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princessbellecerise · 10 months

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Worth The Wait

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Jace spends your entire courtship denying you the pleasures of what you really want. Now that it’s the night of your wedding, he has every intention of making it worth the wait

warnings | husband!jace, first time wedding smut, creampie

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys never let himself have his way with you until your wedding night.

Before that, he’d always cut you off, not letting anything get too far because of his honor. He was so righteous that it nearly made you blind with rage every time he stopped you when you were right there, so close to having him inside of you but stopped every time by his last minute morals.

Jacaerys was a good man and you suffered for it; always being left aching and denied what you truly wanted. But of course, as heir, he knew he couldn’t touch you until your wedding night. The gods, his mother and his reputation frowned upon it. Jacaerys would do not such thing as dishonor you, so he waited.

And waited.

And suddenly, it was the night of your wedding feast and Jacaerys could not bring himself to think of anything expect for you. How good you looked in your gown, the lights seemingly adorning your face.

Marriage looked so good on you that he can hardly contain himself. He grows desperate with each passing minute, strained smiles and polite yet brief words being exchanged with everyone that approaches to congratulate him. A few people even make him laugh and like the future king he is, Jace does not show his true emotions.

He does not show how desperately he wants you, his wife whom he’s denied pleasure so much. He keeps his composure but Jacaerys is suffering, agonizingly and and eagerly awaiting for the sun to go down.

Of course, you take note of his angst and worry that something is wrong with your husband. Or worse—that he’s unhappy to the point where he doesn’t even want to eat.

He hasn’t touched his food since it was brought out and worriedly, you lean over to ask him about his lack of appetite.

You have to admit; you weren’t expecting the response that you got. Words from his mouth that send pure heat through your body and made you feel hot from your heels to your head.

“I am fine, my princess. I am simply not hungry because it is not roast I wish to feast upon right now,” He tells you, and suddenly everything makes since.

Why he’s so tense. Why Jacaerys looks like he cannot wait to leave this damn dinner. And suddenly, your mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape. A smirk slowly adorning your lips because now Jacaerys knows what it feels like. He knows what it’s like to be left waiting, wondering and lusting for the opportunity.

In a way, it sort of makes you satisfied that he has to wait.

Only when the sun goes down is it proper for him to finally announce your fair wells, grabbing your hand and all but dragging you towards your now shared chambers.

Everyone is looking at the two of you, cheering and congratulating you both as you walk though the congregational of people. Friends and allies alike clap Jace on the back and wink at you as your grip on his hand tightens.

With a strained smile, Jace politely nods back but does not entertain their jesting. You’re grateful, because even though what you’re about to do is an open secret, it’s still embarrassing.

Thankfully, there would be no bedding ceremony, Jacaerys way too much of a gentleman to let that happen to you. Instead, it’s only you and him and the flames of desire that grow between the two of you as you walk through the halls.

It burns—it really does. The heat and the longing between you two is almost unbearable as you finally make it behind closed doors, barely locking it before Jacaerys grabs you and jumps you.

You’re surprised, yelping when your husband scoops you into his arms and kisses you without so much as a word.

His hot mouth covers your groans and while it is unexpected, you welcome it.

His kiss is fierce, so passionate that it nearly knocks you to your knees. Jacaerys has clearly grown desperate during the hours of waiting, the future king nearly rabid as he pokes and prods at your clothing.

Never have you seen him in such a way, so ungentleman-like as he drags you to the floor. You don’t even make it to the bed because Jacaerys is so needy, getting you naked in no time while also landing sloppy kisses on your neck.

It ignites an unimaginable fire in your belly to see him so frantic for you. To see him finally give in and want to fuck you like you’ve previously begged for.

Now that his honor isn’t at stake, Jacaerys is not holding back. He’s adamant about what he wants and he wants you; all of you.

You two lay bare before one another and then it’s time; Jace settling himself at your hole and running his cock head against your slick folds.

He’s done this many times before. You’ve been here before, and every time this was the moment that Jace pulled back. Just when he was about to push into you, his sense would smack him in the face and off of you he went.

This was always the stage of stopping but this time there was no return. You found yourself almost opening your mouth, so used to having to beg him for friction.

“Just the tip, at least the tip. Please Jace.” Is what you used to beg for.

Now, it shocks you when he says nothing. Does nothing to pull away, only kisses you so hard it makes your head spin and your lips throb from where he cut it earlier.

He’s so feverish that it hurts, hurts so good to know he finally desires you. To know that this will be the time he doesn’t stop, the time you don’t beg.

Now, it is him that is at his wits ends as he lays his forehead against yours. When it’s time to push himself in, Jacaerys finally speaks. Brown eyes blown from desire, the future king is barely able to hold himself back, but he does.

“Do you wish for me to warm you first, sweetling?” He asks, and it’s not so much as an offer as it is his morals shining through. Jace wants absolutely nothing except to fuck you into oblivion, but he’s kind.

He asks before taking your maidenhood even though he’s shaking at your entrance, will power faltering the longer you contemplate your answer.

He almost cries when he sees you shake your head, breathing a sigh of relief and pursing his pink lips together while nodding. He understands.

“They’ll be time for that later,” You tell him and he’s relived. Back to the mission of penetrating you before you suddenly get an idea, finding yourself stopping him one last time just to be cruel.

“Wait!” You take the role of Jacaerys, and he you as he stares at you with wide eyes. Hungry eyes that are confused and frustrated as you look at him.

“What is it, my love?” He asks slowly.

A crude smirk falls upon your lips. “Maybe we should wait,” You tell him bashfully, loving the way he reels back. The bewilderment in his expression is finally enough to satisfy your revenge for a lifetime, and you want to laugh when he finally feels what you feel. “Maybe we shouldn’t…dishonor ourselves this way. We should wait for marriage, you know? That way—”

You gasp to the high heavens as your cruel joke is suddenly cut off by Jacaerys pushing himself inside of you. In no mood to jest, he takes what he wants and finally sheaths himself in your core.

You were being cruel to him, he justifies. Jacaerys is a kind man that does not take lightly to cruelty.

You moan out as pain briefly graces your lower regions and stare at your husband in shock as his face shows all seriousness. Out of all things, you weren’t expecting for him to do that. To take control in way he’d never shown before.

“Do not jest with me, wife. Not tonight of all nights. Do not deny your husband such pleasure,” He growls in your ear as he finally stills.

Still stunned, you simply lay there and relish in the feeling of him on top of you. Seven hells, you have half a mind to cry with relief but you don’t want him to mistake yours tears for pain. It hurts, yes, but not in a way that makes you want him to stop.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite and though you told yourself no more begging, you find that you do it anyways as you wrap your legs around him. Pulling him close so that Jacaerys is really and truly inside of you, just as your husband should be.

“I’m sorry, my love. Please forgive me—I won’t do it again,” You whisper desperately, desire clawing at your every atom. You need him to move, you need him to finish what he started; to complete what you’ve craved for what seems like forever now.

It would only be fair after denying you that pleasure for half a year.

“Good.”

Jacaerys growls this and that is when you feel him start to move, his hips snapping into yours as his lips find your own. You moan as his cock thrusts his way through your unexplored folds, reaching depths and pleasures you never thought possible.

You clench around him and move your lips, loving the way he groans and pants into your mouth. Your legs still find themselves wrapped around his waist, enticing your love to go deeper, faster, harder.

You need him and he needs you.

His strokes are those of desperation, chasing every feeling he had ran away from you. Chasing those previous nights where he had denied you his cock, denied himself of the pelasure that he was feeling right now.

The feeling of you wrapped around his cock was one that was indescribable. If anyone ever asked, which he doubted they would (expect for Luke, maybe) then Jacaerys would simply have to stare at them, mouth open like it was now.

For what could he say, other than his beloved was inciting things from his body that he had never felt before? Providing him with pleasure and ecstasy that took his breath away more than his first dragon ride.

These feelings lifted him higher than that, higher than Vermax souring through the clouds and he screwed his eyes shut as he saviored the flavors of your cunt.

Soft and wet and warm and his prison that he’d gladly rot away in. If Jacaerys could spend the rest of his days inside of you he’d be a happy man. He’d give up the iron throne, burn the skies and every village if it meant feeling your warmth.

He’d do it all.

He would give you his all, steadying his pace so that you might taste the same drops of pleasure he was experiencing. So that you might throw your head back in ecstasy like he did, identical moans leaving the two of you as you came undone.

For you, it came in the form of clenching down on Jace’s cock, crying out as your peak hit you violently. You panted, biting into his shoulder as he did yours and rocking your hips to the sensation.

For Jacaerys, it came in the form of hot spurts, coating your walls with his seed like a good husband should. Like a good king, who would surely need to provide heirs one day.

You were all too willing to compete this task, sucking him in, milking him of his children until Jacaerys had nothing left to give. Until he was an empty shell above you, eyes closed and utterly exhausted as he rolled to the floor beside you.

It took a few minutes for anything expect for your heavy panting to fill the room. Both you and Jace were dazed, still out of it and not quite sure what had just happened. Still experiencing the bliss from your first night of marriage. One, that if anything, indicated that a good marriage was on the horizon indeed.

For you, the night had been everything you hoped for and more. Worth the wait, which you were sure that Jacaerys appreciated now that his honor and his cock reminded satified.

Perhaps the two could co-exist now, you concluded. Staring at your beloved as he turned to face you too, a small smile peaking at his lips.

“Iksin ziry worth se umbagon syt ao pār, ñuha jorrāelagon?” He asked, as shallow breaths overtook his body still. (Was it worth the wait then, my love?)

You grinned as you looked into his brown eyes and eagerly nodded, reminiscing on your peak that had happened only minutes before.

You were still dazed, still hazy but your mind was clear enough that you knew your answer before you uttered it. You loved this man, and you knew that you had made the right decision.

“Kessa, īles worth se umbagon indeed, ñuha jorrāelagon,” You promised softly, using the High Valerian he had taught you. Gazing into his eyes that had gone soft for you. That held love for you and silently promised you that this was it, that Jacaerys would always be worthy of anything till the end of your days. “Kesā va moriot sagon worth ziry naejot nyke.” (Yes, it was worth the wait indeed, my love. You will always be worth it to me.)

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys x reader #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon

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elucubrare · 10 months

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What are your biggest turn-offs when reading/watching historical fiction or retellings of myths?

this is really complicated - i can put it in two boxes, both of which are packed very full.

disconnection from the material reality of the past

when characters display a very specifically modern mindset (about social issues especially, but other stuff too)

(I also get bothered by some kinds of modern language - I don't mind it when, idk, an author uses "sensible" with the modern connotation of "practical" and not the 18th century "emotional" or "empathetic", but "yeah" or "okay," or even, as i found out when someone used it in medieval fantasy, "holy shit" will get on my nerves.)

there are modern things where (made up example!) a character who's supposed to be a cook will talk about making caprese salad for a fancy restaurant in December, and someone snarking on the book will say "yeah, right, they should know better than to make something that depends on a fresh summer vegetable!" and even with greenhouses, that's pretty fair. and that's even more extreme in the past. it's 1650 in Verona, it's December, you cannot obtain fresh tomatoes. i don't think this means that people in the past were, necessarily, more emotionally or spiritually in tune with the cycle of the year, or the labor it took to get clothes, or furniture, or any other material item, and of course wealth can insulate people from some of that difficulty, but it does mean that the seasons had more direct impact on people's lives. It's possible to, for example, buy clothes ready-made, but for anything fancy, it's more likely that it'll be made to fit if it's new, or altered extensively and painstakingly if it's not. that means that tearing or staining a fancy dress isn't just an issue of looking bad - you can't just replace it, and you probably won't throw it out - you figure out how to reuse it. those concerns of access to material goods are just a lot closer to the surface of the world than they often are now.

my objections to modern attitudes about the world are not that people in the past 100% accepted the views of their contemporaries - there were always people who didn't, and it makes sense that a protagonist would be one of them. but people wouldn't phrase those objections in the same way that modern people would - say your main character doesn't want a woman accused of being a witch burned. "God's power is such that the Devil cannot give this woman the ability to sour milk" is most likely going to be more persuasive to the crowd than "witches aren't real." and sometimes that's rough - it's not super fun to read about a Roman with Roman attitudes about provincial wars, or slavery in the city, but I put something down because a Roman character said (in internal dialogue) that he was disgusted to see that a man had been tortured because "Romans simply didn't do that." Historical Romans did do that, routinely - a slave could not testify in a law court unless they had been tortured. Even with distasteful things like that, I'd much rather it just be glossed over than to have them say the "correct" modern thing. It just makes it feel too much like the theme park version of the culture.

Both of these are because of specific things I come to historical fiction for - I want that sense of alienation, the gulf of experience. I hate that most historical fiction (and fantasy set in semi-recognizable periods) characters don't really care about Honor, except as a joke, because I love when characters organize their lives around arcane rules and systems that cause tiny things to escalate into blood feud. I just think they're neat! I like it when people's worldviews are shaped by their lack of scientific certainty about what causes crops to fail! If I wanted to read about people who thought and acted like me, and had lives that were mostly similar to mine, only cooler, I'd just read contemporary fiction.

#my thoughts on...

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mayaree-darling · 5 months

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Water... Connoisseur?// Neuvillette

synopsis: Neuvillette shares his love for water tasting with the Creator (ft. Paimon and the Traveler)

from aree: this was supposed to be a short funny little thing but as always i can’t keep my mouth shut and now this is 17 pages long

content: Creator!Reader; smol spoiler(?) for and inspired by Neuvillette's story quest and profile/voice over; Reader and the Traveler (and Paimon) have Siblings Energy; I headcanon that the Traveler can see their inventory the way us players can; Pure Crack; Probably OOC Neuvillette

fic length: ~5.3k

You are the Creator of Teyvat, spending time with the Traveler, Paimon, and Neuvillette. At one point, the Iudex offers for the four of you to take a break in his office and he'll fetch you some refreshments. Almost immediately, you see from the corner of your eye the Traveler and Paimon stutter out that they'll get the drinks themselves, but it's too late. You didn't see what was wrong with Neuvillette offering something to drink - if anything, you're curious to know what kind of drink he'd prepare for his guests. This was your first time tasting what Fontaine had to offer. So you let him go.

When Neuvillette leaves the room, the traveling duo beside you share a heavy sigh. You turn to them and ask what's wrong. They share a meaningful look. You'll see, they say.

