#and she always jokes about how her nails are press ons like EVERY TIME it’s the no.1 gag 😭

[karaeilishh]

can u pls do billie x reader messy makeout sesh with inappropriate grabbing and cumming from rough dry humping PLSSS thank u i adore ur works! 😊

here, baby 💞

hate me more b. eilish x fem!reader

you hated her so much. her long black hair that you wanted to touch, her ocean eyes, her soft, plump lips… you wonder what they would feel like on your skin? anyway, you could tell you hated billie eilish with every atom in your body. you also hated how weak she made you. 

you don’t even know why you hated her so much. she just irritated you with her existence, with her stupid smile and the dirty jokes she made about you. 

the worst part was that she was your best friend’s sister, and at every party you two had, she was there. even now. in your bedroom. 

“come on slut, tell me how much you want my cock.” billie runs her tongue down your back, making you shudder underneath her. her strap teased your pussy as she simply spread your folds with it. so much friction but you needed her inside. as deep as she could. 

“fuck you, eilish” you literally growled even though your face was pressed into the sheets right now. you wanted to piss her off so badly, to show her all the hate you’d been building up for years, you couldn’t let yourself give in so quickly even though your whole body was begging her to fuck you. “what?”

billie grabbed your hair, pulling your head back, it hurt, it hurt so fucking much, but she didn’t react to your hiss, tugging your hair even harder. she bit hard on your neck then made sure she leaved a mark on your skin. the only thing she cared about was the answer to her question. “i said…fuck you, eili-”

pain. it hurt so fucking bad when her cock was inside you. completely. every inch. your moan was unacceptably loud as she started slamming her hips into you, roughly pressing your head into the mattress. it was like a fucking porno, your hair tangled, half covering your face, the sheets underneath you wet with your tears. her thumb pressed against your tongue, completely coated in your saliva. “tell me how much you hate me, slut. say it with my cock buried inside you.”

you felt like you didn’t even need to feel her inside you to cum. she was talking so dirty that it was driving you crazy in every way. you wanted to tell her how much a bitch she was and how much you hated her, how much you wanted to punch her in the face, but you wanted her to keep fucking you. “don’t stop…”

she laughs when you say that. just mocking you. her hand is in your hair again, pulling painfully, mercilessly. her breath tickles your ear, making you forget about god. her wet tongue on the shell of your ear as she whispers sweetly. "louder"

"just shut up and...don't stop, billie, please!" your voice breaks as she hits the sweet spot inside you. your blood boils from the feeling of the contrast. the pleasure of her cock and the hellish pain of her hand in your hair. she tugged at your hair with every thrust until she pushed your face back into the mattress, only to drag her nails down your back, leaving red marks on your sensitive skin. you were sure she would write her name on it. "scream for me, babygirl. let everyone hear what a slut you are for the one you hate so much"

you were ready to cover your mouth with your hand, just not to give her what she wanted, but you just couldn't unclasp your fists, in which you were clenching the sheets. you could only scream, scream, scream her name. you let her take over your body. "damn, i’m gonna destroy this pussy"

"billie… i'm close..." you whine, cry, moan. anything, just so she would let you cum, cum for her, only for her. your body shook under her rough thrusts. your ass seemed to turn red from how hard she slapped her hips against you. "think about how much you hate me and cum"

billie wraps her hand around your neck, cutting off your breath as you cum all over her fucking strap, mumbling and screaming her name for the thousandth time in the last few minutes.

it's always hotter when you're so sure you hate her, isn't it?

[tuituipupu]

i love asmr, but as with clothes, shoes and romantic interests i am veryyy picky about what i like and consume but basically my fav fav wlw asmrtist is gfs with another asmrtist i watch and i didn’t find out until recently 😭💘

[bougiebutchbinch]

You know, if I weren't lazy I could give you an essay on how comic Wade is either closeted transfem or wants to at least medically transition even if he stays using he/him pronouns. I'd even site my sources in MLA format for you. I'd just have to find some very specific events, and it also relies on the idea that the scars are psychosomatic (which was implied in one of the Deadpool and Spiderman comics).

The only problem is on a good day I'm wishy washy about liking that (a physical representation of his poor mental health that people either ignore or out right demonize? yes please) but on most days I don't really like it as a concept.

oh goshhhhhh I am soooo here for transfem Wade!!!!

Should you ever have the spoons to deliver that essay, I for one would love to hear it.

She (or he, I think they're pretty fluid with pronouns, like Deadpool always is!) is the transfem who makes her gender identity A Big Joke for years and years and years, always laughing about 'haha what if I was a girl what if I was your girlfriend what if my pussy got wet whenever we fought what if I wore a maid dress for you what if that hahahaha wouldn't that be funny'

to the point where

everyone can kinda tell

it isn't a joke

but Wade's almost too afraid to acknowledge that it isn't? Like, she's been keeping her barriers up with comedy for so long, and especially growing up with her dad and then in the military, a BIG part of her is fucking terrified about what it means to acknowledge how she really feels about herself, let alone embrace it.

Anyway, I think one day someone (Vanessa?) would listen to Wade doing his usual bit about 'lol what if I was a girl' and would just say "You could be, you know."

Her tone is kind, gentle, and completely fucking serious.

And Wade suddenly gets

very

very

quiet.

For all of a minute.

"Yeah," he manages eventually, hoarser than ever. Flashing Vanessa a bright, cheeky grin that doesn't quite reach his (her?) eyes. "But then you'd have competition for being the hottest woman in this polycule, and we can't have that."

But maybe next time he takes Vanessa up on her offer to do his nails and make up, she catches him looking at himself wistfully in the mirror, and presses a little kiss to the side of his head.

"I'm ready for that competition whenever you are," she promises. "But you'd better bring your A-game. I'm not gonna go easy on you just because you're a newly minted girl."

Wade chokes out a laugh. She jerks away from her reflection like she's scared that she's been caught - then, tentatively, glances back again. Looking at herself, scars and high cheekbones and thin eyelashes darkened with mascara, and more scars, and all - before her nervous, sickly yellow eyes flit to Vanessa's.

Vanessa can see the want there. The yearning.

And she can see, just as clearly, the fear.

"Rain check?" asks Wade, fake-breezy. "Not that I'm not ready for you to kick my ass at the art of hot-girlhood, but you have had a lot more practice."

Vanessa finds her hand - fever-hot as ever, and just a little sweaty. She gives it a tight squeeze.

"Rain check," she agrees, not because she wants it, but because Wade needs it. Then, distracting her, because there's a fragile set to Wade's mouth, like she's letting something she so desperately wants slip between her fingers - "What colour should I paint your toenails?"

"Ooh!" Wade perks up immediately, clapping her hands in delight. "Wolverine-costume-yellow? Nonono, gunmetal grey for Cable! And Colossus. Okay, so maybe one yellow for every two grey? Hey, I'll do yours too~ We can match!"

She's adorable when she's excited. Vanessa drops another little kiss on one of the textured ridges that divides Wade's skull into continents of scar tissue. "Sounds like a perfect girls' night."

"Girls' night," Wade repeats, smile small and precious. Then, bouncing up from the chair in front of Vanessa's vanity - "Okay, game plan! I'll go put on the Golden Girls and make popcorn, you get the nail polish and the files. Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing."

[chaescx]

Cooking with Illit (🎀)

Pairing: Illit x 6th member reader

Note: fluff, Maknae reader

YUNAH

— Protective mom

— Would help you do things like chopping onions, bell peppers basically anything just to avoid you getting cuts.

— Feeds you food to taste it in the process of cooking.

— Pats your head or praises you for everything you do

—

“Ahhh” you screamed and held your finger pouting as you stared at the blood dripping from it.

Yunah’s head immediately shot up at your scream.

She dropped whatever she was doing and rushed towards you, concern written all over her face.

“YN-nie is everything all right?” She asked making her way towards you but stopped as soon as she saw your bleeding finger.

“Oh my…you’re bleeding” she said and grabbed a wet tissue using it to wipe the blood away.

She treated your wound gently and softly but still whines and groans were heard. She was mumbling soothing words to you just to calm you down.

After treating your wound she rapped it with a bandage and held your hands to lead you to the kitchen island setting you down on the seat.

She went back to cooking but was occasionally checking up on you or glancing at you. She’d also come to give you a taste of the food patting your head softly.

MINJU

— Jokes everywhere

— Will make a Tik tok video with you using memes sound

— Takes a selfies every minute

—

“Ah YN let’s do this Tik tok!”, “let’s film another one”, “let’s do this one pretty please” minju would sing in your ears.

“I don’t know which one to upload.” She said placing a hand on her hips while her free hand was under her jaw imitating a thinking manner.

“Umm why don’t you just upload everything?” You suggested shrugging your shoulders as you stared up at her.

Minju snapped her fingers. “You’re such a genius child” she pats your head pressing the upload button on all the drafts.

“YN pose!” She said as she also posed. The timer ended and the lights flashed meaning the photo had already been taken.

Everything you and minju did she never forgot to take a photo.

MOKA

— By far a better cook than you

— Supportive mom

— Takes adorable picture of you.

—

“Unnie let’s make sushi!” You exclaimed after a while of you and moka thinking of what to cook.

“Sushi? Sure why not” she replied getting all the ingredients and equipments needed.

After the rice had boiled moka placed it on the seaweed sheet which was on top of the bamboo Mat.

You stopped her before she could roll it. “Ah Unnie can I please roll it?” You pleased your hands clasped together as you gave her adorable puppy eyes.

“Uh sure” she responded moving out of the way and letting you roll the sushi.

Moka brought out her phone to take photos and videos of you. “Good job (Y/N) you’re doing great!” She would shower you with praises for every single thing you achieved.

“You look so adorable” she complimented you for the 100th time.

WONHEE

— Clumsy Unnie

— sometimes burns the food

— Panics if she does something wrong

—

Wonhee was busy talking to the camera while you were at the back.

You smelt something strange causing you to sniff the air. “Oh my, I think something is burning…” you mumbled to yourself.

Moving closer to Wonhee you tugged her clothe lightly. “Unnie I think something is burning” you said nervously causing her to realize and jumped always from the camera.

