#thank you for sending a prompt!!!

[jesncin]

Two FAce Attorney for DC Gotcha for Gaza! (prompts closed!) Okay the prompt was just to draw Two Face but I've had this joke in my mind for so long that I had to draw it heheh

[gianttol]

♡ GT July 2024 Prompt List ♡

[erwinsvow]

i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?

the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.

top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.

you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.

topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.

you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.

"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"

"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.

"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.

"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.

in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.

"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.

"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."

"m'not apologizin', i-"

"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"

"once or twice?"

"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"

"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.

"what? it was new years."

"where the hell was i?"

"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

day 16: object head !

[nottsangel]

https://www.tumblr.com/rafesmuse/743661178308427776/rafe-cameron-the-type-of-boyfriend-to-keep-your?source=share

this!!! but you’re Sarah’s best friend. Rafe being a dick constantly finds a way to flash your nudes in front of her. One day she asks when you got that tattoo because she’s never seen it before. You think no one but rafe should be able to see that tattoo, when the realisation hits you turn bright red and you definitely shout at him about it later that night but he’s too busy trying to undress you to listen

link!

omg pls he’s such a fucking dickhead sdjdkdkd like that man does not give a fuck! he’d be with sarah in the house when he ‘accidentally’ drops his wallet with your nudes inside of it and acts like he doesn’t notice so she picks it up for him. “rafe you dropped your wa- what the fuck is this?” “oh whoops, im just so clumsy, aren’t i?” he’d reply sarcastically with a smug smile on his face as he snatches the wallet from sarah’s hand.

“i didn’t know you had a tattoo” sarah would later bluntly say when you’re hanging out together, completely catching you off guard. “what? i- i mean, i do, but how do you kn-“ your eyes instantly widen when the realisation eventually hits.

so later that night, you storm into rafe’s room, shouting, while he just lazily sits on his bed, scrolling on his phone. “RAFE CAMERON, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD. why the FUCK did sarah see those pictures?!” “jesus, relax baby, it was just an accident, a’ight?” he snaps back as you now sit next to him on the bed, still glaring at him with an infuriated expression. “rafe! those are meant for your eyes only!” he’s too busy now attentively pulling the traps of your top down, not even paying attention to what you’re saying anymore. “yeah yeah, i’ll be more careful next time, got it. now, c’mere and let me make it up to you.”

[beefcakekinard]

43 + 45 for bucktommy 💕💕💕

43. falling asleep with their head in your lap +

45. running hands through hair

In the unflattering fluorescent hospital lighting, in a hard plastic visitor's chair, Evan looks wan. The light hits his face at odd angles, dragging down the deep bags under his eyes, draining his skin of its colour, its rosy vital glow.

Tommy has never seen anyone look so beautiful.

"Hey, baby," he rasps. He tries to clear his throat and ends up in a coughing fit that sets pain lancing through his body. Evan's eyes widen and in his rush to get a straw between Tommy's lips, he spills water on Tommy's chest.

"Hey, hey, it's good to see you awake," Evan says as Tommy sips his water. "How are you feeling?"

Tommy lets the straw go and tries to take stock. He looks down at himself - his left leg is in a cast from his hip down, as is his left arm. They both hurt in a dull, vague way, same as his ribs and his head. There's an IV line running through the back of his right hand. His stomach turns a little at the sight so he looks away. He's not great with needles.

"It hurts," he says, frowning. He looks back up at Evan, who plasters a fake smile on his face. "What happened?"

Evan takes his hand, carefully, cups Tommy's fingers between both of his hands without jostling the IV. "You don't remember?"

Tommy shakes his head and decides never to do that again when it makes the room spin.

"You were- there was an accident," Evan says, stroking his thumb down the back of Tommy's index finger. "You, uh, you got hit by- by a car."

"Oh." Tommy looks into Evan's eyes. They're so pretty. "Really?"

Evan smiles a little - this one is real, Tommy can tell. "Yeah. What's the last thing you remember?"

Tommy thinks, tries to grasp the memory of what he was doing before he woke up. It's hard to hold onto any one thought - it's like chasing bubbles. The second he gets his hands on one, it pops, gone. Evan likes to blow bubbles for Jee. She runs through them, twirling until each and every one is gone, and asks again, again! It's so cute it makes Tommy giggle.

"What's so funny, huh?" Evan asks. He's smiling still, kind of, but he looks confused.

"You're so cute," Tommy explains. He knows Evan will get what he means. Evan always gets what he means. Case in point: he laughs, which makes Tommy smile even more because he loves that sound.

"You enjoying that morphine, babe?"

Tommy almost shakes his head - but then he remembers he shouldn't. "I don't like morphine. It makes me nauseous." He pulls his hand out of Evan's hold and presses his thumb to Evan's birthmark. It fits his thumb so perfectly. Like Cinderella's shoe. "I like you, Cinderella."

