke about the boss at work that was once more making your life a living hell.

Quickly, he reacted, standing behind the island of the kitchen and grabbed the large glass of wine that sat next to the one that he had clearly been sipping while he cooked.

Walking to you, he handed over the glass which you gratefully took off him with ease. You closed your eyes as you drank, taking the largest sip you could muster. Even that seemed to take too much energy.

“Let me take your coat,” he mumbled, shifting along with you so you could place down your wine and feel him slip the heavy item off your body. “‘M making a roast.”

“Beef?” You asked, knowing that it was his favourite.

He didn’t respond straight away, quickly moving around the house to hang up your coat. He was back just moments later, “No, ‘ve done chicken.”

That was your favourite. The soft smile hit your lips involuntarily but you wouldn’t have fought it anyway.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, thumbs massaging slowly close to your neck and you turned to look at him. “Thank you.”

“S’fine, ‘s’nothing,” he responded. He squeezed lightly at your shoulder as you turned your head to slightly look at him, “Gimme a kiss.”

He puckered his lips gently in a way that always made you soft for him, eyes knocking up to look at his. With a slight nod, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours lightly, tasting the faint crispness of the white wine against your mouth.

“You alright?” He softly asked, cupping your face.

“‘M so fuckin’ tired, H.”

You were honest. It wasn’t like he couldn’t tell, just like you could tell how worried about you he was.

“Lay it on me,” he responded, pressing his lips to yours again before repeating his words. “Come an’ tell me, what’s going on.”

Reaching for his glass of wine, he rested against the kitchen counter opposite you, watching the way you spoke about work while you casually undressed in front of him in the middle of your kitchen.

Hands fiddled with the zip on the back of your pencil skirt, as you quickly spun it around and unzipped it from the front before you could get too irritated at a piece of clothing. It fell to your feet, revealing your nude tight covered legs to him, next to the silk blouse that had crumpled throughout the day.

He didn’t bat an eyelid in a sexual way, like he usually would. His casual grabbing at your waist with some comment that warmed your through as you would most likely laugh, tilt your head back at how he had tired to be sexy but instead sounded dorky but highly attractive with. Even more so when you considering the two of you hadn’t seen a lot of each other lately. You knew you didn’t need to worry though, that would come, now just wasn’t the right time.

“And I mean, this bitch seriously just does not have a fucking clue,” you ranted, cupping at your wine as your side rested into the kitchen counter. “I’m actually fucking sick of her and her stupid glasses-“

He snorted at that, smirking against the rim of his wine glass. Here came the pettiness to your rant.

“They’re so fucking thick and black and way too harsh on her face,” you continued, “and don’t get me started on how she has her own mugs in the kitchen and no one else is allowed to use them. I went to use one the other day and someone from HR was questioning me why I was using her mug. Like she has ownership on all the mugs!”

You flung your arms out. “No one wants your “I’d rather be sipping prosecco” mug anyways, Karen!”

He stayed silent as he watched you, arms flying everywhere before you turned your attention to the envelope that was you post from that morning as it sat against the work surface.

“You should just bin it when she’s not in the office,” he mischievously quipped. “Throw it away so when she comes back she can’t find it.”

Your eyes lit up at the thought, and he laughed - a belly laugh - probably harder than he should. “No,” he wheezed as he slowed his laughed, his hands quickly coming up in front of him. “No, don’t do that. Don’t be petty like that. Fuck her, let her get on with it.”

“I can’t,” you whineed. “She’s driving me mad with her constant switching of goal posts and changing what she requires of my team.”

“Then go above her-“

“She’s the CEO, there is no one above her,” you respond, probably a bit more harshly than you should have. You meekly looked at him but he waved you off, he’s okay to take a battering tonight, if it’s needed.

You, however, weren’t okay to deliver that battering.

Pushing yourself up onto the kitchen island, you beckoned him to you, watching as he pushed himself off the counter. He stood between your legs, wine glasses resting beside you and placed his hand against your nude tights, enjoying the smoothness beneath his hands.

“Sorry,” you mumbled with a heavy sigh.

“‘S’fine-“

“‘S’not-“ you countered.

“Let’s go back to the idea of you binning her mug,” he joked.

You looked at him, enjoying the way he was now leaning into you, hands presses heavily into the kitchen counter beside you making him all hunched but so incredibly manly.

“I’m totally going to do that, I am at that level of petty right now-“ you felt slightly sad.

“You’re worn out and need a break,” he acknowledged. Eyes meeting his, he slid his hand against your neck and into your hair at your nape. “Go in tomorrow and request some leave-“

“‘M so busy, I can’t take some leave, just like that,” you clicked your fingers.

“Can,” he argued, childishly. He saw the stress hit your face, watching worrying your bottom lip with your top teeth at the thought of leaving it all behind, probably only to come back to even more work that has mounted up while you were away. “Fuck this, I’m going to go in for you and bin that bitches mug for her-“

You stifled a laugh at that, knowing how concerned he was now that he was swinging for jokes, left and right.

“Darlin’, please,” he begged. “Book a week off, let me take you somewhere-“

You felt your lips downturn, how was this man stood in front of you even real. “Hey,” he coaxed, taking on this dreamy tone, “Back to that little private island in Amalfi.”

“That was ridiculously priced, you’re never taking me there again.“

He chuckled now because he didn’t pay for it last time, perks of being part of a fancy record label and knowing people in high places. Being gifted that is one thing but going of your own accord is completely different.

“Well, maybe not a whole week but take a couple o’days,” he started, hands moving to your outer thighs and softly rubbing. “Maybe we could drive to Soho Farmhouse and disconnect.”

You closed your eyes when you see him lean in and press a peck to your lips, dropping his head to yours. “That sounds idyllic,” you whispered.

“Maybe go to the spa, enjoy a nice facial or two,” he tried to hide the twitch of his lips, the splitter of his laughter gives him away.

You whined, “How are you still such a boy?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he raised his hands for a short amount of time.

“You are not sorry,” you whined again as pressed his forehead into your temple.

“No ‘m fuckin’ not,” he husked, nudging his nose against your cheek, trying to goad you when your stare went far away and you don’t seem to blink for a while.

“‘M worried ‘bout you,” he admitted, watching as you eventually blinked yourself out of your daze. “Gimme a long weekend. A Friday and a Monday. Think you could stretch to that?”

