#fluffbruary

[justanobsessedpan]

It was his scent- just behind his ear, and the way he made toast with jam. The little things that made Sherlock's heart swell.

Day 2 of @fluffbruary

Much love <3

@totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @dontfuckmylifewtf @sussexinchelsea @loki-lock @topsyturvy-turtely @matixsstuff @ohlooktheresabee @boredsushi @ohmrshudsontookmyskull @nathan-no @astudyin221b @oetkb12 @psychosociogentleman @darkkitty1208 @zira-and-crowley @beesholmes @mydogwatson @liv-olive-oliver @tiverr @peanitbear @sunshineinyourmind @a-victorian-girl

(If I somehow missed you or you want to be tagged, just tell me!)

[adealiz]

Belated @fluffbruary piece (April prompts: walk, kid) The last one I'll ever do. (that was a blatant lie)

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

For the @fluffbruary in June Prompt: bookshop

[to-thelakes]

wrapped up

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after coming back from the bar, frank takes care of you with a hot shower and wrapping you up in blankets.

warnings; fluff, domestic fluff, domestic frank castle, self-indulgent, showering together

notes; hello hello! so this is my day 8 fic for fluffbruary, day 9 is partially written and i have a few ideas for 10 and 11 but i'm back in uni tomorrow so whether i will get anything done is really anyone's guess! but here's day 8. this originally was going to be written differently but since yesterday was really not the one for me, i wrote it more self-indulgently because i needed that frank castle lovin'! so here's domestic frank looking after reader <3

ao3

It was meant to be a fun night out but it had ended in disaster. You were also frozen to the bone. Your jacket did very little to protect you from the blustery winds and despite taking a cab, you were still freezing. By the time that you got into your apartment, your teeth were chattering. 

Frank was cooking in the kitchen when you came inside, arms wrapped around yourself. Your eyes were red and teary from the crying at the bar but you were fine now. You were so emotionally strung out that it really didn’t matter anymore.

“Hey,” Your voice was hoarse as you closed the apartment door behind you. Frank glanced back, a smile spreading across his face at your sudden appearance. You hung your jacket up and kicked off your shoes before walking over to him. He was stirring a pot.

“How was it?” He asked. You shrugged, not really in the mood to speak about it.

“Awful,” You admitted. You wrapped your arms around his waist, snuggling into his back. A frown formed on his lips and he shivered at the feeling of your cold skin against his. “You’re so cold, sweetheart,” He said after a beat. You let out a grunt of agreement but you were honestly more than content to stay here with Frank, pressed up against him. A contented sigh left your lips and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, “Gotta let this simmer, let’s get you a shower, hm?” He suggested. You let out a grumble of annoyance before pulling your arms away from him. There was a begrudging acceptance but Frank knew you and knew that you would have rather stayed pressed against him for the rest of the evening.

“You’re coming in with me,” You declared as you wandered over to the bathroom. Frank chuckled but nodded his head.

“Yes, ma’am.” A smile couldn’t help but break out across your face and once you had both entered into the bathroom, you stripped down. The cute top and jeans you had been wearing for the night were discarded and Frank warmed the shower up while you wiped your make-up off. The mascara had already smudged and some of it had come off due to your tears in the bar so you were glad to be rid of it.

Frank wrapped his arms around you, naked body pressed against yours as you used a cotton pad to wipe down your eyes. He just watched your reflection, admiring you as you went through your usual routine. It was only when you were done that he let go of you. Then, the two of you stepped into the steamy hot shower.

Frank let you get under the spray first and you tilted your face to be underneath it. The water rushed down your face before you pushed it back into your hair and turned around. Before you had the chance to, Frank’s hands had come up to push the water off your closed eyelids. He then leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Y’so pretty,” He mumbled against your lips. A grin split across your face and you opened your eyes to look into his. There was something so soothing about being here. After tonight, after what had happened at the bar, you wanted to be with him. It made you feel a little more sane. You tugged him under the spray with you, water dripping down both of your bodies as you leant into him. His hand moved to cradle your back, holding you against him.

It took everything in you to stop yourself from sobbing. You knew that he wouldn’t mind but you didn’t want to have to think about it. You just wanted to be happy with him and you wanted to talk about it with Frank but not right now. It would make you angry and you didn’t want to be angry. You just wanted to be here with Frank, with your boyfriend and everything would be okay.

“Where’s your body wash?” You asked against his damp skin. Your head tilted up and he nodded his head towards the edge of the tub where all your products were. A grin spread across your face and you stepped back from him, reaching out towards it.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” His eyebrow was raised as he watched you pick it up. You then flicked the cap open and were about to pour some gel into your hand but his stopped you.

“Using your shower gel,” You responded, giving him a cheeky grin. He shook his head and grabbed the bottle from your hand, “Hey,” The frown quickly took over your face and he poured some into his hand. The sting of rejection began to seep back in and you felt the tears begin to prick at your eyes again.

“Turn around,” He instructed. You tilted your head, giving him a curious look before you followed his instructions. You weren’t under the spray of water anymore and then you felt his hands on your shoulders. He spread the shower gel along your shoulders before trailing his hands down your back. You melted. You were pretty sure you would have melted into a puddle if that didn’t defy the laws of the universe.

His fingers dug into your back, massaging your shoulders while lathering the gel up against your back. Your head fell backwards, a soft groan of pleasure escaping your lips. Frank smiled softly and leant forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Gotta take care of my baby,” He mumbled in your ear. You grinned and turned your head around so you could capture his lips in a kiss. His hands moved from your shoulders to your hips, letting you decide how long you wanted to stay like this. It was a soft kiss, tender and it made you breathless. You were panting when you broke away and you leant down, pressing a kiss to his chest before you turned back around.

