#i want to write fic to these songs

[hollisonceagain]

i want to write fic to these songs day 31: day 31: big naughty - hopeless romantic (feat. lee suhyun)

#i want to write fic to these songs #big naughty #lee suhyun

[suntails]

hijo de la luna

#okay FIRST off. song by mecano my friend said is soooo silver and it is. like. the story steers off his course but its still his song #SECOND. this isnt Actual hollow moon fanart but it is in my heart. ive reread ell's fic 3 times now and every time it kills me. KILLS #go read it. hollow moon by serenescribe. its a 40k oneshot of silver slowly but surely being moon snatched. its delicious #the tumblr crowd already knows how swagalicious ell is tho i dont need to sell it to u. the munchiest crunchiest writing ever. mwah #but yes. i want silver to be made of moondust. i want him to shimmer and glow white as snow i want him a MOON CHILD #also i do Not make OCs bc im not creative but i think his roommate is a vil fan and eats oatmeal and likes sil's birds #by proximity. doesnt care for animals otherwise. he also has a crush on silver he told me himself #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #if catríona suntails doesn't draw a dramatically lit background then what's the point #suntails

[phonydiaries]

Beautiful Dreamer - P x Reader

Notes: This is a bit of a shorter fic from me and it's pure unadulterated fluff and sap and nobody gets stabbed! Which is really stretching myself as a writer, to be honest. You guys know I love nothing more than a good life-threatening injury. Anyways, no warnings for this one! Enjoy the cozy vibes <3 

---

It seemed somewhat magical in the beginning. 

Pino came running to you once, at the very break of dawn when you had just barely opened your eyes; too-bright sunlight stinging them as the puppet shook you from sleep. It was difficult for you to grasp what he meant, at first, to wrap your head around what he was trying to describe. His speechless manner of communication and your general grogginess certainly didn’t help matters. But through a series of signs and expressions from Pinocchio, you came to understand. In his slow but sure gaining of humanity the boy had begun to dream at night. 

You were vaguely aware that he did not dream before, and didn’t exactly sleep in the way humans did (although he did something similar enough that you personally couldn’t tell the difference). 

“Is it… pleasant?” You asked him, genuinely quite curious as to what a strange thing dreams must seem to someone who had never known them. It had the potential to be wondrous and peaceful, but at the same overwhelming and utterly confusing. P seemed to take your question into careful consideration, really mulling it over. His eyes shone bright as he finally nodded decisively. 

For all his excitement over this newfound ability, Pinocchio was frankly dreadful in his attempts at describing his dreams to you. You tried earnestly to follow along, but his gestures and expressions would eventually become too complicated and frenetic for you to follow and so you found yourself utterly lost in his recollections. It was after one such frustrating night that you gifted him a pocket journal to write in. This was much preferred for both of you, and you came to enjoy the routine of him eagerly handing off his scribblings for you to interpret in the morning. You would sit elbow to elbow at the table, sipping morning tea and reading his writing aloud, while he listened and nodded along captivated, his chin resting over his hands on the table. 

His writing was uncharacteristically scratchy, with words often misspelled or crossed out implying that he was simply transcribing for speed and not coherence. Now and then there would be an addition of a crude drawing, sometimes the vague outline of a rabbit or a rushed impression of beaming stars. 

One day, when it was particularly gloomy, you and Pino wandered to the library. Silence between the two of you was not uncommon, nor was it in any way awkward or uncomfortable. With the heavy fall of rain against the roof on this day, you found the quiet between the shelves especially peaceful. By the orange glow of a lantern, you turned the pages of a dream-interpretation guide. It was a small and somewhat battered thing and had been picked up eagerly by Pinocchio of course, who sat on the floor with crossed legs, chin resting in the heels of his hands as he listened to you, enthralled. In hushed tones, you ran down bulleted lists of common dreams and all the cryptic mysteries they may contain. 

“Here, how about this one, have you ever dreamed that your teeth were falling out?” You asked, pointing to a passage in the book. P slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head vigorously, looking suddenly very concerned with keeping said teeth firmly in his mouth. You couldn’t help chucking as you turned the page. 

The day wore on, and the oil in your lantern burned down to nothing, the dim light flickering across an eerie illustration. You’d been leafing through an art book of the romantic era painters and left off on a Fuseli painting of a tormented woman being peered upon unknowingly by some manner of devil. You found the page quite off putting honestly, and closed the book. 

“I figure that’s enough of that. What do you say, Pino-oh.” 

As you addressed your puppet companion in the dark, you came to see that he sat on the floor still, slumped against the foot of your chair. His cheek was sunk into his left shoulder, eyes shut, breathing soft and shallow. The serenity of the scene warmed your heart some, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Pino…” you whispered, and ran a hand through his hair in an effort to wake him. But he didn’t stir, seemingly in a deep sleep. You were sorry for the uncomfortable condition he seemed to be posed in, but you didn’t want to disturb the poor puppet. You gathered your things and left quietly, shuffling off to your quarters. 

It was around midnight that the puppet woke with a panicked gasp. He was surprised to find his legion arm held up defensively, as if in anticipation of an invisible attack. His eyes searched his surroundings frantically, and only when he recognized the library did he hesitantly lower his arm. In the darkness he felt quite uneasy and disoriented. He tried to recall your soothing hushed voice. It had put him into quite a state it seemed before he eventually drifted off. It was in stark contrast to the current thrumming of his mechanical heart and the uncomfortable quickness of his breaths. He had dreamed something wholly unpleasant, and with some sadness realized this new facet of humanity came with drawbacks. He did not care much for these dreams at all.

Pinocchio made his way down the corridor to your quarters, his steps echoing eerily. He threw pointed glances over his shoulder frequently, half expecting some monstrous creature to appear suddenly in the halls of Hotel Krat. The simple casting of shadows had never before made him so on-edge. When he reached your room, he opened the door slowly and peered inside. You lay there in the dark beneath silk sheets, curled in on yourself and sleeping soundly. With great care not to startle you, he knelt by your bedside and nudged you in the back. Your head flinched momentarily, but you otherwise remained still. With some urgency he took your shoulder and shook until you stirred. Rubbing your eyes wearily, you rolled over to face him. 

“Pino, it’s ah…it’s late isn’t it? Can’t it wait til morning..?” You grumbled. He shook his head almost apologetically and squeezed your shoulder. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you were able to make out unfamiliar anxious creases in his expression. You willed yourself into a greater awareness and sat up promptly. “What is it, what’s wrong?” You asked, your tone softening significantly. P gestured in the direction of the library and rummaged around in his pocket for a moment. He retrieved the pocket journal you’d given him and pointed several times at the most recent entry. You squinted. On the left page he had simply blacked out the entire thing with a pen, and on the right page the phrase “strung up” was written several frantic times with increasing disregard for legibility. 

When you looked up at him to clarify, he raised his hands limp above his head and dropped his chin to his chest. The image was admittedly shuddersome and he cast a long and spindly shadow across the wall. 

“I see.” You said, closing the journal. “You had a nightmare, hm? All strung up like an ordinary puppet.” Your heart fell for the poor boy. It must’ve been terribly frightening for him. 

Pinocchio nodded solemnly, not meeting your eyes. He stared off blankly and rubbed his wrists, as if easing a phantom feeling of restraints. You took note of this and hummed softly. 

“Here, may I see?” You asked, and pulled his arm towards you. You made a show of inspecting it and tapping your chin thoughtfully. Holding his arm with one hand, you stuck up two fingers like a pair of scissors and pretended to snip the invisible puppet string. You repeated this mimic on his other arm and then took his hands in yours, placing a kiss on the back of each. 

“All gone.” 

Pinocchio looked at you with a kind of boyish wonder. He raised one fist to the crown of his head with a smile, making a  pshhh sound and opening his hand, giving the impression of a miniature explosion.

“Think you’ll be alright for the rest of the night?”