You hummed, scratching at his neck, as he nuzzled against your nose. “I’ll drive us down on a Thursday night, get you nice an’ relaxed.”

“How’d you on plan on doing that?”

“Know a few things, got a couple of tricks up m’sleeve.” You bit back your smile at his drawl, knowing that he wasn’t wrong about that.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry blurb #sunday writing #My writing

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

Text

The Deal

(Haymitch and Effie swap favors on the eve of her 40th birthday. NSFW. 🔥 This one is ALL sexual content. Since reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes two months ago, I’ve been picturing Effie in a Capitol Academy uniform. This is the first *Catholic school girl* fantasy I’ve ever had, and it’s stuck with me long enough to be given a voice. It’s one of the *smuttiest* love stories I’ve ever written, so if you’re sensitive to that kind of content, then you might want to skip it.)

Effie lay back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. The pleated skirt from her Academy days was bunched up to mid thigh. She unbuttoned the top half of her blouse and held the pose a moment before hollering at Haymitch.

“How long are you going to keep me waiting!?”

“Patience, sweetheart. You said to shave EVERY hair off my face.”

“That IS our deal. ...But I didn’t expect you would shave each one at a time!”

Haymitch was being slow with intention. He wanted her ready when they started this. “Your REAL hair, and no makeup, not a speck?”

“Done and done! ...And no alcohol for you, not a drop?”

His hands were steady for now. He would drink afterward. “That’s the deal.”

Effie was impatient for the authentic flavors of him. “I’m in bed....” she tempted, “This shirt is a bit tight across my chest...”

As he rinsed the razor, she added, “...When you’re ready, I’ll show you what’s NOT under my skirt.”

“Screw seduction,” he muttered, finishing the task quickly and wiping his face with a towel. When he opened the bathroom door and saw her, he scrapped his plan to tease her with feigned indifference.

“Holy fuck.”

His words flushed her cheeks.

***

He’d stumbled upon the uniform when she asked him to get something from the back of her closet. The outfit was covered in a clear plastic sack, marked with the name of an old Capitol dry cleaner.

“Well... look what I found. I thought you said you burned this.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “It figures you’d be interested in that atrocious thing.”

“If that’s how you feel about it, then why keep it?”

“I try it on once a year ...to make sure it still fits.”

Her keeping it was about self-control. He pictured her wearing it, and his dick swelled. Self-control was irrelevant to his existence. Pushing Effie to wear *atrocious* fashion would be pointless. CONVINCING her though...

He kept his voice casual. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in it ...when you try it on.”

“Always the night before my birthday.”

“So... I can watch you try it on the night before your birthday?”

“Hmmm. Shall we make a deal?”

“What do you have in mind?”

***

They’d made this deal weeks ago. Now she was lying here, sexy as hell, actually wearing the thing. He flopped onto the bed beside her, toying with the unfastened buttons and tracing the length of the pleats of her skirt.

They kissed without hurry. She caressed his jaw with her fingertips. “Kissing you feels different — kind of like it’s our first time.”

“First time, huh... You want me to be gentle?”

“God, no.”

He slipped a hand under her skirt, encountering no resistance — no lingerie, no panties, nothing.

“Jesus...”

“Brazilian wax kit.”

15 years ago or so, he’d fucked a Capitol woman who waxed everything off. The sex had been good, but it was hard to recall the feeling.

Effie sensed his hesitation. “The kits are everywhere now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they show up at the Hob.”

“Yeah, right. Greasy Sae could sell them alongside her soup.”

“She just might!”

Haymitch was curious. He touched every inch of freshly waxed skin. She was like satin. He traced an arch just above her clit without touching her there. He repeated the pattern a dozen times, teasing.

Effie was vexed. She didn’t like to be teased without follow through.

“Good things come to those who wait, sweetheart.” He unhooked the rest of her shirt buttons, discovering no resistance there either — no corset, no bra, just her.

She pushed his bathrobe from his shoulders, opened her shirt and snuggled against his chest. He played with her hair, which smelled like oranges.

Seeking a bit of retribution, she wrapped her hand around his dick, stroking slowly at first, then quickening before letting go. “I can wait if you can.”

“Don’t want to wait,” he groaned.

“Then let’s do this.”

He sat up and grabbed her hips. “Screw patience.”

He yanked her to the foot of the bed, and the laughter in her chest felt as good as his hands on her.

“You’re so young, sweetheart.” He caressed from the hollow between her collarbones, down her sternum, over her stomach, to the front pleats of her skirt.

“I doubt many people can still fit in their Academy uniform at 39. So I might say I’m 19, though I suppose 29 is more believable.” She sighed. Pretending wouldn’t change the reality that this was the last day in her 30s.

“You pick the number, honey. We can do this any way you want.” He lifted her skirt and touched within the folds he’d intentionally ignored before. Her sigh turned to a soft moan.

“Haymitch, don’t make me come until you fuck me with your mouth.”

“That’s the deal.” He knelt st the foot of the bed and clutched her hips. In 7 years of sex with her, he’d learned what she liked — where to put his lips, his tongue, how much pressure, where to suck her and for how long. With all his senses turned on, he tugged at his dick as he ate her out, smooth as silk. He eased up when she gripped his hair, and he knew she was close.

“Don’t come yet,” he said.

“Then wait... Don’t touch me!” She covered her eyes with her forearm. “If I even look at you I’m going to...”

He knew she wasn’t kidding, but he was amused nonetheless. Nobody saw him the way she did. With other women, it had never been like this. He climbed into bed and laid back on the pillows. “Come here when you’re ready for more.”

She let the energy settle a few minutes before moving into his arms.

He plucked kisses on her eyelids, her neck, her mouth. “Okay to look at me now?”

She opened her eyes to a smirk on his face. She was done playing around. She rolled on top and straddled him.

Shifting slightly, he slipped inside her. It was like fucking silk. “Damn, Effie...”

After 7 years at this, she knew what he liked. And she knew how to get off while getting him off too. Their fit made sex good from the beginning.

His dick curved to just the right spot inside her, and his fingertips played over her when she wanted more. Since she didn’t ask for more now, he focused on her breasts. He watched them move as she fucked him. Then he took them in his mouth, scissoring her nipples between his teeth.

That did it.

A force tugged inside her, as if his teeth pulled at a cord connected to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. A flush crept over her chest. “Oh... Haymitch... I...”