His hands left you and he squirted some more gel onto his hands and then began to spread it across your stomach and up your chest. He ran his hands down your arms, lathering up every inch of your body with all the love and affection you needed in that moment. He was able to read you perfectly and by the time he was done, you felt so relaxed. All the tension, anxiety and anger had slipped away into happiness. 

You slipped back under the spray and Frank let you wash away the gel as he began to apply some to himself. You frowned, ready to argue with him but before you could even get a word in, he told you to just wash yourself off. You wanted to help him, you wanted to give him all the attention that he had given you. But Frank was a selfless lover, sometimes.

Once you had both washed up, he wrapped you up in a fluffy towel. You both dried off before walking to the bedroom and changing into your comfortable pyjamas.

“When is dinner ready?” You asked as you followed Frank back into the main room of the apartment. He glanced at the clock.

“Not long, just relax f’me, yeah?” You nodded in response to his words. There was no way you could argue with that tone and so you plopped yourself down on the sofa. The shower had significantly warmed you up and the emotions from tonight had been washed down the drain with sudsy water. But you were still cold.

As you curled up on the sofa, Frank could hear you shivering every few minutes. So, once he had checked on the sauce that still needed a minute or so to finish simmering, he headed back to the bedroom and brought out a stack of blankets. You glanced up at him as he walked over, fluffy stack in hand.

“Sit up f’me, sweetheart,” He requested and you followed. He then began to wrap you up in layers of blankets. You couldn’t help but chuckle as he made sure they were all wrapped securely around you. It was a warm cocoon and seeing Frank smile at you made it feel more loving than silly. Though you still felt silly.

“How am I supposed to eat?” You muttered. He rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss against your head.

“Stick your arms out, shit, I dunno, but I gotta keep you warm,” He retorted. You couldn’t help but bark a laugh at his response. You adjusted your position slightly and were able to get your hands to stick out from the cocoon of blankets. The air was so cold but you grabbed onto Frank’s hips and pulled him down into you.

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips before capturing them in a kiss. It was soft at first, closed-mouth kisses against each other before you ran your tongue along his bottom lip. He let your tongue slip into his mouth and you moved your hands to dig into his hair. The smell of him was surrounding you and you felt at peace for the first time since you had left for work that morning. Frank made everything so much better and you didn’t want to stop kissing him.

But then he pulled back, “I wanna keep kissin’ you, baby, but dinner’s gonna burn.” You pouted up at him but he gave you one last kiss to placate you before he walked back over to the kitchen. You switched the TV on and curled up under the mountains of blankets as you watched the crappy reality show on the TV and listened to the sound of Frank cooking.

Frank always seemed to know exactly what he needed to be and despite everything, despite everything, he was there for you. It made you love him so much.

<3

[ninsletamain]

Fluffbruary Day 6: tie | embarrassment | dessert

My contribution to RebelCaptain Fluffbruary PLUS @quarantineddreamer's super ultra amazing fic addition below the cut!!!

The lines of code on the screen were no longer making sense. Somewhere between coffees 4 and 5 of the day they had slipped from Jyn’s grasp, gone from familiar symbols to something more akin to ancient hieroglyphics–as sure a sign as any that it was long-past time for her to take a break from her assignment. 

Reaching her arms skyward–tight knots in the muscles of her shoulders and along her spine protesting–Jyn glanced blearily at the alarm clock that perched neatly on the corner of the desk. 

Shit. Was that really the time? She scrambled to her feet, socks slipping on the linoleum floor, and threw her hair quickly into a bun. (Or what she hoped would pass for one anyways.)

Pants. I need pants. Jyn cast about the room, throwing the covers of the bed back, checking over the back of the roller-chair she’d spent the day–no, longer than that apparently–glued to, but found nothing. 

She could have sworn she had at least dropped a pair of sweatpants at the end of the bed at some point…

Cassian must have tidied up before he left (the neat freak); she hadn’t even noticed. That happened sometimes: the computer consuming her when she was locked onto a particular idea. But it shouldn’t have happened today. Today she had planned to wrap up her coursework early, surprise him… 

Okay screw the pants, Jyn decided, marching from the room towards the kitchen with all the determination of a soldier approaching the battlefield.

(If a soldier’s uniform was your boyfriend’s oversized, university sweatshirt and the fight ahead was the arduous task of preparing a meal.)

It took her more than a few tries to find everything–despite how organized Cassian kept his kitchen cabinets–but before too long Jyn was staring down at the black, glinting surface of a flawlessly seasoned cast iron pan and the looming depths of a large pot, a box of spaghetti, its matching jar of sauce, and an assortment of meat and vegetables thrown on the counter beside them. 

“I’ve got this,” Jyn muttered to herself, eyeing the recipe she’d taped to the fridge like it might grow fangs and snap at her. (Or catch fire and nearly burn the place down as had happened on her most recent foray into chefdom). “You’ve hacked into government systems before,” she continued. “This will be easy compared to that. A piece of cake, or a pot of pasta.” Hopefully anyways. 

She checked the oven clock. If she stood any chance of getting this done before Cassian (Impossibly-Punctual) Andor came home she had to start now. 

The empty apartment should have been quiet, peaceful. Instead, it suddenly seemed impossibly loud, noises swelling in her ears the longer she stood staring at the array of ingredients and tools––footsteps from the neighbor above, the distant rumble of a washing machine next door, the clicking of the fridge beside her, all clamoring in some insane harmony. 

The longer she stood there waiting (for what, she had no idea) the more power the sounds seemed to hold, quick to dredge up each and every anxious thought she had been so diligently shoving to the furthest corners of her mind since Cassian had told her of his plans to travel to Yavin…

When he cooked, Cassian always had music playing. Maybe that would help. Drown out the worry and the fear.