At this he shifted a little. His fingers busied themselves, twisting in the bedsheets. He was obviously still shaken up somewhat. You could understand that, although it was a bit of a surprise to learn that someone so nearly indestructible could be afraid of the dark. 

“Alright,” you sighed, lifting the sheets. “Get in here.” 

P’s chin jutted forward and his brow furrowed at your offer. You just gestured to the space beside you with your head. “Go on, before I change my mind.” You teased. At this, Pinocchio clambered up into your bed and nuzzled his face into the pillow. As he got settled. You pulled the sheet over his shoulders and snaked your arm up around him from behind. Your nose pressed against the nape of his neck and you breathed in the smell of him, like fresh rain. 

“Have no fear, my puppet.” You said sleepily against his skin. “Your trusty human won’t let anything steal you away from me in the night.” You heard him snicker at this, but you knew without a doubt he felt safer here with you and vice versa. It was sweet, really. 

By the time the sun rose you were both still sound asleep, all tangled in each other’s limbs, looking like lovers in the warm morning light. The day could wait a little longer. 

#originally this fic was called sing me to sleep bc I was listening to the suckerpunch soundtrack version of Asleep on loop #so if you want the full experience queue that song up while you read #lydia dropping art history refs like a fucking nerd #extremely soft pino #lies of p #lies of p fanfic #lop #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader #lies of p fanart #fluff #my writing

[clockwards]

truly genuinely fascinating watching s3ep20 House Training with the Wilson stuff. He really is just like that. Hes genuine. He takes women to lunch and plays and museums and does it with a smile on his face and not an ounce of bad intent. And he does it again. And they fall in love because he's so affably kind and senselessly caring and he blinks those big brown eyes at them and lets it happen. He lets it happen. He does know what he's doing. Because he is all about other people's love, other people's pleasure, and just like House he finds some eternal, niggling curiosity about /why/. So he figures it out, he follows this new woman's footsteps and lays out the red carpet until theres nothing left but a thread.

There is one red thread Wilson pulls to make everything and it is connected straight to House. Tug of war, babey.

#im going feral #i want to write fanfiction of them i hate them so much it will be religious and named after a mitski song #do you know how insane i have to be to name a fic after a mitski song? #this affliction hits thousands of ao3 authors every day #never thought id be the one in the medical tent #god. christ. anyway. #house md #hatecrimes md #hilson #gregory house #greg house #james wilson

[autumnillustration]

The Drowned Dragon—Laenys' exile in Essos

#illustration #art #i love grrm's world building #just wanted an excuse to do some environment drawings #and mix it up with my current hyper fixation #the drowned dragon #instead of writing the fic i'll draw for it #laenys velaryon (oc) #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #artists on tumblr

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Vulnerable

Alastor x Fem!Reader- Part 3

WELCOME TO THE LOWKEY FAN SERVICEY PORTION OF OUR BROADCAST🗣️! Sorry for the long wait..uh ANYWAY- Its just a silly little steamy make out session I felt like writing lowkey unnecessarily added into the plot. Its character development This is done mostly on the grounds of I felt bad for being slow with the plot and wanted to give you radio demon lovers out there some crumbs.<3

✨The plot✨(these are getting worse as we go)

Our depressed dear y/n self deprecates in front of a "hang in there" kitten poster. before bitching about the cold on her walk home.Oh shit her house is broken into. In this life its just you and your shitty pocket knife. Nvm its a cool dress! She then spends a good half hour thinking about their old relationship's spicy times.

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Mentions of domestic violence

-Mentions of alcohol

-Fuckass Val

-A little make-out sesh (smut is scary so you can use your little imagination to figure out what happens after)

Mornings in hell were colder than one might expect, despite the nearly constant blaze of sinner set fire. At its heart, Hell was frigidly cold, especially at night. A part of you had gotten used to the way it clawed deeply against your skin. However, the other part of you secretly begged to some god somewhere you didn't quite believe in to make the sun rise a little faster. It wasn't necessary by any means, Hell wasn't anything more than a desert. All you had to do was wait. The crisp morning would lose its glacial influence as the sunlight reached out to touch it just as it always did. You just needed to be patient. You take in a deep breath, attempting to let go of your displeasure.The sharp frosty air pierced your lungs, unknitting the last strings of warmth from your skin on impact. Your teeth began to chatter. You curl into the softness of your wings, it wasn't much, but it helped.

From your recently awakened slumber, you had briefly forgotten the events of the night before. However, upon seeing angel slumped in bed beside from you, the realisation took root. The recollection flattened your heart like a careless truck running over a measly stray bit of garbage

Your performance last night was nothing more than a falsified forgery. It was adorned with the typical strokes and details found in your normal act, but it was so hopelessly fake. Valentino could always tell when you were phoning it in. Despite his fraudulent demeanour, he demanded authenticity from you. After your previous..altercation, you just didn't have it in you to thread your harsh edges in salacious intent. You were an excellent dancer, but you hated the prying eyes that glued themselves onto your figure. Val wouldn't be happy with that. You were already voiceless, he already owned your soul. He couldn't physically take much more, but he could still make your life a relentless nightmare. The punishments he so easily gave out always had a creatively cruel flair. The thoughts brought on a familiar uneasiness. You could take whatever he threw at you, you wouldn't like it but you would endure. You didn't have to like it. Your grounds were barren in the terms of genuine will. You didn't have a reason to keep living, you just refused to die. You would endure until the red toned city around you pathetically crumbled back into the ground. You would watch the world you lived in reflect the terms of your anguish in twisted perfection over and over again...All by the hands of Valentino. You couldn't do much else. Your dimly lit soul had grown more accustomed to calloused hands and absinthe than you wanted to admit..It was just the way of things.

Great now you were cold and stressed out.

Your mind drifted to Angel. His crumpled hair and soft arms outstretched in your direction. The night before, he had spilled a glass of gin soaked secrets, revealing more than you expected him to. His drunken tears leaked into the brimstone walls of your heart. You learned his name was Anthony in life among other things. He probably didn't remember opening up to you, you were surprised you did.

He had been in Hell much longer than you had been..he had been with Valentino much longer than you had..years longer. The thought held more pain than your sore bruise lined body could feel.

Valentino had the poor habit of misguiding his frustration. As much as you pissed him off, your groans of pain just weren't as satisfying as Angels. Even if Val dragged your limp body across the studio, his nails dug deeply into the flesh of your skull, he wouldn't be satisfied if he didn't hurt Angel too. You couldn't help but wonder how he put up with it all. He was a lot stronger than people give him credit for. How long had Angel been his favourite toy? How many other souls tied to Valentino fucked up as you so often did? How did he deal with the brunt of that frustration tipped in his direction? How many times was he hurt because you didn't give Val what he wanted?

He was an angry disagreeable man he would always find some excuse to take that out on others.You knew that, you just hadn't stopped to think how many times had you been the excuse he used to justify how he treated Angel. Your hand brushed a stray strand of hair from his peaceful face. You didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Angel at least looked warm. He still slept soundly curled up towards the edge of the bed. His legs were neatly cocooned into a pile of various blankets. You stretched, shaking the sleep from your eyes and the fog from your brain.

You stood up glancing back on his sleeping form. A part of you felt bad for leaving Angel wordlessly.. His night wasn't great either, even if it was your fault, you could still help make it better. You could also make it worse. You couldn't risk that. He would get over your sudden absence, but what if you said the wrong thing and he hated you for it. He should hate you, after all it was your fault the night went to shit.

I mean even if for some reason he didn't want you to leave, it would be easier if he didn't have to explain why you're here to the literal princess of hell. Its not like you could tell her yourself. You'd rather walk home a bit early and save him the trouble.

You glance at the digital clock stationed on his nightstand, It read 5am. Hopefully the other residents of the hotel weren't early risers. that would really be hard to explain.