She panicked as she stared at the now burnt pancakes on the frying pan.

“Oh my God what do I do..” she bit her nails thinking to herself.

IROHA

— waits quietly for you to give her the food and the recipe

— Would cook her favorite dishes for you if there’s nothing to cook

— Adores you to death

—

“Unnie I’m so hungryyy but I don’t know what to cook” you pouted holding onto her arm.

“How about tiramisu?” She suggested.

“Tiramisu?” You repeated tilting your head to the side in confusion which only added to your cuteness.

“Yeah tiramisu the dessert” iroha said hoping you’d remember.

“Ohhhh… tiramisu cake” you sang doing your little dance.

Iroha giggled and used the both of her hands to squish your cheeks. “Yes tiramisu cake”.

After you made the tiramisu cake iroha gave you the first bite to taste.

You nodded and hummed in satisfaction. “Hmmm delicious”.

Iroha found you cute the way you stuffed all the cake into your mouth and decided to take a picture of this cute moment. Using this emoji “🤏🏻” near your cheeks.

[soggyriceee]

Hiiii 👋 omg I love your writing soo much 😫😫😫

Can I request reader being insecure about her body because she saw a gorgeous woman talking to Simon? The woman wasn’t flirting with him or anything, but she was a bit touchy with him. And reader can’t help but feel insecure about her body… thinking Simon could have someone better. Only for him to make sure she’s the only one that he wants and his is desperate for.

Make it smutty 🥵🫠

Honestly have no idea if you’ve written this already or what but thank youuuuu if you do 🥹🩵

your graduation party was supposed to be your night, your night of attention, gifts, well wishes and endless, already paid for shots. of course by none other than your boyfriend Simon.

he was the one who planned this whole thing, waiting two years to finally see you get your college degree. he was nothing but proud of you.

of course as a result of him planning it, he invited a few co workers over. you didn’t mind, actually befriending a few of his female co workers yourself. jealousy and insecurity were emotions you and Simon barely felt, reminding each other every night of how much you both craved and loved each other.

and you cherished that deeply, always reminding yourself there’s no way Simon was going anywhere. but you weren’t sure if it was the drinks, or the crowds of people around you, but you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat as you made your way back from the bathroom to see one of Simons old fling from when he was still dating around talking with him and two others.

you watched from a distance, one of the servers coming around with another full tray of shots. you quickly grabbed one, turning your attention back to the tall, slender woman resting against the counter top, watching as her eyes stared so intensely at Simon, her red stained lips wrapping around her black straw.

you wanted to tell yourself she wasn’t seducing him, she was simply drinking and yoh simply had too many shots. but you could help but feel your anger bubble inside yoh more once her matching red nails pressed against Simons chest, laughing at the joke be obviously just made.

of course, you didn’t catch Simons reaction, how uncomfortable he got. how he cleared his throat and stepped towards the side, checking his watch as he finally noticed you’d been gonna for some time. “excuse me.” he would say, placing his drink on the counter and making his way towards the restrooms.

as he cleared them both out, he began to slowly feel his anxiety make itself into his mind, his fingers quickly pressing your name on his phone.

voicemail.

again.

voicemail.

again.

voicemail again.

“bunny you answer me right now, stop playing tbese games i know you at least feel your phone going off. tell me where you are before i flip this evil place upside down.” he said, weaving between pressed up couples and slumped out dudes against the wall.

but you were far from the club now, sitting at a Taco bell only two minuets from the place. of course you saw his calls but why answer them? in your mind, you had lost him. and that was the alcohol talking.

it took Simon 5 minuets before he began to explore further out of the building, taking note of the skinny purple taco bell sign. “you better be there..” he mumbled to himself, walking with urgency.

now, simon would like to say he was upset. infuriated actually. but his heart softened almost immediately when he saw you in the far back of the half full taco bell, wiping your eyes and stupidly getting hot sauce in them, dropping your taco in order to grab a spare unused napkin.

that was probably your breaking point, the fallen taco. you began to cry, not loudly, silently. but simon didn’t even have to sit down to get your attention, you smelt his cologne as soon as he got close, lifting your head to see him sitting down.

“w..what do you want.” yoh slurred out, your right eye squeezed shut from the slight burn of the hot sauce. “why are you here.” he said softly, grabbing another napkin to wipe the sour cream off your cheek. “you.. you cheated.. “ you replied, barely keeping the napkin to your eye.

“cheated? you’re way more than drunk.” he laughed, but when realizing you were serious stiffened. “what do yoh mean cheat?” he said, shifting.

you groaned, slamming your head on the table. he wanted to laugh, always finding your drunken state your cutest, but he knew that what you were saying you truly felt. “come on bunny.. let’s get you home.”

~~

placing you on the bed, he slowly lifted your dress, tossing it to the floor before turning to the dresser. “now.. which pajamas would you like tonight my love?” he asked, turning when he was replied to with silence.

he turned, his eyes landing on you going through his phone. he wasn’t mad, he was just really fucking confused.

“the.. the girl. where is.. she?” yoh slurred, pointing lazily to his phone.

“what?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “don’t lie to me!” you said, tossing his phone. “you still.. like your ex?” you said, quieter than you just were.

for a moment simon thought you were hallucinating, not recalling an ex anywhere you both’ ve been. but he realized very quickly you took a one time thing, from years ago, as him falling for another woman.

he placed your pajamas on the edge of the bed before walking over to his side. “you’re so cute when you’re drunk.. i like this little jealous you.” he smiled, crawling oven to the bed before grabbing your hips, placing you on his lap.

of course, given his job and all, he had his mask on once leaving the club and has since had it on. so, looking into his drunk eyes you couldn’t help but feel your cunt begin to pulse. his eyes were your favorite thing about him, and you loved fuckinf him with it on. his hands grabbed your hips as he sighed, eyes still on yours.

“you don’t know how obsessed i am with you bunny.” he said softly, his cock already hardening just from the sight of your sloppy drunk state. “i think aboht you all the time. who do you think i was talking about in that group hm?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

he pressed his hips up, both of you reacting pleasantly. your hands found his chest, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “m-me?”

he nodded, dragging your hips forward, bucking his own hips up. “mhm.. that’s right baby. i was talking about you.. and how proud i am of you”, he praised, dragging your hips against his cock as his eyes drifted down to his lap, watching as your hips began to move, your heart pumping faster. “how beautiful you are, how good you treat me.”

immediately, your hips were moving by themselves, his praises alone enough to get you off. “i don’t even have to touch you do i baby? you’re gonna cum all on my pants just from my voice, hm?” he cooed, keeping your hips at the same pace. “you wanna hear how obsessed i am with you, how proud i am.”

your hips moved effortlessly against his tight pants, eyes rolling back as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. you whispered out helplessly, as your orgasm grew. “s-so close.” you cried out.

“go ahead baby get it all out.. give me all that cum baby go ahead..” he whispered, the feeling of you rubbing right against his hard on enough to make him cum too. and he did, right into his pants, feeling his cum trickle in between his thighs as your own cum seeped it’s way through his pants, only adding to the mess. “so messy we are.” he smirked, noting the embarrassment that painted your face.

your fingers dug into his sweater as you rode out your orgasm, your clit pulsing violently. simon was far from done tho, somewhat angry(?) at you for assuming he’d cheat, but he also didn’t wanna admit he was angry with you. he’d never really been angry with you.

he flipped you over with ease, your stomach pressed to the bed now as his hands roughly shoved your dress up, leaving your lacey red panties on. they were soaked, completely, making simon more hard. the idea of fucking you while your cum filled panties stayed on made him wanna cum again, and made his cock go from semi hard to hard right again.

quickly, he took his pants off, leaving his boxers on to stare at the wide circle of cum on his grey calvin klein’s.

“such a mess we made, lets make another one hm?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pressing them against his. you could feel the cold, wet stain on your ass, causing you to push back on him. “such a waste, your a wasteful girl. all this cum should be inside you.” he sighed, his thumb making its way from the lower of your spine, down the crack of your ass, pressing only slightly against your asshole. “if you’re so wasteful you shouldn’t get any more hm? if it’ll just go to waste like this. you must not want it.”

your head turned back, fingers desperately trying to grab at the band of his boxers as to pull them down. but he was much quicker, grabbing your greedy hand by the wrist and pressing it against your back, grabbing your hair and shoving your face into the mattress. “now we’re greedy? this isn’t my good girl at all.”

you whined desperately, growing annoyed and tired of his teasing. he already had you in the most sinful position, why is he not fucking you already.

“please i need it.” you cried out, moving your hips back and forth as if he was really inside you. maybe it was the alcohol causing such delusion, but he loved it. he loved watching your dress slowly fall back down, covering the juggle of your ass as your hips slammed back against his. his dick wasn’t even out, but you could feel it and that’s all you needed.

however, he couldn’t be bothered to wait any more, needy for your walls to be wrapped around him.

quickly, his cock spring out of the hole in his boxers, your dress pulled up yet again.

“so impatient, so demanding.” he mumbled, wrapping his finger around your panties and pulling them to the side.

now, usually, you and simon would wear condoms. you both were very adamant about waiting for kids until you’ve both lived out your early 20s with parties, successful careers and the financial and mental ability to do so. however, he couldn’t help but wonder what your pussy felt like bare.

he’d dream of it, you having to actually wake him up from his own dream to help him because he’d dry hump you in his sleep. it was the cutest thing, his soft whimpers and random moans of your name. he knew he’d be wrong for fucking you with no condom, but it was the alcohols fault. he couldn’t help it.

he slid in, stopping halfway in because he couldn’t take the sound alone. the filthy squish of your wetness and cum as he pushed into you, his cock wet with all your juices.

continuing, he pushed himself all the way into your slimy cunt, his hand already letting go of your hand pined to your back. “s-simon!” you squeaked, only for your head to be pushed back into the pillow.

hos hands found your hips, wasting no time in fucking into you, one hand on the back of your head the other on your hip. “fuck you’re s-so beautiful bent over for me like this… oh it makes my cock so-so hard.” he moaned, shamelessly rolling his eyes back as your cum and slick coated his cock base to tip.

his lips formed into a smirk, a confident smirk, hearing how whiney you were for him, how hard you tried to squirm away from the abuse but he held you in place. you were a piece of paper compared to your muscular prince, quite frankly it was embarassing you thought you’d escape him so easy.