Eventually, Neuvillette comes back rolling a small food trolley in front of him. On top are four silver pitchers and four goblets. Paimon sheepishly laughs, "Here we go."

You step forward - because it's clear to you Traveler and Paimon have no plans on taking initiative - and Neuvillette motions to the pitchers.

"Each one is from a different nation. I hope that you'll find at least one of them to your tastes, Your Grace. I assure you they are all of high quality, although I have no doubt of it since they are a part of your creation, after all. Personally, I can't say I favor one over the other. I find each one particularly special in its own way, so I must apologize if I cannot give you a recommendation."

You frown. You... made them? You don't remember something about creating a drink for each nation. Was this a recipe from your old life that only a dragon sovereign could remember? The Traveler clears their throat and mumbles something under their breath. You turn to them questioningly and you watch bemused as their mouth ticks up at the corners.

"It's water." The Traveler looks at everything in the room before their eyes land on you.

You blink. "Excuse me?"

"Haha.. It's just water... The drinks..." If Paimon was standing on solid ground, you think she would be bouncing on the balls of her feet, her arms behind her. When she meets your eyes, she lets out a sheepish laugh. "That's what Neuvillette means by they're from every nation. They're... spring water from different places."

You slowly look at the Traveler and Paimon in turn, hoping for a deeper explanation or for them to tell you they were pulling your leg, but both of them refuse to look you in the eye. Your mouth is opened to a permanent gasp of understanding as you turn back to the food trolley in front of you.

Oh...

"Is there something wrong, Your Grace?" You almost regret looking at Neuvillette. Although he doesn't usually show his emotions, it's almost like he can't help but show you how dejected he looks. To put it simply, it felt like you kicked an otter to the curb, sad puppy eyes and everything. You half expect it to start raining outside that instant. "I can arrange for the Melusine to make something else, if you'd like. I'm sure they'd be honored to -"

"NO! No. It's okay. It's fine, Neuvillette. Thank you for the offer, but it's fine." You shoot a frown at the duo, who have taken to plastering themselves on one of the many sofas in the room, intent on letting you handle the water situation. You breathe in and take a step forward, taking one of the goblets. "You said each one is special, right? I'm sure they'll taste... nice..."

You pointedly ignore the Traveler as they grumble once more (you pretend you didn't just hear Paimon say "no it won't"). You look at each of the pitchers and pretend to be thinking hard about your choice. It's kind of hard to make a choice now that you know they're all just water. Your only saving grace is you know where they came from.

"I think I'll start off with... Sumeru!" Neuvillette all but beams at your decision and picks up the selected pitcher. You're glad he did because you didn't know which was which. You pray to Nahida that you didn't make a bad choice (the God of Wisdom has yet to fail you since your descent and you hope that she has your back this time, too.) Holding out your goblet, you watch as Neuvillette fills the cup half way, almost hoping there's a telltale sign of a difference (or it's a different drink altogether).

It's just water.

"A wonderful choice, Your Grace. This particular water comes from Apam Woods of Sumeru. You'll find the taste to be rich and complex. Despite usually having to take the time to savor it to fully appreciate it, I'm sure Your Grace will have no problem distinguishing its special flavor, which is unlike any other."

Did he have to put the pressure on you like that?

You laugh sheepishly as you fight to give Neuvillette your best thankful smile. Taking back the goblet, you stare at your drink, deciding your best bet was to examine it if you were going to "savor" it. Maybe it was a different color? No, it's still translucent in nature. Swirling it a few times, it doesn't appear to have a thicker viscosity as it sloshes around your cup. As for the smell it was-

Wait. Huh?

"It's fragrant," you mumble. Only when you hear yourself clearly do you realize the room is silent. Looking up, you see Neuvillette staring at you, and behind you, even the Traveler and Paimon have taken an interest in your exchange. All eyes are trained on you, watching your reaction. You look back to Neuvillette as he lets out a hum.

"It's... fragrant? I must say, even I have never thought to discern its smell. For a moment, please," Neuvillette steps forward and takes a goblet for himself, pouring water from the same pitcher. He pulls the goblet up to his nose. "Hmm. As I thought. It seems I am unable to smell this fragrance you speak of. How interesting."

"Wait. If you can smell it..." You turn to Paimon as she looks at the Traveler. When they look at you, their eyes are expectant.

Surely, you can...?

Looking at Neuvillette, he gives you an encouraging nod. You raise the goblet to your lips and take a tentative sip. And then another. And then... another? You lower the goblet, and then turn to the Traveler.

"It tastes like flowers." You know you and the Traveler share the same incredulous look. You can just feel the disbelief and confusion pulling at your face. Looking at Paimon, she's just as confused, head in her little hands. "When I focus on it, it's floral. Kind of like... tea? Like herbal tea, just less strong. It could even be perfume."

"Marvelous," you look at Neuvillette, and it's clear to you he does not sense the growing bewilderment you and the other two are going through. He smiles at you softly, and you don't have the heart to tell him that water isn't supposed to have a flavor. "I don't seem to recall anyone else sharing my taste for water. But I must say - even I am unable to perfectly put a name or a description to the flavor I experience. It's almost always a feeling."

"WAIT! Waitwaitwaitwait! I wanna try, too!" Paimon rushes to your side and takes your goblet in her hands, ready to drink it. You hear Neuvillette clear his throat and turn to him as he fills the other two goblets with Sumeru water. Paimon lets go of your goblet and goes to take one for herself. You see the Traveller stand up and grab one too. "Is it different from the one we had before? Wait, but it's from the Apam Woods, too..."

The Traveler and Paimon take a big gulp at the same time, licking their lips and savoring the taste before eventually they click their tongues in unison.

"Nope." The Traveler laughs, almost amused and defeated at the same time.

"Nothing's different. It's the same water as last time!" Paimon stomps her little feet in the air. "Are you pulling Paimon's leg?"

"Of course not. However, I am curious. If it is fine with Your Grace, I would love to hear more about what you can taste," If you were honest, you didn't want any more of the spotlight on you - being the Creator, you've had enough of that. But Neuvillette seemed so happy in the moment you couldn't possibly refuse him.

"Well, besides smelling and tasting like flowers," you take a sip, letting it roll on your tongue. "It also has this sort of herby aftertaste? But only when I focus on it. Kind of like basils? Or rosemary? I can't tell you for sure what kind, but it kind of tastes like that."

When you turn back to them, you're surprised to see Neuvillette looking at you in confusion. Did you say something wrong?

"He doesn't know what those are, dummy," The Traveler sighs. You watch as they take a metal shaker out from their inventory and start preparing a drink of their own. Paimon watches on, excited of drinking something that wasn't just water. "They don't have those here in Teyvat, remember?"

"Traveler, I implore you to watch your words. Was it necessary to call Your Grace as such?" Neuvillette frowns.

The Traveler shrugs and you both share a secretive smile. "They prefer that over 'Your Grace', though."

Neuvillette turns to you with concern. "Is-is that true, Your Grace? Why would you prefer that name? I can't quite say I agree with that decision but- "

"It's fine, Neuvillette. I forgot you didn't know any of those herbs, so I'm sorry for that. Just know the water tastes like it has a bit of herbs or spice to it." You shake your head with a laugh, thinking of a way to change the subject. "Anyway, can I taste the other ones?"

Neuvillette almost visibly lights up at that and takes another of the pitchers, filling your emptied goblet with more water.

"This one is from Inazuma's Konda Village. For its mouthfeel, I find it quite placid." Neuvillette looks at you expectantly. You're reminded again of a puppy, or in his case, an otter. A very cute otter. As you put the goblet to your lips, you have half a mind to gift him a seashell.

You take a sip and almost immediately spit it out. In an instant, Neuvillette is by your side, throwing the goblet halfway across the room. Before you realize it, you're in his arms and he has half a mind to bolt out the room to get you to a healer until you stop him.

"WAIT! Wait, Neuvi, just calm down-" you descend into a coughing fit.

"Your Grace! What's wrong? Is it poison? Were you poisoned?! Oh no, Paimon can't look-"

"That's preposterous. I prepared the drinks myself," he says that, but Neuvillette talks like he's suddenly doubting himself.

"You sure you don't need to get healed?" the Traveler frowns in concern, turning your face this way and that, looking for signs of poisoning.

You shake your head again and swallow down another cough, clearing your throat. "No, no, I don't need a healer. I wasn't poisoned. I just wasn't expecting to suddenly take a shot of sparkling water."

The Traveler blinks, there's a pause as it sinks in, and suddenly they stand up and head back to the food trolley. They pick up the shaker they unceremoniously left when everyone panicked and resumed making their drink.

"Traveler, are you gonna make medicine for the Creator?" Paimon floats around you in concern.

"You guys can stop panicking. They're not gonna die," the Traveler sighs and looks at you with a face that can only be described as 'Are you for reals.' "I think they were just surprised with how the water tasted."

You motion for Neuvillette to let you down, which he does albeit very hesitantly. You merely laugh at the concern on his face and give him a pat on the back to reassure him that no, the Creator was not going to die on his watch just because of a bad drink of water.

The Iudex frowns hard looking at the pitcher of Inazuman water. "You called it... sparkling water? Pardon me if I'm wrong, but am I to assume water from Inazuma has different visual properties? Does Your Grace see something we are unable to? And if so, does this difference have an effect on the taste?"

You shake your head again for what seemed like the thousandth time, before you stop and think about it for a second. You head to the food trolley and pick up Paimon's empty cup. Pouring Inazuman water from the pitcher, you watch as normal looking water fills the goblet. The normal fizzle of bubbles you expect from a carbonated drink is not present, even as you swirl it around.

Before Neuvillette can stop you, you take a sip of it again. You hear him stifle a gasp. His hand is on your shoulder, ready to bring you to Sigewinne at record speed if needed. But you weren't mistaken - it really does taste like sparkling water. Weird. You turn to Neuvillette and try to look as reassuring as possible.

"So, back from... where I came from, we have this drink called sparkling water. It's not that it was particularly, uh, sparkly, but it did have a lot of bubbles. The water from Inazuma here looks like regular water, but it does feel like sparkling water in your mouth," you explain slowly. The look of doubt doesn't leave Neuvillete's face. "It's also not deadly for us, just like how this water isn't. I mean, you like drinking it, right? That means it's fine for consumption."

He visibly eases up at your words. He reluctantly lets go of your shoulder with a shaky exhale. You kinda feel bad for making him so worried. Eventually, you watch as he calms down from the panic earlier and suddenly he's back to his stoic self, unable to resist his interest in your water tasting experience.

"So this so-called sparkling water... what does it feel like? May you explain? I'm afraid I cannot quite imagine it." Neuvillette looks to be deep in thought and you laugh softly. He really was into water tasting.

"Oh? Paimon thinks Mondstadt has something similar."

The Traveler pauses from taking a sip of their new drink - Boreal Watch, you remember it's called - before opening their inventory. They scroll through a list of ingredients before taking out a single bottle. The bubbling liquid is a familiar sight. "They call it Fizzy Water. I used it to make drinks at Angel's Share once. Feel free to drink this, Monsieur Neuvillette. Master Diluc gave it as a freebie."

Neuvillette takes the bottle with a nod of thanks. He examines the packaging for a moment, pops the bottle open and takes a swig. There's a pregnant pause before he turns his back to you, takes his goblet and spits out the drink into it out of your line of sight. The three of you don't have to look at each other to know the expression the others have; Paimon sounds like she's close to tears from holding in her laughter.

When Neuvillette turns to you again, you give him a small smile, ready to comfort him, before he drops to his knee in front of you. You try to pull him up by his arms but he just holds on to your hands.

"Your Grace, please allow me to apologize for making you go through that."

"H-hey, I didn't mind you literally spitting it out, come on now, I basically did the same thing if not worse-"

"No. Not that, Your Grace. I also apologize for that, yes, but I refused to swallow that drink down no matter the cost." He's staring at you dead in the eyes and he looked so serious it was unnerving. "I'm apologizing for letting you drink the water from Inazuma. Had I known that is what you would experience, I would have skipped offering it to you as a refreshment."

"Please stand up. Don't worry about it. It's not that big of a deal," you pull on his arms again and he doesn't resist, standing back up. "I told you it's a normal drink from where I'm from, right? I was just shocked because I wasn't expecting it."

"Do you mean..." Neuvillette visibly cringes, much to your amusement. "People from your old land... like? To drink it? How... eccentric."

"So do those from Mondstadt, Monsieur Neuvillette," you turn to the Traveler in disbelief that they'd say that right now, but all they give you back is a devious grin peeking from atop their cup as they take another sip. "Dawning Dew was a bestseller."

Paimon clears her throat as she collects herself. "It's kind of funny that Neuvillette can't feel the fizziness when he's drinking? He said that he can feel what he drinks, not taste it. Paimon wonders what's up with that."

"What's Konda Village water like for you, again?" you hum.

"If I had to put a word to it," Neuvillette thought about it for a second. "Placid."

"Placid? That's one way to describe something." Paimon shrugs.

"Yes, that was how I would have described it," Neuvillette shoots a glare at the bottle of Fizzy Water and another concerned look at you. "After current events, I can't quite say the same."

Paimon was right, though. Placid was definitely a different way of describing things. Placid meant... calm? Or tranquil? You definitely didn't think that's how you'd describe Inazuma. Wait, Inazuma? And that feeling of sparkling water...

"Is it possible... You think it's 'placid'... because your mouth has gone numb?" you gape at Neuvillette.

He stares back at you blankly. The silence in the room is deafening.

“Maybe… don’t drink that for a while. Not until you’re ready again,” you offer.

“Agreed.” Neuvillette nods stiffly.

“Alright!” you clap your hands and turn back to the food trolley. “What’s next?”

To your surprise, Neuvillette’s hand wraps around your wrist as you manage to grasp the next pitcher's handle. He looks just as surprised as you do that he’s holding on to you.

“Neuvi…llette?” you blink at him.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he lets go like he was burned, but he doesn’t exactly move away. “But we can stop here if you so wish.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean to say is,” Neuvillette coughs into his fist, thinking hard about his next words. “Although I wish to learn more about the different tastes Your Grace can experience, I must admit I am unable to guide you nor accompany you in your journey, per say. Should there be something wrong with the following water samples, I can only watch and listen like the others, but not help until much later.”