You walked into his bathroom to at least attempt to make yourself a bit more presentable. You let out the breathy shell of a laugh; amused by the emotionally supportive posters and positive notes that adorn the wall around the sink. He was trying in some way, he was trying to make the best of things. He didn't have anyone to remind him it was going to be okay besides the small grey kitten saying "hang in there". on one of the larger posters. You pick up a note in Angel's swirled handwriting

"You're hot in more ways than just physically! Nice ass but nicer everything else"

It was a little silly, but it made you feel better for a second. Your eye gets caught on your hellish exterior in the mirror. God- you looked rough.

The mascara stains under your eyes did nothing but highlight the heavy bags that already resided there. Your hair had awkwardly shifted back into its natural texture in some places and erupted in frizz in others. You were still wearing that burlesque outfit Valentino had picked for you. Russet red dried blood and what you assumed to be half a fruity cocktail stained the front. You looked like an extra in a poorly funded zombie film.

Ironically the outfit had been one of your favorites before then. It reminded you of Alastor- big surprise there- almost everything does at this point.

The cut of the top and the off shoulder sleeves reminded you of the dress he had bought you to celebrate your new part time gig singing at that little bar downtown. The outfit's color reflected it marvelously as well- sadly the similarities seemed to end there. The outfit had numerous cut outs and a slit up each side. It didn't leave much to the imagination, but those subtle details kept it in your good graces. Not that it mattered, it was practically ruined now. Maybe you thought too deeply, but it started to feel painfully ironic.

You had sewn into the outfit memories of an ill-fated gentle romance and a shared cup of camomile tea, but ultimately it doesn't change what it really was, stained with the shadow of lust...Just as you had been.

The outfit would never truly resemble that dress. Even if you found an ounce of similarity. Even if you dragged it to the tailor and used its corroded bones to recreate the dress exactly.They weren't the same, they could never be.

You weren't the same.

You hadn't been for quite some time.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if he would ever consider accepting you in the condition you're in. Your skin will always sustain the weight of Valentino's hand. The vulnerability in your soul had been sparked by fear as opposed to love. Whats done is done. Even if you had been crafted with the object of love in mind your heart had been distorted beyond the point of recognition, it could never really be the same again.

With that, you didn't want him to find you anymore. It would be worse to watch him fall out of love with you as he realised you weren't the same. The love you had so protectively harboured in your heart for the devilish man was cut loose. It drifted away into the rotting sea of your soul surrounding it. You couldn't bring yourself to tear down the post you had previously tied it to. Even if you told yourself you couldn't love him any longer, the hole he left in your heart was too large for your will to cover.

You shrug on the coat you had slung on the floor before crashing last night and slide on your shoes.

You grab a pen from Angel's desk-if you could even call it that. It was nothing more than an old bar stool with a jar of pens and a pink glittery notepad. You scrawled a simplistic message. You didn't want him to worry about you. Even if he said he didn't care, he was sensitive. You didn't want to hurt him any more than you had already.

" Hey Angie! I went home- don't worry I wasn't kidnapped! Eat something for breakfast or I swear to god I'll make you eat an eyebrow pencil next time I see you..Love ya lots<3" Your handwriting was a bit messier than normal but it did the job okay.

You walked to the door, opening it it quietly, the lock behind you clicking as you shut the door to Angel Dust's room.

Finding your way out of the hotel was trickier than you expected but nothing you couldn't manage. Once outside you began to shiver. You tugged your coat tightly against your skin, not that it helped much. You refused to fly in such icy temperatures. The wind would be far less intrusive at a slower speed.

The walk from your apartment to the hotel was a little over an hour. Perhaps if you weren't so hung over it wouldn't have taken you as long.The sun just begun to peak out from the horizon, simultaneously allowing enough space for the nightly wind to have free passage, and the blinding light of the sun to assault your eyes; your own special little fuck you from the universe.

The steps up leading to your third floor flat were much steeper than you had previously recalled. Hauling your body up them took a lot more energy than you care to admit. Out of breath and slightly sweaty you were finally headed down towards your room.

Your steps creak in harmony with the ancient building's crumbling walls. You glance down the hallway at what you had hoped would be a chance to decompress.

You stop abruptly a few units from your own. The door was ajar. You pull a short pocket knife from the side of your shoe. The rusted knob looked no worse than it already did. The lock however, featured a few more scratches than you recalled.

You were too tired for this bullshit, You hadn't actually used a knife before. Stabbing people seemed like an intuitive thing to do, but your inexperience left you drenched in anxiety. Nothing within you wanted to go inside, but your legs begged for rest. There really wasn't any use in preventing the inevitable. Eventually you would go inside or whoever was inside would come out. Either way its stab or be stabbed. The door whines as you slide yourself inside. You knew the situation was dangerous, all you had was a shitty knife you mostly used to open packages. If someone was here to kill you..without your voice no one would even know. You pushed the thought aside. You could still run. You could still fly. You weren't hopeless.You crept throughout the apartment with the knife raised steadily in front of you- ready to fight whatever had arrived.. Nothing ever came. By the first two rooms you had lost your concern. It was just how you left it. You stepped into your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You must have just forgotten to close the door behind you the day before.

You glanced around the bathroom before you noticed it was not in the disrepair you'd left it in. A fresh bouquet of roses sat neatly in the vase, the old dried flowers tied and hung above them to use in your next bath. The radio you had so unfortunately melted been replaced by an antique model adorned in golden trim and a stained glass depiction of a small canary. Lastly, a neatly wrapped vermillion box sat on the opposite side of your vanity, a wax sealed envelope tucked between the box and the large velvety bow.

This was a bit ( really fucking) weird. Curiosity over took you as you reached for the dark inky envelope.

You trace the underside of the waxy seal with the edge of your knife, effectively tearing it from the envelopes dark paper. You unfolded the letter unsure where something like this would even come from. You had admirers, but anything they said or gifted to you went through Valentino first. He was the only one he deemed fit to give or take anything from you. He was greedy in the gifts he received and thoughtless in the gifts he gave. None of this felt thoughtless.

Dearest y/n,

I believe it is time you were compensated for all that I have put you through these past two days. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color. If it is to your liking, please wear it tonight. I hope to see you there.

With love,

-Yours truly

Val had gifted you dresses and other fashions in the past, more for his own satisfaction than as a reward. He rarely wrote the notes himself or even delivered the gift. He left it up to an unlucky assistant or just threw the garment in your face in passing.. Nothing about this felt like anything he would do. Perhaps one of his newer assistants didn't get the memo he is a massive piece of shit.

Regardless, you were curious to see what odd fantasy you were fulfilling tonight. You untied the ribbon. Upon lifting the lid, you realised today was going to end up much stranger than you'd hoped. Nothing about this made sense. The dress reminded you of something you might have worn out in your younger days..Was Val planning some weird 20s fetish night or just attempting to fuck with you? He knew the details of your past, with the exception of Alastor's involvement. Perhaps it was some form of psychological warfare you didn't understand.

Upon closer inspection , the dress was astoundingly quite tasteful. You pulled the item from the box pleased it kept going. Usually if the purchased dress was "too long" it would be cut short before it arrived in your hands, causing you a stressful few hours with your sewing machine fixing seams and hem lines.

You slid of the shell of your dirtied clothes and stepped into the dress. It fit you like a glove. The familiar 1920's silhouette and subtle inclusion of art deco threatened to pull you back into your old habits. It really was a gorgeous dress. The beaded scarlet fabric clung to your hips before slightly flaring at your knees. It sported a neckline adorned with crystals that dipped off of your shoulders and into the sleeves The back of the dress scooped down to your lower back a deeper toned train following it. Despite your otherwise disheveled appearance, you felt beautiful.

You look down at the red fabric pooling behind you, you don't want it to, but your mind begins to shift.

1929: New Orleans: The Bar

Your hands shake more than you wished they would, no matter how many times you sang here it always left you feeling anxious. The music sways in tandem with the bars patrons, mimicking the constant lull of conversation. You began to sing.Your voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and exhilarating cheers with a crystalline ring. You glance over to the bar in view of Alastor. His eyes trapped in a half lidded love led daze, filled with nothing but adoration for you.