He rolled her onto her back, ready to finish this without gentleness.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I’m coming, honey.” Her climax clenched the length of him and kept going. “It’s so good...”

For Effie, extended orgasms happened often with him. It was another effect of their fit. Sex with her was a ride he usually drew out until he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Urgency sounded from his throat.

She held his hips, “Don’t pull out. Come inside me. It’ll be okay... It’ll be incredible.”

There was no time for ‘Are you sure”’s or rescinding invitations. And there was no holding back. They collapsed into each other and he filled her. His noises were primal words without translation until he cried out her name.

That cord tugged at her heart. “Tell me” she said, wanting the words so badly.

“I... “ He panted, catching his breath. “...I think you should wear this more often.”

She chuckled. “You shave more often, and I might.”

They held each other, choked up with the words unspoken. There was no longer a question about what this was — what this had been for so long.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” were the three words he was ready for until she said the others.

But she wouldn’t. A decade ago she had decided that HE must be the one to say them first, because he was the one who wasn’t ready.

She honored the deals she made, especially with herself.

How many years could they make love like this with without saying ‘I love you’?

It was the game they were playing.

#hayffie #hayffie fanfiction #effie x haymitch #haymitch x effie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #thg #thg fanfiction #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #capitol academy #hunger games #the hunger games #greasy sae #hayffie games #the hob #little words #the deal #HayffieFics

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jlalafics · 5 years

Note

For the drabble request how about naughty Halloween between katniss and peeta?? Maybe from the again universe if it’s possible? :)

Here you go! Sorry, I can’t pull from the Again because well, I’m trying to get used to their new characters names and distancing it from its original version.

Anyway, this is quick and dirty--just like the below encounter.

Enjoy and Happy Halloween!

_______

Peeta should have never doubted her.

“You’re really wearing that?” he asked, staring up at Katniss from his desk chair.

“Come on, it’s Halloween,” his friend replied. “And, you should’ve never said that I couldn’t be as sexy as Glimmer and Clove.”

Peeta let out a soft whistle under his breath. “Nope, never should have told you that.”

“So really—” The boldness in his friend’s eyes suddenly dampen. “What do you think? And tell the truth—you know I’ll know if you’re lying!”

Peeta gave her another look and—as much as he tried to quell the quick jumps of his heart and the pulsing hardness of his crotch—he couldn’t deny that Katniss was very sexy in her costume.

She had gone full schoolgirl, complete with a short-sleeved white-collared shirt, buttoned-down just enough to reveal plush cleavage, a plaid skirt that teased a peek of her panties, knee high socks and black Mary-Janes.

“Fuck, I don’t know…you’re hot…but you’re my friend…” He looked down at his hands. “Are you wearing underwear?”

Katniss lunged, trapping him in his chair as she straddled his lap.

“Can you tell?” She slapped him lightly on his cheeks. “Why are you blushing?” Another slap. “Tell me!” She wriggled against him, laughing at his struggle.

Suddenly, Katniss stilled, twisting her hips before meeting his eyes.

“Are you hard?”

“It’s totally natural,” he grounded out. “It’s friction and stuff.”

“Huh.” Instead of moving off him, Katniss rolled her hips in experimentation, the apples of her cheeks flooding pink. “Does this feel good?”

Peeta met her eyes boldly, his mouth forming into a smirk. “I don’t know. Does it feel good to you?”

“Shut up.” A harsh breath escaped her lips. “I want to know.”

He stared at her, chest rising and falling, a beautiful blush on her skin. Her dark eyes were glazed with something akin to…lust.

Peeta lifted her chin and Katniss gazed at him shyly. “Peeta…”

Her forehead pressed to his and he pushed up against her center causing a moan to escape her lips. She wove her arms around his neck, her own hips moving in-sync with his own. His hands went to her hips, guiding her to ground against him, her covered slit enveloping his erection.

“Oh God—” Katniss cried out into his ear. “I need to…”

“Then take it,” he told her, brushing his tongue behind her ear.

Katniss let out a guttural moan, the sound of her climax traveling down to his cock and he buried his face against her shoulder, feeling his own release as he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the burgeoning feeling taking over his body.

Lifting his head, Katniss’ forehead pressed to his and as he opened his eyes, Peeta met her stare, their breaths intermingling, and their lips just shifts away from a kiss—

“Peeta! Are you home?”

The voice of his mother broke the spell and Katniss was jumping off his lap, her hands smoothing her skirt.

Reaching for the first thing he could find, Peeta placed the book over his pants.

After he was settled, his eyes went to her. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, her breath finally quieting. “Yeah…are you sure you can’t come?”

“My parents are going to a Halloween party,” he explained. “So I’m watching Lola for the night and giving out candy.” Peeta gave her a smile. “Have fun at The Hob with the girls.”

She approached him. “Peeta…can we just talk about this?”

“We will,” he assured. “But it’s getting late and you have to go—so, after.”

Katniss took a breath and gave him a small smile. “After.”

She went to the door, opening it to leave.

“Katniss?”

Quickly, his friend turned to him.

“Just don’t fall in love with anyone, okay?”

She grinned and shook her head before walking out the door.

Peeta heard her head down the stairs, greeting his mother.

When the front door finally closed, he started breathing again.

++++++

Checking on his little sister, Peeta closed the door to Lola’s room. His sister was only three, still too young to join the other trick-or-treaters, so they spent their night at home. After dinner and one bedtime story, she was out for the night.

Heading down the stairs, he went to the living room where the television, still on, showed Thackery Binx talking about a virgin lighting the black candle.

Sitting down, Peeta settled for a lonely night of Hocus Pocus and eating from the bowl of candy resting on his coffee table. However, he couldn’t help but think of Katniss, wondering if she was having fun at The Hob Halloween party.

Wondering if she met some guy…

Who wouldn’t fall for Katniss? She was beautiful and smart. She was truthful and loyal to a fault; someone who you could talk to for hours and who made you feel like she was really listening.

Fuck talking after!

As soon as his parents got home, Peeta was heading to The Hob and they were going to have the talk—

The doorbell rang.

In frustration, he yanked the bowl from the coffee table, spilling mini-sized chocolate bars everywhere.

Throwing the door open, Peeta calmed his expression. He was sure that the look on his face would terrify any child.

However, it wasn’t a child.