“think you’re gonna escape me? hm?” he bunched your hair in his fist before pulling your head up from the bed, your face bright red and tears running down your face.

fuck you’re beautiful, he would think to himself, feeling his cock twitching at the sight of you. it was pathetic truly, how quick and easy you made him cum. it was one of the reasons he was so obsessed with you, your pussy owns him. he knew and you knew it.

his balls slapped against your clit with each thrust, only adding to the growing overstimulated feeling. your lips grazed against each other, his hips still slamming into yours. “i-i’m gonna cum love” he groaned, his eyes staring into your helpless ones.

he loved how well you took him, how you just let him use you. how you were okay with being pounded into. “you gon lemme fill you up hm?” you whimpered a pathetic yes, so drunk you had no idea he didn’t even have a condom on.

“that’s right baby.. gonna give you all m-my babies. all my cum.” he said, his finger nails digging into your skin.

his cock twitched inside as your gummy walls massaged him so good, his balls still abusing your throbbing clit. “gonna be such a good mommy.” he panted, feeling his balls tighten as his orgasm worked its way through his body.

he took his hand from your hair to your throat, sliding his thumb into your mouth as he forced you to open wide. drool almost immediately slid down his hand, only making his thrusts more aggressive and sloppy.

“y-you’re gonna make me cum..” he choked out, a truly pathetic whimper slipping past his lips. “gonna fill you.. gonna fill you with all of it.”

he slid out, flipping you to your back in one swift movement before shoving himself rifht back into that warm pussy. his hands found the sides of your head, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist as he pounded rifht back into you.

his calloused thumb again found your clit, at this point hurting himself as he stopped himself from cumming. “come on princess cum for me.. cum for me show me how badly you want my babies in this fucking pussy.” he panted, his eyes locked onto yours.

and that’s what did it, his eyes.

your pussy convulsed around his cock, his tip abusing your cervix. it was way too much and you couldn’t take it.

“s-simon it feels weird.” you whined, your hands pushing on his lower abdomen. all the cum that he was waiting to fill you up with, came out the second your hands pressed on him. he wasn’t sure if it was the pressure, or just you, but he couldn’t hold it anymore.

“o-oh fuckk!” he groaned out, his hips slamming full force into you as his cum filled you up, earning a painful yelp from you. his tip was hitting directly on your cervix and the orgasm you just had, quickly disappeared and was instead replaced with pain.

but he was so in love with this new feeling, a whole new type of orgasm he’d never felt before. his hips continued their abuse on yours, his tip still sticking to your cervix. “simon it hurts.” you cried out, trying to get his attention that you weren’t trying to be sexy, it genuinely was agonizing.

but hearing how you began to sob, how you squirmed beneath him, it was a disgusting, dirty creepy fantasy of his. but he couldn’t help but feel another orgasm approaching him. “yea i know baby i-i… i know.” he panted, his eyes rolled back as his hips grew slow and sloppy.

he loved how you tried to fight him, how strong he was. maybe it was the forcefulness of it all, but he loved having you squirm beneath him. so much so, that when he came again, he couldn’t help but pin your hips down into place as he fucked his cum back into your hole, annoyed that any was even seeping out to begin with.

your stomach was on fire, it hurt terribly. and when simon had finally noticed you never even came, he looked down at yoh and saw the discomfort all over your face. “i-it hurts.” you whined, kicking him off of you.

the rest of the night and early morning was full of needles and IVS, the male nurses not even bothering to help you in any way. simon requested only female nurses for you, wanting to remain the only man who will take care of you and to help you up, despite being the reason you both were even in here to begin with

hoping and praying y’all like this one, i enjoyed this request a lot so 😼😼

[stary-darlin]

I keep thinking of sweetheart!reader who keeps on getting ellie worked up and going insane just thinking about her, how you may ask? Just by smiling to her and giggling at her dad jokes. Both of you are dumb and dumber, and ellie is here for it all <3

Sweetheart!reader who has a whole bag full of emergency kits — that are filled with bandages that have hearts and bears on it that you collected from abandoned nurseries and other necessary stuff — and snacks and cute little weapons that joel says will not do justice when you are in an emergency and two sets of Nintendo switches just for funzies :3

Joel groaned as he felt a sharp nail press against his shoe, causing him to freeze at his place and sit down quietly before taking the shoe off and finding out that it poked his foot's skin to the point it's bleeding.

You quickly came to him and looked at him with your eyes widened, kneeling next to him and getting your emergency kit out while ellie stood by the door to guard you guys from any zombie. Pulling out the bear bandage since joel acts like one and putting it on the wound and patting joel's shoulder lightly, ignoring the fact that he's glaring at you offensively.

"There you go, all good now! Could you walk?" You ask while smiling widely, your dimples making it's presence known. Ellie turning around to see the bear bandage on joel's feet, holding her laugh with all the power that she has, visually shaking.

Joel groaned and sighed, "I'm fine, I could walk."

Later on that day, Ellie kept on calling Joel 'baba bear' which made Tom confused and curious to see why Joel was called that. And god, he joined Ellie in bullying Joel out; making Joel feel more humiliated than he ever did in his whole life.

Sweetheart!reader who straddles ellie's hips while she's lying down and doing her nails and make up, with ellie just looking you starstruck, her eyes turning into hearts as she sees you leaning closer to her body, feels the warmth of your thighs against her hips, craving that body contact of yours with hers.

You hum a song melody that you heard in the bar, tilting your head to the side as you leaned closer to ellie's face, focused on not missing up the thin coating of your cherry lip balm on her lips. Poor ellie, just getting more and more redder as you leaned closer, her hands pressed against on her bed's sheets like she was sewed on it.

"Ellie, could you put your hands on my hips so I dont fall, please?" You ask with your soft voice going through ellie's ears like an on-going melody.

"Mhm–"

She obeys you and lands her trembling hands on your waist, that you soon corrected and lowered them to your hips, freaking ellie out to the point if you look inside her mind you will see her braincells fighting every urge that has to do with you.

Sweetheart!reader who just a ball of sunshine walking around the town, smiling to everyone as if life was nothing but unicorn dust and cotton candy. But hey people in town quite of a fond with it, smiling back to you each time you pass by. You gave them hope of a new future and they loved it, but not ellie, cause she thought alot of creeps are not worth your gorgeous smile to be in their direction even, she would always put her hand on your mouth and snatch you to her with her arm on your shoulder, taking her words to heart.

You walked around with ellie, hands in hands as you waved to joel's friends on the street. Both of you were walking to the bar to have a drink as a prize for finishing 4 commissions in one day, ellie was okay with it until you turned your head to one of the guys that were rumored to be perverts. Pulling you to the other side so the guy doesn't look over at the skin your shorts were showing, and putting your hands down as you were about to wave to him. A dumb act out of you.

You looked up at her with your doe eyes, "Hey, I was–"

"Don't." She warned, "just not for him."

You giggled, tilting you head to the side, "you jealous?"

Ellie glared at you for a moment and closed her eyes, sighing as she nodded to you, "yes, very." Before leaning down and kissing your forehead.

All rights reserved to @stary-darlin , please do not copy, rewrite, translate my works on any other platform.

Requests: open <3

[binsito]

I loved your idea of hannie with his nail tech crush.. yk what i think though? OBVIOUSLY the nailtech kinda knows abt this little crush of his. She doesnt know how severe it is but she does notice the way he blushes slightly when she compliments his hands, or the way his eyes sparkle when she finally giggles at one of his jokes. Also who am i kidding the nail tech obviously ALSO finds hannie v v cute and v v hot bc,,,, he's hannie??? He's charming and handsome and he keeps his fingernails clean soooo maybe the next time he comes around, and she is feeling a little frustrated bc her own hands aren't enough fun for her.. she'll hint at wanting his fingers inside of her? Maybe she'll be kinda distracted and shy this tine or maybe she's bold and just straight up teases him by saying things that could be considered dirty but also might just be his pervy mind interpreting the wrong thing. Aaa idk i'm not a writer but yourw giving my head THOUGHTS

OHHHH MYGOD. thank god you left this ask bc i was dying to write more for this JASHDJA

warning: fingering, hand worshipping, swearing, slight perv!han jisung, lmk if i missed anything but it's pretty tame

wc: 914

hannie has to act normal.

hannie has to be cool.

hannie has to act like he doesn't go home after every appointment and edges his cock thinking about how nice it would be to have your lips wrapped around his tip.

so when he walks into the salon, straight into your suite and takes a seat at your chair - he makes a mental promise to himself that:

he. will. not. get. hard.

he won't get hard if you hold his hands, it's all part of your job.

he won't get hard if you smooth lotion on him, it's just a courtesy.

he won't get hard if you compliment his nails, they're only pretty because you made them pretty.

"hannie do you even put your fingers to use?"

what?

"you come here so often and yet they're rarely chipped or overgrown. you must not lift a finger." you smile.

oh.

he felt so stupid, of course he read into it in such a dumb, perverted way.

"you must take good care of yourself hm?"

fuck.

why couldn't he be normal? why couldn't he just have nice, clean thoughts? why was he getting hard? why couldn't he just keep his promise?

"your hands are always soft. i wish i had nice fingers like you. they're long and pretty.."

he clears his throat and laughs awkwardly. he was being such a loser.

"oh yeah.. they're definitely long, alright.. hah.." he says

who the fuck says that?

he literally wanted the ground to eat him up.

"yeah, they are. longer than mine." you giggle as you work on his polish.

"yeah.. way longer.."

and why he kept going? only god knows, but he definitely noticed your face flushing (and was he crazy or were you pressing your legs tightly together under the table?)

hannie doesn't think he's ever seen you this quiet, this concentrated on his hands before. after the conversation died out, there was no other topic to bounce off of. and normally han jisung would just start talking about random shit, would tell you your hair looked pretty or that he noticed your subtle eye makeup and that it looked nice.

but not now.

not today.