You glance back down at your hands. They are covered in black velvet, contrasted by a simple pearl bracelet hanging loosely from your wrist. It was one of the many from Alastor on your birthday earlier that year. You had insisted it was far too much, and he insisted you were making far too big a deal of it. He wanted you to feel appreciated and loved, what better way to accomplish that than with a meaningful gift.

He wasn't fantastic with words when it came to you. His hands craved contact with your own. The sentiment he needed to convey didn't fully exist within the bounds of english, or french for that matter. You were worth more than any riches the world could offer you. He could spend his nights bottling starlight and collecting bits of moon and lay them at your feet, and he still wouldn't feel like it was enough. His mind drifted to your past. You were private with the majority of the details. He had collected the story over time from thoughtless anecdotes you mentioned in passing. He knew life before him hadn't been kind.Your mother had died during your birth, but her face stayed firmly in your grasp. Your father hated you for that reason, and he was not a pacifistic man. He felt you had taken the love of his life and left him alone with nothing more than a portrait you hadn't yet grown into. He had been sickly the majority of your life. The more you grew in likeness to your mother the less he fought to get better. He died when you were only 14, leaving you to fend for your siblings. You had raised them just as much as you raised yourself. If the world wasn't going to gift you a delicate existence. Alastor certainly would be. In that moment he vowed to make sure you never felt worried or lost ever again, he couldn't bare the thought of it.

He was shaken from his thoughts as the song climaxed into a loud jazzy finish. You glanced over at him again with a smile. You stepped down from the stage, the red fabric trailing behind you. You walked across the bar and into his arms. He instinctively wraps around your waist, his hand nestled into your own. The moment is pure ecstasy.

"If I could on pick one sound to hear for the rest of eternity it would be your darling voice mon cher" His honey toned voice whispered into your ear. You looked marvellous but the sound of your voice was entrancing.

Your eyes roll, a satirical air taking over your tone. "How many times did you rehearse that line Al?"

" Very evidently not enough. You've made i clear I needed a bit more rehearsal" His familiar sarcastic attitude evident in his tone. "For such a pretty face you have a hard time accepting a compliment"

You giggle into his chest.He placed a kiss against your forehead. Subconsciously you lean into his touch. You can't help but want to be closer to him. Your arms stretch around his neck effectively pulling him into a hug.

"My my, someones touchy this evening" his distinctive laugh following shortly after. It was the kind of laugh you could hear across a crowded room twenty years in the future and immediately know it was him. your hands travel to either side of his face, cupping it gently. Before you know it, your lips meet his. This kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is imbued with ever ounce of love you have ever felt for each other. His grasp on your waist tightens, pulling you in as close as humanly possible. The dark brown strands of his hair tangle into your hands. The kiss heats up faster than either of you care to admit before you finally register you're in public. He quickly composes himself, as do you. A sly smile stretches across his face. He glances down at your dress, his mind floating aimlessly searching for an excuse to be alone with you. Despite how deeply he loved you, he wasn't the type to display that in public. It felt a bit unsavoury. You were his and his alone.

"Darling, I think you may have torn your dress, during your wonderful performance. Would you allow me to help you fix it in a more, secluded location"

You looked down at your dress not entirely understanding what he meant. He always had your best interest in mind, perhaps he saw something you didn't. Besides, you didn't want to ruin the dress he bought you any further than you already had unknowingly.

"Oh I didn't realise it had torn. Of course, thank you love."

You take his hand in yours and lead him into the small dressing room. It was really just an extra office the owner had put a few mirrors, a changing screen, and vanity into. You stood in front of the taller of the two mirrors attempting to locate the tear.

"Alastor love, I don't see what you mean perhaps it was the ligh-"

Before you can finish your sentence his lips are pressed against your own. You lean into the kiss grasping onto his vest to steady yourself. You're caught in your own personal whirlwind. Your hands are glued against his sepia skin.

He breaks the kiss for a moment kissing the corner of your mouth trailing down your jaw and onto your neck. He sucks lightly against your skin

You're so precious to me y/n" his voice is deeper than it normally was. It held each desire he felt and simultaneously every ounce of adoration.

You let out a soft gasp as he lightly bites the side of your neck. He travels along it as your hands tangle themselves in his hair once more. God you didn't want this to end, but you wanted to feel closer to him. You drag him away from your neck placing your lips against his once more.Your hands trace the outline of his shoulders. His hands explore the curve of your spine and the softness of your waist. He lifts you up and sits you against the vanity. Subconsciously your legs wrap around his waist deepening the kiss. (scream)

"I have never loved someone the way I love you Alastor..thank you for letting me" You breathe out in between kisses.

He wasn't one to let people in. Not truly, he had a public persona and a private one. You were glad to get to know the esteemed radio host outside of the studio. You were so glad he let you seen him the way he was so afraid to be perceived as...Vulnerable.

A/N: LOL IM SORRY THAT ONE WAS KINDA SHORT. Also please let me know it the writing style and lengths are working. I've never really written before so Idk the right way to do this. Thanks for reading :) <3

-Also congrats to me for not using a song as the crutch to come up with a title.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor #im knawing at the bars of my encloser #Me writing Al in the present challenge: IMPOSSIBLE #this is so short im sorry #also was not expecting many people to read these so thank you guys i love you #you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter #youre meeting him and having a big ol fight next chapter i just dont want yall to be happy ig

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it? #yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity. #couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was! #if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

[iodotsys]

So as some of you may be aware, I am a musician. And since I am a musician, I am also insane. So, I decided to write an entire overture for Insane in the Membrane over the course of two days. Enjoy.

#invader zim #dib membrane #yeah i wrote a title credits song for my fanfic so what? #i can do what i want #why create a playlist for your fic when you can just write an entire score instead? #music composition #also yes it follows the storyline like any good overture should #my art #my music #insane in the membrane #iitm

[katewritesss]

Say there's no future for us as a pair And though I may know, I don't care

A homage to one of the sexiest songs in musical theatre with Icemav!

#icemav #top gun #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun 1986 #wicked the musical #as long as you're mine #that song is so them #especially when mav comes back home from deployment and ice is there #now i want to write a fic based off this song for them

[itsbeeble]

Forever and Always

Summary: Kim Mingyu promised to love you forever and always. Why does it feel like that is no longer true?

Genre: angst, lovers to ???

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x gn!reader

WC: 1.5k

Series Masterlist

WARNINGS UNDER CUT

Warnings: hurt no comfort, Mingyu is just cruel in this, idk man they're arguing (mostly mingyu though), this relationship is lowkey toxic actually, reader flinches a lot but not bc she's scared of mingyu

Listen to Forever and Always by Taylor Swift for full effect

A/N: hahaha....haha.....ha.... ANYWAY THANK YOU FAWN FOR BETA READING THIS ILY POOKIE

You’re just finishing dinner when Mingyu walks in the door. Your back is turned at first, already prepping his plate, so you don’t see the exhaustion and the frustration weighing on his large frame when he first walks in. You don’t see the tick in his jaw when he lays his eyes on you, see the annoyance when you finish plating his dinner.  

“I thought you’d be home later,” you turn around to face Mingyu, a warm smile on your face when you approach the table next to him. The food you’ve made smells delicious, but Mingyu ignores that. “I’m glad you’re here now, though.  

Forever and always, right? 

“Can I just...” Mingyu exhales heavily. “I’d like to settle in before we eat, please.” You look at him,  still smiling.  

“Of course! I’ll wait for you-” 

“Don’t wait for me.” His voice comes out harsher than he wants it to and you flinch a bit. “I just...just eat.” 

“But I thought... I just thought we could eat together tonight.” Your voice isn’t quite disappointed, but it’s enough for the last of Mingyu’s patience to fly out the door.  

Forever and always.