You nod slowly.

“It means he’s concerned, dummy,” a voice calls out from behind you and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I kind of got that, thanks for the heads up,” you groan.

“If I am honest,” Neuvillette’s voice is soft, you’d even be confident to say it’s like he only wants you to hear. “I feel like a scientist watching my latest test subject. Fascinated, and yet should a problem arise, useless.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” you frown at him, but the expression easily slides off your face when he faces you (damn those sad otter eyes). Eventually, you offer him a soft smile. “If I really considered this as life threatening as you think, I would have stopped after the first pitcher. But I’m genuinely having fun, alright? So don’t worry too much about it.”

He doesn’t look quite convinced. You have been telling him to calm down a lot this entire time. When he opens his mouth to dissuade you, you beat him to it.

“I should thank you, you know.”

“Excuse me?” Neuvillette gapes at you. “I almost rushed you to a healer just a moment ago, Your Grace. I have done nothing to earn your gratitude.”

“That’s the thing, though, thank you for taking care of me this entire time, Neuvillette. You’ve been looking out for me every time we’re together, so thank you,” without thinking it over, you close the distance between you two and hug him. When you pull away, he’s intent on not looking you in the eye. “Thank you also for introducing me to water tasting. Never thought the day would come but here we are. It really is quite fun.”

“I see…” Neuvillette says, before abruptly turning around, giving you a clear view of his reddened ears. “Pardon me for a moment, Your Grace. I just… need to recollect for a moment.”

Before you can say anything else, he leaves your side and goes to get your goblet he threw earlier in a panic. He kneels down and picks it up, but instead of heading back towards you, he just sort of holds it, turning it around in his hand mindlessly. You watch, jaw slightly open, until you feel a presence behind you.

“I think you broke him.”

You turn to the Traveler with concern. “Yeah I think so, too, should I be worried?”

You both turn to Neuvillette, seeing he’s still busy with his goblet, before looking back to each other.

“I bet 500 mora he’ll go back to normal if you make yourself another drink.”

“It’s not really a bet if we agree on the same thing, though?”

You clear your throat, hoping to catch Neuvillette’s attention as you turn to Paimon. “Paimon, mind if I borrow your cup for now? We can share if you need it.”

“No, that’s okay. Paimon’s had enough of water. Paimon will share with the Traveler!” Almost on cue, the Traveler offers their drink to Paimon.

The moment you lift the next pitcher, Neuvillette is by your side in an instant, your goblet and his safely set aside for washing later. “May I do the honors, Your Grace?”

You offer your goblet as he holds up the pitcher. He pauses.

“Promise me we’ll stop if things get… awry.”

You smile. “You said it yourself, right? This is water prepared by the Iudex himself and made by the Creator themselves. I don’t doubt for a second that it’s not safe.”

Neuvillette shares your smile softly before pouring the water into your goblet. Third time’s the charm, right? You take a sip and… raise an eyebrow.

“It’s salty. Huh.” you take another sip. “Sort of metallic, too. That’s pretty close to the same thing but, yeah, I’d say it’s rather salty.”

“Salty? That’s quite strange.” Neuvillette double checks that he’s holding the right pitcher. “This water is from Liyue, particularly from Qingce Village. I know of the water from Liyue to have an enduring aftertaste, but I must say I was not expecting it to be salty.”

“Me, too; for Liyue I was kind of expecting it to have an earthy kind of taste. Whatever that tastes like, I don’t know, but I was ready for anything besides this,” you take another sip. “Can’t say it’s all that bad, though. I feel like I’m at a beach.”

“Only if you’re actively drinking the sea water.”

You don’t even bother looking behind you. “I said it ‘felt’ like. I didn’t say ‘taste’ like. Get your facts straight.”

Looking up at Neuvillette, you realize he’s only watching your reactions. He smiles softly when he finds your attention on him. Not wanting to be the only one “enjoying” the drink, you offer your goblet to him. He looks at you, slightly alarmed, but when you make no move to take the goblet back, he reluctantly takes it. He turns away from you as he drinks.

You hear the Traveler clear their throat behind you. When you go to look, their eyebrows are raised at you. They look to Neuvillette and then to you before scoffing. Oh… was it that intimate an action?

“A-anyway,” you clear your throat as Neuvillette hands the goblet back to you. There’s a small pleased smile on his face. “What do you think of when you drink water from Liyue?”

“For me,” Neuvillette closes his eyes for a few seconds, careful of what to say next. “I always thought it had a poignant touch to it.”

“Poignant?” What did you think of when you thought of poignant? Swirling the water around your cup, you recall a story quest. Liyue, salt, and water are key factors in its plot. A sad smile overtakes your features. “Ah. Yes, I guess poignant would be a good word for that. Salty is the right word, too.”

Neuvillette tilts his head to the side at your sudden change in demeanor. “Your Grace?”

“It’s nothing. Just thought I’d visit an old friend sometime.” you tilt your head back as you down the rest of the cup. “Anyways, I think I need something else to wash that off.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose that does come with consuming salty foods.” Neuvillette nods. “Would you like a different drink? Something aside from water, I mean.”

“Actually, water is good for washing off salt, so I thought I’d ask for more water.”

He holds up the last silver pitcher. “We have Mondstadt left, if you would like to give it a try right now.”

“How would you describe it?” you ask, but you’re already holding out your goblet.

“This particular batch is from Cider Lake.” Neuvillette fills your goblet a little more than usual, most likely to fully cleanse the salt from your palate. “Besides having a crisp and clear feel, I also find that it warms the heart.”

“Oh, wow, guess Venti’s got it nice going for him,” you lift the goblet to your lips and drink.

“I’d be bold enough to say it’s the only thing nice going for him.”

You almost spit out your drink for the second time this day. You turn to look at the Traveler, but they’re busy having a debate with Paimon. That means that the person who said that was-

Neuvillette takes the goblet from your hands and drinks. When you look at him, jaw hanging open still from disbelief, you watch as the corners of his mouth tick up.

“Are you allowed to say that?” you whisper. The Traveler and Paimon don’t seem to have heard, but you sure as hell did.

“I just did, did I not?” He offers a small smile that borders on innocent if it wasn’t so conspiratorial. “I have faith that the Creator will not spread rumors about me, I hope.”

You don’t know if you’d still call it a rumor when he so blatantly did it in front of you, but you end up laughing. You put both hands up as a show of surrender. No way in hell were you telling on the dragon sovereign of Fontaine.

“So, as for our final drink,” Neuvillette offers the goblet back. “What do you make of water from Mondstadt?”

You make a show of finishing the cup all in one go. “Out of all the ones we tasted, I think this has got to be my favorite so far.”

“Oh? Is it that good?” Neuvillette watches you keenly, awaiting for more details.

“Yep. It tastes like water.”

Neuvillette chuckles softly, but when you simply offer him a smile, his smile drops. “You… are not joking?”

“Nah. It’s exactly as you say - it’s crisp and clean. It’s how water tasted like back from my world,” you hum in delight. “It doesn’t remind me of anything else but the pure taste of water. Can’t put my finger on whether it’s distilled, mineral, or tap water, all I know is that it’s water for me.”

“Hmm. Although I want to say it’s rather an anticlimactic ending, I can’t say so. I leave today with the knowledge that there is still a water sample we can similarly taste.” Neuvillette smiles to himself once more. “But that’s enough of that. I believe I’ve put you through enough for today, Your Grace. Thank you for entertaining me and my hobbies.”

“I had fun! Make sure to call me next time you get a new sample, I’d love to have a taste.” You beam at him.

Neuvillette stares at you for a moment - was he waiting for you to tell him it was just a joke? Sure seemed like it - before his smile was back, relieved. You can almost see his little otter tail waving around. “Of course. I already look forward to it.”

“Are you done now?”

You take a step back as Paimon suddenly steps into the middle. Her little frown does little to make you feel bad. If anything, it has the opposite effect and you laugh. Her frown deepens at you as you rub her little head.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re done. We can get a meal now.”

“Woohoo! We're getting meals, plural. Where are we going to eat? Paimon wants some Fontainian Foie Gras!” you follow the fairy as she heads out the door, excited for the prospect of food. And then you pause as you remember.

“Ah, wait. Before we leave. Just one more thing.”

You head back to the food trolley and grab Paimon’s goblet. You make a beeline for a corner in Neuvillette’s office. You noticed earlier there was a small drinking fountain. Gathering enough water into your cup, you take a sip. You turn to Neuvillette.

“Oh my gosh, it’s sweet.”

＝＝✿＝＝｜✧••❀••✧｜＝＝✿＝＝

❀BONUS❀

The Traveler and Paimon share an exasperated sigh for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past week. Ever since the water tasting incident, the Creator and Neuvillette have taken to going around Teyvat, trying out different waters straight from the spring of each nation.

"Why do we have to visit each nation? Paimon thought you could just have them delivered straight to your office!" Paimon leans on the Traveler's head, tired from floating around so much.

"Appreciating the nation from which the drink came from is part of the experience, Paimon." Neuvillette swirls the water in his goblet, offering it to the floating fairy, who only takes a look at it before cringing away.

The Traveler and Paimon share another look. They know he just likes the opportunity to bond with the Creator over their appreciation of water.

"Are we going back home after this?" Paimon groans.

"I can make you some Sticky Honey Roast if you guide us to Snezhnaya?" You take another sip from your goblet, one made from pure magical ore.

("Your Grace deserves only the finest things, even if it's only dinnerware and the likes," said Neuvillette. "I may also add that a traveling merchant said that drinking from a crystal goblet highlights the taste of the refreshment, as it is free from the taste of metal usually found in a standard cup." You don't mention that you notice he has a matching goblet, right next to a pile of books on his desk. Embedded on it is a familiar seashell.)

In an instant, Paimon is by your side, eyes glittering with determination. "If you cook three Sticky Honey Roasts for Paimon, Paimon can take you to Kh'aenriah."

You lower your goblet and hold out a hand. "Two. And I'll throw in a Squirrel Fish if you find a lake where we can drink from."

"Deal." Paimon takes your hand and you shake on it.

The Traveller flops to the ground and sighs.

They knew they were going to be the one to look for that lake.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Taglist: 💛@wonpielle 💜@shikanosn

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

#genshin impact sagau #genshin impact sagau neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x reader #self aware genshin au #sagau #genshin impact x reader #sagau neuvillette #genshin impact reader insert

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juicywritinghoard · 2 years

Text

prompts to shake things up

I didn't know you wore glasses and I'm thinking normal and platonic thoughts about you right now I swear

I'm going to take over the world and no one can stop me not even y- okay well if you ask nicely I guess

you say childish like it's a bad thing but I see you eyeing that life size Pokémon plush don't kid yourself

be honest are you crying about the commercial with the kitten in it

this marriage was supposed to be a scam but, but listen,

soooo *twirling hair and fluttering eyelashes* why does everyone think you're a freak

I know I'm your doctor and the horns growing in overnight was kind of a surprise but why do you want them removed those are sick as hell

babe. my love. song in my heart. are you purring

okay so if you want me to rescue you from up there you have to try to come with me--okay I guess I'm picking you up

I have never been this sick before I'm sorry did I, haha this is so weird, but did I confess my love for you? f- four times? yeah? haha oh

every time you taste my cooking you just say it's amazing does it need more salt or not I swan to John

oh it's nothing it's just. you sing when you're happy and the place has been so quiet for so long, and I heard you- nevermind,

you frost cookies like you're neither left or right handed but a third other hand that you don't actually possess and I can't stand it (affectionate)

I don't think you understand how much your good morning texts legitimately keep me from rotting in bed all day

you must be pretty down if me juggling your oranges doesn't even get a laugh out of you :( should I light them on fire?

no I see the super powers yeah I just, I'm not sure you got them from your medication, yeah, and would you say that's a negative side effect or

you bought me a SWORD? OH MAN IM GONNA BE SO DANGEROUS

ooh what's this potion do? coffee? that's a funny name. what happens if I press this button? humans are so fascinating this is the best I hope I never go home

you've been blinking SOS in Morse code at me for ten minutes honey this award ceremony is supposed to be honoring you

when we kiss I feel like I'm floating, like literally gravity stopped working on me please don't let go?? also another kiss wouldn't hurt just saying

so it was YOU who took a full bite out of that stick of butter!! please. please. why??

let's go on vacation somewhere cheesy and act like we're a couple wouldn't that be sooooo funny haha

okay so sleeping it off didn't work. let me consult my list. hypnotism, no. meditation, certainly not. well something has to work because I simply cannot be in love with them

I'm a spy. i can do unspeakable crimes under the morally bankrupt cover of night but I'm not sure I can pretend to look at real estate as a couple with you

my love is your arm stuck in the claw machine. you were going to steal that prize for me?? oh my gosh. let me rescue you and also show you how to actually do this

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heartsforhavik · 4 months

Text

possession (yandere bi-han/sub-zero x reader)

warnings: mentions of blood and murder, bi-han is possessive

summary: yandere bi-han takes care of your shitty ex boyfriend. reader is gender neutral.

a/n: i haven’t written a yandere character in sooo long. i chose bi-han just bc he’s easy to write as a yandere :3 anyways next one i write will be a yandere smoke x reader so stay tuned

bi-han was always possessive over you. the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you were his. he carefully pretended to be your friend and then court you like a normal person, hiding his true colors.

he knew he would most likely scare you away if he showed his true colors too soon. he had to wait until he knew you’d never leave him. he had to be patient. but he couldn’t hold back anymore after he saw you crying.

“love.. why are you crying?” bi-han asked, gently holding you in his arms.

“it’s just..” you hesitated to tell him, knowing that he doesn’t know about your ex-boyfriend. you haven’t told him yet.

your boyfriend held you, waiting patiently for your answer, and getting ready to comfort you. if someone said something to make you cry, bi-han would rip out their spine and bring it to you. if it was anything else, he would just hold you for hours and not let go.

“my ex. i can’t stop thinking about all the shit he did to me.” you admitted, wiping your tears.

bi-han’s gaze turned cold. “your ex? who is he? what did he do to you?”

his grip on you tightened. he needed to know who it was. so he can teach the bastard a lesson.

he was also jealous of your ex. he got to hold you first, he got to kiss you first, and he got to call you his. but he fucked up by hurting you. bi-han will not let him live with those sins.

you told him all about your ex and what he did to you. you opened up to bi-han about all the trauma you endured because of your ex. and how he was the reason you were hesitant to get in another relationship.

bi-han struggled to stay calm. how dare he hurt you...

he had the audacity to hurt you? you’re so precious. so delicate, like a flower. you were so lucky to have bi-han as a boyfriend. he can protect you. he can hold you and keep you safe from harm.