"hannie have you ever had problems reaching things with your fingers? i-it could just be because mine aren't as long as yours but.. you know they're never quite enough to reach."

"oh uh.. n-no but do you need help reaching something? i could help.."

"could you really? that's so sweet of you, hannie.." your smile could melt him into a puddle. you smile at him so sweetly, just for him and han jisung can't really handle that well.

"so what is it you need help with? something too high up or-"

"well.. i just can't seem to cum. doing your nails frustrates me so much. they look so nice so why can't i have them inside of me?" you pout at him.

the wind feels like it was knocked out of him. he thanks god that you have your own little suite and no one else was around to hear that.

"f-fuck, are you serious? holy shit, why didn't you say something sooner?"

"well because i'm a little shy and because i wanted to finish doing your set first, of course..

you really mean it though? will you actually help me?"

"yes.. fuck, yes i'll help you."

his eagerness was cute. unluckily for him, he still had to wait for you to cure his gel polish. his leg bouncing impatiently as you gave him a look to quit it.

he smiled shyly and let out a nervous chuckle as he tried to contain himself. once you were done, he damn near jumped out of his chair towards you. you put some of your supplies away and walked past him to lock the door. as soon as he felt the coast was clear and no one would walk in, he grabbed you - kissing you deeply and pressing you against his lean body.

it was an intense kiss, full of want and desire but you welcomed it because you had been feeling the same way. you pulled away slightly to grab his wrist, bringing it up towards your mouth so you could take two of his freshly manicured fingers in between your lips.

you made sure to get them nice and wet, saliva connecting them to the tip of your tongue when you pulled them out.

han jisung felt weak.

he found himself pressing you against the nearest wall, your pants long forgotten as he pumped his fingers inside you, finally leaving you fuller than your fingers ever could.

the pads of his fingers massaged your gummy spot and curled against it making your knees buckle. it was all too perfect and better than you could ever imagine. you knew the orgasm he was going to pull from you was going to be intense. you felt it bubbling up already and he hadn't even been touching you for long.

but when he brings his other hand forward to rub at your clit and you look down to catch a peek of his baby blue nails, you lose yourself to him and feel yourself cream around his fingers. clenching your cunt tightly against them, not wanting him to ever pull out.

however when he does pull out, he makes sure to have you watch as he sucks your essence off his fingers. rolling his eyes back at the taste and humming in satisfaction.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[pinksomovember]

Day 1 - In A Car [ao3]

Ivy rocked on her heel folded under her.

“I’m going to piss myself,” she said, a slight whine bleeding into her otherwise joking tone.

Nora didn’t respond. Ivy had been complaining on-and-off for the past hour, with increasing frequency, and had started shortly after a stop that had a bathroom.

“I seriously don’t think I’ve ever had to pee this bad in my life,” Ivy continued. “It’s starting to hurt.”

“You could’ve gone at the gas station,” Nora said.

Ivy didn’t appreciate the condescending scolding. She felt like a water balloon that was still attached to the hose, bulging more and more with every second, with only a matter of time before it went pop. Her only outlet was to fidget, simultaneously squeezing her thighs together and rocking back and forth onto her foot so it pressed up against her pussy. In combination with the seam of her jean shorts digging up against her—working its way into a wedgie—her urethra had plenty of pressure to help it stay closed. That was only going to work for so long, though.

“You didn’t see the bathrooms,” Ivy argued. They’d been disgusting—shit on the back of the seat, a truly foul smelling liquid seeping along the corners of the floor, and flies everywhere. Not to mention how every surface was covered in stains and dried flecks of who-knows-what. If it had been cleaned in the past month Ivy would eat one of her socks.

She’d had to pee, decently bad, when they had stopped there. But under no circumstances would Ivy use that bathroom. Except for maybe (just maybe) right now.

She thought she’d be able to hold it. They were only a few hours out from their destination and she could always get Nora to stop at a rest stop or a gas station if it really got bad. Ivy, however, hadn’t realized that they were about to exit fucking civilization. There had been nothing for the past fifty miles other than cattle and the occasional cornfield!

“If you weren’t chugging those iced teas-”

“I’ve stopped!”

Ivy might’ve also forgotten to factor in how much liquid had still been moving its way through her system, too. It was a habit for her to sip at sugary drinks when she was bored.

A wave of desperation so strong that Ivy dug her nails into her thighs swept through her.

“Ohhh my god,” she moaned. “I can’t do this. Jesus fucking Christ.”

There was so much pee inside her right now her bladder was visibly pushing up against her skin, firm and tight and aching between her hips. She had given up on the seatbelt, and the button of her shorts, well over fifteen minutes ago. Ivy kind of wanted to cry.

Nora softened. “You going to be alright, babe?”

“I don’t know. Yes, probably. Maybe.”

“I can always pull over,” she offered. “You’d have to piss on the side of the road, though.”

Ivy shook her head adamantly. “No, there’s way too much traffic.”

They fell into silence for a few minutes, aside from the staticy music of one of the few radio station’s Nora’s truck was picking up and the occasional curse from Ivy.

“Are you enjoying it, at least? At least a little?” Nora asked, breaking the quiet.

“What?” Ivy practically panted. Her breathing was rough as she tried to huff and puff her way through the worst of the desperation.

“Just.” Nora seemed a bit embarrassed, keeping her eyes completely glued to the road. “You’re…y’know. Piss thing.”

“It’s not a piss thing,” Ivy hissed, mortified. Even though it was, at least partially, a piss thing.

It wasn’t her fault that having a full bladder turned her on. From what Ivy understood, it was just simple biology! The fuller that most women’s bladder’s get, the more it puts pressure on all the internal pleasure hotspots. A little like cockwarming a moderately small toy, just without any form of firmness that a foreign object would feel like. It felt good in a slow building, passive sort of way.

Getting off with all that weight in her lower belly also felt good. A little bit of extra flare to a still otherwise damn good orgasm. 

But she wouldn’t say she was into piss. The idea of the smell and the mess alone was enough to turn her off to it. Holding it on occasion until it was just starting to edge into too much was plenty enough for her.

Although, she had to admit, she wasn’t exactly turned off to it right now.

Each tight squeeze of her thighs stimulated her a little bit. Every rock back pressed the bone of her heel into the squelching slickness of her pussy, which was absolutely soaking her panties despite knowing damn well that she hadn’t leaked a single drop of pee yet. And with all that movement, the seam of her shorts was pulled tight against her unmistakably hard clit.

“Well, are you?” Nora asked.

“I-” Ivy stopped herself. Her face was burning. “Yeah, maybe. So what, I still have to pee more than I have to—or whatever, want to—get off.”

Nora stole a side glance at Ivy. Something dark, heedy, interested came over her expression as she drank in how Ivy looked.

Ivy sacrificed one of her hands clawing into her thigh as a grounding method to cover her face. This was embarrassing enough as it was without having to talk about her kinks. Even if Nora seemed to be getting into it.

“Oh my god, ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” Ivy chanted, forgetting her embarrassment entirely. The wave of desperation felt incredibly, suddenly like a physical wave. She could feel it surging against the sphincter muscles of her urethra. 

She wiggled her hips side to side to try and fight through it. The movement caused her shorts, already so tight against her cunt, to shift. Her clit was trapped between the seam and her pubic bone, but couldn’t stay in place with this new movement. The seam fucking stroked her aching clit, slipping to the side before grinding right back over it with the next sway of her hips.

“Hu-uhn,” Ivy couldn’t help but moan. “Uh, uh, uh!”

“Fuck,” Nora cursed, breathless.

Ivy couldn’t process the difference between her desperation for relief and her sudden, surging need to cum. Everything was much too much and not enough at the same time. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Jesus Christ. Uhaha.” Ivy sobbed a couple times. It was part laugh and part horniness and part overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like an out-of-body event while also being the most physically animal experience she had ever had.

“God. You feeling good, baby?” Nora asked. 

“Y-y-yes!” Ivy wailed. “It’s- fuck, it’s so good. I’m so wet. Shit, I’m so- I’ve gotta piss so bad.”

Nora took her right hand off the wheel to grab Ivy’s leg. Her other hand held onto the wheel so tight her knuckles were turning white. There was something wild about her. Something that, if she didn’t have to focus so much of her attention on the road, might’ve swept her up in the same way Ivy’s desperation was.

“You gonna play with yourself, baby?” Nora asked. “Gonna play with your clit while you piss yourself?”

“Don’t- don’t wanna piss myself,” Ivy whined. Nevertheless, she did as Nora suggested and grabbed tight between her legs. Her shorts were too tight and were getting in the way of actually being able to touch herself effectively, but the pressure helped reel in her bladder’s demands a little bit.

“Ives, baby, there’s no bathrooms for miles yet.”

A reedy noise broke in Ivy’s throat.

“I know, I know,” Nora said, hand squeezing at Ivy’s thigh. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“This is so fucking embarassing,” Ivy managed, laughing incredulously. “I’m seriously gonna wet myself. Fuck.”

“I don’t care. Fuck, baby, looking like that…I’d let you ruin anything.”

“Hm?” Ivy hummed. Her whole cunt was pulsing, vagina and pussy lips and clit. She was so wet she wouldn’t even be surprised if a spot was showing up on her shorts, soaked straight through her panties. Her body was building up to something—so high up she was almost afraid of it—unsure if it would be the dams breaking involuntarily or an orgasm so intense it would be the best she’d ever had.

“You look so fucking good, Ives,” Nora rasped. “I could eat you alive.”

“I…” Ivy wavered. She didn’t know what she wanted to say. 

“It’s okay,” Nora said. “It’s gonna happen either way, isn’t it? Unless you changed your mind about the side of the road?”

They were on a two-laned highway, a couple of cars in either direction always in sight. Stopping would mean even more cars, as the ones behind them passed them by. 

“No, absolutely not. It’d end up on the- on the fucking Internet or something.”

Nora massaged her thumb against Ivy’s skin. “Then I’m sorry, baby, but you’re gonna have to piss yourself.”