Jyn pulled her phone from the pocket of the red hoodie and tapped a playlist at random. Something upbeat began playing, muffled through the fabric as she tucked the phone back into the pocket, rolled up the too-long sleeves of the sweatshirt, and drew a deep breath. “Alright, here goes nothing…”

Turning down the hallway that led to his apartment, Cassian smelled something…interesting. 

He tried to pin down what it was. Starch, yes. Tomatoes, yes. Onions and garlic, most likely. But then there were other unexpected notes, the heat of what might have been chili powder tickling at his nostrils, growing stronger with each step closer he got to his door, and maybe the cheese he was smelling was parmesan or pecorino? The combination wasn’t exactly bad, just off–out of balance. 

He thought for sure it was one of the neighbors; maybe Mrs. McCleod experimenting again–after all, she had stopped him just last week to ask him about his favorite market for finding fresh produce.

But as he passed by Mrs. McCleod’s apartment, he noticed the crack under the door was dark, a small pile of mail collecting beneath her welcome mat. She was probably away visiting her niece again. Which meant that the smell was most likely emanating from the door at the end of the hall.

His door. 

Cassian tugged his tie looser, a warmth kindling in his stomach, a smile slowly spreading across his face; Jyn. 

He’d insisted she should stay at his apartment while he was gone–enjoy some solitude away from distracting roommates and loud neighbors–but he hadn’t been entirely certain she would take him up on it. She’d given him a strange look at the suggestion (despite the fact that after nearly a year of dating, she seemed to spend more time in his apartment than her own) and returned to her keyboard, completely absorbed in the endless numbers and symbols flashing wildly across the computer screen at her command.

The reaction hadn’t been a total shock to him. Jyn had been unusually quiet ever since he’d first mentioned his job interview in Yavin. He’d tried to tell himself she was just preoccupied with the workload associated with the final semester before she earned her degree, but deep down he knew that she was likely asking herself the same questions as he was: If I get this job, what happens to us? 

Cassian reached into his suit pocket for his key, twisted it in the lock, and slowly opened the door, his eyes tearing up at the overwhelming burn of capsaicin in the air. Dropping his backpack by the door, he followed the sound of hissing steam, music, and occasional cursing into the kitchen. 

It had been just over a day since he’d seen her, but even so, Cassian had spent the plane ride home longing for the moment when he could wrap his arms tight around her again, kiss her until they were both oxygen deprived and gasping for air. 

He’d envisioned a quick, eager reunion. Unable to hold himself back from rushing towards her; clumsy, grabbing hands and awkward clashing of teeth. 

But then he saw her: standing in his kitchen with her hair wild atop her head, dancing from the stovetop to a nearby drawer; humming along to the song playing faintly in the background as she poked uncertainly at a pan of sauteed vegetables and shot a quick glance at a boiling pot of water–and all he could think to do was lean his shoulder into the doorframe and stare, his breath catching in his chest with a fierce and sudden ache. 

Cassian knew he was helplessly, hopelessly lost–had known it for a while–but it had never been more apparent to him than in that moment, hovering at the threshold. He was certain that if he did nothing else for the rest of life but watch her, he’d still die the happiest man on earth. 

She’d decided to borrow his favorite sweatshirt while he was away–red, well-worn, with Ferrix University emblazoned across the front. As she rose on her tiptoes to reach into the spice cabinet, the bottom of the sweatshirt rose too, revealing the faintest glimpse of black panties, serving in sharp contrast to the perfect, pale curve of her ass. 

The sight inspired a different kind of ache. Cassian made his way across the kitchen, and placed his hands on Jyn’s shoulders. Somehow, the only words he could seem to find were, “You’re cooking.”

A string of swear words fell out of her mouth in quick succession. “I could’ve stabbed you,” she grumbled, even as she set down the knife she was holding to lean backwards into him. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’m surprised I managed to.”

He felt her shoulders rise and fall against him. “I was distracted.” 

“I can see that,” he mused. “You’re cooking. You hate cooking.”

He could just make out the faint flush that rose in Jyn’s cheeks as she glanced back at him, her hair tickling his chin. “I do hate it,” she agreed, “but I figured you’d be hungry and…well, I don’t hate you.” 

A soft laugh escaped him, “What a relief.”

“Shut up.”

“No really,” he said, pulling her closer. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Do you want food or not?” Her scowl was made significantly less believable by the smile catching quickly at the corners of her mouth. 

Cassian gave a considerate hum. His stomach had been rumbling as he stepped off the plane, but now a different kind of hunger was taking hold. His skin was hot beneath his suit where Jyn’s body pressed against his own; all he could seem to think of was her in his sweatshirt–in only his sweatshirt. 

But Jyn seized his brief lapse of silence as an opportunity to change subjects. “So…How’d the interview go?” she asked lightly, though her muscles went tight as she dipped a wooden spoon in the red liquid that bubbled on the stove in front of her.

He watched as she blew steam away from the spoon before bringing it to her mouth to taste and wincing. “The interview was fine,” he murmured, pressing (what he hoped she would as) a reassuring kiss to the top of her head.

The smile had already vanished from Jyn’s face. “You think you got the job then?”

Cassian moved his hand slowly up and down her arm, earlier ideas already forgotten. “They made me an offer,” he admitted quietly. 

“They did…” The energy seemed to have drained straight out of her–the dancing, humming, swearing woman from moments ago turned to shadow. 

Like she didn’t know. Like she couldn’t feel the frantic stuttering of his heart where his chest pressed between her shoulders blades. Like she couldn’t sense him, standing right here beside her on the knife’s edge. 

“I told them I couldn’t give them an answer yet,” he told her. Of course I did. As though there had been anything else he could do…

“You did what?” Jyn twisted in his arms. “That is your dream job. You know you want to go, so just go. Why would you–”

“Jyn,” he cut in, and she went still–let him hold her in place for at least a moment longer while he continued. “I said yet. I told them I couldn’t give them an answer yet.”