“where is he?” bi-han asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

“i don’t know? he’s most likely at his house right now. why?” you questioned.

“give me his home location.” bi-han commanded.

you looked up at him in confusion. “huh?”

“don’t make me repeat myself.” bi-han sneered.

startled by his sudden anger, you blurted out your ex’s location. bi-han immediately got up and left to find the bastard and make him pay for what he did.

you couldn't sleep that night. bi-han left and still hadn't came back yet. did something happen to him?

you were worried sick, until you heard rustling and grunting outside. that had to be him, right? nobody else is awake at this time.

you walked outside, barely being able to see anything, but you saw your boyfriend slowly dragging something behind him.

"bi-han? what is that?" you whispered. your boyfriend stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice.

you took a closer look at what he was dragging. it was a dead body... but it was unrecognizable, almost as if it was beat to death. you assumed it was just some random guy the lin kuei killed, until you noticed the clothes. that dead body had your ex-boyfriend's clothes.

"by the gods.. did you kill-"

"he cannot hurt you anymore. he was a fool to put you through pain. i simply taught him a lesson. and now, you can live in peace. with me." bi-han interrupted, as he dropped the body and held you in his bloody arms.

you looked up at him, and he had a terrifying look in his eyes. this man enjoyed beating your ex to death.

"you know i will do anything for you," bi-han continued. "if i must get my hands dirty in your honor, then so be it. you need me, don’t you? without me, more people will target you and damage you. you're welcome, my flower."

he was trying to convince you not to leave him. how could you leave, when he just demonstrated what he is capable of when he is angry?

"i don't know about this, bi-han..." you whispered.

his eyebrows furrowed. "what do you mean? you know i can protect you, so why can't you trust me? if anything were to happen to you... i would tear the world apart. if you dare defy me, then i must teach you a lesson."

you panicked. you didn't want to end up like your ex. "no! i'm not defying you, love."

"good. it pleases me that you and i can live happily together now. nobody can hurt you while i am around. i will not let that happen." bi-han mumbled.

he meant every word he said. he will keep you safe from harm. he would never hurt you, so you must stay with him.

#mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk x reader #mk1 x reader #bi han #bi han sub zero #bi han x reader #bi han x you #sub zero #sub zero x reader #yandere bi han #yandere x reader #possessive yandere #yandere mortal kombat

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dreadsuitsamus · 2 months

Text

nsfw, fem!reader, breeding and ozai being ozai

Guarding the former Fire Lord, even with his inability to bend anymore, is daunting. Though a prisoner, Ozai is still intimidating and dangerous, those muscles not simply for display. There aren't many guards willing to take on the task of keeping a watchful eye on him for even a single shift, let alone during all of their working hours. Your bravery and resilience is rewarded with handsome payment, though by now, you'd do it for free! There are certain... benefits that have come with your position.

"Ah, ah— Mm! My Lord, oh, yes...!" You throw your head back onto Ozai's pillows, his time spent as a political advisor to his son having offered him a nicer cell than a typical prisoner would have, thanks to the leverage he still holds over the young man. Ozai has your limber legs spread wide against the mattress, your toes touching the headboard as the man above you plows into you with vigor, his cock reaching places inside of you that you never knew existed before fate brought you directly to him.

Ozai hisses, his grip tightening around your ankles. "That's it... Take it. Take my cock, my power, my all. You'll give me a new heir, one that will be perfect, one that won't fail me like the others! You'll do this for your King, without fail!" He spits out, the excited luster of his ideals getting him off as much as the way your slickened walls grip his shaft and beg to be filled once again, as he has every night for several months now. Whether you're on duty or sneaking into his chamber, you take your Lord's seed and humbly await the night you'll fall pregnant and kick his plans into gear. He cannot bend fire anymore, but his theory rests on your firebending abilities and his genetics to create a child that can bend, and be the very best.

Zuko was a failure from the very beginning, and Azula's demise must surely stem from her mother, a woman never loyal to the Fire Nation and Ozai himself. This heir will be the one to make him proud.

"Breed me, my Lord! It is my duty, my destiny to bear your child! Together, we shall restore your honor, your legacy, with our children."

Ozai grin is maniacal, his laugh sinister as he lowers himself to speak directly into your ear. "You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? You've yet to give me one heir, let alone multiple!"

"The solstice is nearly upon us." You pant, a mewling whimper breaking your concentration as your Lord twists your nipples that will one day feed his child and help him to become strong.

"And...?" Ozai's strong fingers squeeze the sensitive buds harder, grinning at how pleasurable you find his pain to be.

"T-There will be no better time to fall pregnant, my King. Our child will be strong, guided by the stars to take back what is yours!"

"Oh, really? So do you suggest I'm wasting my time now then?" Ozai begins to pull away, only slipping out a mere fraction of his slick-coated dick before your fingers, small and soft and so breakable like the rest of you, are threading into his hair. Amused, Ozai pauses with a raised brow and cocky smirk on his lips. "What's this, hm?"

"My Lord— My love." You breathe out, sneaky legs snaking around his trim waist to summon him back into his fully-seated position. "Please..."

"Please what?" He hisses, those strong arms slipping around your waist tightly in what's nearly a darling embrace, though he still remains only partially inside of your cunt. "Are you simply here tonight as my whore?"

"For you, I am anything." Your chest heaves, beads of sweat prickling you from head to toe. "The mother of your proper heir, the one that sees to your exemplary care... Your courtesan, your lover... Your wife, if you'd have me."

Ozai's large hand, one you'd still not fear even with his power intact, comes to rest at the side of your face. "Provide me a firstborn son that can firebend, and then we'll discuss a permanent relationship."

Your much smaller hand covers his, hopeful tears welling in your eyes. "I won't let you down, Phoenix King Ozai."

"See to it that you don't." Ozai's lips capture yours in a rare kiss, and he again rocks his hips to yours, soon filling you to the brim with seed that takes, settling deep into your womb to create the child that will swell your belly with his pride.

#ozai x reader #fire lord ozai x reader #ozai x you #fire lord ozai x you #atla ozai #x reader #reader insert #fic #something i thought up that wouldn't go away!#ngl i'd let him breed me

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waynes-multiverse · 12 days

Note

Can I put in the request for Ben to “support the fine arts?” 🤣

A/N: Hahaha you may! Hope you have fun with this! Based on this drabble and this little ask 😝

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSFW, smut (oral m), degrading, dirty talk, weird jealousy on both side, SB being a manipulative asshole

Word Count: 2.5k

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist

He Comes In Colors

The chatter in the classroom quiets down as your teacher, Mrs. Fournier, enters. You and your friends finish your sentences in hush and take your seats in front of your respective easels, not wanting to upset the strict, older lady again.

But instead of her usual cantankerous and bitter features, she sports an unusually bright smile and pinkly flushed cheeks today, still giggling like a schoolgirl over a crush and looking in the direction of the hallway as she walks to her desk.

Bashfully, she clears her throat and fights to regain her composure. “Class, we have a change of plans. I know we were supposed to devote our attention to the intricacies of nature today, but an opportunity presented itself we simply cannot pass up on. We have a very special guest this beautiful afternoon, who so graciously volunteered to be our model for this class.”

Your chest tightens slightly at her words, encumbered with a dark forewarning that settles in your gut. And as you catch a flicker of an all too familiar sage green kimono by the door, the bad omen in your belly only grows.

He wouldn’t dare, you think. Would he?

But you don’t have to answer your own question. Deep down you already know.

Of course, he would.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet our model for today – the one and only Soldier Boy,” Mrs. Fournier introduces, and you watch with parted lips as your stupid boyfriend strides into the classroom with an even stupider grin.

Mrs. Fournier claps with vivid adoration, expecting the class to follow her lead, but you can’t bring yourself to give him more than an annoyed slow clap. You shoot him a glare, and the smirk directed at you tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He aims to get on your nerves. He wants you to be mad.

Now, you’re sure you’ve done something in the last couple of days to upset him, and this is his way to enact his revenge instead of talking to you like an emotionally intelligent human being. Because Ben’s a fucking petty child, and this is how he deals with his feelings.

Ben offers his most charming red-carpet smile. “Pleasure to be here and support the fine arts, Mrs.–”

“Fournier,” your teacher provides all too helpfully.

“Ah, like fornicate. I can remember that,” Ben quips with a flirtatious smirk, while you suppress the sudden urge to stab him with the sharp end of your paintbrush.

You half expect the French woman to be appalled by the dirty joke. But to your big surprise, your over-sixty teacher only giggles in response like a high school freshman when the quarterback winks at her in the hallway.

“It is such an honor to have you here in my classroom, Soldier Boy,” Mrs. Fournier raves with a blush haunting her cheeks. “You have been my favorite superhero ever since I was a little girl.”

“Oh, so only ten years, huh?” Ben flirts shamelessly, all the while sending you little glances that let you know that this is your punishment.

Do you have a clue yet what you did? Nope! And you suppose you will never find out. You just have to get through this.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Soldier Boy devilishly rubs his palms together as he struts into the middle of the room, and with one flawless swing, he drops the robe and stands before you (and your classmates) in all his god-given glory. And boy, did God give – not only with two hands but probably with six or seven.

Mrs. Fournier gasps unabashedly with a palm on her weak heart and goddamn drool in your mouth, causing your frown only to deepen.

“Marvelous! Simply marvelous,” she rhapsodizes and is close to fainting. Of course, your boyfriend enjoys all this attention greatly. “It’s like staring at the statue of David!”

“Oh, please…” you mutter with a miffed scoff and roll your eyes back, but that only earns you a scolding glare from your teacher. You know then that showing your displeasure with the situation will only secure you a failing grade.

Ben then props his foot up on a little stool right in front of you, his cock hanging heavy and long between his muscular bow legs. And no, it’s not inflated to its full size but still as impressive and formidable as a lion king during a safari.

His gaze only sweeps across you before it lingers on your friend Alexander. There’s a cocky and yet threatening glint in your boyfriend’s eyes as he assesses the male next to you.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Soldier Boy prompts daringly. Only your boyfriend could talk about his dick like that and not even feel an ounce of shame. “Don’t worry, squirt. I’m sure yours is just fine,” he adds, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

And then, suddenly, it dawns on you – why he has decided to infiltrate your art class.

Two nights ago, you went out with Alexander and a few other friends from class for drinks and didn’t invite Ben. Mostly because Ben is obnoxious when he meets new people and is a little too “old-school values” for your hipster friends. It would take ages alone to even explain all their different sexualities and pronouns to your last-century boyfriend. You just wanted one night for yourself, and you knew now that hurt his feelings.

You even felt a tiny bit bad and guilty but by far not enough to accept this current shit show he was delivering.

“Oh my, I don’t want to be too forward but may I–” Your teacher doesn’t finish her sentence, but her reaching hand is suggestion enough.

Soldier Boy chuckles amusedly. “Oh, you may,” he says but smirks at you as you gape at him in utter indignation. “What kind of hero would I be, if I said no? After all, this body belongs to every American citizen.”

And as Mrs. Fournier’s greedy palm stretches for your boyfriend’s perky buttcheek, something inside you snaps. You jump up from your seat, all wild and fuming, before you realize everyone is staring at you with wide eyes and confused brows. No one knows you’re dating him, so your upset seems completely unwarranted to everyone else in the room. Only Ben’s lips rise triumphantly.

“Be-… Soldier Boy,” you correct yourself and clear your throat, forcing a tight-lipped smile on your face. “A word, please?”

“Y/N, we’re in the middle of a class. Show our guest some respect,” your teacher demands chidingly.

But Ben soothes her anger with another charming smile. “Oh, absolutely no problem, beautiful,” he says and causes Mrs. Fournier to blush once more. “Y/N here is clearly an adoring fan, and I always have time for my fans.”

“Yes, I’m a huge fan. I’ve never met a real celebrity before. My grandma will be so thrilled when I tell her all about it,” you lie as dryly as possible. Honestly, you’re so pissed you can’t get yourself to act remotely convincing.

“We’ll be right back,” Ben excuses with a tight smile.

He quickly throws his robe back on and grabs your upper arm, ushering you outside. You want to stop in the hallway, but he drags you further and shoves you into a supply closet, closing the door a little too roughly.

“You know the rules: no fucking drama in public. It’s not good for my image,” he reminds you sternly, and you try not to scoff.

“How dare you say that after waltzing into my goddamn class? Ben, my education is serious. You don’t mess with that,” you point out angrily and fold your arms over your tits. “I don’t have time for your petty revenge.”

“Yeah, you never have fucking time,” he huffs scornfully.

“Is this because I didn’t invite you for drinks with my friends?” You cock an eyebrow, shooting him a knowing look.

“No, this is because you went out with that fucking empty nutsack in there,” he bites and points an angry finger at you. “And by the way, you’d be fucking lucky to show me off. I’m a fucking catch! Have you seen how those bitches fawned over me in there?”

“Who? Mrs. Fournier? That old hag hasn’t seen any action since the French Revolution. She’d fawn over a fucking trash bag,” you retort and watch Ben purse his lips dejectedly. You smirk a little at your win.

But you don’t want to antagonize him more. You can tell that you hurt his fragile ego with your rejection, and while he fucking annoys you and drives you incredibly mad sometimes, you’re still deeply in love with the idiot in front of you. He does have his sweet moments every once in a while. He comes in many colors, a whole palette of different shades.

“Look, uhm, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to, okay? I don’t want you to be jealous. You have no reason to be, alright? I love you, asshole,” you tell him with a small smile.

“Fine, maybe I was a little jealous,” he admits after a beat. “But not of that scrawny twinkie in there.”

“Alright, maybe I was a little jealous, too,” you remark to make him feel better. “But not of that old French whore in there.” Ben snorts at that, chuckling. “So, do you forgive me and get the fuck outta my class now?”

Ben muses slyly and then grins. “I don’t think that apology was good enough.” Your brow draws into a deep frown at his words. Whatever has gotten into his mind now can’t be good. “They do say an apology is only worthy if it’s said on someone’s knees.”