“’S bullshit,” Ivy mumbled. Tears were pricking up in her eyes. The side-to-side wiggling was simultaneously not doing enough to help her hold it and doing a frustratingly inconsistent too-much-not-enough to get her off. She resorted back to rocking, with no sign of pausing the mounting something that was steadily creeping up on her.

“We’ve got a ton of clothes in the back,” Nora soothed. “And towels, and baby wipes, and our rental is pretty far from any neighbors so nobody’ll see you walking in your wet clothes. And it won’t take too much to clean the truck, and I don’t mind cleaning it up, okay?”

“But-”

“It’s not a big deal,” Nora insisted, a bit of firmness edging in. “Understand?”

Ivy nodded tightly. She did understand, even if she could barely think. 

“Now, since it’s gonna happen anyways, you want to make yourself feel good?”

“Already am,” Ivy said. “Might, fuck, I don’t know. Might cum.”

“Just like that?”

“May- uhn- maybe.”

“Fuck.” She sounded reverent. “You wanna touch yourself, baby? Wanna stick your fingers down your shorts?”

Ivy nodded, frantic. She was so close, to coming, to pissing, to doing both. She just couldn’t quite get there.

Her fingers felt fucking heavenly. Her pussy was a mess of sticky slick, audibly squishing as she pushed her hand beneath the waistband of her panties and into the lips of her pussy. Just brushing against her clit was enough to cause her to shout out, trembling at the sudden stimulation of sensitive nerves.

“Just like that, baby. Fuck, look at you. It feels good?”

“Yes! Fuck, ohmygod. Hnnnuh.”

Ivy’s fingers were clumsy, sitting up and trapped in her shorts and obstructed by the clamping of her thighs. But God, it didn’t even matter. She grinded her cunt on her heel and the drag of the cotton and denim against her pussy made everything all the better and her fingers fumbling over her clit was dragging her up up up.

“Keep playing with your clit, baby. Just like that, yeah. Just how you like it.”

“Gonna- fuck!”

“You gonna cum, Ives?”

“Wanna,” Ivy cried. “So- fuck, please, please. Wanna…I’m so…”

“Or are you gonna piss?”

“Fuck!” Ivy wailed. Her pleasure crested, sharp and violent and hard enough that her whole body shook. She threw her head back into the seat, practically seizing. She barely recognized the sounds she was making as something coming from her mouth, unfamiliar from any other she’d made before.

“Oh my god,” Nora was saying, somewhere in the distance. “Fuck, baby. Fuck.”

Ivy was still shaking, still somewhere high up. 

“Need’ta piss,” she slurred. “Need’ta…uhn, I need’ta…”

Nora said something. Ivy registered only that it was meant to be encouraging.

“Uh, uhn, ohhhhhh fuck. Oh-”

Ivy’s fingers were still against her cunt, and she felt the first hot trickle of piss against them. It wasn’t enough, though, not even registering as relief. The sensation of liquid leaving her bladder, however, passing through her weakening sphincter and soaking into her shorts, bordered into the same amount of pleasure as playing with her clit usually was.

So soon after her orgasm, she felt overstimulated. There was still way too much pressure and it was taking a strenuous amount of concentration to keep even the tiny stream going and everything still felt so fucking good.

“Nnn…Nora,” Ivy sobbed. “I can’t-”

“Relax, Ives, relax. It’s okay, you can do it.”

“Can’t-”

Nora let go of Ivy’s thigh and instead tucked her hand beneath Ivy’s wrist of the hand still down her shorts to place her palm against her belly. “I’m gonna push down a bit, okay? Just relax.”

Ivy hiccuped, but nodded. She was still managing a thin stream of piss, seeping into the seat of her shorts and just barely beginning to form a puddle under her butt, but her bladder was screaming at her.

Nora pushed down and Ivy squirmed violently. The pressure was so much more but it wasn’t doing anything but hurting. She had to piss so bad and she couldn’t and inexplicably she felt like she could cum again just like this but not quite. And then her urethra gave way.

“Ohmy god,” Ivy choked. The piss flooded out of her.

It didn’t even feel like she was sitting in the passenger seat of her girlfriend’s car, her entire bottom was so suddenly drenched. She might as well have been sitting in the tub in a few inches of bathwater. Hot, very slightly piss-scented, bathwater.

It was euphoric. She might’ve been cumming again, for all the pleasure searing through her as her release hissed through her panties and pooled on the fabric seat faster than it could soak it up. She genuinely couldn’t tell.

The stream was hot and steady against her fingers as it sprayed out of her. Absently, she petted along her inner labia. 

“Shit,” Nora said, like she was in awe. “Shit.”

The stream started to peter out, in fits and bursts. Just when Ivy thought it was over another gush would start up, each one a little weaker than the last.

There was a dull drip, drip, drip as the puddle on the seat dripped onto the floorboards.

Nora’s eyes darted between the road and Ivy, with a desperate sort of want. “Oh my god, Ives. That was…”

“I think I’m still going,” Ivy said. She felt a little fuzzy around the edges, numb in the very tips of her fingers and toes and slightly cross eyed. Fucked out.

“Fuck,” Nora whispered, enthralled.

 The final dredges of her bladder’s contents were still dribbling out of her, like her urethra couldn’t quite figure out how to close back up. Ivy tried to force it a bit, by clenching up, but all that caused was a violent shiver to rush up her spine and a soft little gasp.

Finally, finally, Ivy felt herself stop peeing.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, satisfied and spent and high on sex. 

“You okay?” Nora asked. Her hand was back to Ivy’s thigh, mindless of the piss starting to cool on her skin.

“Yeah,” Ivy sighed, sleepy and pliant. “M’great. Maybe, uh, in a bit you could get a towel outta the back?”

“Yeah,” Nora agreed. “’Course, baby.”

[slaymitchabernathy]

Red

“I don’t like that color.”

Coriolanus sighs at the snippy tone. He’s gotten used to it over the years, how she still tries to poke at him, push his buttons, fight him on every decision.

She’ll learn one day.

“I always paint them this color darling,” he reminds her with a tone all too gentle for the way she just addressed him. But he’s patient with his girl. For the most part.

“None of my friends paint their toes red anymore. Now it’s pink.”

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows as he continues to paint even, red strokes of polish onto his girlfriend’s toes, acting as if he’s so interested in what her silly little friends are doing.

He’s met some of her friends. Seen how stupid those girls are, their boyfriends too. All so bubbly and not at all driven.

“Then you’ll be extra special,” he says, finishing with her left foot. It’s a good thing Coriolanus doesn’t mind feet. Not that he actively seeks them out, but he doesn’t mind his girlfriend’s small feet. Not when he gets little moments like this with her. And she giggles whenever he tickles her feet too, so that’s nice.

Soarynn huffs but doesn’t say anything in reply. He’s glad. He’s had a long day at work. He never thought such a domestic task would bring him such serenity, but for some reason, he truly enjoys painting his girlfriend’s toes.

It all happened on a whim. The nail salon she normally frequented got closed down—rat infestation— and Soarynn was without a place to get her pedicures.

Coriolanus being the economic man he was offered to paint her toes for her. It was a bit of a joke at first, what could he possibly know about painting toenails? But he knew how to make things work, how to overcome and adapt.

He was a Snow after all. And he’d been through a lot in his younger years, survived a lot, learned a lot.

Soarynn preferred white toenails at the time but he’s convinced her to go with red. It would be a one-time thing anyway. But then it turned into every once in a while until every three weeks Coriolanus Snow was painting his girlfriend’s toes.

In a way it was embarrassing. Here he was, the powerful Coriolanus Snow hunched over while his girlfriend placed her feet in his lap. But he didn’t mind. He did it out of love. And pride. But mostly love.

None of Soarynn’s friends had boyfriends who were as dedicated as he was to her. None of those sorry excuses for men were willing to come home after a long day of work and do something as tedious as this. But here he was.

“What did you do today while I was at work, my love?” He asks, gently taking her other foot and placing it on his knee. He’s learned to be more gentle over the years because of her, more kind, to smile more.

He’s usually so focused on the task at hand that he barely spares her a glance but he looks up at her just this once to truly admire the piece of work Soarynn Nightingale is.

Her head is tilted while she thinks. It’s cute. How she probably did two things today but has to think so hard about them. He likes that about her, how utterly clueless and dumb his girl can be sometimes. She’s smart when she wants to be. When she wants to run that mouth of hers.

“Well I woke up around ten,” she starts.

Coriolanus woke up at six. Like he does every day, six days a week. He wakes up to his alarm and rolls onto his back, wondering why he had to go and be so ambitious with his work.

He slips out of bed, showers, does his morning routine before putting on the clothes he picked out the night before. He sprays on some cologne before leaving the bathroom. All that’s left is to say goodbye.

Soarynn is always fast asleep. Her blonde head of hair peeking out from under the thick duvet covers. He presses a kiss to her forehead before leaving for work. Then she wakes up four hours later.

“Then I got lunch with Clemmie around one, maybe one-thirty.”

At one-thirty Coriolanus was in his fifth meeting of the day, buried in spreadsheets and concerns about the District’s production quotas.

“Oh and then I did a little shopping. Not too much I swear.”

Coriolanus smiles to himself as he paints even strokes on all five of her toes. As spoiled as she can be—which is his own doing—Soarynn is always careful when handling his money. He appreciates that about her. How she knows it’s his, not hers. That plastic card he gave her is a privilege and it can be taken away.

He never takes it away though.

He likes seeing her spend his money. Remembering when he had none makes him more proud to see his girlfriend carting around handfuls of bags all filled with frivolous nonsense. It makes her happy though. If that counts for something.

Her card is red.

He gave it to her on her twentieth birthday. She’d been so excited, jumping up and down and kissing him silly. He likes taking care of his girl, fixing all her problems. And goodness does she have a lot of problems. They’re all so easy to fix. The sink is leaking, she can’t find her favorite pair of heels, the restaurant she always goes to doesn’t have any available tables for her and her friends.

All such simple, elementary problems that he solves with the wave of his hand.

He calls the plumber who arrives in twenty minutes. Because when you’re a Snow, people tend to bend to your beck and call. He buys her ten new pairs of heels, all the same style as her favorites, but a variety of colors. He knows the owner of the restaurant who happily moves some people around until his girl and her friends have the best table in the house.