Her knuckles were white, wrapped tight around the wooden spoon. He reached past her and switched off the burners before anything could start smoking or boil over.

Cassian’s own nerves were starting to take hold. He gave a hard swallow, trying to clear the tightness from his throat. “I don’t want to go to Yavin. Not without you… I don’t want to go anywhere without you.”

“What are you saying?”

“Come with me. After you graduate in the spring, come with me.”

“Cass…”

He was about to tell her she didn’t have to answer right now–to delay whatever pain he sensed was coming from inevitable rejection–when she closed her hand around his tie and tugged him closer, tilting her head back to press her lips to his. 

Beneath his mouth, he could feel her smile forming, but it still took his breath away to see it when they broke apart. “Is that a yes, then?”

Jyn wound his tie tighter around her hand. “I like this suit,” she commented, eyes sweeping across the blue fabric and back to the black silk of the tie. 

“I’m taking that as a yes…” Cassian told her, his attention splitting as she began to playfully undo the top buttons of his shirt. 

“I cooked for you…” Her lips passed over his throat, her voice muffled. 

Heat was racing up Cassian’s spine, his thoughts going increasingly hazy. “You did…” he replied, inhaling sharply as the hand not wrapped in his tie found the back of his head, fingers tugging lightly at his hair. 

“I’m a terrible cook, but I cooked. For you.”

She still hadn’t answered him. Not really. He wanted an answer, a definitive answer. “What does this have to do with–”

“Are you still hungry?” 

“Jyn–” he pleaded.

“Because I was thinking we should forget about the food,” she continued, her mouth brushing over his ear–words like sparks to his skin. “I changed my mind. There’s something else I want to do for you instead. Something I’m much, much better at…”

He relented slightly, instinct shoving reason aside as he tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt, her skin soft against his fingertips. “What did you have in mind?” 

“You mean, aside from moving to Yavin?” she murmured with a teasing grin, pressing even closer, tips of their noses brushing, her breath warm against his cheeks.

“So that was a yes earlier…”

Jyn rolled her eyes at him. “What do you think?”

He lifted her off her feet, and she laughed, wrapping her legs tight around his torso. “I think you’re coming to Yavin with me,” he said, slightly breathless, not quite daring to believe it. 

“I’m coming to Yavin with you,” she echoed, delivering a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Welcome home, Cassian.”

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary Day 1

February 1: downy | clinic | nuance

Rated G

-----

In the Dreaming, in a chamber vast and austere, there is a bed fit for a monarch. Grand and dark, tall and canopied, the linens sleek and rich, finer than any cloth Hob has ever known. He has seen his love reclined on it like the king he is, wreathed in shadows, his skin pale and glowing like the purest moonlight, eyes shining with the birth of galaxies. Sharp hunger on his face as he reaches for Hob, demands the worship Hob so freely gives.

It's a good look. One of Hob's favorites.

It pales in comparison to the vision that greets him now.

His bed is small. Really too small for two, but any bigger wouldn't fit in his cozy little flat. The sheets are flannel, so faded that the pattern on them is indistinguishable, but they are warm. His pillows are mismatched: one stripey, one a cheery yellow.

In the middle of his bed, there is a lump of blankets, its occupant curled tightly and hidden from view. The only sign of life is a riot of dark hair, ink spilled over the sunshine of Hob's ancient pillowcase.

The lump shifts, and Hob grins from the doorway where he stands, watching.

"Hob," the heap of blankets says. "Come, beloved."

The words are muffled by the thick down of Hob's duvet and the softness of Hob's pillow, but it is unmistakably an order.

"You just want me for my body heat," Hob says, but he starts forward, toeing off his slippers.

There's a sound from the bed that is not exactly a denial, and Hob laughs even as he pulls his jumper over his head and tosses it toward the foot of the bed.

He climbs into bed, scooting under the blankets and grinning at the unhappy hiss Dream makes as a rush of cooler air sneaks in with Hob.

"Royal bedwarmer reporting for duty, my king," Hob says, gathering Dream into his arms, and it ends on a yelp as Dream's cool nose finds Hob's neck.

Dream smiles against Hob's skin and he presses a kiss to Dream's unruly locks and begins to plot his revenge.

"That strategy will not succeed," Dream says after a moment, and Hob sighs.

"That's cheating," he complains, resolving to think about it later. Right now, he has a king to warm up, and a proven strategy for that.

END

-----

This is the first thing I've written since Dec 2021. I did not realize it had been so long!

Thanks to @fluffbruary for giving me the inspiration to try again and to @ladytian and @lunaris1013 for being so enthusiastic about Dreamling that I couldn't help but jump in!

[michellemisfit]

Sometimes it’s nice to take a moment to look back at what you’ve created.

[adeptnenyim]

Let's assume it's some kind of modern-AU, because they would find each other in every universe, for sure.

Rebelcaptain fluffbruary, with very freely interpreted seashore/mist/umbrella prompt.

And a quote from Matthew Stover's "Revenge of the Sith" novelisation. c:

[drjholtzmann]

going thru the drafts. this one was originally a fluffbruary prompt (whoops) but i chickened out

shower | blessed | layer

Dream is already in the kitchen when Hob gets home. Clattering through the door in a flurry of muffled curses and rustling fabric. He shucks off his coat and violently jabs it onto the coat hook, continuing to curse his way out of his shoes before standing upright again, flicking soaking wet hair back off his face. 

“Hello, stranger.” He says, aiming for casual but falling a little closer to perfunctory, unable to fully hide his frustration. 

“You’re –” Dream’s deep voice begins softly as Hob rushes to add, “I know – I’m late, I know.”