You glare at him, your hands balling into furious fists by your side. “You gotta be kidding me…” you mutter and hiss through your teeth, “Ben, I’m not fucking blowing you in the supply closet of my school!”

Ben only shrugs carelessly. “Alright, guess I’ll have to ask Mrs. French Whore and see if she takes me up on my offer.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you grit.

“Oh, we both know I would, but I do prefer your beautiful and warm mouth, doll,” Ben smirks, letting each word roll off his tongue as his thumb pad reaches out and seductively traces your pink lips.

Instinctively, you suck his thumb into your mouth and massage it with your tongue, only widening his brash smile. As your eyes flicker down, you notice his rock-hard cock push through the fabric of the kimono and salute you. Your legs grow wobbly at the sight, your knees giving in with the urge to bend.

“Down,” he mouths, and you oblige without another protest, sinking to your knees in front of him.

You part your lips and stick your tongue out, ready to welcome his swollen tip. He fists his length and jerks his palm up and down a few times. He likes it to be as big as possible. He loves to see you struggle as you desperately try to fit all of him inside your tiny mouth.

His free hand lifts your chin, forces your eyes to find his as he guides his cock to your waiting mouth. He plops it on your tongue, heavy and thick, and lets it rest there for a second, gauging your reaction with a knowing smirk. You seal your lips around his weeping tip without question, your tongue swirling around it and dipping into the slit. You lick the salty precum with moans of pleasure, your hums sending vibrations up and down his length as your head begins to bob.

With each swallow you get closer to his pelvic bone, but Ben’s impatient and fists his hand into your hair. He roughly tugs and pulls you all the way down till your nose disappears in the little tuft of hair and tears stream down your cheeks as you cough for air.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby girl. Choke on my cock, you little slut,” he growls. His hips rock and find a rhythm as he thrusts inside you, hitting the back of your throat each time. “Fuck, that’ll teach you a lesson, won’t it? Who do you fucking belong to?”

He pulls you off his spit-drenched cock for the sole reason of replying. You look up at him as he expectantly meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow.

“You, daddy,” you reply on command.

He smirks in satisfaction and praises you, “There’s my good girl.” He tightens his grip on your hair and pushes back inside you. “Gonna send you back in with my cum all over you. Show those little pricks they can’t fucking touch what’s mine.”

As his hips gain speed, you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, feeling him swell on your tongue. Your jaw begins to ache, barely fitting his girth while his massive length drills relentlessly into your throat. Drool dribbles out from the sides of your mouth and mixes with your tears. Your mascara is nonexistent at this point and smeared all over your face.

And you know damn well, as soon as you walk back into class, everyone will know what you did.

“Such a good little whore for me,” Ben groans and pistons deeper once more, squeezing his eyes shut. You know it’s his telltale sign that he's close. “You’re such a fucking mess. Shit, gonna blow…”

He grunts as his hips stutter and his cock throbs in your mouth. He shoots hot ropes of cum down your throat, pulling out in the midst to paint your face with the rest. God knows he would never miss an opportunity to mark you. And when he’s done with his piece of sublime artwork, he smirks down at you, all self-satisfied and proud.

But then a bit of sweetness returns as he holds out his hands and helps you back on your feet. He gently tucks and brushes your hair back into place before snatching a roll of paper towels from the rack of art supplies behind you. He thoroughly cleans your face, removing any evidence of his deed, and kisses your hairline like you’re his most prized possession when he’s finished.

“There, all done, doll.�� Ben’s smile makes you blush as he cups your cheeks. “No one will be the fucking wiser.”

As the two of you saunter back inside, no one seems to suspect anything. You get back to your original seat, while Ben invents some silly excuse to get out of his naked commitment.

But then Alexander tilts his head at you with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, his finger pointing at his own cheek. “Y/N, uhm, I think you have something there. Oh, uhm, is that…”

He doesn’t finish as your eyes widen and your cheeks redden in embarrassment. Your shocked gaze darts to your boyfriend as he lingers by the door. With one last cunning smirk, he winks at you and heads out.

Yes, your boyfriend surely comes in many colors – and most of them are dark.

And yes, you bet your ass Ben was crushing hard on Mrs. Fournier 😂 Hope you enjoyed this!

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

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#dirty drabbles #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x femaler reader #soldier boy reader insert #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #the boys smut #jensen ackles

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cuubism · 9 months

Text

based on THIS shitpost. nsft below the cut. inexplicably 7k.

Dream had promised Hob, since reuniting, since agreeing to see each other more often, that he would let Hob introduce him properly to human experiences. "It'll do you good," Hob had said. Dream thinks Death would agree with this also. He is now wondering, however, if this had been folly.

"I think I've given you the general rundown now," Hob says, leaning back in his chair, swirling his bottle of beer—mostly empty—idly in one hand. "The highlights. We'll be here for ages if you want to hear all of it."

Dream is surprised to realize he is curious to hear the stories of all of Hob's lovers. But he does not feel it is quite appropriate to press, no matter how open Hob has been in speaking of it. Dream is most interested, after all, in people Hob has loved, not just those he's had carnal relations with—stories of love are of much more interest to him than stories simply of desire, and Hob has already relayed these stories to him, each a glimmering jewel on the long chain of his life.

Each sticks in Dream's mind now, glittering in his peripheral vision. He cannot tell precisely what they want of him—the corners of his being are blurred, his thoughts wavering, at points clear and ringing and at others indistinct. A consequence of allowing alcohol to affect him, at Hob's bidding. It is... pleasant. Loose. Warm. Though Dream thinks, anywhere outside of Hob's flat, it would feel disconcerting instead.

It's this folly in allowing Hob to ply him with wine, perhaps, that has him saying, "Do you wish to hear of my own?"

Hob's expression sharpens. He is, perhaps, less drunk than Dream is, despite being on his fourth beer, while Dream has only had— ah. That bottle of wine is three-quarters empty. Hmm. "You mean, you want to talk about it?"

"I believe it is customary for friendship to involve a mutual sharing of stories?"

"Sure, if you want to." Hob's gaze on him is intent, curious, but still fond, always fond. "Usually you're like this." He draws his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. "So of course I'm curious."

"Am I so reticent?" Hob is right, though. Dream can acknowledge it. He would not usually care to speak of these things. He could blame the wine, today. But.

Hob laughs. "Took me six hundred thirty-three years to get a name. You are the king of reticence." He dips his head as if bowing to this "king." "I would be honored to hear your stories, my friend."

Dream tucks his nose into his glass. He should perhaps not drink any more, but the smell is still pleasant, rich and sharp. "They are not so happy."

"Still. If you want to tell."

Dream is not like Hob. He does not have casual dalliances. Each collision was as bright as a falling star. He doesn't know if he has the strength, now, to relay all that terrible history.

Instead, he shares with Hob the early days of burning. Each of those bright, glowing moments. And glosses over the fall.

He thinks Hob sees it, though. He considers him from under his brows as Dream speaks, understanding in his eyes. Doesn't ask him about it, perhaps sensing that Dream does not have the wherewithal for telling and asking in the same evening. "Thank you," he finally says.

"Why?"

"For sharing."

Dream looks back down at his glass. It's empty again. Perhaps that is for the best. It is not often that he... shares. Particularly about this. But Hob is generous in not prying. In wanting to listen, for the simple sake of, as far as Dream can tell, understanding Dream.

When he looks up again, Hob is tapping the mouth of his beer bottle against his lips in thought. "Can I ask you something? It'll probably be utter silliness to you, though. Being this... beyond human entity that you are."

Dream's shoulders tense where they'd gone relaxed with drink and Hob's company. "Go ahead."

"Were all of your lovers women?"

And Dream relaxes again. Ah. This is just... factual. Not... digging in to his many relational failures. "I suppose. Yes."

"Is that by design, or...?"

Dream frowns. "I do not... understand."

"Well, since we've established that I'm an indiscriminate slut—" always so crude, but something about the click of Hob's tongue makes Dream shift uncomfortably in his seat on the couch— “I was wondering whether you were the same way." Then he winces. "Not the slut part. The indiscriminate part."

"Do you mean to ask if I care about the gender or sex of my lovers?"

"Yep. Knew I should have just been straightforward with you."

Dream thinks about it. He has never made a pattern of his relationships, the way humans do. He simply... does what his foolhardy heart commands. Usually with poor results. "I suppose I do not. Care, that is. But. My lovers have been women, yes."

Hob tilts his head. There's a new gleam in his eyes, now. He goes to finish his beer, but it’s empty. Dream watches the drag of his lips over the mouth of the bottle.

"Does that surprise you, Hob Gadling?" he asks. "That my amorous pursuits have been so much narrower than yours?"

"Mmm. Little bit? It's just, even if I hadn’t—how can I put it politely—fucked my way across half of London already by the time we met, I can't imagine making it six hundred years without ever at least experimenting?" He grins. "I could be straight as a nail and curiosity alone would've got me in some bloke's bed at least once. Hmm. Maybe three times just to be sure."

"It is good that you cannot die, for I believe curiosity would have sounded your death knell twenty times over by now."

Hob raises his bottle in Dream's direction. "True, that." Then he leans forward on his knees, eyes bright with, of course, curiosity. "But weren't you ever curious?"

"I contain the collective memory," Dream reminds him. "All fantasies. And dreams. If I need to understand an experience, I can simply consult that breadth of knowledge. I do not need to 'wind up in some bloke's bed.'"

Hob's leaning so far forward now he might come toppling off his chair. "But do you wanna?"

Dream frowns. "I do not..."

"Do you want to experience it yourself, though?" Hob repeats. "Cuz I could watch porn—" Dream wrinkles his nose at this crude analogy for his relationship to his dreams, but the offense is swiftly banished as Hob continues— “but that's not the same as—” his hand lands on Dream's wrist, fingertips pressed to where he would have a pulse— "that."

Dream freezes. Under Hob's fingers, his heart jumps once, quick as a mouse.

"I've no doubt you understand it, Dream," continues Hob, and perhaps he had drunk less than Dream had thought, for he seems very lucid now, "but that's not the same as being there."

Dream fixates on where they are touching. His skin feels very hot, at that point. "And what. Is being there like?"

Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?"

"Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?"

"Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

"And..." an echo of a breath is frozen in Dream's lungs. Some instinct saying, be still. A pulse at his elbow, in his thigh, at his throat. Hob still has his wrist pinned. "Do you know what you are doing, Hob Gadling?"

"Never in my life," says Hob, and leans in and kisses him.

He has to get out of his chair to do it. Has to lean down over Dream, taking Dream's cheek in his hand. Has to tip Dream's head back, and sweep his tongue into his mouth from above, or perhaps Dream only tells himself that he has to rather than acknowledge that it is Dream himself baring his throat, opening his mouth to Hob's.

If he wished to know what it was like to be kissed by a man, now he knows: strong and lingering and hungry. Or perhaps that is just Hob Gadling. Hob's stubble brushes his cheeks. He can smell Hob's cologne, rich and sweet like whiskey. He wraps a hand around the back of Hob's neck so he can't pull away far.

Hob's eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at him. Dream touches his own lips, and Hob follows the movement. "I'm not certain I understand," Dream says. "This is not enough data to make a determination."

"Definitely not," says Hob, and kisses him again, pushing him into the back of the couch. The strength of his hands sends fire racing all the way up Dream's spine, curling around his neck, burning in the tips of his ears. He bites experimentally at Hob's lower lip, and Hob groans low in his throat.

"We're not—" Hob pulls away, lips shiny and wet, "we're not doing this here. Come on."

He stands upright again, and Dream will deny to the end of the universe the dissatisfied sound he makes when Hob's warmth leaves him. Hob smiles, soft and fond now, and takes his hand. "Come on, love."

Love.

Some man, Dream thinks, as he lets Hob pull him up. Join some man in bed. As he follows Hob down the hall to his bedroom. For curiosity's sake. As Hob kneels to help pull off his boots. Just to understand. As Hob divests him of his coat.

Experimental.

"You're so buttoned up." Hob smoothes his hands over Dream's shoulders, his bare arms under his t-shirt. "Let me know if it's too much, okay?"

"Yes." Too much, yes, it is too much, to see Hob look at him like that, with care and with hunger, for Hob to touch him gently, it makes his skin prickle, his cheeks heat, his throat terribly dry. It is too much; he will not tell Hob to stop.

I want to understand, Dream thinks. I want—

Hob smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Come on, then."

Hob is already barefoot, being less guarded than Dream, and he leads Dream up onto the bed. Dream follows, chasing his hands, and Hob does not deprive him. He leans against the headboard and lets Dream settle in his lap, immediately framing his face again between his palms. For the sake of learning, Dream pushes all the dreams of this aside, so that it is just him and Hob. New. Theirs.

He looks into Hob's eyes, very close now, and he feels light, floaty, good. Perhaps the wine was a bad idea. Perhaps it was right.

"What d'you want, darling?" Hob asks. Brushes his lips to the corner of Dream's mouth. "Tell me. This is for you, after all."

Yes. For Dream. A scientific exercise, he must remember. It will help him... understand. It will help him create more vivid dreams. That is all.

He can feel Hob's growing erection pressing against him. His own jeans growing tight. "I would like. The full experience."

Hob laughs, but it's a friendly laugh, not at his expense. Dream can recognize that, now. "There's no full experience. Sex counts as sex if you say it does. But if you're trying to say penetration, we can do that."

Dream shivers at the word penetration, sitting so matter-of-factly on Hob Gadling's tongue. "Yes. I believe that is what I meant."

"Alright." Hob may be matter-of-fact, but he does not sound unaffected. His voice has gone rough, his eyes dark, a flush along his cheeks. His hands fall from Dream's face to brace his hips, thumbs sweeping under the hem of Dream's shirt to touch his skin.

But he doesn't push Dream down into the mattress. Instead he pulls Dream closer by the hips, saying, "C'mere then," and Dream goes back to his mouth. Sinks into Hob's kiss, and the searing heat of his hands on Dream's hipbones. It's different. It's already different. But he can't yet determine if it's different because Hob is a man, or because he is Hob.

Hob, who has been a friend to him even when he couldn't recognize it. Who wants him to enjoy things. Wants to share with him.