It’s easy to make Soarynn happy. And when she’s happy, he’s happy.

Because Coriolanus Snow isn’t a good man when he’s mad.

He sees red when he’s mad.

Soarynn’s only witnessed it a handful of times. Seen how mad he can really get, how mean and aggressive he becomes.

He thinks it’s a good thing though. She knows not to test him. Not to push him.

So when he insists on painting her toenails red, she doesn’t argue with him for long.

That’s when she’s smart, uses her senses, her charms.

It’s probably because she remembers the one time she got in his way, made him more upset, pushed him too far.

She remembers that night. How he yelled, how he pushed her, how he grabbed her.

They both saw the same color that night.

It’s the same color they’re seeing right now on her toes. The same color they don’t talk about even though it sits in the back of their minds. In a way it leads them to both despise the color due to the nasty memory it brings up.

But they don’t talk about it.

How it always seems to lead to red.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Black & Gold

A/N: I just love the idea of our goofy, giddy boy being with a no-nonsense lawyer type who’s so soft for Tony and Tony only 🥹 Like, “she calls him Bear because his mother’s maiden name was Paddington” type soft…but she also likes to dominate him, u feel me? (Sorry if this sucks, the idea came to me and I banged it out in like a half hour)

You rolled your eyes with a huff as you stepped out of the elevator into the NCIS bullpen, tucking your phone between your ear and shoulder as you dug around in your purse for your beloved Burt’s Bees- mango flavor, Tony’s favorite. “Absolutely not,” you growled, the frown on your face melting away when you caught sight of your boyfriend at his desk. Tony looked up and met your smile with one of his own, shaking his head when your features hardened again and saying a silent prayer for the idiot on the phone daring enough to challenge the likes of you.

“Tell your client he should’ve thought of that before laying a finger on mine, Gareth,” you snarled. “I’ll see you in hell. Or court. Wherever you end up first.”

You paused, eyebrow steadily rising as you listened to the opposing lawyer’s response. “Oh, I promise you’ll be able to spot me. I’ll be the one serving up your head on a silver platter!” Pressing the red button on the screen, you dropped your phone into your purse with a sigh. “That used to be a lot more satisfying when they snapped shut.”

“Borrow mine next time,” a voice called from the desk catty-corner to Tony’s, and you threw your boyfriend’s boss a charming smile.

“Y’know, Jethro, I might just take you up on that.” Turning your attention back to the handsome devil before you, you ran your perfectly manicured nails along his jaw and offered a simple, “Hi, Bear.”

Tony nearly purred, catching himself at the last second and narrowly escaping being the butt of his colleagues’ jokes. “Hi, beautiful. Was that about the Harvey case?”

You shook your head in disappointment, dropping your visitor’s badge on his desk before leaning against the back of his chair. “Don’t even get me started. How was your day, everyone?”

“Interesting, to say the least,” Ziva smirked, and you raised an eyebrow out of curiosity. “McGee kept us entertained with his… technical skills, shall we say.”

“Oh?” You turned your attention to Tim, noting the flush creeping along his cheeks and his inability to make eye contact with you. “Don’t be shy, Tim,” you teased, loving how the younger brunette seemed to always be flustered around you.

“Yeah, Peeping Tim, tell Y/N what you found.”

“Tony!” McGee’s head shot up to meet Tony’s challenge with a glare, the blush on his cheeks growing darker when you cocked your head at him.

“Well, Timothy?” You let your hands roam over Tony’s broad shoulders, squeezing every so often and relishing the firm muscle beneath your fingertips.

“Let me first say that I didn’t go looking for anything. Well, I did, but it’s because my coffee was gone from my desk and-”

“Spit it out, Elf Lord,” Gibbs called from his desk, sounding disinterested although he was no doubt enjoying McGee’s obvious discomfort. “You saw Y/N and DiNozzo playing grab-ass on his desk.”

“Oh, Tim,” you tutted playfully. “If you wanted to watch, you could’ve just asked.”

Ziva barked out a laugh and Gibbs met your gaze with an amused smirk, playfully berating you for instigating a breach of professionalism after hours when the telltale sound of Abby’s boots rounding the corner joined the mix.

“Is she here? Are you here? Oh, thank god, you’re here,” she squealed in delight, grabbing your hand and whisking you off to the lab. “Five minutes, Tony, I promise!”

Ziva waited until Abby had dragged you a safe distance away before turning to her colleague. “I still do not know how you managed to trick her into a relationship with you. She is just so cool and confident with her all black outfits and stilettos and you are… you.”

“I’ll have you know it was love at first sight,” Tony shot back smugly.

“Really?” McGee quipped. “Could’ve fooled us.”

The NCIS agent had strutted into your office with a practiced ease, credentials in one hand, the other poised to shake yours. “Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS. Call me Tony.”

“Y/N Y/LN,” you had returned in kind, placing your hand in his. You were immediately struck by his olive green eyes, twinkling with clear mischief although they held something deeper, more genuine behind the bravado.

“What a coincidence,” he had smiled, “that’s my wife’s name.”

The erratic fluttering of your heart had stopped abruptly, although your face remained unchanged, the art of hiding your emotions in the courtroom coming in handy. You had pulled your hand back from his grip, gaze subtly flicking toward his bare left hand. “You’re married?”

He had drawn his bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment before smirking at you. “No, ma’am, not yet.”

“Would’ve sealed the deal that day itself, if not for her being a key witness in our case,” Tony sighed, crossing his hands behind his head as he replayed the moment like one of his favorite movies.

“Humble yourself, DiNozzo,” you cracked as you returned to the bullpen with Abby in tow. “You practically begged me to go out with you.”

“I did not, you were just playing hard to get.”

“Okay, buddy,��� you snorted, meeting his gaze and puckering your lips in an air-kiss to soften the blow. Glancing down at your watch, you added, “We’ve gotta get going. You, me, and your ridiculously skinny tie have a date with a private chef at home. Goodnight, everyone,” you smiled at each member of Tony’s team as you passed by their desks on the way out.

Fiddling with the Italian silk around his neck, Tony laughed, speaking to no one in particular. “She actually loves them. You love my ties, right, honey?”

“Yeah!” you called over your shoulder without turning around, a playful smirk blooming across your face. “I love ‘em cause I can use them as a leash.” You pressed the call button for the elevator, then turned and whistled for Tony, trying not to break character by bursting out laughing. You wished you could see the stunned look on McGee’s face right now, but Ziva and Abby’s reenactment tomorrow would have to do.

“She’s just joking,” Tony waved his hand with an awkward chuckle, considering his options for exactly half a second before gathering up his things and running to join you, throwing out a hurried, “Night, guys!”

“I still do not understand their dynamic,” Ziva said after the two of you had exited, shaking her head with a soft smile.

“I think they’re what kids these days would call a ‘black cat and golden retriever’ couple,” McGee offered.

“That certainly fits,” Gibbs conceded. “Tony’s loyal, loving, and has a perpetually dumb, goofy grin on his face.” Mouthing at the tip of his reading glasses, he muttered, “Now, if only I could train him.”

McGee pulled out a bag of pretzels from the top drawer of his desk and shook it with a self-satisfied smile. “You just need some positive reinforcement, Boss.”

—————

Tags: @bakugouswh0r3

[everythingisawayoflife]

MORE Random West Wing Headcanons bc I said so

i’ve gotten back into the show recently (esp bc i understand all the politics and crap) and i feel the need to talk about my favorite dysfunctional political administration

in the first post i made, i said ainsley and sam dated for two years before breaking up. well that breakup didn’t last very long. a month later, they started dating again. from that point, on they never left each others side. they live in georgetown with a rottweiler and four kids.

after being really involved in solving a finance crisis, josh was invited to throw the first pitch at the Mets game. when the camera zoomed in on him, he was visibly emotional.

donna was over at josh’s apartment so much during his recovery period, they’ve begun to have weekly movie nights. they continue this tradition even after marriage and kids.

josh and donna’s house has a wall in the hallway of their house when you first enter that is covered with their kids’ handprints - at first, it was just their oldest being naughty but they let it grow into the Moss-Lyman art exhibit. even sam and ainsley’s kids, and toby and andy’s kids have added their prints to the wall

there’s a weekend every summer where all of senior staff and their families come up to Manchester and stay on the Bartlet Farm at Abbey’s insistence - she wears the title of “Grandma Abbey” proudly

at the inaugural ball (aka s4 josh & donna), josh and donna spend so much time together that a lot of the people there going to congratulate josh on getting bartlet’s second term mistake josh and donna for husband and wife - as a joke, donna and josh let people believe it

^^they end up getting quite the talking to from abbey - because she’s mad they didn’t tell her first (and cj, who has to field press questions the next day and they almost caused a domestic incident)

as an april fools day prank, zoey and charlie covered bartlet’s walls in the oval office with sticky notes - sam helped and wrote a “your mama” joke in latin as payback for bartlet having fun with the staff

josh has a terrible habit of biting the skin around his nails until they bleed - he doesn’t realize how bad it is until he turns some papers into the president with large drops of blood on them - donna keeps spare bandaids at her desk

toby likes to have a little fun with donna and say things to deliberately get a reaction out of her - some are truths, some are lies. one truth is that he likes beans on toast. donna called him clinically insane.

leo really likes musicals. can he sing? hardly ever. but on days he finds he needs to relax, he puts on the original cast recording of oklahoma and everything turns out okay

donna unofficially adopts a sickly kitten that lived in the trash near her apartment - she names it Brownie and nurses it back to health

^^Josh is allergic to Brownie but doesn’t say a word to Donna until after they’ve been married and had kids when they reach the age where they start asking for pets

Donna is sort of a multiple-threat kind of girl - she was an excitable kid so she grew up knowing how to do all kinds of things - these things are tap dance for seven years, karate for two years, horseback riding has been the only constant in her life, she can knit and sew, and she even speaks a little french - josh LOVES it when Donna speaks french

josh is always cold, he’s never run warm. donna knit a blanket for him as a birthday present. he’s never said anything but it’s one his favorite things in the whole world

donna actually likes hearing some of the president’s obscure historical tidbits - she even goes so far as to learning some of her own to exchange with him

toby visits the veteran’s grave that he buried every year and even talks to him a little while he’s there

it took a solid 20 minutes after donna had their first kid to let someone else hold him besides josh. the third person to hold their kid was bartlet.