Evan laughs for real, then, big and loud, and Tommy feels proud of himself. It's his job to make Evan happy. His hand is dislodged, but he raises it again, landing it in Evan's hair. It doesn't feel like gel, like he's used to, all he feels are Evan's soft curls, and he could get addicted to how they glide under his fingers. He pulls Evan closer, then down, so he's resting his head on Tommy's hip, and Tommy doesn't have to lift his hand so high to touch his hair. Evan's still smiling up at him.

"You look tired," Tommy says. Evan proves his point by yawning.

"I'm fine. You're the one who needs his rest." Evan lays a hand on Tommy's knee. He likes it, he always likes when Evan touches him.

"You can sleep," Tommy says. He traces his thumb across Evan's dark under-eye, making his eyelashes flutter, and on his way back to burying his fingers in Evan's hair he presses his thumb into Evan's birthmark again. "I want you to."

"Will you sleep if I do?"

"Yeah," Tommy lies. He thinks Evan sees through him, because Evan knows him so well, but he still closes his eyes and nuzzles against Tommy's hip.

Tommy focuses on brushing his fingers through Evan's hair, letting his curls bounce back into shape before he reaches them again, following the soothing rhythm of Evan's breathing. He loses track of time; it drips, slow like the motion of his fingers, slow like his thoughts that remain out of reach, and before he has a chance to notice it, his own eyes have grown heavy.

He falls back asleep in pain, still - but with Evan's head a welcome weight on his hip, Evan's hand on his knee, his fingers tangled up in Evan's hair, it's easy to ignore.

[muppenthings]

hello for you ark ideas would you like to draw a giant who is very new to being a giant?

They just smacked their head into yet another billboard. :)

[wigglebox]

We’re soarin’, flyin’! ☀️🌈

[Instagram prompt: Cas relearning how to fly again with Dean’s help]

[unclewaynemunson]

Okay so @willowworkswithwords sent me this fucking perfect prompt about Steve casually mentioning how much of an asshole his dad is is during a movie night at the Munsons and Wayne immediately shifting into Concerned mode, and I almost finished the thing but then tumblr glitched and i lost it to the void forever. I learned my lesson to never save anything to tumblr without backup ever again, buuut here it finally is:

Wayne first met Steve Harrington long before Eddie officially started dating the boy. He figured out that his nephew was head over heels before Eddie himself did. He hadn't been too thrilled about it, at first. In his experience, boys like Steve Harrington, with his big car and neatly ironed polo shirts, could only want two things from boys like his Eddie: drugs and secret encounters in the dark before he'd finally follow the path that was perfectly mapped out for him by his parents. But it didn't take him too long before he admitted that he had misjudged the boy. He noticed it even before Eddie himself did: Steve Harrington had fallen like a brick for his nephew, and he was in it for the long run.

He mostly met the boy in passing, whenever he'd come home from his night shift while Steve was just leaving the trailer park, or when he'd be heading out to get to work at the same time as Steve came by to pick up Eddie for a date or to hang out with that group of freshmen that Eddie would never stop talking about. The boy was always perfectly polite to him, calling him things like Sir and Mister, apologizing for being in his space and thanking him for the most ridiculous little things. Wayne thought it was a bit much, but he supposed that it was just how the boy had been raised, all formal and uptight. There was something behind it, however, a certain guarded look in his eyes, that always gave Wayne this uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He didn't quite understand what that was all about – until the three of them were having a movie night in the trailer on one of Wayne's nights off.

The two boys were all over each other on the couch, their legs entangled and their fingers intertwined, with their heads as close together as if they'd die if they wouldn't be breathing the exact same air. It made Wayne wish he had a camera on him; instead, he tried to imprint the picture into his memory.

He didn't care too much for the movie, which was about some rich teenage girl trying to break free from the restrictive uptown life that was suffocating her by getting herself some no-good boyfriend in a leather jacket – who Steve and Eddie enthusiastically agreed was a “hot piece of ass.” The main bad guy was the girl's dad, a character who checked off all the rich asshole dad stereotypes: suit that made him look bigger than he actually was, wife who let herself be bossed around by him at all times, and that kind of undefinable charisma, which made everyone else feel like all the air had left the room whenever he'd walk in.

'He kinda reminds me of my dad,' said Steve while leaning forward to get himself a handful of popcorn. It was just an innocent, offhand remark, and sounded perfectly nonchalant – but as he said it, the camera zoomed in on the girl's face to convey one single emotion: fear.

Steve leaned back into the couch and stuffed his mouth full of popcorn, getting crumbs all over his shirt and seemingly not noticing how both Wayne and Eddie had frozen by his remark.

Wayne met his nephew's wide-eyed gaze over the top of Steve's big hair. Wayne wasn't exactly a talkative person, and over the years in which Eddie had been living with him, they had perfected the art of silent communication, not needing more than some looks and gestures to have complete conversations with each other.