Dream, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders square, resting in one of Hob’s kitchen chairs, does not move to finish his sentence. 

“‘Light morning showers’, my eye,” Hob mutters murderously as he passes Dream and the kitchen table and continues to clatter on into the kitchen. “Fucking pissing down all afternoon! Shoes are soaked. Thought my jacket would be enough for light showers so I didn’t take a sodding umbrella, like a fucking bellend. The tube was disgusting – full of everyone trying to get out of the rain. So it was full of rainwater and the water-soaked public which, let me tell you, is a particular bouquet I don’t need to experience again in a hurry. Not at the end of a work day. I mean – you want some of this?” He pauses, wine bottle in one hand, glass in another, gesturing with the bottle towards Dream. Dream inclines his head. “I mean say what you will about the past,” Hob continues, placing the first glass down and grabbing out a second, “plenty of smells of all kinds. But at least we didn’t have fuckin’ Lynx Africa. A tube full of B.O., soaked woollen suits, stale air, muddy rainwater, all coated with the chemical tang of Lynx fucking Africa?” He gags and pours a generous, sloshing glass of red. “Adding insult to injury. Didn’t know how good we had it.” He spins the cap back onto the bottle with a metallic little hiss. “Anyway,” he places the second glass down in front of Dream. “How was your day?”  

At this Dream stands, eyes passing over Hob’s hair, falling to his shoulders, then down to his feet. “You are wet.”

“Yeah. Did you not hear the whole vitriolic spiel just now?” 

Dream looks at him like he’s stupid. “You are still in your wet clothes.” He clarifies, emphasising each word even more than usual, his eyes glinting with mockery.

Hob swallows his mouthful of wine. “Yeah, well.”

“Your socks, at least.” Dream suggests. And Hob makes a show of rolling his eyes, putting his wineglass down, and slouching back to the door.

He bends to pull off his sodden socks, and they hit the floor with a wet and heavy splat. “Meugh,” his lip curls. His eyes slide back to Dream and he resists rolling them. “Happy?” He crows, arms wide.

“Are you?”

He wiggles his damp toes against the floorboards, head tilting to the side. “Better. At least.” He concedes. 

“You ought to get out of your wet layers.” 

“When did you become mother hen?” But by now Hob is struggling to keep up the fever pitch of his frustration, a smile starting to tug at his words. 

“If you do not want my help…” Dream turns his back on him, picking up his wineglass.

“No! No. Of course I do.” He’s still playing along with the teasing, but it’s true. Always. And Dream knows it. He turns towards Hob again, a smug little smile hiding behind the rim of his glass. Hob holds his hands out to his sides, letting them fall back against his thighs. “Help me?” 

Dream scoffs, but the smirk is still in place as he sets his glass down and walks over to Hob in the entryway. “How you survived centuries between our meetings I will never know,” he tuts, plucking at Hob’s unbuttoned overshirt, slipping it down off his shoulders, then free from each wrist. 

“Made a deal with a lady.” Hob parries back, but it sounds distant even to him, far too hypnotised by watching Dream’s movements to commit to continuing their banter.

“Mm. Quite.” Dream draws the neck of Hob’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger and, assessing that it, too, is insufficiently dry, pulls it upwards. Hob is pliant, and increasingly calm in his grip. 

Hob is shirtless for barely a second before there is a soft warmth sliding up his arms. Something that looks a little like a smoking jacket but feels more like a soft fleecy dressing gown has been conjured within Dream’s palm and his being fitted neatly across his shoulders. It feels like sinking into a warm bath. The warmth between sleep and wakefulness. The heavy-muscled heat of laying close to a fire for long night hours. And Hob can’t help the full-body contented sigh that comes out of him. He feels his shoulders relax down an entire inch. His head almost falls forward, eyes closed, ready to drop right off to sleep. 

“Is that not better?”

“Mm,” Hob shuffles closer. “Better,” he agrees, curling his hands into the sweeping lapels of Dream’s coat and, allowing his eyes to finally close, drops his head against Dream’s shoulder. 

“We are only half done.” Dream says after several seconds of silence and stillness from Hob. 

Hob huffs against his neck. “You just wanna see me in my pants. Cheeky.” 

“You’re impossible.” Hob can hear the smile in Dream’s words. Smiles in return, hidden against his neck, as Dream’s hands snake around his back and hold him in a warm, impossibly fond embrace. And Hob melts against him a little further. 

“S’me. Impossible. Wearing a robe my love just conjured from the ether. Which is very normal.”

“I only wish for you to be comfortable.”

“I am, love,” he promises, voice soft, all fight and frustration drained from him. “So comfy. 'n I promise I’ll take off the trousers in a minute.” He sighs, deep and cleansing. “Can we just go to bed? I know it’s still early but fuck I’d love this day to be over.”

Dream’s hands press tighter against him, soothing up and down his back. “You will hear no complaints from me,” he murmurs against Hob’s temple, pressing a featherlight kiss into his hair.

[justanobsessedpan]

Cooking in the evening with no rush, but with love and affection

For today's @fluffbruary photo prompt! (Aaaaah, I'm on time!) But also in thanks to @iwlyanmw . You are a sweetheart.

(Did you all know making art is so much more fun when you don't stress about it being good enough? Did you know pressure (also self-set) destroys the joy of creating? Do you know the simple joy of creation?)

@totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @dontfuckmylifewtf @sussexinchelsea @loki-lock @topsyturvy-turtely @matixsstuff @ohlooktheresabee @boredsushi @ohmrshudsontookmyskull @nathan-no @astudyin221b @oetkb12 @psychosociogentleman @darkkitty1208 @zira-and-crowley @beesholmes @mydogwatson @liv-olive-oliver @tiverrr @peanitbear @sunshineinyourmind @a-victorian-girl @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @weeesi @strawberrywinter4 @iheardyou

(Any changes to the taglist, just tell me! <3)

[hardly-an-escape]

Fluffbruary Days 14-17

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Dream/Hob • rated M • phone | bubble bath | doll & cord | bakery | honey & neighbour | desire | horse & magazine | tactile | curtains

Hob sighs and leans back in the hotel bathroom tub. At least it’s deep. He’s got a glass of whiskey, which tomorrow Hob will probably regret – not due to the alcohol, just the fact that it’s from the room minibar and costs three times what it’s actually worth – and he’s dumped what might be legally considered a ‘metric shitload’ of bubbles into the hot water, and he can finally, finally relax.

He likes these conferences; he honestly does. It’s refreshing, to connect with people in his field and both commiserate and be reminded why they do what they do.

They’re just also exhausting – even for an extrovert like Hob.

His limbs are feeling pleasantly warm and heavy and he’s halfway through his whiskey when the phone rings.

For some ungodly reason the hotel has put a phone in the bloody bathroom, so at least he doesn’t have to get up, just haul himself far enough out of the water to reach the counter.

“Hello?” he says irritably.

“Hob?” says the voice on the other end of the line. “I have a question about one of your citations in the paper you presented this morning. I was…”

“Morpheus?”

“Obviously. I was wondering about –”

“Morpheus, it’s –” Hob tries to break in.

“– about the research on Jonson that you cite in –”

“Morpheus, it’s after nine o’clock in the evening.”

There’s a long pause.

“Is it?” the other man says uncertainly.

“Yes, you absolute walnut.”

“I… was working. I must have lost track of time.”

“Why on earth are you still working? Don’t you have a flight in the morning?”

“I suppose I have. Nothing better to do.”

Hob doesn’t know Morpheus all that well; they see one another a few times a year, at seminars and conferences. They argue cheerfully about the merits of various Elizabethan playwrights, they – yes, fine, they flirt over cocktails at receptions, occasionally – but they don’t really talk. And yet he can see Morpheus, curled up in an uncomfortable desk chair at the cramped little hotel room desk, papers spread in front of him. The man has a memorable presence and a genius mind. And thin, elegant, fidgety fingers, which Hob imagines wrapped up in the phone cord.

And a dark, velvety voice, which is currently pouring into Hob’s ear.

“I apologize for disturbing your evening, Hob.”

“That’s alright. But you ought to find some way to relax tonight, for goodness’ sake.”

“Oh, ought I?” Morpheus sounds – amused? “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Well, I for one am drinking a whiskey and having a very nice bubble bath.” Hob splashes deliberately. “And I can only recommend that course of action.”

“From an academic standpoint, Dr. Gadling?” Morpheus asks dryly.

Hob sinks a little deeper into the hot water. “Naturally, Dr. Murphy. From what other standpoint might I recommend it?”

Desire swells and pools in his belly. He can’t help it, with Morpheus’s voice in his ear bringing the man’s image so vividly to his mind’s eye. The sharp grey-blue eyes and even sharper cheekbones, which contrast soft lips.

“I’m sure I couldn’t even begin to guess.” Lord, but that voice is smoother than the whiskey Hob has just polished off.

“Perhaps sometime I’ll have the opportunity to enlighten you,” he says boldly.

“Perhaps.” Hob thinks he can hear a smile. “Good night, Hob.”

“Night, Morpheus.”

A click, and the line goes dead. Hob leans up to hang up his own handset and recedes back into the bubbles.

Morpheus would be a tactile lover, he’s sure of it. His hands prove it; that nervous, artistic elegance. Hob’s own hands drift lower, slip between his legs.

Perhaps sometime he’ll have an opportunity, indeed.

prompt list!

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

Fluffbruary 17. Prompts: Magazine, curtain

@fluffbruary

[to-thelakes]

rainy day

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after getting caught in a torrential downpour, frank's apartment offers some comfort

warnings; fluff, mentions of frank's trauma, a subtle friends to lovers vibe

notes; another day, another fluffbruary one-shot! i honestly am having so much fun with these, it's ridiculous. i was also fully intending to write for more than frank castle but i am on such a frank castle kick, i'm such a lover for this morally corrupt man! also, i had to try really hard for this not to go sexual because there's an alternate ending where this went smutty instead (maybe i'll come back and write it...) but for now, we are going full fluff and this was a little less pre-established relationship and more of a moving into a relationship. but anyway! excuse the rambling i hope you enjoy day three <3

ao3

It was absolutely tipping it down and like the clever person you are, you didn’t have an umbrella. Or a raincoat for that matter. You had been at work all day and the sun had been bright that morning. You had assumed you’d be safe from the downpour but you were wrong. As you stared onto the street, you considered getting a cab but that would require more effort than it was worth.

Plus, you were heading to Frank’s place and he only lived a few blocks over. It wouldn’t take long to get there realistically but you knew that you were about to get soaked wet through. There was no avoiding it and so, you charged forward into the rain.

The streets were still bustling with people from the after-work rush and you had expected that maybe others umbrella’s would provide you some relief from the downpour; you were wrong. Everyone else’s protection seemed to just soak you more. The run-off from the umbrellas soaked you to the bone as you rushed through the streets, weaving through the slow walkers.

The sight of Frank’s apartment was a relief and you ducked under the entrance before slipping inside. The warmth of the lobby made your skin heat up, the warmth fighting against the biting cold. Droplets of rain were running down your face and your clothes were sufficiently soaked. You looked like a drowned rat.

When Frank opened the door to you after you left the elevator, he paused for a moment. Then his face cracked into a smile and your lips morphed down to a frown. You crossed your arms over your chest, staring up at him, unimpressed.