^^^donna has never seen josh more in love than when he held their kid for the first time. cj took a photo of josh gazing at the little baby swaddled in blue clothing with visible tears streaking down his face. it’s one of donna’s favorite photos.

Sam is really good at hockey. He takes his kids to hockey games whenever he can.

[dellalyra]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ - nanami kento x reader, suguru geto x reader.

pixie says: mdni rly this is nsfw (not like explicitly just mentions of sexy times) hurt/comfort, angst but happy ending and i wrote this in a moment of sheer inspiration that consumed my body.

You loved him, truly. You really did love him. You can imagine yourself growing old by his side, hairs going grey and kids growing tall - you wanted that, and you wanted it with him.

But that didn’t mean that you didn’t miss it.

Didn’t miss him.

Your very first official date he picked you up in his car, coming around to open your door and press a chaste kiss to you cheek whispering how beautiful you looked.

He’s never made you cry, he’s never made you hurt, never made you scream or throw photo frames at the wall.

If you’re upset, he’s beside you with a comforting word. If you’re angry, he’s coming up with solutions to the problem. If you’re stressed, he asks how he can help and then fucks away the tension in your shared room.

He’s perfect.

The perfect man, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect husband. He was ready built for a long term relationship and you fell for him quite easily.

You love him, you desire him, you can’t wait to marry him.

But he’s not him.

And a part of you is infinitely grateful for that.

Because he made you cry, he made you hurt, he made you scream and throw photo frames at the wall.

But sometimes, when he’s asleep beside you, the lights are switched off and you’re staring at the ceiling you miss the way those lips would curve into that devilish trademark languid smirk and the mirth you could see in those dark, dark eyes.

You miss the rain - the screaming and crying that was always fueled by emotions so large they felt uncontrollable and burst out of both of your bodies in anger and fear and sadness and love and lust and joy. The highs were higher with him, it felt like winning - that you two did something special.

The adrenaline is something untidy, unhealthy too but oh so worth it when your hands tangled in his long dark hair and he cradled your cheek in his large palms and kissed away every worry and every tear that he had caused. It felt so good when the sight of someone from the Kyoto school flirting with you had set him off so badly he had punched the poor kid and after you shouted at him to let you live he slammed you up against the dorm room wall and filled you time and time again, growling a hymn of ‘mine, mine, mine.’ into the crook of your neck where dark purple bites would linger for days to match the lines your nails had sliced down his back as you tried to get him closer, closer, closer.

You realise you’re glad he’s not him one day, a crisp fall day. Your mother sat, hands curled around a coffee he had made her as she laughs at something he says and then your father asks him about his week - was he busy? how is the return treating him? is his daughter’s tall, white haired best friend a nightmare to work with?

He makes a joke about loving you enough that even Satoru is manageable, you mother coos and your father claps him on the back. He asks how the archiving of cursed tools is going for your father, asking how the workload is, whether he’s had any interesting finds?

The conversation continues. Your mother squeezes your shoulder with a kiss on your head. She knows. She was there for it all.

She knows you love him. Knows you adore the very ground he walks on. But she’s human too, she saw the passionate calamity of overwhelming young love that used to be, she knew that the pain would never go away - but she knew you were in love again. Even if it’s different this time.

She was happy it was different.

You’re happy it’s different.

Your heart wouldn’t have taken another crack.

He stays. He loves selflessly. He cherishes.

He adored. He loved completely.

He left.

He died.

You remember the day he left. Falling into your best friend who tried to do what was asked of him (the impossible) - but couldn’t. Screaming at him for doing this - for leaving you. For not trusting you to help. For doing what he did that day.

For the 112.

For his parents.

For Shoko.

For Satoru.

For you.

For him.

You remember healing.

Then falling apart when the school courtyard once again became a stage and the spotlight of your brain was occupied again by him. 7 years older, different.

Different but, the same.

Another man - but still him.

Still the man you loved first, still the man you would have given it all for, still the man who held your heart and crushed it, still the man you knew never did it from cruelty.

Still the man who loved you with every fibre of his very being.

Still Suguru.

He held you that night - and he held you the night he died. The night your best friend, his best friend has to end him. Had to finish the job asked of him all those years ago.

That night the best friend was curled up beside you, holding onto each other in the apartment you shared with him. The grief would never leave. The love would never leave. But you had each other. He had his students. You had him.

He who knew everything.

He who gave, and gave, and gave. Gave with hands, with tongue, with love and with sincerity, he who gave who himself every night leaving a delicious ache the next day.

He who held you tight every night.

He who wiped the tears when things were too much.

He who kissed you like a worshipper at a shrine.

He who helped you heal and he who showed you what healthy, loving, caring, compassionate love truly was.

Nanami Kento who eased your aching soul and taught you how to love again.

It would always be different. It would always feel different. But that’s the truth, one love is never the same as another. That love had lasted two years, had felt like an earthquake shook your soul and you felt that you would never love as strongly as you loved him.

But you did. You loved just as strongly, as purely, but this love - this was built to last.

You’d tell this tale to your daughter years later. Her fathers girl, all his blonde hair and his eyes. The throes of first heartbreak would scar forever.

But you can heal.

You did.

[cariantha]

A Kiss on the Hand (Part 1️⃣)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Warning: None Category: Hurt/Comfort; Angsty Fluff Word count: 1.2K Series Summary: After realizing just how much they mean to each other, Ethan and Sawyer express their love through a sweet hand gesture. A/N: Artwork by the incredible @/artbyainna on Instagram. This is a three-part series. Part one is a rewrite of Book 2 Chapter 11 and was inspired by In Case You Didn't Know by Brett Young.

Part One: Soulmates

With his arms encircled around her, Ethan held Sawyer as close as the plastic between them would allow. He felt the pressure of her fingers gripping his, and the press of her lips as she placed a prolonged kiss on the top of his gloved hand. The simple gesture conveying so many words still left unsaid.

With their eyes locked, he wondered if Sawyer noticed what must surely be red, watery eyes staring back at her from inside the plastic helmet. If she had, she didn’t say anything before her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep. 

He knew she needed the rest, but as Sawyer slept like the dead, Ethan worried she was halfway there. The wavy lines and flashing numbers on the patient monitor foretold a grim story. 

Updates from the lab had been few and far between, and Ethan knew the saying “no news is good news” did not apply in this situation. Instead, every hour that went by without an update felt like another nail in the coffin. 

Carefully disentangling himself from her limbs, he eased off the bed and tucked the blankets around Sawyer’s feverish body. He placed an oxygen mask over her face, then sat in the chair next to her bed. His thoughts drifted all over the place as he watched the mask fog and defog with each labored breath.

At one point, he wondered whether he was being selfish by choosing to spend these precious and possibly final moments with her. Moments that should be spent with her family, her closest friends. As he sat there pondering his place in her life and how she would introduce him to a stranger, he came to a realization. None of that mattered because Sawyer was his best friend.

She was someone he trusted with his secrets, someone who was always honest with him, someone he could be himself around. Not since Tobias had he been comfortable to laugh and joke and tease. Sawyer had a way of making his burdens feel lighter. Even if he could ignore the romantic feelings, she would always be more than just a mentee, colleague, or teammate.

They had an undeniable connection to one another. Being in the same room as Sawyer felt like home. She was the sweet to his salty. She challenged him, not just in medicine, but in life. In love. Against all odds, she continued to fight for him. For them. 

He hadn't believed in soulmates before, but then again he'd never felt like this before. Maybe she was his soulmate, he thought. Because if he knew anything to be true at that moment, it’s that if Sawyer lost this battle, a part of him would die too. And if there was a chance that it would give her the motivation to keep fighting, he was willing to overcome his fear and admit everything. 

Resolved to do just that, Ethan stood and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Taking her limp hand into his, he swallowed his nerves and began to speak. 

“Sawyer, I … I told you earlier that I regret keeping us apart … but there’s more.” 

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “There’s more that I’ve been keeping under lock and key.”

“I … I have wanted to say what was on my mind so many times … but I’ve been too scared. Scared that you don’t feel the same. Scared that you do. And I fear if I say it now that it will sound like goodbye … and I …” 

Mouthing the words “I can’t,” Ethan hung his head and choked back a sob.

Steeling himself, he began again. “Rookie, I need for you to know … just in case you don’t … I'm … I’m crazy about you. You. Drive. Me. Crazy,” he punctuated every word. 

“It’s true, you are a colossal pain in the ass … but I confess … I secretly enjoy it,” he tittered, recalling some of his favorite memories. “Very few people challenge me the way you do.” 

Ethan noticed how her eyes moved slowly behind her closed eyelids. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing right now. I can see those wheels turning in that head of yours. You’re already plotting ways to get under my skin,” he squeezed her hand with a smile.

After watching her chest rise and fall for a couple minutes, Ethan inched up the bed and placed her hand over his heart, holding it there with both of his.

Clearing his throat, “You … you’ve had my heart for quite some time now. I’ve tried to pinpoint when exactly you captured it, and I’m not sure. I knew you were someone special after that night in the NICU … and then something changed in Miami,” Ethan dragged his fingers up and down her arm. 

With an amused chuckle, he continued. “I have to confess. My first response to the hotel's mistake with the room reservation was not anger or frustration. Believe it or not, I actually thought to myself, 'That was lucky.'”

“Then when I saw you in that dress-,” he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any more beautiful. You literally took my breath away and rendered me speechless.” Ethan briefly closed his eyes, recalling the memory. 

Shaking his head in disbelief, “God, I was a fool that night. A fool for pushing you away, and an even bigger fool for thinking I could ever resist you. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how that first kiss did me in, Sawyer.”

Ethan delicately lowered her hand and checked the flashing monitor. Her blood pressure and heart rate had dropped to dangerously low levels.