Wayne raised an eyebrow at Eddie, which meant something along the lines of Did you know about this?

Eddie responded with a barely-visible nod.

Wayne made a sideways movement with his head. Why didn't you tell me?

Eddie shrugged. It wasn't my place to tell, that meant.

Wayne nodded at him and turned his gaze back to the screen, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to properly shift his attention back to the plot.

'You wanna stay over?' Eddie asked Steve when the movie was finished.

Steve's eyes immediately flashed to Wayne's corner, that familiar guarded look in them. 'Um... Would you – would it be okay if I stayed the night, sir?'

'You can stay whenever you like, son,' said Wayne. 'And stop calling me sir, alright?'

'Alright, yeah, okay, sorry sir,' Steve stammered, which made Eddie burst into loud laughter. Wayne merely shook his head and got up from his chair.

He never sat Steve down for some official talk about his asshole dad – that wasn't his style anyway. He preferred conveying the message by little gestures: calling him “son” whenever he had the chance, refusing to be called “sir” ever again, giving him a key to the trailer, inviting him over to watch basketball together, taking him fishing when they both had a day off work... After a while, that guarded look finally disappeared from the boy's face. But it returned a couple months later, when Steve accidentally called Wayne “dad” in a distracted moment. Wayne didn't say anything about it; he merely gave the boy a pat on his shoulder to let him know it was okay. He didn't mind getting called “dad” by Steve Harrington for one bit.

[bixels]

Do sunset and twilight have any sort of relationship in your human au? (Your art is so SO BEAUTIFUL by the way, I have spent so much time staring at it. I love your lines and use of color).

Yes.

[triona-tribblescore]

I saw you wanted fluffy suggestions so here ya go:

Baby Mikey blabbering and Donnie responding like it’s a philosophical discussion.

Big! Sweaters! Big fluffy sweaters!

Disaster twins in the get along shirt

Raph and Leo in the get along shirt

Raph napping while Donnie happily rants to him

All boys walking together down an overgrown subway tunnel and relishing in sunlight and plants!(if ya need some background practice)

sooo uhhh, this ask may be four months old BUT! I was saving it for a rainy day and, would you look at that, its raining outside :D

some close-ups :)

[tunastime]

for the comfort prompts, draping a blanket over a sleeping body ^-^ maybe with 2 of our sweetest boys.... xisuma and doc ^-^ OR also maybe with ranchers ^-^

draping a blanket over their sleeping body (923 words) (x)

Xisuma scrubs his eyes. 

There comes a point in every shift that his body starts to give out. A point where, no matter the length of the shift, or how much he'd eaten, or slept, or drank tea, Xisuma felt his body slip away from him and the dull ache of sleep start to root and take hold behind his eyes. It's at this point where respite usually comes, in the form of Cleo or Doc walking through the door. And eventually it will be Cleo, he knows, because Doc's shift neatly aligned with his tonight. So much so he was able to actually get dinner at the same time as him, and Doc was able to kick him under the table over a cup of coffee. The jerk. 

Regardless, he could expect Cleo to wander in when she wished. Joints starting to protest weakly under the stretches he contorts his spine into, Xisuma gathers his belongings, and starts the trek down the levels toward his room.

It's a quiet walk—one he's learned to catalogue his thoughts to, to enjoy as much as the daily chatter of a morning shift beginning, or an afternoon shift ending. This early morning closure means that he'll have the good part of the day to sleep before he's on for another 48 hours. It also means that, for just a few of those hours, he might get to sleep next to his partner, after a few too many nights of just-barely's and near-misses. Xisuma sighs. For a moment, he lingers in the hall, peeking out at the rest of the station through a long, double-paned window, spanning the length of the propelled walkway. As he steps on, leans against the barrier, he watches stars flick idly past him alongside the sprawl of Prometheus. At its heart, where he was headed down to now, were the quarters. And his, along with a select few, got their own atrium view.  

The rest of the walk is similarly quiet, Xisuma's feet working on autopilot as his mind wanders from task to task, correspondence, to shipping requests, to diplomatic communique. He frowns, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits a beat for the elevator. There had been a recent communique from the Coalition. It wasn't uncommon, but it hadn't happened in, what, two or three years now? Certainly enough time to have forgotten the last time he saw any of the crew on an official basis and certainly long enough to forget just what that little check-up meant. He holds back a particularly violent shiver. It's nothing this time—has to be. Prometheus hadn't done anything new or interesting in months, let alone enough to warrant an investigation. If the Interspace Investigation Coalition needed something from Xisuma, Admiral Void, it was going to take a very special visit and a lot of convincing. Not words on a screen.