“Don’t,” You warned him and he let you slip inside the apartment. You discarded your sopping wet suit jacket onto the side table while Frank closed the door. He was watching you, your white t-shirt practically see-through thanks to the rain.

“Want that change of clothes?” He asked. You nodded your head, meeting his gaze. His smile had softened away from amusement and he disappeared to his bedroom while you walked over to the kitchen.

“Want a beer?” You called, hearing Frank shuffle around in his dresser drawers.

“That bad, huh?” He teased as he appeared in the doorway with a pair of your leggings but one of his shirts. You instantly noticed it as you turned back, narrowing your eyes suspiciously, “Dunno where your shirt is.” You rolled your eyes and returned back to the fridge, grabbing two beers. You opened them, taking a swig of yours before you traded Frank the beer for the clothes.

“Can I use a towel?” You asked. He nodded.

“Go for it, sweetheart.” You took another swig of beer before disappearing into the bathroom. Frank watched as you trailed water through the apartment and he couldn’t help but be mildly amused. Your friendship had always been a strange one to Frank. You knew him, you knew everything about him and you had to drag him back from the edge more than once and yet, you were still here. He was grateful for that but he’d never admitted that to you.

He took a swig of beer before he picked the jacket up from the side and wrung it out over the sink. He then discarded it over the heater. Once he was finished, he grabbed his beer again and took a seat on the couch. Usually, he’d turn on the TV but he could hear you in the shower. The water was pattering against the wall and he could hear your music blaring. Even when you were in his apartment, you had no shame in blaring your own music. 

He could hear you singing along too. You weren’t the greatest singer but he enjoyed listening. Something about your presence seemed to soothe his agitated soul. When he was with you, the world seemed to slow and he had never expected it. He had never wanted to find someone else after Maria and Beth, he knew that he always got people hurt. Yet, you had quite literally wandered into his life and proved him wrong just like Beth had.

Now you were in his shower, in his apartment about to put on his shirt and he felt at peace. The constant need to be on guard had slipped away and even though the vigilance would never truly disappear, it didn’t feel as pressing as it usually did. Part of him was terrified that you’d get hurt but his life had been quiet for months. There was nobody on his back, nobody out to kill him and so he felt content knowing that for once, you both might be safe.

“Frank,” You called his name, standing on his bath mat completely naked, “I need a towel, you didn’t have one in here,” You called. You heard him chuckle on the other side of the door before you heard footsteps. The apartment was creaky and old and you had memorised which creaks indicated he was near his bedroom, near the front door and near the bathroom. He was outside the door. He knocked gently.

“Open up,” He said. You shuffled to be stood behind the door before gently pulling it open. Your wet hair dripped onto the tiles as you stuck your face out. He held the towel towards you and you grabbed it, giving him a thankful smile. Then you closed the door.

A soft breath escaped your lips and you dried yourself off before slipping back into the new set of clothes. The shirt smelt just like Frank and you couldn’t help but relish in it for a moment. You had also used his body wash so you were surrounded by the smell of him. You glanced at yourself in the mirror and realised that you were grinning; properly grinning.

You felt like a teenager who had just been caught but instead, you were crushing on your best friend. Your best friend who was a widower, your best friend who was terrified of letting people in in case they got hurt. Your best friend that could love you back but would never want to admit it because he didn’t want to lose you.

With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your face with your hands before you turned to the door and headed back into the living room. Frank was lounging on the couch while you picked your beer back up from the kitchen counter.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked, turning his head towards you. You took a sip of beer, nodding your head.

“Still a little cold,” You mumbled as you stepped back and checked Frank’s fridge again. Usually when you came over, one of you cooked for the other but his fridge was run down which meant that it might be a takeout night, “Do you want pizza tonight?” You asked curiously, turning around to find Frank standing behind you, “Jesus, Frank.” He couldn’t help but grin and he took another sip of beer before he placed it down.

“Come ‘ere,” He said, opening his arms up for you. You stared at him for a second before letting yourself be wrapped up in his arms. You were freezing and he was radiating heat. You buried your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him as he held you close, “Gotta keep my best girl warm,” He mumbled. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you chuckled softly.

“Your best girl, huh?” You teased. You felt the rumble of agreement in his chest and you looked up at him. You met gazes and you were grinning, like a love-sick teenager, “I could get used to that.” His head tilted ever so slightly to the side and your gaze was boring into his.

“Yeah?” He asked. You nodded.

“Yeah.” Your head rested back against his chest. There was something different about it this time, though. He was holding you just that little bit tighter and then he leant forward and pressed a kiss to your hair. Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you couldn’t help feeling so adored.

<3

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary, Day 5

February 5: rescue | inertia | lullaby

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling

Rated M? Maybe T?

-----

Hob is desperate.

He is out of options. He is no longer a religious man, but he has prayed. His fate is inescapable.

Hob is trapped.

Dr. Atkins will not leave.

He's tried everything to get his new colleague out of his office. He's tried hints. He's tried exclaiming about how much work he has. He's tried ignoring the man and actually doing his work, but he could not focus, and his students deserve better than that. He's stood at the door expectantly, and Atkins stood just outside the door and kept talking. Hob has gone to the toilet, which was extremely awkward, as Atkins followed him in, kept talking, and then followed him back to his office.

Hob could simply leave, but it's his office! His lunch is here! He has 32 exams to mark and 3 lesson plans to finalize, and he is extremely thirsty but he does not want to make tea because he does not want Atkins to consider it an invitation to sit down again. Also, he's afraid that if he just leaves, Atkins will follow him out and all the way home, still talking.

Atkins is currently bemoaning his tragic love life and failed marriages, and Hob bites back a snarl as Atkins once again laments how all of his lovers have taken advantage of him because he is an empath. Clearly, the man is not, or he would already have been knocked flat by the hostility boiling under Hob's properly polite British demeanor. Get out get out GET OUT! he seethes.