~ 

You don’t know how long the argument has been going on. You don’t know how long Mingyu’s been yelling, how long you’ve been trying to voice your defense. Your face is burning from the humiliation of the whole situation, and your body shaking but not with anger.  

"I already told you that I just want to be left alone,” Mingyu speaks through gritted teeth, standing across the room from you. You can hear the rain pounding outside, and you do your best to use it to calm your mind. You’re backed into the corner of the kitchen, eyes wide and teary although your face is dry. You don’t know if you’re shocked, or if you just can’t bring yourself to cry around the man you’d been in love with for the past six years.  

Six years. 

You’d been together for six years and never have you seen your lover, the man you’d promised to love forever and always, this angry.  

“Mingyu, I just want you to eat something,” your voice is trembling and quiet, and you don’t think he hears you.  

“All you do,” he takes a step closer, grabbing the edge of the counter and keeping himself there. He doesn’t move any closer to you than he already is. “Is fucking nag me. All you do is whine about how long your day was, how long it took to cook dinner, to buy groceries. You never fucking stop to really look at me, do you? You never fucking stop to think about how tired I am at the end of the day, and how maybe I just want to be left alone for once. Do you ever stop to think about how fucking annoying you are?”  

Forever and always 

Forever and always 

Forever and always 

Forever 

Always 

Please stop 

Your hands are shaking, sweating, and you lower your gaze to the floor. You can’t even tell if Mingyu is talking to you anymore. Can’t tell if he’s just yelling at this point, venting, waiting for you to break. 

“All I want is just five fucking minutes of peace, but you can’t even give me that, can you? God, you’re fucking useless.”  

Oh. 

~ 

Mingyu doesn’t snap out of it until he hears the front door slam. He doesn’t snap out of it until he sees that you’re gone, your apartment keys still hanging next to the door. It’s oddly quiet now, and he takes a second to breathe. Takes a second to gather his thoughts, and then the full weight of what he just did hits him like a freight train.  

Useless 

Annoying 

Nag

His phone sits in front of him, and he stares at it. The screen is black, and when he turns it on there are no notifications. He has half a mind to call you, to tell you to come back and that he’s sorry. That he doesn’t know why he yelled at you like that, and it isn’t your fault. He wants to call you, to tell you he loves you forever and always.  

The phone remains on the counter, eventually powering off while Mingyu walks to your shared bedroom to lie down. 

Forever and always, he supposed, didn’t always mean forever and always. 

~ 

The rain is relentless, pounding against your skin, soaking you to the bone. Your hair clings to your face, to the back of your neck, and to your shirt. It’s almost ironic how similar it is to the night you met Kim Mingyu. 

It had been a Tuesday, you think, during your senior year of college. You’d forgotten your umbrella and were standing just outside the door of the university library. It was cold and wet, and your body was shaking just as it is now. Mingyu had approached you, and at first, you’d tried to ignore the way he stood next to you. He’d been hesitant, unsure of what to say. 

Do you wanna share my umbrella? 

You’d laughed at that. Of course you laughed. 

How are we both gonna fit under there?

He’d flashed you a crooked smile, holding his arm out to link with yours.  

A risk we’ll have to take if we wanna catch the last bus. You’d smiled back at him. 

Promise you won’t take off without me? 

He had hesitated and you’d punched him. He had laughed. God you were so addicted to hearing that laugh. 

I promise. Another smile, and the corners of his eyes lift. Forever and always. Your nose had scrunched at the statement.  

Awfully bold of you to say to someone you just met. 

I’m a bold person.

Tonight, however, there is no umbrella. There is no Mingyu with his awkward, clumsy steps. There is now laughing as the two of you run to the bus stop. No introductions, no joyous exchanges of phone numbers.  

Phone.

You’d forgotten your phone. Patting the pockets of your pants, you huff. Keys too. Did Mingyu know? Was he waiting for you? Did he care? 

You were sitting on a bench at the bus stop. Rain pelts the glass surrounding you, and you let your body curl in on itself. It’s a miracle you haven’t cried. Maybe your body is too cold- too numb to cry.  

What happened to forever and always? 

~ 

You keep your head down when you knock on the door of your apartment. You’re soaked to the bone, your body still shaking from the argument and the cold of the rain. You wish you’d remembered to grab your keys, but you weren’t exactly worried about coming back when you’d left your home.  

The lock clicks, and your body jolts. The inside of your apartment is warm, you can feel the heat even from the doorway. You can see Mingyu in front of you, but you keep your gaze on the ground. You can’t bear to look at your lover, not when the mental wounds the argument left on you are still open and bleeding.  

Mingyu sighs, and steps to the side so you can enter your apartment. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. It’s agonizing, the walk through the kitchen where he’d been screaming at you just a few hours ago. It’s agonizing walking into your bedroom, knowing he’s trailing behind you and refusing to say anything.  

“I put your dinner in the fridge.” Mingyu is sitting on your bed, watching you but making no moves to help you. He doesn’t ask where you were or if you’re alright and the longer he stays quiet, the more you begin to hate him.  

Something soft and warm touches your shoulders, and you can’t help but curl into it. A blanket, colored with different shades of red. A blanket you’d made years ago and given to Mingyu as a gift. Your hand goes tight around its edge, drawing it tighter around your body. Mingyu’s hand lingers on your back, hesitant as if he wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say.  

“I’m sleeping in the spare room.” You announce, and Mingyu’s hand drops from your back. 

“You’re not even- we're not even going to talk about this?” You turn your head, your soaked body still shaking from the cold. Or maybe from the fight. Maybe both.  

“What’s there to talk about?” You press, the lack of emotion in your voice startling your lover. “You’ve clearly made up your mind about us. About me.”  

Mingyu gnaws on his lip, and you stand there patiently.  

“You know I didn’t mean that, Y/N.” 

“Do I?” Your head tilts. “I thought I...I thought that you cared about me, Gyu.”  

It’s his turn to flinch. 

“I do. I swear I do.” You don’t respond this time. Your back is turned to him again, and you hear a shuddering breath escape him. “Y/N, please look at me.”  

You don’t.  

Mingyu touches your shoulder.  

You step away. 

His hand drops.  

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Mingyu.”  

“Promise?”  

The door to the guest room shuts, and the apartment is quiet once more. A crack of thunder, a sob muffled behind a hand. 

I’m sorry

~

TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @leejihoonownsmyheart

#this is long overdo #sorry yall i promise i'll be better #it also took me so long to write this #i kept switching which song that i wanted to do for it #couldnt decide between angst or fluff #itsbeeble #itsbeeble fics #itsbeeble the eras #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop x reader #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu x reader

[hollisonceagain]

i want to write fic to these songs day 30: hello gloom - satellite

#i want to write fic to these songs #hello gloom

[natjennie]

thinking about how much a time loop ghosts fic would rip like. maybe it's carpe diem right. like imagine cap doesn't reveal his story, he chickens out, the clock strikes midnight no one moves on they dance they go to bed they wake up.

the morning clubs and discussions seem vaguely familiar but, he's been dead almost 80 years, they run into repeating themselves sometimes, it doesn't register as weird. but when robin runs in yelling that there's a pattern to when they move on, cap starts to get confused. maybe robin is just trying again, he thinks it's TODAY instead? but everyone is reacting like this is the first time they've heard it. maybe he dreamed last night? but he's never had such vivid dreams. strange. he's on edge all day, coming up with theories, and everyone who talks to him can tell there's something a little off. but he doesn't rush into things, so he tries his best to do things the same as yesterday and not make anyone suspicious, but keeps an eye out for anything weird. and he has nothing, clock, dance, sleep. maybe it was a weird dream? but here robin comes again and now he knows something is wrong. so then like, who would he go to first? how does he tell the different ghosts?