“Trick-or-treat,” Katniss chirped, a grin on her cherry-flavored lips.

He licked his own, remembering the scent that lingered in his thoughts.

“I thought you were at the party.”

“There’s no party without you,” she told him simply, stepping into his entryway, her grey eyes on him. “So, trick or treat?”

Peeta reached for her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close.

“Treat,” he said before pressing his mouth to hers.

Katniss moaned in agreement, closing the door behind her.

FIN.

#anon #request #halloween!Everlark #Everlark #Everlark drabble #naughty

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valeriianz · 1 year

Text

@gabessquishytum horny anons forcing my hand to write vulva Dream again. human au. inspired by this ask.

Hob’s sure Dream is trying to kill him.

He’s making the sweetest little noises just next to him in the passenger seat, while Hob has a death grip on the steering wheel. Little huffs of breath and whimpering and quiet moans that make Hob’s dick twitch in his pants, his ears attuned to each sound as they fall past Dream’s lips and fill the otherwise silent car.

“Hob…” Dream purrs and Hob finally chances a look sideways and almost throws his foot on the brake pedal.

Dream is grinding against his seat, his long pale legs spread wide and his hips rolling forward and back. The skirt he’s wearing is bunching up higher and higher, exposing the delicious breadth of his strong thighs, the muscles visibly tightening as Dream continues to rut against the black leather of the car seat.

Hob swallows, hard, and rips his eyes away to focus again on the road. They are on their way to a staff party, Dream opting to wear a mid-thigh pleated black skirt with a layer of lace peeking underneath (something that already gave Hob pause on their way out the door, physically stopping in his tracks at the sight of his boyfriend dressed in something seemingly as simple as a skirt with a skin tight sleeveless shirt under a fitted leather jacket). Hob himself hadn’t put much thought into his own outfit, a buttoned up flannel with nice jeans… but it seemed Dream had made a plan to ruin him tonight.

And maybe that hadn’t originally been his intention, but Hob knew the spark of mischief in Dream’s eyes as Hob had shamelessly taken in his fill, standing in his living room and fighting down the urge to throw Dream onto his couch and rip off that skirt with his teeth. He recognized the huff of annoyance as Hob, instead of acting out exactly what he wanted to do to Dream, turned to open the front door, swallowing his desires and insisting they were late and had to go.

So Hob supposes he deserves this.

But it’s driving him crazy.

Dream makes another desperate noise and Hob can only sit and listen, taking peeks over at his gorgeous boyfriend taking himself apart in Hob’s car. His hands slide up his flat stomach to his chest and around his neck, stretching his head back and absolutely putting himself on display for Hob as his back arches like a bow, a salacious groan tumbling from Dream’s lips as he takes a particularly long, hard thrust against the seat.

“Christ, Dream…” Hob finally finds his voice. His throat is dry and he swallows again. There is traffic around them, it’s later in the evening, but Hob is sure that if anyone in the cars surrounding them were to look, they’d see Dream’s face, lost in ecstasy, brows furrowed in frustration as he desperately ground his hips down, seeking friction that only barely alleviated the tension in his body.

Hob’s cock is aching in his pants now, damn near distracting him enough to drift slightly out of his lane, which he corrects with a hasty tug on the wheel and a curse.

“Careful,” Dream pants, low and entirely too sexy for his own good. “Don’t let me distract you. I know important it is that we– nng– not be late.”

“You little shit,” Hob feels himself start to shake, wondering when the next red light was coming up so he could do– something about this shameless flirt in his passenger seat.

A breathy gasp tickles Hob’s ears and he chances another look and nearly inhales his own tongue.

Dream has a hand under his skirt, moving slowly and in time with each delicious roll of his hips. Hob knows he’s fingering himself by the musky smell that has begun to permeate the air and it’s enough to make Hob dizzy.

Hob’s blood races through his body, heading south and he has to blink several times to focus on the road, his knuckles turning white against the wheel. For his efforts Dream continues fucking himself on his fingers, moaning and panting and fuck– Hob can almost hear how wet Dream is, the slick, soaked sound of his fingers moving in and out.

“Oh, Hob…” Dream cries out and it’s so soft, so pitiful. Hob clenches his jaw. Dream sounds wrecked and then he starts to beg–

“Hob, please– ah!”

Hob throws on the breaks way before he should at a yellow light, making the car behind them lay on their horn but Hob doesn’t even hear them. Doesn’t hear anything over the sound of Dream squirming in his seat, gasping for breath and– Hob coughs in surprise as Dream grabs his hand off the wheel and shoves it under his skirt. Hob grabs on instinct and nearly comes in his jeans at how absolutely soaked Dream is through his panties.

Dream’s hands, one wet with slick, tighten onto Hob’s arm as he throws his head back and keens loudly, bucking his hips up and grinding animalistically against Hob’s open palm.

“Fucking hell, Dream–” Hob’s eyes are glued to Dream, watching with rapt attention as he chases his pleasure on Hob’s hand, making desperate noises and fingers digging into Hob’s forearm enough to hurt.

Hob swipes his thumb up and digs it into Dream’s clit and Dream wails. He looks about ready to climb up Hob’s arm and into his lap when the car behind them impatiently honks their horn again.

With herculean effort, Hob pulls his hand away and the sob that Dream emits nearly breaks him. Nearly makes Hob abandon all health and safety codes and just yank Dream into the backseat right now and fuck him senseless.

But instead he manages to get the car back into motion, lurching forward and fumbling with the turn signal before finally pulling off to the side of the road, turning on the hazards, and unfastening his seatbelt.

Without warning, Hob turns in his seat and leans over the gearstick to shove three fingers past Dream’s hole, curling them immediately and pressing them punishingly against his g-spot.

Dream screams. His hands find purchase on Hob’s shoulders and he hangs on as Hob brutally fucks him.

“God you drive me crazy,” Hob growls in Dream’s ear, biting it. He can hear Dream’s breathing begin to stutter, little cut-off gasps that always indicate he’s close.

And he’s so fucking wet that Hob can barely keep up a steady rhythm, his fingers sliding with far too much ease.

“So wet–” Hob groans as Dream’s nails dig into his back, his hips bucking up faster and faster. “-- fuck. I’m going to smell you in this car for days. Dream–”

“Hob–!”