Hob pushes Dream's shirt up over his head. Dream has not been bare in front of someone since his escape, but he doesn't think he minds, when it's Hob. When it means he gets Hob's broad, strong hands on his back, pulling him close, and Hob's lips on his shoulder, the crook of his neck, kissing and leaving marks.

"You know, once upon a time I thought you were above all this," Hob murmurs. He touches Dream's belly, his chest, his neck, holding lightly. "You were so... untouchable. Couldn't imagine you lowering yourself to engage in such—” he bites at Dream's earlobe— “such base activities."

"'Untouchable,' Hob Gadling?" Dream says. Hob's hands are cradling his throat now. Hob catches his point and flexes his fingers; Dream swallows under the grip.

"Always wanted to know," Hob murmurs, "if anyone'd touched you at all."

Not in a very long time, it is true. Dream burns with it, now, everywhere Hob touches him is alight. "What would you have done with an answer?"

"Dared," says Hob. "I expect."

"Always daring," Dream says. Indulges himself and slips his own hands under Hob's shirt, feels out his stomach, his hair, his back, all the strong lines of him. Hob's shoulders are pleasing, and his hips where Dream squeezes with his thighs, and these are not things Dream has thought of much, before. He wants to see more. To feel more. "Daring to be the first man to have me."

"Don't say things like that if you want me to keep my sanity." The words are rough like Dream has reached in and touched him instead of just spoken, and Hob's chest rises and falls heavily under Dream's hands.

"Maybe I don't."

This makes Hob chuckle, and Dream feels the rumble of it through his body. He wishes there was not the barrier of their clothes to dampen it; more than seeing Hob, he wants to feel Hob, his skin is prickling with it, his mouth is tacky and dry with it.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and whatever change Hob hears in his voice has him stiffening up, going serious. Dream doesn't know how he feels about it—he enjoys Hob's ease and laughter, but the intensity is... he feels it like a touch.

"How do you want to be had?" Hob counters, and before Dream can contemplate the myriad possible answers, adds, “Do you want to be? Is that what you meant? Only I would have thought— but then again—”

Dream does not interrogate the rambling path of Hob's assumptions. He says, "I would like to know. What I have not. Personally. Experienced, yes."

Daydreams poke at Dream's awareness as the image flashes through Hob's mind. Dream doesn't touch them, but the awareness of their existence alone has him shifting where he straddles Hob's lap. Hob's cheeks darken, and he says, "Strangest way anyone's ever asked me to fuck them. Yeah, alright. Budge up, love?"

Love. Again. Dream climbs off Hob's lap, kneeling beside him as Hob strips off his own shirt, flinging it somewhere--Dream doesn't see, for he is looking only at Hob. The solidness of him, where Dream often feels made of wind; the warmth of his belly, where Dream touches him, while Dream himself often feels cold. So made of earth, Hob Gadling.

Hob lays a hand on Dream's chest as if to push him down to the bed. No strength behind the touch, but the impression of it. "Need you to tell me if it starts going wrong. I'm serious, Dream."

Despite himself, Dream bristles. “You think me incapable of conveying my displeasure?”

Hob huffs. “I think you’re just prideful enough not to. Just be direct with me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Perhaps... Hob is not entirely wrong. “…I shall," Dream vows at length. Hob nods, and smiles at him again, that warm smile. Dream can’t help but feel pleased to have made him smile so. Hob pushes, and Dream goes, lies back against the pillows, and Hob kneels between his legs. Hands sliding again to his hips, to the waistband of his jeans. Dream watches with fixation, caught on Hob's fingertips.

Hob has apparently decided he does trust Dream to interrupt if he doesn't like something, for he doesn't ask again before unbuttoning Dream's jeans. But Dream can tell Hob is still paying close attention to his reactions, and it's heady to be attended to so.

He lifts his hips for Hob to pull off his jeans, and then gets to bask in a look he can only interpret as adoring. Hob looks upon him that way, and strokes up and down his thighs, over his hips and belly. Dream's skin jumps at the touch.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Hob says, sounding wounded by it. "Everyone who sees you must go home wishing you were going with them, I refuse to believe otherwise."

Dream smiles, despite himself. "This may be a particular bias of yours, Hob."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm right, though." He leans down, hovers over Dream, kisses him. Dream pulls him down so their bodies are pressed together. Hob's skin is so warm, his hair softer than expected, the fabric of his jeans a rough counterpoint where it scratches Dream's inner thighs, rubs against his cock lying hard in the crook of his hip. A wealth of sensation. A pleased, wanting sound escapes him, before he can stop it—but Hob catches it, looking delighted to do so, kisses it right out of Dream's mouth. "You've left broken hearts in your wake. Still can't believe this is your first time doing this."

"Revel in that victory if you must."

"No victory," says Hob. "Only privilege."

And he kisses Dream again even as he works a hand between them, takes Dream in his grip. Dream gasps at the touch, breaking the kiss. Hob's hand is warm and rough and very sure, and Dream can't help the way his whole body tenses with that simple touch.

He feels Hob's smile against his cheek. His voice drips with satisfaction. "Are you sensitive?"

Dream does not get a chance to answer. Hob strokes him again, hums as Dream bucks up involuntarily into his grasp.

"Oh, I'm going to make you feel so good," Hob muses, his voice a warm rumble in Dream's ear. "I know I can. You deserve it."

"Hob—"

Hob kisses his own name out of Dream's mouth, a deep, biting kiss, and this confidence, rather than being offensive to Dream's station, is riveting. Dream feels spelled.

"Just let me take care of it," Hob says, and moves away, and Dream groans at the loss of his body heat.

"You will take what you want now?" Dream complains, knowing full well even as he says it that it is nonsense. But having Hob's touch and then losing it is making him insensate; truly, he had not thought he could fall so far. "Is that what this is, Hob Gadling?"

Hob chuckles. "Oh, no." He kisses Dream's sternum, and down along his abdominal muscles. Mouths at Dream's belly, where Dream shifts under him, ticklish and affected, skin jumping, and then Hob noses at the base of his cock, and Dream realizes what he's gotten himself into only right before it comes to light.

"No, Dream," Hob says, lips now brushing the head of his cock, and like that he looks up and meets Dream's eyes. "I serve at your pleasure."

He takes Dream in his mouth, strangling Dream's response before it can even reach his throat. Not that Dream knows what he would have said. It's whited out instantly in the rush of pleasure that is Hob's mouth, and tongue, the generosity of his body, the vision of him between Dream's legs.

He's voiceless as Hob bobs his head, takes Dream deep, laves his tongue over his slit, applies what Dream must concede is his considerably greater experience to breaking Dream's ability to speak entirely. He grasps mindlessly at Hob's hair, it slides soft between his fingers, head tipped back against the pillows and thighs jerking restlessly, and still he knows this is but a precursor to what Hob truly intends for him. What he's... asked for. Folly. What had he been thinking?

Hob lifts his head to look at him, a line of spit dragging from Dream's cock to his lower lip. "Dream, you with me?"

Dream nods. His hand is still in Hob's hair. He pets at Hob's forehead, his temple, and Hob smiles. Like Dream is the one being indulged.

"Good?" he says, and Dream nods again. Hob takes his hand from his hair, kisses his knuckles, and Dream does not think this is how casual experiments are meant to go. He does not know what he is learning, except that Hob's kiss is soft and reverent, and the look on his face even more so.

"Is this," Dream asks quietly, hyperaware of how he's laid out on his back, Hob between his legs, "how you want me?"

Hob releases his hand. Drags a fingertip maddeningly up and down the crook of Dream's thigh as he considers. "Probably be a bit easier for you on your belly, but I don't want to make you feel vulnerable."

Dream is not certain there is a version of this that would not feel vulnerable. That it does not already. "I defer to your better judgment."

"Stay there, then." He moves away, and Dream takes the moment to gather himself. He's not certain he succeeds. He's spinning pleasantly, buzzing with the echo of Hob's touch. He wonders what might happen if he gives up on trying to right himself.

Hob comes back with lubricant, situations himself between Dream's legs again. Runs his hands up and down Dream's thighs and Dream spreads them wider on instinct. Hob swallows hard, Dream watches the harsh bob of his throat. He's still wearing his jeans, and Dream wishes he would take them off, he wants to pet at Hob's thighs in turn, he wants to see.

"You're a holy vision," Hob says, still studying him with that look, raw and strangled. Find some man to bed you, Dream thinks, feverishly. Some man.

He plucks at the fabric of Hob's jeans. "Hob—“

Hob chuckles. "Sorry, sorry. Bit unfair of me, isn't it? Got too distracted looking at you." He unzips his jeans then, pulls them off, and then is sitting there only in his underwear—something which Dream does not bother to manifest for himself because his clothing is made already of dream stuff, but perhaps he will start because Hob bare before him, his cock heavy and hard in his boxer briefs but still obscured by the fabric is—

"Dream?" Hob asks, as Dream pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches for him, mesmerized, cups his hand around Hob through the fabric, feels the warmth and heft of him, "did I break y— ah fuck."

Hob pushes into his hand, bends down over him again to kiss him as if summoned to it, and it is thrilling, sparkles along every vein, to get such a reaction. To have Hob caving to him. "Fuck, Dream."

Dream indulges himself further, slips his hand under Hob's waistband, takes him in his grasp, and Hob jerks against him. Dream's mouth waters at the weight of him, he has to swallow thickly to clear his throat, his own cock is heavy and straining, and he parts his thighs further for Hob. Vulnerable. Yes. This is vulnerable, and especially so in the waking world, and he wants, he wants Hob in him. A new feeling.

"Hob. I want—"

"I know, darling. Fuck, you're beautiful. Your hands—" He shakes himself. "Right. Right."

Hob sits up again. Strips off his underwear properly. His hair is hanging loose and messy now, eyes ever so slightly glazed with pleasure, chest rising and falling, his prick hard and ruddy at the tip. He is arresting.

He pushes Dream's legs up so his knees are bent, finds the bottle of lube where it's fallen into the sheets, pours some out into his hand. Leans in to kiss Dream’s belly, pleasant and tickling, and in the same motion drags a finger over Dream’s entrance.

Dream catches his wrist, inhuman pulse peaking in his throat, like a burst of dream stuff. “You do not need to put in such effort. This body does not have these human limitations.”

Hob tsks and taps his hand away. “You said you wanted the full experience. And the full Hob Gadling experience includes proper prep and aftercare, even if you're made of whims and fantasies. Free of charge, by the way."

"Oh, indeed?" This comes out significantly less teasing, and significantly more affected, than Dream had intended. "And what will the rest cost me?”

Hob winks at him. "Only your pleasure, darling."

This time, he leans over Dream, takes Dream’s wrist and pins it to the bed by his head. Dream lets out a choked gasp. The sudden pressure of Hob’s grip makes something stand out sharply within him, and then collapse again in relief. Hob makes a considering noise, and holds him there as he presses a finger lightly to Dream’s entrance with his other hand.

Dream shudders as Hob pushes his finger in, one knuckle, two, as he works in and out of Dream’s body, stretching him— it is an odd sensation, one he half-feels he should shy away from, but Hob’s grip on his arm is grounding, and Hob kneeling between his spread legs is tickling something in him that wants very badly.

Then Hob crooks his finger and pleasure rushes through him like a windstorm. Dream arches off the bed, grabbing at the sheets, and Hob laughs. “Thought you might like that.”

“Hob.” Dream thinks he means this to come out admonishing but it’s far more strained. Hob doesn’t give him time to recover, he drags his finger over Dream’s prostate again and Dream bites down hard on his lower lip. Hob slips his finger out, returns with two, and now it’s a stretch. Dream grinds down on him, resists the urge to whine as Hob works him over on his fingers, rubbing over his prostate on every other stroke.

“You are unbelievably gorgeous,” Hob murmurs, watching where his fingers slip in and out of Dream’s body, and then back up at Dream’s face with awe and fixation.

“Even,” Dream struggles over the words as sensation washes through him, Hob’s fingers in him, filling him, so much and yet he wants more, “spread out, like so?”

“Especially then. The way you move on my fingers,” he twists his hand to emphasize the point, and Dream shudders, "the fact that you let me. D’you know how long I’ve looked at you and wondered?” Saying this, he kisses Dream, sliding his hand up Dream’s wrist to clasp their fingers together. “Passing Stranger, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only. Fuck, I wanted to see you like that.”

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, Dream thinks, but doesn’t quote the poem back to him— Hob reels him away again by the touch of his hands. He pushes a third finger into Dream, and now it is tight, it is so much, but Dream pushes himself back onto Hob’s hand. Hob’s fingers move gloriously within him, touching every part of him, and he starts speaking again in his low, honey voice, that’s it, darling, good, feels so good, yeah? and Dream needs Hob inside him. Hob has pulled him by the throat from inexperienced to grasping, and he is grasping.

Hob keeps fingering him, spiking his pleasure higher, his cock hanging heavy and teasing Dream with each move he makes. Dream himself is painfully hard, and it sharpens the feeling of Hob in him from maddening to agonizing. Hob kisses him, licks into Dream’s mouth, and Dream opens to his tongue. He opens to him. Like a yawning, cavernous thing.

Wanting Hob in him has shifted to needing Hob in him has shifted to lacking Hob in him, that Hob is a fundamental part of him and without him Dream is bereft. “Hob,” he whines, mortified by the sound of it but unable to drag himself back to that place of control he had surely—surely?—started the evening with. “Please—”

Hob’s head jerks up and he looks at Dream in shock. And. Oh.

Shame rushes through Dream’s body. Who has he become, begging a human to fuck him? Is he not the Lord of all Dreaming, is he not above this? Once, Dream was a skillful and assertive lover, he could bring the full power of the Dreaming to bear for his lovers’ pleasure, he could craft every moment exactly as needed— and now—

But Hob doesn’t draw away in disgust. Or gloat over the position he’s maneuvered Dream into. He smiles down at him, a soft look that goes just a bit pained at the edges as Dream tenses. Then he presses his lips to Dream’s cheek. Even that simple touch makes Dream shiver.

“It’s alright, darling,” Hob murmurs, so gentle but the heat of it still winds through Dream’s insides. “Don’t you know I’ll give you what you need? You don’t have to beg for it.” He slips his fingers out and back in, only two now, working them as deep as they’ll go. “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

“Please,” Dream says, the words again dragged from him unbidden, unspooled by the feeling of Hob inside him, there but not enough. Hob kisses him, swallows his plea like sweet wine, works him on his fingers, grinds his cock in tantalizing lines over Dream’s thigh. And gradually something unlocks in Dream’s ribcage, each piece turning itself open in realization. Hob likes when he asks, begs even. But he isn’t going to make him.