Hob longs for assistance, longs for rescue, but the department is deserted, his colleagues' office doors closed, their window blinds down. He knows they're in there, the cowards, but it's obvious that all of them have already been exposed to their new resident bore, and no one warned Hob.

He yearns for a student to stop in, for a fire alarm, for a bloody earthquake, the building's boiler to explode. He glares at his phone, lying silent and dark on his desk. Why won't it ring?

"Music is my first love, though," Atkins says. For at least the fifth time. "And I want someone I can share that with. Concerts are not the same on one's own."

"Mm, yeah," Hob says listlessly.

There are footsteps in the hall. They stop before his door, and Hob's heart leaps like a startled hare.

"Hello, beloved, I am here for our lunch date. You were to call me after your class, were you not?"

God's wounds, thank you, love!

Hob lurches to pull open the half-open door, grabbing Dream's hand with both of his and clinging.

"Hello, darling, so sorry!" He presses a quick kiss to Dream's lips. "Time got away! Come in, come in!"

Pulling Dream into his office, he threads his arm in Dream's and keeps chattering at lightning speed. "Got so busy talking, you know how it is. Love, this is my new colleague, Dr. Atkins. Drew, this is my husband."

"Oh! Ah, pleasure to meet you," Atkins says, eyes wide as he stares at Dream. Every inch the dream king, Dream nods regally. Seeing Atkins take a breath to speak again, Hob jumps in once more.

"So sorry to rush you out, didn't realize what time it was, we've only got time for a short break, you understand. It was lovely chatting with you!"

If he lets Atkins get a word in, the man will never stop, and then Dream will say something unspeakably rude, and the only reason Hob hasn't already been unspeakably rude is that he still has to work with the man.

"Oh sure, no worries, " Atkins says as Hob herds him inelegantly out the door. "Chat later?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Absolutely," Hob says with a cheery grin as he shuts the door in Atkins' face and then locks it.

He slumps against it momentarily and then springs up to tug Dream into a searing kiss.

Dream rumbles in pleasure like a big cat, hands curving around Hob's waist to pull him close.

They only break apart when Hob gasps for breath. "Hello, love," he pants, tucking his face into Dream's neck. "You're my hero, did you know that?"

"Your daydreams of rescue were very loud, but they did not seem to call for a combative response. Is all well, beloved?" He glares at the closed door. "Is Andrew Atkins a threat?"

Hob snorts and reluctantly steps away to walk toward his desk. He has so much to do. "God, no. Only to my peace of mind and my schedule for the day, duck. New colleague, frightful bore, couldn't get rid of him. I tried everything. Nice bloke, but he would not stop talking. If I had to hear one more time about how he saw Queen at Wembley in '85, I would not have been responsible for my actions."

He daydreams a little vignette of sliding his sword out of a desk drawer far too small for it, grinning at Dream's small huff of laughter.

"I am glad to have come, if it averted unnecessary bloodshed," Dream says as he crosses the office. He leans against the corner of Hob's desk, ankles crossed, and smiles down at him. Hob swivels so that his knee knocks Dream's, and smiles back.

There is a brief moment of blessed silence, and Hob savors it.

"As your rescuer, I believe I deserve a reward, do I not?" Dream's voice is a purr, low and sultry, and it sends a shiver down Hob's spine.

"Oh, I will happily reward you tonight, love. Repeatedly, if you like."

"I am here now. For our lunch date. And I find myself ravenous."

"Dream, we're in my office!"

Dream says nothing, simply staring down at him hungrily, and Hob swallows.

"I am so behind, dove. Atkins was here forever, and I have - " It ends on a gasp as Dream straddles him. Hob's desk chair creaks alarmingly.

"So fickle in your gratitude, beloved," Dream murmurs in his ear, his hands in Hob's hair.

Hob glances at his pile of marking. He glances at the blinds, closed, and the door, locked. Ten minutes. He can take ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

END

-----

Thanks to @fluffbruary for the prompt and @ladytian for the cheerleading!

[oonajaeadira]

FLUFFBRUARY 1: downy | clinic | nuance (Dieter Bravo)

ADIRA'S SELF-IMPOSED FLUFFBRUARY RULES:

Six sentences.

Must be fluffy.

All 29 ficlets must feature a different Pedro.

All three words must be used (Fluffbruary prompt list here).

Use the words in order.

I reserve the right to break rules and/or cheat.

You don’t want to wake him, so you just watch him sleep for a little while, like a child–hair tousled, arms curled around a downy pillow, one knee tucked up in a half-fetus, just this side of sucking his thumb–and you have to smile because at least he’s sleeping well here at the clinic.

After you’ve had a moment to muse on how proud you are and how far he’s come on his road to sobriety, Dieter takes a deep inhale, and rubs his face blearily in his pillow before blinking up at you, mumbling through his sleepy smile, “Whater you doing here, pookums?”

“Got a note from the ward that you were being a nuisance and decided to come visit hoping some enrichment will help you to knock it off,” you say, leaning down to clear his forehead of curls so you can kiss it.

“I saw that note,” he groans, “I thought it said I was being a nuance.”

“That doesn’t make any….I’ll nuance you,” you threaten as you rip the pillow away from him and bounce it off his face, “now shift over.”

He whines but makes room, assuming his previous shape around you instead of around the pillow now, simmers into a contented hum as you rub his back and speak into his hair--“Nuance my ass…ain’t nothing subtle about you–” and cuts you off with your own squeak as he follows your direction to reach down and indeed nuance your ass.

___

@fluffbruary

FLUFFBRUARY MASTERLIST

[4thelneyj0nes]

@fluffbruary Day 8

Grass | sunshine | fashion

Rosie would be sooo into entomology