Dream moans, low and long as his orgasm overtakes him, Hob can feel the rumble against his own chest, as well as the burst of slick that pools in his hand. He pushes it back into Dream’s cunt over and over again until Dream is shaking from the overstimulation.

Hob finally turns his head and latches his mouth over Dream’s, kissing him wildly, getting his other hand around his jaw to hold him fast.

Dream whimpers in his mouth, Hob hasn’t removed his fingers yet and his tongue mimics the motion of them buried inside him, devouring him and pressing him roughly against the headrest.

When Hob finally breaks off, Dream is gasping for breath, boneless beneath him and his red lipstick smudged up to his nose.

He gasps softly as Hob finally slips his fingers free and, unable to help himself, sucks them into his mouth.

Dream watches with heavy interest, his eyes dark, sweat collecting on his brow.

“Still want to go to that party?” He asks, a small, satisfied smirk tugging up the corner of his lips.

Hob wants to say no. Wants to turn around right now and finish what Dream started. But instead he grins, smug and a little vengeful.

“Yes,” he brings his wet fingers up to Dream’s mouth and smears his lipstick even more, causing Dream’s jaw to drop. “And we’re not even going to fix you up.”

#dreamling #hob x dream #ahhh hahaha #it happened again #another thing i wrote instead of my WIPs #gabe you are the devil on my shoulder #inspiring me to write more gushy pussy dream al;skdfhldhfj #my writing #nsft

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gabessquishytum · 7 months

Note

Dream is one of the first male WAGs (in the original meaning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/WAGs) supporting his football star husband Hob.

And because he's Dream (maybe he's an equally famous musician/artist/model) the attention of the press is high.

For the most part, Dream can deal with the negative attention, but sometimes it gets to be too much. Hob tries to be loving and sensitive and be available for cuddles and affirmations.

I love this idea!! Famous football star Hob is such a fab image. Very sexy.

Dream has a... hostile relationship with the media, overall. He just doesn't play their games, doesn't give them what they want, and they hate that he's still so successful anyway. So they take any opportunity to bring him down (it doesn't help that Desire writes a gossip column).

Meanwhile Hob is much more easygoing. He's the type to smile and wave at the paparazzi. But. BUT. There are exceptions. One time he ended up in court for punching a photographer who got weird with Dream. People are definitely scared of him.

Every week during the season Dream will show up in his big black coat to cheer Hob on as he plays. Hob is his team's star striker and he claims that he can only score with his husband watching him. Dream doesn't mind bracing the cold to see Hob on the pitch in his little shorts, maybe pulling up his shirt to wipe his sweaty face...

And after the game, Hob always shows up to escort Dream out of the stadium. Doesn't matter if he's been sent off with a head injury or if he's just won the FA Cup. He's there with his arm around Dream, shielding him from the press and whispering to him. Dream always looks rather smug as he leans into Hob’s embrace. Once he actually flipped the bird to a passing TV camera.

The roles are reversed at London fashion week where Dream will strut the catwalk while Hob sits in the front row looking like the cat who got the cream. There are some rather steamy shots somewhere of Hob mouthing Dream’s nipples through a see-through outfit at an after party. They never got published, but Hob bought them for his private collection.

So yeah, Dream doesn't give a fuck about the media but he'll gladly mope about it until Hob scoops him up against his lovely musclar chest and covers him in kisses. He's Hob’s princess and he deserves it.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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valiantstarlights · 10 months

Note

Your work is so good and definitiely brightens up my day!

How do you think personal trainer Dream would react to finding out that Hob has to leave the country for an extended period of time due to work?

Would Hob be limping on his way to the airport? and be spoiled by random care packages (and other packages iykwim) from his clingy and insanely horny boyfriend? Sexy videocalls with heartfelt longing?

ALSO AWAITING YOUR VAMPIRE AU WITH BATED BREATH. THE ROMANCE OF DREAM CROSSING OCEANS OF TIME TO BE WITH HOB

Aww, thank you! 🖤 I'm glad I made your day brighter. 😊

And omgggg the Vampire!Dream Soulmate AU (a.k.a. Lord Dimitrescu!Dream AU) 🔥 I said I'll post the first chapter this week, but RL happened, and...👀 But the first chapter is complete! (I had it typed down and everything before I even wrote the prologue 😂) I just have to find the time to edit it. 😊

Okay, so about personal trainer!Dream being informed by Hob that he has to leave for an extended(!!!) period of time because of work stuff.

Honestly, my first thought is that Dream would drop everything and go with Hob wherever he's going because he's insane like that. 😂 But no! He's an adult. He has responsibilities.

Watch him become a sulky mess anyway and be more clingy than usual. He knows Hob has to go, and he won't try to dissuade him from leaving, but that doesn't mean he's happy that Hob has to leave. He can be supportive and mopey at the same time.

Like, Hob is an amazing person! Of course he deserves all the best career opportunities. 🔥 In fact, anyone would be lucky to be in his presence. Dream is just sad that, for the next few weeks/months, he won't be one of those lucky people. 🥺

During this time, I think Hob would also be clingy with Dream. He's nervous about the job assignment, living in a foreign country for a while, and he's very much not looking forward to being away from his boyfriend whom he loves, and who loves him just as much.

The night before Hob leaves, Dream is going to fuck him so good and slow that Hob would always blush at the memory of it, even months later.

And you know Dream would personally drive Hob to the airport and stay with him until Hob's plane absolutely has to leave. The other people in the airport will know just how much Hob is loved by his boyfriend because Dream is going to be so schmoopy and give him sweet, longing kisses while cupping his face in his hands like he's something precious. People will think that they're filming a romantic movie, and highkey want what they're having. 👀👌

And Dream sending care packages??? Yes.

Hob will receive the sweet care packages like, every couple of days. They're filled with (healthy and delicious) energy-boosting snacks, scented candles for relaxation, tea blends that Hob likes...just, all the things. (Maybe even a couple of Dream's shirts, because Hob misses him so much and his bed in this foreign land feels so empty 😭)

The other teachers in the conference/retreat/teacher exchange program(?) will see him always being sent care packages and be like, "Wow, your spouse is really going all out, huh?"

And Hob is like, "He's not my husband yet..." and then going blushy because Dream...as his husband... 🥰🥰🥰

The other people in the room will notice him openly daydreaming and be like, "Professor Gadling? Hello? No, I think we've lost him."