Asking, then, feels less like a wound rent in him, showing all his torn pieces, and more like a spell that will draw Hob to him. Speak, and he will come.

“Please,” Dream says again, and this time the words don’t tear. He speaks into Hob’s mouth, and the wet warmth of Hob’s lips and tongue soothe him where asking might start to chafe. “Hob, I need—”

“Do you need my cock, love?” Hob asks, rough low and rough and burning. “Feels empty, doesn’t it?” He slips his fingers free, and Dream whines. “I know. I know. You’re just starving for it, aren’t you?”

Starving, yes, Dream would like to take Hob in his mouth, but right now he’s feverish for something else. Hob is so close, every touch of his skin already has Dream singing, but he still wants more. He tangles his hand in Hob’s hair, wraps one leg around the back of Hob’s thighs to pull him closer, and Hob laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, Dream, you’re so—” Hob sounds spun around, now, and it’s gratifying to knock him askew in the way he’s done to Dream.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream says, putting the weight of sleeping desire into his voice, “I need you. I’m waiting.”

“Fucking hell,” Hob groans. “I’ve created something terrifying.” He doesn’t sound displeased about it. In fact, he kisses Dream again, lets Dream pull him close by the hair, smiling into his mouth. “Gonna make it so good for you, I promise.”

“I can plague your sleep with eternal nightmares if not,” Dream says, with no intention of doing so.

“See, I’m so confident in my ability to fuck you” —Dream's skin prickles at the word— “that I’m not even worried about it.”

He makes Dream lift up so he can push a pillow under his hips, takes Dream’s leg and maneuvers it over his shoulder, bending his body back. Dream shivers at the vulnerability of the position, the way he’s pinned. Hob kisses the bend of his knee with a little smile, and then Dream watches down the length of their bodies as Hob takes himself in hand. He’s so hard, glistening with pre at the tip, and Dream swallows jerkily.

“Alright, love?” Hob asks, meeting his eyes. He has always had the brightest, loveliest eyes. Dream holds his gaze and nods. He is not certain that he is, in fact, all right, he feels strange and spun about and immersed in the waking dream of Hob’s bed and Hob’s touch, but he does not want Hob to stop, he wants Hob to fuck him.

Hob presses into him, slowly, pausing when just the head of his cock is sheathed. And Dream— Dream was not prepared, Hob’s fingers did not prepare him for the all around pressure of Hob’s cock, the way it would fill him. It dances on the edge of pain, but he wants more. Already, more.

“More,” he finds himself saying, and Hob chuckles, bracing a hand around the back of Dream’s neck as he complies. This time, he pushes all the way in, not stopping until he bottoms out, groaning at the feeling. Dream clutches at his shoulders, no doubt leaving indents in his skin, body clenching convulsively as he gets used to the feeling of Hob in him.

Hob is inside him. Hob is inside him.

“Dream, you alright? You’re… breathing,” Hob says, petting through his hair. He sounds awed.

Breathing. He is breathing. And he hadn't commanded it so. Hadn't even meant it. Normally Dream forgets to affect such human mannerisms, even when it might be advisable to do so. But now he is breathing. Each one is choppy, three steps up three steps down, somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“I am fine,” he says, and Hob shushes him, kissing his cheek.

“I know you are. It’s alright to get a bit overwhelmed, yeah?” Hob is still in him, Dream can still feel every centimeter of him everywhere, but he doesn’t move. Simply lets Dream settle.

Dream tries to stop the wretched breathing, it makes him feel human and mortal and out of control, but he can’t, this temporary body affixed to this plane by Hob’s weight, his touch. Hob kisses his cheek again, nuzzles at his ear, and gradually Dream finds himself subsiding, relaxing in increments. It occurs to him, through the distant knowledge of the Dreaming, that this softness would not be characteristic of a temporary, experimental experience with a stranger, should Dream have simply wanted to know what it was like. It occurs to him through his own knowledge that this vulnerability he feels, this ability to ease him, is characteristic only of Hob.

He does not yet know what to do with that, but he turns to find Hob’s lips. Hob meets him easily, smiling into the kiss. “With me?” he asks, and Dream nods.

“Yes.”

Then Hob starts to move, slow measured thrusts at first. Dream breathes through each, and perhaps breathing is not so bad, after all, for it settles him, and settling lets him take Hob in, and he wants to take Hob in. It is so good, the slide of him sends sparks all along Dream’s limbs, builds inexorable and tantalizing heat through his body, none of his many dreams conveyed to him just how good it would be, when brought from dreams to reality. From memory to the body. More, even, than this is the sense of Hob’s body over him, the heat of him, and the strength, the breadth of his shoulders, the drag of Hob’s belly over Dream’s prick, the way he moves, expertly pushing Dream higher and oh-so-much faster with each thrust, tapping against that edge of pain-and-too-much without ever letting him fall over it.

Dream is starting to think that, in addition to his general experience, Hob has become quite an expert in knowing what Dream, specifically, might like.

“Good, darling?” Hob asks against his jaw, and Dream means to respond but all that comes out is a whine. He feels Hob’s smile against his skin. “More, then?”

Dream evidently doesn’t have to respond. Hob braces himself more firmly over him, and then he’s moving much faster, and then Dream really loses his senses. Hob bears down on him, levering Dream’s leg back further and deepening the angle, and each thrust hits before Dream has recovered from the last, and Hob’s mouth is on his throat, right over his pulse, which is also hammering—

Hob hits his prostate, and Dream keens as lightning arcs through him. Hob is talking to him now as he does it again and again, saying through panting breaths something like, you’re so good, does that feel good? is’at good for you? fuck you’re gorgeous, but Dream can’t parse much detail. He feels he should be participating more actively, but the wherewithal to do so has slipped away from him, all he can do is take what Hob is giving to him.

Probably that is what Hob wants. Perhaps he has fantasized over their long acquaintance about having Dream bent in just this position. Many might wish to have the Dream Lord at their mercy. Hob’s mercy, however, is a burst of pure heat straight to the soul.

“Hob,” he’s saying when he comes back to himself enough to notice, “Hob, Hob—”

“You’re beautiful like that,” Hob says, voice rough. “Dreamed of it— ha. You make the most beautiful noises.”

They are, in fact, wholly undignified noises, but Dream can’t seem to bring himself to stop; Hob punches each sound of pleasure out of him. He floats. Holds onto Hob’s shoulders. Presses his face to Hob’s and feels the scratch of his stubble. The rough calluses of his hands. The rhythm of Hob’s body is sublime. The kiss that he presses to the corner of Dream’s eye is more so. He is… crying there. Tears spilling over and down his cheeks. Dream has crafted the heights of euphoria within the Dreaming. But. Has any of it ever been as good as this?

He has Hob close to him, around him, in him, and still he wants more. Never again will Dream be able to disdain the office of Desire, not without looking away in shame at the lie.

His release washes over him in a wave that he doesn’t even notice until it peaks, so great is the rest of his pleasure. He gasps as he comes, not even needing Hob’s hand on him, tips his head back on the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. Chest heaving. Hob slows, cups Dream’s cheek—until Dream urges him on with an ankle hooked around the back of his thigh, do not stop do not stop do not—

“Alright.” Hob nips at his lower lip in admonishment but he does start fucking him again, clearly chasing his own release now rather than pushing for Dream’s. That edge of pleasure-pain now tips closer to pain but Dream relishes in it. Each stuttered motion of Hob in him is blessed.

“I want,” he manages, throat dry, voice scraped rough from his cries, “to feel you come. In me.”

“Oh fuck,” Hob swears. “Dream.” And that apparently is enough. Hob’s hips stutter quick and he comes, hot spurts in Dream’s body, he can feel it. When Hob's tension eases, when his breath catches up to him, he moves to pull out—but Dream drags him back in. He wants— wants to keep Hob inside him, belly spine lungs throat, bring Hob in and in and hold him there, wants that warmth with him always. He could live like that, with Hob close to him.

Hob helps him lower his leg from his shoulder, stretch out sore muscles, and then lets Dream pull him in close, hold him there, in him, even as he’s going soft. He turns them on their sides, tucks his face in against Dream’s shoulder. Breathes the same air.

“So,” Hob says, after several, very long moments where they’ve been lying quietly together, tacky with sweat, Dream’s limbs all wrapped around Hob and Hob running his hands up and down his back, “how was that?”

“Mm?” Dream is still floating. It’s very pleasant.

He can feel Hob grinning against his shoulder. “You wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a man.”

What it was like. Dream is not certain he knows. He knows that Hob’s arms around him are strong, the touch of his skin pleasant even with the combined heat of their bodies. That he smells of sex and sweat and Dream wants to mire himself in it. He knows that, as Hob does finally, carefully pull out, he can feel Hob’s come dripping sticky over his thighs and rather than being discomforting, it only reminds him how he was wanted. His own come is smeared over Hob’s belly in disorganized lines, and Hob’s hair is ravaged by his fingers. There are still tears drying on Dream’s face. He knows that Hob has had him, now, and is still holding him. That the force of his lovemaking annihilated Dream’s dignity. That Hob wants to kiss him during sex. That at his prolonged silence, Hob looks up, finds his gaze, questioning.

“I am not certain that’s what I studied,” Dream admits. “Or. Learned.”

“Oh? What’d you learn, then?” Hob touches his cheek, as if even parted for a second, he wants to be close to Dream again. “Least tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” Dream must look ruined, and still Hob must confirm he enjoyed it? “What I learned is not what it is like to be with 'a man'. But rather.” He brushes his thumb over Hob’s lower lip, and Hob’s mouth opens at the movement. “What it is like. To be loved. By a very good friend.”

Hob’s expression crinkles into the softest smile at loved. “Oh, a very good friend, hm?”

“Very good,” Dream says. Presses his hand flat to Hob’s heart. “Uniquely so. Uniquely good to me among friends.” Not that Dream has… friends, plural. Better, then, that Hob is so singular. Singular enough to have nestled somewhere within him, between one meeting, one drink, one kiss and the next, and Dream would no longer be without him. His heart is surrounded by a hazy warmth much softer than the sharp pang of desire, and Hob's bed, Hob's touch, is soothing to him, a blanket he has finally pulled over his shoulders after trying to brave the lingering cold. Like so much this evening, it feels strange, and like so much this evening, it feels too good to shy away.

Hob leans in to kiss him, a soft drag of lips over his. “Good. Can I convince my friend to go in for a shower? Tea, maybe? Can I convince him to stay the night and keep exploring that friendship?”

Hob has taken care of him this evening, has not yet lead him astray, and so Dream lets him pull him out of bed and to his feet. In the shower, under the rushing hot water, Hob kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, rough, inelegant, consumed by feeling, hands curled around Dream’s hips. Dream will not make dreams out of this night, after all, he thinks. Selfishly, he wants to keep it to himself.

Peerless among friends, Hob Gadling, he thinks, as Hob makes him tea. As Hob tugs him back over the threshold, into the bedroom, into the mess they’ve made of the sheets. Peerless among friends.

Among lovers, too, perhaps.

#tfw ur having casual sex with ur homie to learn what its like to get dicked down then oh no youre having a gay awakening oh NO youre having #a romantic awakening about your homie too. we've all been there #my writing #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #you best believe 'i serve at your pleasure' plays over and over and over and over in dream's mind for weeks after #btw the poem hob quotes is 'to a stranger'#nsft

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avelera · 1 year

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Hob Gadling - the absolute maddest of immortal lads

One of the things I love most about Hob Gadling as a character (and as a result, do my best to capture in fic) is how unique his reactions are to immortality and to Dream, and how he so often does the opposite of what one would expect from the genre of "humans granted immortality" but also what the average person and most of the audience expects that they would do with immortality, lending well to the concept that Hob is, genuinely, unhinged and a truly supernatural creature in his own right, which is often lost when the character we see him most often juxtaposed against is Dream, who is even more odd and unhinged if in very different ways

(I've decided to be systematic about this and go through meeting by meeting so strap in, folks it got long, as usual!)

1389 - First of all, Hob simply bragging at all that he doesn't plan to die. OG hipster right there, loving life before it was cool. But also, ok, loving life after being born less than a decade after the Black Plague ended. And in the midst of a great many Black Plague aftershocks! The latter half of the 1300s was a truly abysmal time to be alive, with huge social upheaval, war, plagues, "two bloody Popes fightin'" and in the midst of all this is Hob motherfuckin' Gadling, cheerfully announcing that death is for suckers and he doesn't intend to ever do it.

The man is a soldier! You'd think he'd be more accepting and philosophical about his inevitable death given the time he lives in, the profession he has chosen, the fact that most young men his age were wiped out at age 9 by the second wave of the Black Death, and just, in general, doing all of this while having the misfortune to live in England at the time.

And then when Dream comes up to him, like a complete weirdo, and challenges him on this, Hob is actually pretty nice to him! He gives him a side eye but he also goes along with the question, tells him to ignore his friend's jibes, and cheerfully accepts the wager! I cannot express to you how many turns in the road there are between what a normal person would do and what Hob Gadling does in that moment.

1489 - This one bugs me because the most unexpected thing Hob does is seemingly regress in maturity despite now being 100+ years old.

Now, I'm a huge fan of the theory that he's conning Dream right now and putting on the innocent chucklehead routine to put Dream off from kidnapping him to Faerie Land in exchange for his immortality. HOWEVER, since that's just a headcanon, let's take Hob as he is on the page!

Hob has a job. A Freaking Job. He used to be a bandit and a soldier, things that kind of make sense to do as an immortal (like The Old Guard) when you can't die! You could theoretically make BANK there just by taking dangerous jobs. But Hob doesn't?? He gets a normal-ass job, though in that day's equivalent of getting a job at Microsoft or Apple before they became big, Caxton is like one of the first modern startups in essence, a new technology that made TONS of money once it was imported, and Hob was on the ground floor. Still. HE GOT A JOB as an IMMORTAL. He doesn't seem to have this immortality thing figured out yet? And he doesn't ask Dream hardly any questions about it either! You'd think he'd be frothing at the mouth to better understand wtf happened to him, but once Dream clarifies that he's not the Devil and Hob's soul isn't in danger, that's it! No further questions, your honor! WHAT??