there's loops upon loops where he tries telling some of them but not others, having to learn the specific things to say to convince them it's happening and to get them to help. there's loops where he goes to alison and loops where he doesn't and loops where he tries staying away from everyone all day and loops where he can quote what everyone is gonna say before they say it and then. he starts to think, is this really any different than being a ghost in the first place? he's so tired and nothing is working and. maybe he should just give up. experiencing this day over and over again isnt functionally any different than experiencing mindless other days over and over again for years on end. and then he starts to question himself. has this happened before and he's just never noticed? where there years in there, before alison, before pat's clubs, when he'd done the same day multiple times and just been so used to the monotony it didn't register?

and he falls into this like hole of grief and fear and confusion and mostly he thinks about havers. about how if he was here, he would know what to do. about how he always knew what to do. and for loops and loops on end, he stops counting, all he does is wish havers was there with him. he grips the swagger stick so hard it snaps and he throws it as far into the forest and as deep into the lake as he can just to watch it reappear in his hands and he thinks about anthony. about what he had, about what he lost, about what he still has to gain. and he thinks that maybe his family deserve to know. it's not that he owes it to them, it's not something being dragged out of him, taken, like everything else. this is something he can give, freely, and maybe, just maybe, it'll start to feel a little lighter.

so he decides, tomorrow, or today, or the same yesterday, or however it works. next loop, he'll tell them. he keeps everything as similar as he can to that first day, in case this doesn't work and he has to start changing variables again, and when the clock starts to chime, he tells them. and he grips the stick over his heart and he's ready.

#ARE YOU LISTENING #i love time loop fics so fucking much #someone make this a full fic i dont want to #i cant write for shit lol but imagine this as a long beautiful fic #like 12k words. all one chapter #a song lyric title. the works. #bbc ghosts #the captain #capvers #carpe diem #my writing #< not really but just in case

[johnslittlespoon]

hahaaa heyyy hiii heyy this clip alone has sent me down a spiral of thinking about these two shotgunning weed (or even just cigs) out in a field off base during the summer on a day off. i'm fine

#i'm not sure we ever see gale smoke tbh i don't think we do #so yk. john convincing gale to shotgun a ciggie because “it's less harsh that way” #i have like three songs in mind to use for fic titles for smth like this too LOL #i have tooooo many ideas i want to write help #buck x bucky #buckbucky #johnslittlespoon brainrot

[fistfuloflightning]

I don’t deserve you

inspo came from here (I’m partial to the deeper version)

#svsss #liushen #liu qingge #shen qingqiu #no thoughts just vibes #I listened to this song on repeat #not really thinking what I was doodling #sorry for anyone not wanting to see sqq cry #not much of a story behind this #though if someone wants to write it let me know! #always looking for good liushen fics 😊 #scum villain #mxtx #my art #svsss art

[bleach-your-panties]

raise your legs, baby girl - izuru kira x chubby!fem!reader

🎀just a little bit of my husband with his lax-ass dom energy. inspired lightly by these old hc's of mine.

🎀warnings: bondage (shibari), thigh-fucking, edging, dirty talk, praise, soft!dom!izuru, reader is a thick gal💦, aftercare, fluff

🎀i wrote this for me, but y'all can read it. with that being said -

⋰❄️WELCOME TO THE THIRD DIVISION三⋱❥

🎀word count: 2.5k

▶️do what it do - jamie foxx

you know what, imma make it do what it do, baby

----

One thing that you'd learned about your husband Izuru was that he liked to tease you - sometimes to the point of tears.

When you met him, you found out very quickly how responsible he was and how seriously he took his job as Lieutenant. It couldn't be helped after he'd been abandoned by his former captain, Gin Ichimaru, with the weight of the entire Third Division placed solely upon his shoulders.

You had to say that you were very impressed with his impromptu leadership over the Third Division, which is what prompted you to join after graduating from the Shin'o Academy.

With your skills, it wasn't long before you ended up serving under him as the Third Seat of the Third Division. A few casual encounters here and there and the two of you quickly became enamored with one another. Soon you'd ended up underneath him in multiple other ways.

You've been married for six months now and the two of you were still very much in the honeymoon phase. Sometimes Izuru has bad mental health days, but you were always close by his side to help him work through the turmoil swirling inside his mind.

Before he got with you, he looked upon himself undesirably as a romantic partner (if his parents were still alive he had wondered if they'd be disappointed in him for not having settled down yet.)

The captain position was currently still vacant as of now, but due to your close relationship with the Lieutenant of the First Division, you'd been hearing about how a multitude of recommendations had been put in for Izuru to become the new Captain of the Third Division.

So, to celebrate the inevitable good news, you pulled a pale blue, sheer lingerie set out of your dresser - one that you’d purposefully hidden from Izuru to use for this special occasion.

After peeling off your shinigami robes and taking a nice, steamy, hot shower, you did your usual night routine and put your hair up in a cute style that you thought Izuru might like. 

You’d gotten your nails done with Mashiro earlier on in the week - white French-tipped duck nails with one black statement finger and little foil butterflies in gradient shades of blue decorating the tips.

A pair of simple, white, peep-toe heels with bows on the back finished off your look and you sauntered into the living area to wait for Izuru to get home from work.

Ice cubes clinked against one another in the bucket you’d set the sake out to chill in and low, soft music played from the strange contraption Shuuhei had gifted you both for a wedding present - a ‘CD player’ he called it.

Soon, the wooden door to your little home was slid open and your handsome husband stepped inside. 

After setting an armful of folders and notebooks down, his eyes caught sight of you standing there, the orangish glow of the wall lamps illuminating your shapely figure.

“Welcome home, ‘Zu.”

Those cornflower eyes almost popped out of his head.

“Hello, love…what's all this for?” Said eyes trailed over the darkened atmosphere, sake on the counter, and those lights that made you appear as a seductively sinful angel standing before him.

“To celebrate your promotion.” 

Those heels clumped across the wooden floor in tandem with Izuru’s heartbeat inside his chest.

As his eyes raked over your form, Izuru thanked God for Rangiku always dragging you along on her shopping sprees, even if it meant his wallet had to suffer the consequences.

Even though you were looking like a full-course meal in front of him, the mention of said promotion made his shoulders slump visibly.

“Ah, yeah. They still want me to take the captain’s exam even though I already have over half the necessary recommendations.”

You stood facing him now, the height from your heels putting your face right underneath his chin. Cupping it with your hand, you rubbed your fingers over his cheek in a loving manner.

“Don’t worry about that, ‘Zu. You’re going to ace that exam. You did graduate from the Academy with top marks, after all.” 

He could only smile while you stroked his cheek and rubbed your thumb over his jawline and back up through the blonde hairs around his ears.

His mouth moved to close over yours in a soft kiss that soon turned passionate and needy.

Your tongues danced in a fiery tango as he wrapped those strong arms around you and pulled you to the kitchen.

----

now, baby, i just wanna take your freakin' clothes off

kiss your body while i take your freakin' clothes off

leave them heels on, while i take your clothes off

leave them lights on, let me see you go off

ooo-oo, baby, that's my body callin' your name

ooo-oo, and baby, that's your body doin' the same

----

That's how you would end up with your bare ass cheeks pushed up onto the kitchen counter while Izuru stood between your spread legs with the palm of his left hand gently resting against your throat. The cold metal of his platinum wedding band pressed against your jugular as he curled his fingers around your neck.

He pulled loose the pale periwinkle ribbon that tied his blond hair, gripped your wrists in one hand, held them above your head, and tied them together with the silk material. With his teeth, he bit the end off and spit it out onto the kitchen floor.

“Perfect.”

His cool hands groped the flesh of your thighs, pinching and squeezing it between his deft fingers.

“Lift your legs up and wrap them around me.”

He pressed you further against the counter and rutted his growing hard-on against your inner thigh.

“‘Zu..baby…”

“Yes?” One eyebrow went up as he waited for you to finish your thought then his eyes trailed down to the steadily growing wet spot at the front of your thong.

"Now, what do you wanna do? You wanna get fucked or do you wanna get licked up? Either way, I need you to keep these thighs up for me, baby.”

He slapped one and you yelped at the sudden impact. Leaning over you and staring you down, those blue eyes were hypnotizing you to the point that the words stuck inside your voice box. 