And of course Dream and Hob will video call each other daily. And after the spouse comment, I imagine the call will go something like:

Hob: I received the latest care package you sent me! 🥰 The other teachers said you're really going all out, but they referred to you as my spouse.

Dream, fiddling with the engagement ring he bought ages ago out of sight of the screen: Imagine that. 🥰

And Hob can't say, 'I did! I daydreamed about being married to you for like an hour straight, and I totally missed what everyone said during that time,' because that might sound too much for Dream to handle (spoiler: it's not), so he just says, "I'm so happy you're my boyfriend. 🥰 I never felt so loved in my life."

And then Dream will be totally normal about that and it will be all he thinks about until Hob returns. But he will return the sentiment, and add that Hob is the only one he wants to love for the rest of his life.

Dream: I...hope that's not too forward of me to say.

Hob, already crying: If you say that, then I should also tell you that when the other teachers said you were my spouse, I daydreamed for an entire hour imagining our life together. So...😭 Sorry if that's too much. 🥺

Dream, a feral bastard barely restraining himself from booking a plane ticket and proposing to Hob as soon as he lands: No, not at all. You know how much I love you.

Hob, crying harder: I love you too 😭

And that's pretty much the only time they didn't have phone sex during this period, probably. 😂

As for spicy care packages, realistically, I don't think Dream will send them? 👀 Because the packages are inspected, and Hob could get in trouble. However, that's not to say that Hob doesn't have toys with him. It's just that he probably already had them in his luggage when he left. 😂

I think the toys that Hob brought with him are all very discreet and travel-friendly, though. And most days, they're definitely not enough, because he got spoiled by the size of Dream's cock and his scorching touches back home. But he can do nothing about it because he doesn't want either of them to get in trouble. So he just has to satisfy himself with what he has.

That doesn't stop him from whining that he wishes Dream were there to fuck him in person when they have video call sex, though. He would be plunging his own fingers in and out of his hole, tiny bullet vibrator against his cock, crying that it doesn't feel the same as when Dream does it to him. Hob does gets to cum every time they have video call sex, but it's mainly due to Dream's lustful voice praising him for being so good and obedient, and how he can't wait for Hob to get back so they could start training his hole again, which has tightened up considerably when they parted 😏 Can Hob even take Dream's cock when he returns? Or will they have to go back to thigh and titfucking?

Suffice to say, their phone sex sessions test Dream's self-control about booking a flight to where Hob is and giving him everything that he wants. 😂

Hob is gonna be so tight when he returns, and Dream is looking forward to training him again. 😏

When Hob is finally(!!!) scheduled to return, Dream clears out a week of his schedule. He doesn't fucking care. Hob has been gone for (what feels like) ages. And his siblings, having witnessed how mopey he became almost as soon as Hob's plane left the ground, are like, "Yeah. Have the week off. Heck, have two weeks off. Just get out of here with your sad cat looks."

(Dream takes the two weeks off.)

And then he's off to fetch Hob from the airport.

I don't think Dream would have a huge welcome banner or balloons, but he'll for sure have a bouquet that will mean something like, 'I went insane when you were gone and I'm so glad you're back because I can't live a single day without you.'

And once again, the people in the airport will think that Dream and Hob are filming a romantic movie because Hob will run excitedly towards Dream, and Dream will speedwalk towards Hob like he's competing in the Olympics, and when they collide, Dream will lift Hob up in an embrace as they kiss like long lost lovers.

Then, once they're home, Dream will prove to Hob (for two weeks) that actual sex is better than video call sex. 😏

And just when they're about to sleep, Hob would confess that this is one of the things he missed the most when they were apart: him falling asleep next to Dream. He'll say he missed being held safe in Dream's arms, and pressing his ear against Dream's chest to hear his heartbeat, while feeling Dream's breath ruffle his hair.

Dream will once again be extremely normal about this, and shower Hob with kisses. He's thinking if he should pull some strings with his academic contacts, to make sure that, in the future, Hob will have more control over where his work will take him, and for how long. Because while he wants Hob to be by his side 24/7, ultimately, it's Hob who gets to decide how much time he'll spend where.

(And of course, Hob will always choose to be with Dream. 🥰)

#personal trainer dream AU #ask and you shall receive #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs #it is important to me that they're insane about each other but in a healthy manner 😂#anyway I want what they're having ✨️#also tagging this as #vampire dream soulmate AU #lord dimitrescu dream AU

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

His Girl Tuesday - Prologue

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Tuesday Adams x Billy Hargrove

[Series Masterlist] [Main masterlist] [AO3]

A/N: I know I said I wouldn’t post any chapters for this fic yet, but I had to write down this opening scene before it disappeared. So now, we have a prologue and I just want to remind everyone, this series won’t pick up until I’ve concluded my on-going ones (let’s be honest though, how many times have I said this and then started a new fic immediately after?).

Warnings: NSFW, swearing, butchered Spanglish | Words: 2k

January, ‘85...

An open can of spaghetti, a bubbling pot of coffee and a sizzling pan were the three key signifiers that one half of the Adams household was awake.

Tuesday moved the spatula around as though she was digging through the strands of pasta to find some hidden treasure. When nothing was found, she took the pan off the hot hob and placed it on another, filling her mug with scalding hot coffee and unfolding the newspaper to do the crossword for the day. As she scribbled in the answer for five-across-six-down, her mind began to fill with static as a disembodied voice screeched in her head.

"Please, no! Don't hurt me, please!"

Shattering sounds of teeth breaking; an echoing sinister laugh; wet coughs and splattering blood.

Tuesday pinched the bridge of her nose and drowned out the evasive inhuman shouts with a gulp of bitter coffee. Her temples throbbing something fierce.

"Ughh," she groaned as her vision filled with flares of light, a cold tingling shooting up her spine. The sensations were chased away by the familiar snoring sounds erupting from her father's burly chest over by the couch. His nasal rumble filled the small two-bedroom house with a conjoined dining and kitchen area with a billowing strength.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered in relief, her father too deep in slumber to have heard her.

Tuesday poured the rest of her coffee into a thermos and washed up the dishes -making sure to put the morning's leftovers in a tupperware box in the fridge for when he woke up.