By the time the thought passes through his mind, Xisuma is already at his front door. He shakes away the feeling crawling up the base of his spine and taps his keycard, door sliding open at his behest. 

"Doc?" he calls, as he enters. "I'm home."

The front entry is still warmly lit as he toes off his shoes and organizes his coat and bag at the front door. The living room is dark, aside from the faint glow of blue light, as are the desks they share and the kitchenette. Xisuma hums, frown deepening. He makes his way into the living room as he starts unclasping his overcoat, hands fiddling with the zipper behind him.

There, sprawled haphazardly on their small sofa, is Doc. One of his legs bends under the other, his ankle propped on the arm of the couch, socked foot hanging just over the edge. His pajamas are ruffled from moving, rucked up over one side of his ribs where his arm stretches to cover his eyes from the dim, ambient light. Xisuma stifles a snort that then catches the back of his throat. He looks comfortable. To an extent. Enough to fall asleep, at least, and enough to stay that way, even as Xisuma had called out to him and noisily shuffled in. 

X crosses his arms. He has but two options: one which requires him to deal with a sleep-disoriented, disgruntled Doc M now. The other: listening to him complain about tight muscles as he slipped into bed later that morning, seeking out the shape of Xisuma he missed. On one hand, X would get his partner's warmth and weight and grumbled words sooner. On the other... he looks so dang peaceful he'd almost feel bad disturbing him. Xisuma smiles to himself—the image alone of Doc crawling into bed next to him and letting X curl tiredly around him seems wildly comforting. A little selfish, but, really, who could blame him? 

Quietly, Xisuma shuffles over. He lifts the blanket from the back of the couch, ruffling it lightly in his hands as he sets it over Doc's sleeping form the best he can. Shrouded by the multicolored fabric, Doc seems to shrink, just a bit. Clearly cozy and comfortable, his face remains soft, sleep smoothing out the lines of stress on his face. X tucks the blanket carefully around his partner, careful not to jostle him awake as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. Upon drawing back, Doc doesn't seem to stir, and Xisuma hums his thanks to no one. He steps back, satisfied with his work, and shuffles off to bed.

[corffiser]

make me choose @illusivesoul asked: sera or josephine

[cursedzucchini]

Prompt/idea #6

Y'all what if when Danny's not feeling that good (is very injured/didn't eat anything/sleep deprived) he instead of fainting just... Turns into his 14 yo self.

That wasn't such a problem at the begginjng bc he was short king and well, he didn't change that much.

But now? When he's in college (basically always on the verge of fainting from exhaustion/hunger/dehydration/whatever unholy thing he consumed to stay awake and functioning) in Gotham? When he's 24, and yeah, maybe he didn't grow that much in height, but he lost the baby fat. His face didn't look so hopeful, and innocent and he gained quite few scars.

So yeah, changing into his 14yo self wasn't the greatest by itself. But add the trauma Danny has when looking at himself in the mirror, and overall being in the wrong body (thinking about what younger him didn't know, like u can add angst Abt canon stuff, like Vlad was a fucking creep, pariah dark, or add vivisection and Dani dying or whatever).

So Danny was being extra careful about taking care of himself (he thought, like a liar). And maybe that day he forgot breakfast, lost his pocket money, his card declined, he couldn't sleep because of reccuring nightmares and the only edible (that's questionable tho) thing in his bag was some somehow wrong ectoplasm he stole from some guy few weeks ago (and Danny needed to ask the him where tf did he manage to find such a disgusting ecto. Like not even his parents manage to fuck it up that badly).

So when on his way home, some fucking asshole jumped him, of course he was going to freak the fuck out.

...if knocking the guy out counts as freaking out. And showing some of his more ghostly features out (read show the asshole the indescribable horrors of balancing life and death for eternity and no time at all).

And that somehow tipped Danny over the top. So now he's sitting there, in his now way too big clothes next to the knocked out (hopefully) clown, drawing dumb pictures on his face, waiting for Jazz to pick him up and maybe help him dispose of the body.

(bonus points if the batfam saw this go down and are now so fucking confused how tf did some twink™ knocked out the fucking joker in one punch, and than transformed into a fuckibg child????? B, no, put the adoption papers down-!)

(bonus bonus points if 14 yo Danny looks exactly like 14yo Jason, and they (especially Jason) just see young Jason sitting next to dead? Joker w a crowbar, drawing dicks on his face)

(also the reason why Danny doesn't know who joker is, is bc every time someone started talking Abt joker or the clown he assumed he was something like batman, and wasn't interested in learning anything Abt anything clown themed)

[valeriianz]

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

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

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

-----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s so funny?”

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

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

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

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

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

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

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

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

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

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

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

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

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation. 

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Hob.”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you messing with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you drunk?”

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

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

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

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

“And what do you want, Dream?”

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

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[starflungwaddledee]

offering three cookies 🍪🍪🍪

(<< part 1)