“Hmm, what's that, darling? Come on and use your words for me..” 

“I..I..”

“Too slow. You know what, I have a better idea for you, bluebell.”

In the next millisecond, he was gripping your restrained wrists and flipping you around. A loud breath and soft curses passed through his parted lips when the motion resulted in your juicy ass cheeks pressed against his crotch.

“Fuck…”

Reaching into one of his hakama pockets, he pulled out another ribbon - a spare that he kept for his hair - and retied your wrists so they rested against your lower back.

“Now, keep your head down. Don't you dare fucking lift it.” 

Izuru pulled his hard dick from his pants and you could feel it slap against the crease of your thighs and oh how badly you wanted to thrust back on it.

“Don’t even think about it. Be good and stay still while I fuck your thighs, angel.”

----

so act right, gone show me

back it up, now put it on me

act right, gone show me

back it up, now put it on me

now what you wanna do?

you wanna get high? you wanna get fired up?

what you wanna do?

you wanna get sexed? you wanna get tied up?

get your rodeo ride up; baby girl, lift them thighs up

i think you better wise up,' cause i'm about to rise up

----

“A-ahh..”

Izuru’s soft moans were so erotic coupled with the wet, smacking sounds of him fucking the opening made by your thick thighs. The arousal ran between them lubricating his dick enough for him to slip it in and out of your thigh creases as if it were your pussy.

You learned early on in your sex life that Izuru has an inconceivable amount of patience.

When he felt himself getting closer to a release, he pulled you off of the counter and into your shared bedroom.

As you kneeled on the tatami mat, your nose kept bumping against his inner thighs and blonde pubes as you tried to get your husband's cock in your mouth but his grip on your neck held you just out of reach of his pretty, pink-flushed tip.

He was edging both you and himself. After the day he'd had today, he'd be damned if he came anywhere except for the inside of your pussy.

Curling his long fingers around your jaw, he brought your head up for you to stare into his crystal-blue eyes.

“Are you ready to be good and tell me what you want me to do to you?”

You nodded your head in his large palm.

“Want you to make me feel good, Izu’. Please fuck me, baby.”

—-

now baby holla at me, tell me what you're missin'

i can put in work in every position

from the kitchen table to the bedroom floor

ooo-oo, baby, that's my body callin' your name

ooo-oo, and baby, that's your body doin' the same

so act right, gone show me

back it up, put it on me

act right, gone show me

back it up, put it on me

—-

“There, gorgeous. So pretty. The perfect little present.”

He exhaled a breath, eyes wandering the perfect pattern of the ribbon he’d so skillfully tied you with. Another one of his creatively hidden talents - shibari.

“Hold those legs open right there for me, baby.”

He dipped his head down and you let out a shrill cry when he began licking your warm, creamy folds. Back and forth his tongue dipped and lips sucked your pussy while he caressed your inner thighs. The knuckle of his left ring finger slid dangerously close to your clit, making you twitch.

Tears accumulated in your eyes both from your muscles burning and  from Izuru messily eating you out. He always made it hurt so good.

"Zu', I…can't hold them anymore, I's-starting to hurt!"

"Hmm?” He leaned away from your pussy with his chin glistening in your slick. 

“Guess I should have tied them behind your head then." 

—-

now what you wanna do?

you wanna get high? you wanna get fired up?

what you wanna do?

you wanna get sexed? you wanna get tied up?

get your rodeo ride up; baby girl, lift them thighs up

i think you better wise up,' cause i'm about to rise up

—-

With a kiss to your left knee, he sat back on his knees, caging your spread-out thighs between his pale, muscled ones. Your legs were brought up to rest on his shoulders as he demanded you to hold them right there.

Soft swishing was heard as he discarded himself of his shihakusho.

Finally, he sunk that fat cockhead inside your waiting hole. Your thighs trembled as he instantly went deep. Already, you were out of breath and he hadn't even moved yet. The result of him edging you both beforehand.

Izuru just kept stealing your breath as he fucked you with slow, deep strokes; each one with more force behind it than the last. He bent his head and let his lips graze against your knees, gently kissing each one as he stirred your insides up.

“I-Izuru!” 

His name fell from your lips in broken whines, You couldn’t do anything but keep repeating it over and over again as he rocked into you, making the bed shake and headboard slam against the wall.

—-

your body, show me how you use it

we gone pop some champagne 

and listen to some music

and once we get our clothes off

wrap your legs around my shoulders

and it’s gone be just like i told ya

baby i’m gone work you over

and over, and over, and over again

so what you wanna do?

—- 

“Oooo,’Zuru!”

“Fuck yes, Y/N…oh my God…”

Izuru had shifted your positions now so that you were riding him cowgirl-style while he held your bound wrists behind your back. He made you bounce on his dick wildly, amusing him very much since he had all of the control right now.

“Tell me…tell me -s-shit! - tell me you want me to cum inside your pussy. Say it for me.”

“I want you to cum inside my pussy, baby! Please, ‘Zuru, I need you to fill me up so badly! I need you!”

He had already started cumming before you even got all the words out - the way your pussy gripped and clenched around him had him whining your name in that lovely, smooth baritone of his and spurting his thick, hot seed right up against your womb.

“Shit shit shit shit-FUuuuCK!

With a hand on the back of your neck and one last thrust that had you seeing multiple galaxies, he emptied his balls completely. Your exhausted body began to slump forward and Izuru caught you in his arms. He laid you against his chest and began to untie your bindings.

“You did so well, angel. So good and perfect for me, as always. My perfect Y/N.”

—-

now what you wanna do?

you wanna get high? you wanna get fired up?

what you wanna do?

you wanna get sexed? you wanna get tied up?

get your rodeo ride up; baby girl, lift them thighs up

i think you better wise up,' cause i'm about to rise up

—-

Izuru always made sure to give you the best aftercare whenever the two of you were experimenting with different kinks in the bedroom.

He made sure to clean you off really well, change you into a pair of comfortable pajamas, and make you some lavender tea to help you sleep. 

Your head rested on his chest now as the two of you snuggled beneath the covers.

“‘Zuzu…I really am so proud of you for everything that you’ve accomplished. You’re going to make a great Captain.”

The soft rise and fall of his chest was quickly lulling you to sleep, but you did hear his next statement.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I really appreciate that, but I don’t think I could be that great of a Captain if I don’t have a great Lieutenant by my side.”

“Why would you say something like-oh. OH.”

He just chuckled at your realization and kissed your neck.

“I love you so much, Y/N Kira.”

“I love you too, Captain Kira.”

—-

i’m gonna make it do what it do tonight

do what it do tonight

do what it do tonight

I’m gonna make it do what it do tonight

do what it do tonight

do what it do tonight

----

💗💗🍡°my fics: ©bleach-your-panties 2024. do NOT steal, copy, repost, alter, or upload my works onto other sites. comments appreciated. reblogs always welcome.

#kira izuru x reader #izuru kira x reader #kira izuru smut #izuru kira smut #bleach izuru kira x reader #izuru kira #bleach izuru kira #bleach izuru #x plus sized reader #x chubby reader #heard this song and said YEP #this is it - this is the ONE #the hair ribbon thing came from a fanart i saw on pinterest #my knees were shaking while writing this #i'm dizzy #gunna go cry cuz this isn't real #started writing in the drafts #had to finish in docs cuz tumblr wants to give me a heart attack #💗💗🍡°my fics #💗💗🍡°bleach masterlist #dividers: cafekitsune #byp🌹

[valeriianz]

You are an obsession, you're my obsession Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

“Hello, Hob,” a low, sultry, and achingly familiar voice speaks behind him, cutting through the heavy bass reverberating off the walls and straight through Hob’s chest, lighting him up.

Turning, Hob finds– who he’d been referring to as– his stranger behind him, close enough to reach out and touch. They’re in the middle of the dance floor, bodies packed and grinding all night, but somehow they’ve given them room now.