Also, just when you WOULD expect him to beg for death (that IS the genre savvy thing to do, Dream's not wrong!) he DOESN'T. He's more in awe than ever, he seems to be experiencing a second childhood over the fact. He's just vibing and living life. That's so, so unusual in this genre.

Hob also hasn't done any of the savvy things an immortal might do after 100 years! He doesn't actually seem all that angsty about why is he immortal, beyond a bit of fear he might need to pay the piper (Dream) now for this gift. Most vampires in an Anne Rice novel would have gone through about 20 stages of grief after they dealt with the first 100 years of everyone they know and love dying but Hob seems to not only be unbothered but actively gearing up for the next century. It's so bizarre. IT'S SO BIZARRE and I love it because I LOVE characters who DON'T do what you'd expect!

1589 - Hob has a family. HOB HAS A FAMILY. Who in their right MIND would start a family, knowing you'd have to bury your spouse and your children? HOB MOTHERFUCKING GADLING that's who! It's incomprehensible! He does it anyway! It's why I headcanon that he planned to support and nurture his family throughout time, like it was all very deliberate to found a dynasty, but it need not be! Knowing him, he just saw a pretty girl and married her! He didn't even CONSIDER his own wife and children getting angry and jealous with him for having immortality he can't share with them? He didn't even CONSIDER the heartbreak?? WHAT?! Who knows! He just did!

Now, this Hob HAS begun to do SOME of the things one would expect of an immortal - like build up generational wealth, BUT he has a KNIGHTHOOD. What immortal in their right MIND would draw that sort of attention to themselves?? HOB, THAT'S WHO. What are you ON, man, that's INSANE! No wonder he got drowned as a witch the man had ZERO CAUTION AT ALL.

1689 - the man is destitute. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN IF YOU'RE AN IMMORTAL? This is AS puzzling as anything else. Theoretically, Hob could just take a dangerous job with a high fatality rate for quick cash and rebuild his fortune pretty quickly, but he DOESN'T. What went wrong? The possibilities are tantalizing and painfully human that maybe he did do that and failed anyway, or hit even WORSE strings of truly abysmal bad luck.

But somehow, at 300 YEARS OLD it's not until 1789 that we hear Hob has begun socking money away for a rainy day! How does it TAKE YOU that long, sir?? How is that NOT something you figure out in your first century? I've seen a lot of fan writers ascribe a certain amount of immortal savvy to Hob but it's REALLY not there on the page! The guy is NOT genre savvy about immortality AT ALL he doesn't do ANY of the things one would expect, it's absolutely WILD that he falls this low after 300 years after completely failing to, theoretically, CONSIDER this possibility! And then, AND THEN, the guy STILL wants to live. I mean, this one hardly needs saying, that's nuts after what he went through, it's on the page that he's NUTS for this. But the guy is literally in the gutter dreaming of the stars, he is unstoppable I love him so fucking much what a force of nature.

1789 - OK, we've already mentioned that it took until 1789 for Hob to start saving money for a rainy day but let's talk about the fact HE'S NOT ACTUALLY CAREFUL ABOUT BEING CAPTURED?? Again, least genre savvy immortal EVER. You can't die so you'd THINK that being captured or imprisoned or god forbid, thrown down a mine shaft would be the SCARIEST possible fates when you don't have death as an escape, but the guy doesn't even blink at the thought of getting captured by an occultist like Johanna Constantine, dude's totally unbothered! DREAM has to tell him after 400 YEARS that maybe he should be worried about this? THE GUY GOT DROWNED AS A WITCH, picked himself up, dusted himself off, got into some crimes against humanity, and MOVED ON apparently without learning a single goddamn lesson he hasn't had since 1389 which is how to kick ass and look good doing it BUT HE'S NOT EVEN A PROFESSIONAL FIGHTER AS A CAREER, he's just a gentleman of means!

He just... lives a normal human life and seems to expect weird things like being kidnapped by occultists to not happen so long as he stays within those boundaries and you know what? IT SEEMS TO HAVE WORKED! Because to be fair, how many of us outside the bounds of fiction would ever expect the wild stuff like kidnapping to really happen? It's statistically quite vanishingly rare! And that's been all Hob has needed, presumably, to not need to stress since the damn witch trials about his immortality! So yeah, I read fic where Hob is like this very savvy immortal but by 400 YEARS he's BARELY learned to have a savings account under a different name and he STILL doesn't seem too bothered by the possibility of getting hurt or captured! Like, AT ALL?! Absolutely class act right here, top lad, unbelievable, no notes. HOW do you SURVIVE like this as an anomaly, Hob?

1889 - By now, it SEEMS like Hob has bought a clue. He's pretty understated, he's made some amends, SEEMS to have resolved to be less of a shithead, and he's got this immortality thing figured out. It only took him 500 FUCKING YEARS. But again, Hob ISN'T fabulously wealthy as far as we can tell. He's not a megalomaniac and he STILL seems to be vibin' as just a dude doing Just A Dude things like HAVING A JOB and if we borrow from Hob's Leviathan a bit, he's STILL just jumping between industries, just living life down at the normal human level. He hasn't detached from humanity, he lives in the day to day on a level that's just INCONCEIVABLE for a being that's 500 years old.

1989 - Ok, moving on a bit from Hob being an immortal, because getting excited about technology like his brick phone is absolutely so charming I want to squish his cheeks, but he's hardly the only immortal to get excited about that. What I want to talk about is how HOB FORGIVES DREAM for 1889. Because, look, Dream is a prick there. Hob could have been more diplomatic but Dream could have waited for the apology and he didn't.

I have seen SO MANY TAKES where Hob would be MAD after 1889 and RIGHTFULLY SO. But he's NOT. He's not! There are so many fics where he has lingering hurt over it but that's just NOT what the character does! He blames himself! Guy did pretty much nothing wrong except maybe choose his words poorly, but he's blaming HIMSELF for making Dream uncomfortable. Absolute legend. Saints have nothing on this man, that is saint-like behavior. I'd be furious. Hob just misses his friend and BLAMES HIMSELF that Dream isn't there. Not an a single, microscopic trace of anger in sight.

2022 - And then, AND THEN, when he has EVERY REASON to flip out when Dream shows up, finally, after 133 YEARS, after Hob has APPARENTLY stuck around the area just in case, WAITING for him, what does this fucking legend say? "You're late."

THAT'S IT! He's not mad, he totally has a right to be! He doesn't jump out of his chair in shock, that would be a totally expected reaction to! He glances up! He acts like Dream is 5 minutes late instead of over a century WHAT IS THAT?? WHAT IS THAT?! HOW?!! They just settle back with a pint after that like it's nothing. That's not what I would do. I don't think that's what almost any human would do after a shock like that. I still can't wrap my head around it.

So anyway, Hob Gadling, absolutely FASCINATING character from the perspective of just not doing a single fucking thing you'd expect an immortal Just A Dude to do. Goddamn legend right there. Worth remembering for those like me who are obsessed enough to write this guy in fic. He is just so... opposite of everything you'd expect and that is so fucking sexy of him wow

#hob gadling #the sandman #sandman meta #dreamling

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scarletwritesshit · 3 months

Text

📏 Dr. Ratio x Reader 📏 If I were Smart, I Would've Titled This with a Math Pun

This wasn’t the sort of rigorous stimulation that you were hoping for, but it was Dr. Ratio who suggested it, so you couldn’t exactly expect anything different. You blinked at the page that was laid out before you, dumbfounded. The problem on the page was rather complex even by your standards, almost as if it were written in some otherworldly script, which had a fair chance of being true. No worries, just break it down piece by piece to solve it? All...seemingly one thousand parts of it.

Dr. Ratio stood across from you, staring directly at you while tapping his foot on the ground with his arms crossed. You were quite surprised that he had not yet donned his stone-faced disguise, and quite frankly, you wish that he had. He was eyeing you up with a gaze that just screamed, "I could’ve had this solved 20 times by now, incompetent idiot." Which, was probably true.

It took a painfully long time, but at long last, you solved it, or at least you thought that you did. Your fingers went limp and released the pen from your hand, letting it almost roll off of the desk. You laid your head face down on the desk after circling the answer with a thick yet scribbly circle, emphasizing the results of your treacherous labor. At the sound of Dr. Ratio’s footsteps getting louder, you looked up at him to still see the same glint of disappointment in his eyes.

"I take it that you have reached your final conclusion?" he asked.

Without saying a word out of fear of premature judgement, you pushed yourself up from the desk so that he may freely observe and critique your work.

He skimmed over every extra page of your work quite rapidly, and in what felt like mere seconds, he pulled out a red pen and promptly marked your paper.

"Zero marks," he said bluntly, writing a massive red X over your answer.

You had a sinking feeling from the start that this was your inevitable fate, but hearing the actual words from him somehow stung a lot worse.

"In fact, I do not believe that I have ever seen anyone mess up so…horribly," he commented. "In fact, there are mistakes within mistakes, all among the most preposterous that I have ever seen in my life."

"...Thanks?" you said, as personally having the honor of making the most mistakes that Dr. Ratio has ever seen was better than your efforts simply being disregarded.

"My words were not intended to be interpreted as compliments, but rather, as a degradation of your overall performance and attitude towards your studies.”

"So?" you said, indifferent, "I’m still thankful that you spared some of your precious time to personally put me down."

"There must be something deeply wrong with your cognitive functions," he said, twirling his pen around between his fingers, "for I have never seen anyone quite enthusiastic about insult and utter disappointment."

"There are far easier ways to call me stupid, you know," you said, mockingly.

"Is your intelligence truly so challenged to the point that you cannot comprehend my direct words without the most basic of forms being utilized within a sentence? Why, you could not solve the simplest of problems if I asked of you!"

"You think I’m that dumb? Want me to prove it?"

"Oh, I believe you plenty, but since you proposed the offer, might I ask you for your interpretation of the answer to one added onto three?"

"I’m dumb, remember? Simple terminology, please," you said.

Despite his usage of overly complicated roundabout terminology, you knew exactly what he was asking of you. He was asking you to add 1 and 3 together. A simple question that anyone, even someone with your abilities could answer with ease. But, you wanted to see just how far you could push Dr. Ratio, before he caught onto your methods of toying with him. His patience was impressive enough considering how by now, you would’ve expected him to simply mark your paper with a failing score and walk off without another word.

With a noticeable twitch of frustration in his eyes, Dr Ratio said, "Fine, what is one plus three?"

"Five," you said, quickly and confidently.

"Are you positive that that is your final answer?"

You nodded yes. Dr. Ratio, no longer holding back his annoyance, leaned in closer and lifted your chin up with the back of his pen, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"You cannot possibly look me in the eyes and say that so…matter-of-factly," he said, frustrated.

"Oh, but I can,” you said with a smile. “And I just did."

"It is arguably a miracle how you have made it this far, not just in your studies, but in life as a whole. The fact that you fail to comprehend the most basic of tasks when I personally made the decision to allow you to study beneath me is well beyond my comprehension."

"Really? I was led to believe that you knew everything."

"It is physically impossible for one who is temporarily existent to learn all that our universe has to offer. Your stupidity, however, stretches even beyond the limits of our universe.”

"You’re saying that I’m so stupid that I’ve managed to become incomprehensible? Even to you?" you said with a proud grin.

"Regrettably, yes," he said, allowing the pen to fall down between his fingers, freeing his hand so that he could hold your chin up, "unless I perhaps study you for myself?"

"Study me? What is there to study, if I am as empty-headed as you claim?"

"How someone with intelligence comparable to a warp trotter has made it this far."

"But warp trotters’ lives don’t involve solving math problems, or whatever you’d call what you gave me."

"Which is why it is so baffling that you have made as much progression in your life as you have," he said, his grip tightening around your chin. "If it were anybody else, I would have promptly excluded you from my teachings."

"Anybody else?" you asked, tilting your head. "You mean, you’re going through all of this just for me?"

Dr Ratio went silent for a moment, and the grip that he had on your chin became a bit gentler. His eyes narrowed, yet his overall expression became softer. He seemed to be at a complete loss for an appropriate response to your claim. Either he was so baffled at your stupidity that he couldn’t quite find the words to express his annoyance, or you simply caught him off guard and red handed. The latter seemed more likely, as if your suggestion was truly so preposterous, he wouldn’t have wasted the time in putting you down.

"...A most fascinating conclusion," he finally said.

"Sounds like I got you now."

"I do have to applaud you for deciphering me in such a way, despite how you greatly lack otherwise."

"And after all of that, you still think Im an idiot? The answer to your question is four, by the way."

"Did it truthfully take you such an extended period of time to arrive at the correct answer?"

"No, I knew all along."

Knowing how he was the one outsmarted now, Dr. Ratio accepted defeat with grace, and laughed a little at his defeat. It wasn’t a laughter intended to put either of you down, but rather, a genuine expression of amusement, perhaps at himself for allowing such a situation to become so comedically blown out of proportion.

"Toying with me as a jest, I see. I will admit, it was rather clever of you to do in such a way, yet I still feel the need to observe you further."

"That is an unusual way of saying that you want to spend more time with me," you said with a laugh.

"Perhaps, but if it was nothing more than a jest, does this mean that you do not require my assistance with the problem before you? It seems an awful lot of effort to put into feigning intelligence, or lack thereof."

You lifted your face up from his hand and turned to look at the papers on your desk, with a large red X marked on your answer on one of the sheets. Right. You had completely forgotten about that.

“No…that I actually put my best effort into.”

“I shall see that you put your best effort forward into it during our second attempt together,” Dr. Ratio said, walking behind your chair. “Now, let us start fresh.”

He instructed you to tidy up your initial attempt and set it off to the side while he took out a fresh sheet of paper with a problem identical to the one you previously attempted on your own. He reached for the pen that was still dangling at the edge of the desk and laid it parallel to the side of the paper. As he loomed over you, you thought that he would be behind you the entire time, having to hear him critique every little mistake you make directly against your ear.

Your assumption was proven half correct when he leaned over you, placing his hands on opposite sides of you and practically pinning you to the desk. You looked to your side to see his face directly at your shoulder, able to feel his every breath against your face. Dr. Ratio smiled with an enthusiasm that seemed far too great to be suited to the likes of a basic education.

“Now then,” he whispered, “let us try our first time together.”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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