She grabbed her keys and slipped into her work overalls, her hand almost at the door when she caught a whiff of smoke from the pair of socks on the floor. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Tuesday grabbed her dad's socks and ventured into his room to pick up the discarded clothing left in scattered piles on his bedroom floor, stuffing them into the ancient washing machine before she grabbed his bedroom alarm clock and set it for 3 pm, placing it by the side table next to the couch so he won't sleep through it. She kissed him goodbye and hopped into her crappy jalopy on her way to work.

***

The sound of welding, hammering and an old tuned-out radio filled the grease smelling, poorly lit garage at Fix-em Up Auto Repair. Tuesday found the disorienting loudness of the small space comforting. It made it harder for her to hear the voices.

Whilst waist-deep in the engine of a yellow buggy, Tuesday saw a pair of dusty, worn-out combat boots walk her way. A smile creeping on her face.

"Hey, little missy, I'm looking to get a tune-up. Know who I can speak to about that?"

Tuesday removed herself from under the hood and pulled the lever down so it shut with a pathetic thud.

Wiping her hands on her rag, she shifted her toothpick from one cheek to the other, eyeing the man in front of her lasciviously, "Depends… What's the make?"

The blonde tugged on his leather jacket, advancing closer like a hunter on the prowl, "'82 Trans-Am."

Tuesday leaned onto the hood of the buggy, the metal straining under her weight. "Oh! Tough luck, buddy. I only work on real men's cars, like a mustang or a porch." Her tone grew more and more teasing.

"Real men's cars huh?" He took a step forward, his hips toughing her under-thighs.

"What the hell are you freak?"

Wheezing; metal scraping against metal. A club whizzing through the air, flesh pressed inwards beyond where it should; eyes as black as ink.

Tuesday rubbed at her eyes with a soft mumble, vertigo pushing her further down, toothpick slipping through parted lips.

"Baby," he took her face in his hands, steadying her body. "You good?"

Tuesday clicked her tongue in frustration, "Yeah, just my bloody tinnitus. I'm fine Billy, just a dizzy spell."

Billy scratched at his untended scruff, "You really should get that looked at."

Tuesday rolled her eyes, hopping off the hood and walking towards the work desk area, "Sure, once Jack gives me a raise and I don't need to save up for college anymore."

Billy groaned, kicking his boots as he followed after her, "Again with that pipe-dream. There are more fun things than being glued to a classroom chair listening to depressed old professors who spend most of their time looking up girl's skirts."

"Oh, and I suppose you've got a better idea for what I should do with my future?" Tuesday lifted her eyebrows as she poured the morning's coffee into a paper cup.

"Yeah, I do," Billy leaned against the counter, licking his lips. "You and me, the open road, sleazy motels and greasy diner food."

Zipping down her overalls, Tuesday pulled her arms out of the sleeves, letting the cool air dry the sweat sticking to the hairs on her arms. She huffed, "Sounds charming."

Billy pulled out a cigarette from behind his ear, "Baby, if you wanted charming, you'd be working as a sexy little librarian, shelving books and wearing tight skirts, not beige overalls."

Tuesday popped a painkiller and took a sip of her bitter luke-warm drink, it was as dissatisfying as the quality of the music playing off the radio. Static fizzled in and out and the station's signal kept dropping unexpectedly. She balled her fist and banged on the cheap radio several times until it stopped.

Billy whistled, "You know, on second thought, maybe I don't need that tune-up after all."

A breathy laugh escaped her chapped lips, "Good, because I don't give out freebies." She took another swig. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but… isn't it your day off?"

"What, I can't come over and visit my girl on my day off?" Billy asked, lit cigarette held between his teeth.

Tuesday shrugged, "Your girl, huh?"

Squinting one eye, Billy leaned close to whisper, "Well I figured since friends don't make a habit of sleeping with each other…"

Tuesday punched his chest, firm muscles colliding with her dainty knuckles. Billy's eyes narrowed when he saw her lower shoulder. In a possessive move, he put out his cigarette on the vinyl counter, a black spot permanently burned into it as he rolled up the rest of her shirt's sleeve and moved her towards the light to get a better look at the purple and yellow mark imposing on her flesh.

"How'd you get this?" His voice held an edge to it, thick eyelashes covering his eyes under a dark hood.

Tuesday looked down at the bruise, previously unaware of its existence. With a nonchalant nod, she said, "Don't know. Must've bumped into something."

Billy unclenched and let her arm go, believing her easily. His silvery-blue eyes shedding their darkness in the process.

"Son of a bitch! You thought you could kill me?"

The electric hum of fluorescence; the reverberation of shattering glass; a sickly sinking feeling like drowning in tar; cold, frozen-ice cold.

Tuesday shook her head, today was one of the worse days.

"You sure you're okay?" Billy questioned, his hand lifting her chin to meet his penetrating gaze.

For a moment she flirted with the idea of saying no just to see how he'd react, but she knew Billy was coarse, lacking a sensitive touch. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had closed that part of him off, forming a tough shell around himself as a form of self-preservation. That closed-off nature of his brought forth a roughness in him that had initially drawn Tuesday to him. It made him a great distraction and a great lay. And right now, she felt desperate for an escape.

Licking her lips, Tuesday leaned in close to nibble at his parted lips. At first, he didn't move, he simply let her lavish his mouth with her tongue. Then with a pleased groan, Billy wrapped his hands around her midriff and pulled her into a deep kiss.

"You'll pay for tha--"

Quiet: empty, hollow… free.

Tuesday let out a thankful gasp when the voices died out. Looking up she noticed Billy's pupils had diluted with hunger, the saliva on his lips making them shine like a well-maintained paint job.

"Your house empty?" he asked.

"Uh-uh, my dad had a late shift, he'll probably still be there."

Billy's nostrils flared as he let out a deep exhale at the anti-climax.

Tuesday's lips curled upwards at the prospect of an alternative, "What about your car?"

"You read my mind."

"Juan, I'm heading out for an early lunch!" Tuesday shouted at the man in the back office.

"Is Jack, Jack! We're open. Only Juan after closing!" Her boss shouted back with a thick Puerto Rican accent.

"Right, sorry Jack!" Tuesday corrected and Billy scrunched his eyebrows together.

***

Billy's strong grip directed Tuesday in the backseat of his car. Seat buckles, cassette covers and random junk food wrappers pressed into her back, the sound of rustling filling in between the moans and pants.

"Fuck," Billy grumbled as he had issue unbuttoning his tight jeans, his erection bulging against the frame hugging material.