Hob was dreaming, he was aware of it almost immediately. He’s been thrown back into the 1980s, one of Hob’s favorite periods of the 20th century, and in a nightclub no less. The music loud enough to penetrate skin, feeling the twangy synth pop in his bones. Everyone around him dressed in every color of the rainbow, over accessorized in neon hoop earrings and bangles, leg warmers, windbreakers, and mesh patterns. 

Hob’s dreams often took him back in time, and he wondered what prompted this. Though as Hob often did in his dreams, instead of considering why, he simply indulged. The music wasn’t anything particular, perhaps nothing was actually playing and it was all in his head, but Hob had felt the push and pull of everyone around him and followed along like a buoy at sea.

And now, feeling drunk off the sticky sweet air in the room, Hob grins as he boldly steps into his stranger’s space and slips both arms around his middle, pulling so his skinny, pale, gorgeous friend is flush against him.

He’d been dancing with strangers all night, shadows with indeterminate faces, allowing them to trace patterns on his skin, grip his shoulders or tug on his shirt. Hob hadn’t been dancing or even hanging around loud bars or clubs in decades, maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he missed it. Missed the anonymity of it all, getting high off everyone else’s pleasure and succumbing to it. So it made sense, as Hob felt himself getting hot, his skin prickling, that his imagination would wander, drifting to his perfect stranger. The only constant in his life, and someone who frequented Hob’s dreams often, especially as their centennial meetings came around or passed.

Though this iteration of his friend appeared distinctly… solid. He was dressed in that long black coat and skinny jeans from their last meeting (where he’d apologized, apologized! And called Hob a friend), his black hair gently tousled as before.

Hob paid it no mind as his tongue finally became useful and spoke for him.

“Hello, stranger.” he tried his best to mimic his friend’s deep voice and giggled at himself, cataloging the twitch of amusement in his usual stony face.

“You were thinking about me.” He spoke again, choosing to not point out how Hob currently had his arms ensnared around him and swaying them back and forth. “In a place like this.”

His stranger cast his gaze about the room and Hob noticed, in the pulsing lights, his eyes were black, all the way to the sclera, not the crystal blue that Hob had become so acquainted with. It was startling, and as the strobe lights began to flicker, Hob watched his friend’s eyes shimmer as well, like stars dancing in the night sky.

“I’m always thinking about you,” Hob spoke, transfixed. He hadn’t meant to say that, but fuck it, this was a dream and he’d said and done much worse with his oldest friend, to this stranger, in the comfort of his own head. “Even if I don’t know your bloody name yet.”

Those piercing eyes focused back on Hob and he felt himself physically wobble, holding onto his friend now for support.

“Oh, I am aware.” Hob caught his breath at the genuine smile his friend gave him, much like the one in the New Inn just days ago. “But you do know my name, you must, in order to summon me like this.”

Hob huffed, impatient. His friend’s hands were still resolutely at his side, unmoving even as Hob squeezed and swayed with a little more force.

“Sure, Dream Stranger,” Hob’s arms eased up just enough to slot his hands against bony hips and pull, making him stagger forward. Hob smirked, elated at the absolute shock reflected in the man’s expression.

“Now get with the program,” Hob leaned in, touching his nose to his stranger’s, the slight gasp it caused going straight to Hob’s cock. “And put your hands on me.”

He didn’t pull away, which was good. This dream had been derailed long enough. And finally, finally Hob’s dream lifted his arms and surrounded Hob’s face in his hands.

Big hands, Hob realized as his entire body went still. Big fucking hands, with long fingers, cool to the touch, and slipping back into his hair. Hob felt like he’d been electrocuted, his face forced forward, pupils shaking as he met his stranger dead on, getting lost in the inky black atmosphere of his impalpable eyes.

“Ah,” Hob eloquently said, swallowing hard. “This is different.”

“Is it?” His stranger gave a smirk of his own, lips turning up sharp at the corners, like they could cut. “How do these dreams normally proceed?”

Slowly, like pieces fitting into a puzzle, understanding trickles in Hob’s brain and his eyes go wide, his heart stopping before kicking back up in double time.

“Oh, you’re– really here, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. Hob would feel more embarrassed about this if his ancient friend wasn’t holding him at eye level, scrutinizing in an obnoxiously amusing way.

“Yes.”

Hob wets his lips and doesn’t miss how the galaxy flicks down to watch the motion. “And your name is…”

“Dream.” His fingers tangle further into Hob’s hair, gripping it and causing Hob’s jaw to drop with a not-so-quiet groan.

He leans in close, cold lips brushing Hob’s jaw and making every hair stand on end. 

“I would appreciate it if you used it now, Hob Gadling.”

Hob’s eyes flutter shut, his fingers pressing on narrow hips hard enough to bruise. “Dream?”

“Mm…” Dream purrs, like a cat content, as he nuzzles his way up Hob’s neck to speak hotly in his ear. “Again.”

Hob gasps like the air has been ripped from him as Dream bites the top of his ear, sending a bolt of electricity down his spine and causing his hips to twitch involuntarily.

“Dream.” Hob tilts his head, exposing his neck as Dream’s lips drag along the stubble there, licking and nibbling as he goes. “Oh my god–”

“Again.” The demand is punctuated with one hand moving from Hob’s hair to his backside, groping roughly and setting Hob on fire as he feels the confined outline of Dream’s arousal press against his own straining erection.

“Fuck–” Hob releases Dream’s hips and holds onto his face instead, pulling it from his abused neck and forcing their mouths together.

The kiss is the most grounding Hob has ever felt, but also fleeting, delicate like a cloud. Hob holds on like Dream could vanish, melt into the floorboards or dissolve into a pile of sand– sand! God, Hob was an idiot.

Dream’s tongue invades Hob’s mouth like a cavalry, drowning Hob. Bites his bottom lip like a brand, a claim, drawing blood and making Hob shake with want. The dance floor suddenly becomes vacant, people vanishing, music filtering out like a volume knob had been turned down. Hob’s hands settle on Dream’s shoulders and push, walking them backwards until Dream’s back connects with a wall and Hob thrusts his entire body onto him. The impact forces a cough of surprise from Dream and Hob likes it, elated to elicit any kind of reaction from his friend.

“You make me crazy,” Hob bites out, pressing his own fingers against Dream’s throat and up into his silky soft hair, grabbing it and watching his friend to see how his eyes glint something hot and dangerous. “You know that?”

“Would you demonstrate it for me?” Dream’s lips curl, enticing and provoking, daring Hob to say yes. To take Dream apart and show him every fantasy he’s ever conjured up. To act on every impure thought Hob’s ever had, every fleeting glance or touch turned purposeful and laden with desire.

Hob would take Dream apart, if that’s what he wished. And here, in his dream, anything was possible, and Hob intended to keep him here as long as he could, letting Dream into his darkest whims and satisfactions. Perhaps he already knew, could feel it in Hob, the way Dream made him ache, the way he made him hunger. 

Slipping his fingers through Dream’s belt loops, Hob pulled as he rolled his hips, connecting their fronts and knocking his head back with the bolt of pleasure. Dream’s hands fisted into his shirt and held on as they met again and again.

“Hob–” Dream crooned, his mouth at his collarbone.

“Yes,” Hob finally answered, his head coming down to watch Dream, seduced by the exploding cosmos in his eyes. “I would show you everything.”

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream x hob #inspired by the song Obsession by Animotion #well this got out of hand #this was just gonna be them dancing #i wanted hob to goad dream into it and it be awkward and funny #mostly i just wanted to see dream stiff as a board and hob laughing at him #and then i fucking wrote this lol #not that im complaining #i still want to write them being silly and dancing #also #HAPPY SANDMAN RENEWAL AHHH #my writing #edit: tumblr ate my Read More break and its already been reblogged without it ahh #oh well #as long as youre okay with a 1.5k fic post on your blog #without a page break lol #*self consciousness trickles in*