Tuesday giggled as she ran her fingers up his thighs, across his bulge and towards his button.

Billy bit his lip, savouring her exploring touch. With a satisfying pop, his jeans were loosened and he pulled them down to his knees. With greedy fingers, Billy yanked down Tuesday's overalls and pulled her bra over her breasts until it rested just shy of her neck.

Tuesday's open palm pressed against his exposed abs, halting Billy's efforts to undress her. Sighing, he asked, "What is it?"

"You got protection, Romeo?"

Billy riffled through his pockets and a frown grew over his heated gaze, "Son of a bitch!" The muscles in his jaw started working before they uncoiled and his eyes widened at the glovebox.

Reaching over, he pulled out all the cassette's and spare change and moved a hair comb out of the way until he spotted a golden wrapper.

The condom unrolled over his dick with a slapping noise, Tuesday giggled as Billy's face contorted into a painful pursing of his lips for a brief second.

"That wasn't funny," Billy grumbled as he leaned over her.

Tuesday wiggled out of her panties before wrapping her legs around his back, "It was a little funny."

What followed after was a reel of thrusts, hair tugging, gasps and suckling kisses peppered around Tuesday's neck and collarbone. Billy's hips began to sputter as he neared his climax, his thumb adding delicious pressure on Tuesday's clit as her walls undulated and contracted around him. Semen filled the condom and the both of them lay limp in his backseat, the fogged up windows obscuring the ugly view of the garage's empty parking lot.

Tuesday patted Billy on the back, "Nice work, lover boy. I needed that."

Billy's chest vibrated as a bemused laugh tickled her ears, "I don't know about you, but after this work out I could use a bite to eat."

"Food sounds divine right now."

Billy kissed the corner of her eye that folded slightly, pulling himself from inside her, "Fries?"

Tuesday nodded.

***

"What was with that ‘Jack not Juan’ stuff earlier?" Billy dipped two fries in ketchup while Tuesday slurped up her coke through a red and white straw.

"Mmm, its stupid but it's sort of a sales thing. Jack noticed a bump up in his commissions when people thought the owner of Fix-em Up was named Jack and not Juan, so he stuck with it."

"You're right, that is stupid."

"C'est la vie."

In the corner of her eye, Tuesday noticed a family of six sitting in a booth by the window. The neon open sign bathing all four kids in bright magenta. One of the kids looked up at her and pulled at his eyelids, tongue sticking out. His mother, noticing this, pulled him by the ear and scolded him in stern whispers.

"Fucking brats," Billy murmured as he lounged deeper in the seat.

Tuesday redirected her gaze to the humming florescence above, "C'est la vie."

***

After her lunch break, Tuesday rapped on Jack's door with a take-out bag in hand, loud Cuban music playing from within.

"Si?"

Tuesday opened the door halfway, "Lunch."

"Ah, gracias."

"De nada."

Jack beamed her a thankful smile, "You finish with the bug?"

"Mmm, almost, just need to oil her up and check the brake line."

Jack gave her a thumbs up, "Okay."

"Did Sam fix the gato?"

Jack looked at her with a confused expression, mustard on his cheek from the burger, "The cat?"

Tuesday slapped her palm on her forehead at the obvious linguistic slip-up before making a cranking motion with her hands, "The jack."

"Ah, the gato!" Jack said in recognition. "Yes, he send it. It's in the back. He wanted to charge extra dinero. That Estúpido. I told him I know the prices, he can't cheat me. I may not speak good Inglés, but I'm no idiot either."

"I told you not to go to Sam, he's… a hard-ass."

"Hard-ass?"

"Forget it, I'm going to finish up on the bug."

Jack gave another thumbs up in exchange of words, his mouth full of bread and meat.

The burn of liquid cascading down a dry gullet leaving behind a buzz of alcohol assimilating through veins; a rapid heartbeat; tingles of adrenaline swirling in an intoxicating downward spiral.

“Again?” Tuesday braced her temples, body swaying yet again. "Come on!"

When the dizzy spell passed, she picked up the car jack and placed it under the buggy. As she cranked the lever, the jack groaned suspiciously. Tuesday cocked her head to the side, taking a step back and eyeing the jack to see if it would hold. Despite the alarming groans, the car didn't move an inch.

"Sam, you better have fixed it like you said," she thought aloud.

With a gulp of air, Tuesday pulled the creeper to her feet so she could sit on it, fixing a head torch onto her head.

Using the floor as an oar, Tuesday rolled herself under the car and started working underneath the car.

While she busied herself, another set of tires rolled up to the garage and the sound of car doors being opened and slammed echoed through the room.

"Hello?" A masculine voice called out as the bell dinged. Several smaller footsteps gathered after him in the garage too. An argument playing out between two kids about a film or something other.

When Jack didn't answer, and the bell dinged for a second time, Tuesday shouted out, "Over here. Gimmie a moment!"

The crank groaned again and then a nut flew off its side and suddenly the car started to plummet down. Tuesday braced her face as everything moved in slow motion. When a second past and Tuesday remained uncrushed, she peeked through her folded arms and was shocked to see the car moving away from her body, gliding over to the side where it landed with a loud crash.

"Holy shit," she mouthed in disbelief, eyelids pulled back as far as they could go as she craned her head to the group of people standing by the counters.

A girl with short hair wiped the blood from her nose with the inside of her flannel shirt. The group of boys standing next to her with mouths gaping open -though something told her it wasn't in amazement from what she just saw. The oldest among them rushed to her side, sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor, hands bracing hers as he helped her up.

"You're Steve Harrington," Tuesday recognised him from high-school. "And that's Nancy Wheeler's younger brother."

"I guess we can't pretend to be out of towners," Steve half-joked as he ran his hands through his hair and then around Tuesday's frame in a pre-emptive effort to ensure she didn't topple over from shock. "You're uh… Wednesday right?"

"Tuesday," her voice was soft, bewildered even. Her eyes narrowing now at the group of kids who backed away without losing eye contact, "What…" She looked up at Steve. "What the fuck just happened?"

To be continued...

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees

Meet Cute & Robin’s Girl taglist: @chims-kookies @electroma89 @thechickvic @mochminnie @timeladygallifrey

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington imagine #billy hargrove imagine #steve x ofc #billy x ofc #stranger things #stranger things imagine #between st2 and st3

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