His plastic suit crackled as he leaned over her body. Hovering over her face, he whispered a final plea.

“I need you to fight, baby,” he uncharacteristically begged. Sniffing back tears, “I need you. I won’t be able to handle it if you leave me.” 

“I’m sorry I wasted so much time,” he apologized again. “If you come back to me, Sawyer, I belong to you. You’ll have all of me.”

Ethan gently lifted the oxygen mask from her face and touched two fingers against her lips. A loving “kiss” right before he whispered, “I love you, Rookie.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Twenty-four hours after the antidote had been administered, Ethan rushed to Sawyer’s room with the good news. He was almost knocked off his feet, though he was unsure if it was from Sawyer crashing into him, or from the immense wave of relief that washed over him.

Ethan held her close, running his hand up and down her back. With the need to feel her skin under his fingertips, his hand slipped between the ties of her hospital gown. His warm palm melted against her bare back. 

Sawyer wrapped her arms around Ethan’s neck, and standing on her tiptoes, she pulled him down just enough to rest her cheek against his. Her body shook with a quiet sob.  

With his lips at her ear, his heart raced, those three little words teetering on the tip of his tongue. 

Losing his nerve, he choked them back along with his tears, only letting a single teardrop escape. 

As they slowly pulled apart, he took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. Just as she had the day before, he kissed the top of it. Slowly, three times. One kiss for each word trapped behind his lips. 

A/N2: Parts two and three get a little bumpy.

Part Two: Always Three Times

Part Three: I Know What You Mean

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @doriopenheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey

[clefaiiiry]

i love every part of you

hello yosante shippers i am but a mortal making a humble offering. mind the tags.

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr - Under Read More

-~*~-

Yone can’t sleep.

That in of itself is not abnormal, there was a reason Sett joked her blood was ninety percent caffeine at this point, but usually once she was actually in bed it wouldn’t take that long to drift off. Especially with K’Sante’s warm body against hers.

When she finally gets sick of staring at the red LED glare of the alarm clock, she carefully, very carefully, shuffles out from under the covers, and makes her way to the en suite without a sound.

The sudden light makes her flinch, taking a second to adjust. Her toes are cold against the tile as she splashes her face in the sink and sighs. Yone meets her own gaze in the mirror and is struck by how exhausted she looks. She almost looks sickly, eyes dark and skin pasty. Alune had done her makeup earlier and some stubborn mascara still clung to her lashes. Her hair is greasy, several days overdue for a wash, the dirt under her nails becoming rather dire. But there’s more to it than that.

She’s much too tall, her cheekbones are too angular, shoulders are too wide. She frankly looks ridiculous in these pyjamas. They’d been a gift from Ezreal shortly after making the announcement to her bandmates. Kayn said they made her look like a granny, but Ezreal had been so damn pleased with himself that she couldn’t possibly decline.

She wonders if her bandmates- friends had ever been just as awkward as she feels. She didn’t even know about Aphelios until she overheard Sett lecturing him for wearing his binder for too long. He seems so casual about the whole thing, something that feels so unnatural for her.

Yone turns the light off before she can stare at herself any longer.

Her side of the bed is cold when she returns, shuffling closer to press herself against K’Sante’s back. If it were anyone else she probably would have gotten away with it, but he’d had always been a light sleeper. He mumbles, tilting his head back.

“Yone?”

“Shush, go back to sleep,” she murmurs against him.

But her voice wavers, tensing as he rolls over to face her.

K’Sante’s arms curl around her, pulling her against his chest. “Are you alright?” he asks, still muddied and thick.

“I’m fine, sorry to wake you,” she says, managing to remain level till the very end this time. Even so, it isn’t enough to convince him, he knows her well enough by now.

“Talk to me?” A question, quiet and not even expecting an answer.

“It’s foolish, really.”

“Hey, it isn’t if it has you so worked up.”

Yone exhales deeply, and looks him in the eye. Even in the dark, she can see the way his brows furrow, the set of his jaw. There’s a tension in her chest, one that just keeps building even with his soft touches.

“I don’t know-” Her breath hitches. “-how you can stand the sight of me.”

For a brief moment, she swears she sees his heart shatter. K’Sante crushes her against him, pressing a kiss to her head. “Oh, no Yone.”

His voice is enough to utterly decimate her defences and wheezes out a sob, tears escaping despite her best efforts. She buries her face into his warm, firm chest, clinging to his back as though he might vanish. K’Sante strokes her hair, still presses kisses to her head.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful person I know,” he says, wholehearted and sweet.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she chuckles, but the sound is choked and awkward in her throat.

K’Sante’s laugh is certainly her favourite sound. “It’s done me well so far.”

The quiet between them is comfortable, only disturbed by the distant sound of Kayn and Ezreal squabbling in the living room. They’re muffled enough that she can’t quite hear whatever they’re arguing about, but it’s probably something stupid. Why on earth are they up at such an hour anyway? Yone supposes she shouldn’t judge.

She prods at K’Sante’s chest until he lets her pull away and sit up. Her face feels puffy, her eyes are sore. “I’m such a mess,” she says, raspy.

K’Sante smiles as he rocks up beside her. “Aren’t we all?”

That eases some of the tension from her shoulders and she flops into his side with a deep, low sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“You’re much too good to me.”

That gives him pause for a moment, but he swiftly recovers. “You deserve the world, and my only regret is I can’t give it to you.”

Yone stares at him, mouth slightly agape. She looks away. “You’ll make me cry again.”

“I mean it.”

K’Sante takes her hands in his. She’s not small by any means, something that nags at her heels everyday, but it’s a comfort to see the difference in size between them so blatantly on display. She meets his eyes again and sees they’re shining.

“You’re allowed to love every part of me, why can’t I love every part of you?”

Oh.

Yone surges forward and kisses him, melting into him with a weak, desperate sound. K’Sante meets her, tilting his head for a better angle, sighing against her lips. It’s a messy thing, but she treasures it all the same. He cups her jaw in both hands and kisses her, slow and deep. She’s held with nothing less than pure reverence, as though she were a holy relic. It makes her dizzy, drawing out an embarrassing little whine.

When they pull back, a string of spit lingers between their lips until she swipes it away.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, breathless.

She hesitates for a moment too long and he almost pulls away, but she takes his hand again. “Okay, but- can you leave the lights off, please?”

K’Sante’s eyes are so sincere, she feels her heart ready to burst. “Of course.”

He does go slow, much slower than he ever has. It reminds her of their first night together, like he was terrified she might break. He shifts, adjusting their position so she’s below him, pressing a knee between her legs. She shudders at the sensation, rolling her hips against him

One hand ghosts down her jaw, trailing her throat, even lower until it finds her pyjama shirt. He plays with the fabric for a brief respite until she closes her hand around his.

“You can take them off,” she says before he can ask. K’Sante obliges, pressing another kiss to her chin as he works. K’Sante only sleeps in his briefs so they’re easily dealt with, and tossed with her pyjamas into the corner to be recovered in the morning.

Yone can’t bring herself to look down at her flat chest, even when K’Sante eases his hands over her breasts with an appreciative hum. He ducks his head, peppering kisses along her collarbone, up the curve of her throat. She stifles a giggle as his beard tickles her sensitive skin and she feels him smile against her neck.

“You’re so amazing, you know that? You always work so hard, I don’t know how you do it.”

A flush spreads over her cheeks and down her chest, splotchy and uneven. He travels further south, fingertips skittering along her soft stomach. He takes her thighs and, gradually so she can pull away if she needs to, pulls them apart. He lets out a hiss as he stares down her.

“I don’t know which god I’ve impressed to share a bed with you.”

Yone tosses herself back on the bed, twisting her face to hide it in the pillow. “K’Sante-”

“I know, I’ll stop teasing,” he laughs.

He dips further still, disappearing between her legs. His fingers dance over her inner thighs, almost dainty as they go. She’s open like this, exposed for him to lick and kiss however he pleases until she turns to putty with his efforts. Despite herself, she looks down and sees the crafty little glint in his eyes.

“What are you-”

Yone’s words taper off into a high whine as K’Sante presses his tongue flat against her, dragging upward with pure intent and zero urgency. He stops just below her balls, presses a kiss to her taint, and then returns to her entrance. Each swipe is firm and deliberately slow. She’s soon panting, legs quaking as she can’t decide whether to spread them further or to wrap them around his head.

She jerks her hips up against his mouth, but K’Sante only chuckles, his warm breath making her shudder. He pushes Yone back down to the bed and earns a loud, pleading sound.

“K’Sante, you said you’d stop teasing,” she grits out.

K’Sante is a man with his self preservation instinct intact, so he correctly pulls away. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he says as he leans over to retrieve a little bottle from the bedside drawer. Yone can’t help herself but to watch his cock as he moves, almost overcome with the very potent need to choke on it right that second. Almost; she’s still tired and really, really wants him inside her.

He squeezes out an excessive helping of lube into his hand and slicks up his fingers, methodical and meticulous, then he moves down once more.

Even now, with her husband carefully circling a finger at her rim, all she can think about how he’s used too much lube, it’ll make a mess of the sheets-

Yone closes her eyes as K’Sante slides one in. He stokes down her thigh with his free hand, waiting until she finally exhales before he eases the finger deeper.

“You’re so wet,” he says in awe, as if it isn’t his fault she’s so soaked.

It’s silly, but it helps in its own odd way.

The sound of his finger slipping in and out is so filthy it hauls a sound from the pit of her stomach, wet and so utterly needy. She clamps a hand over her mouth in shame.

“You always make such pretty noises,” K’Sante hums. Yone scowls.

“S-Shut up,” she grumbles, but it admittedly isn’t quite so threatening when he’d reduced her to such a state.

He shoots her a wink, lips moving up to press a kiss against her cock. It punches another filthy sound from her gut. As he pushes another finger in, he teases the underside, light and barely there but it’s still enough to make her squirm.

Yone arches against him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. He says something, mumbled against her skin so she doesn’t quite catch the words. Before she can clarify, he pushes in a third and she is convinced she’s going to melt.

“K’Sante, put it in, now.”

His expression betrays his hesitation, but he withdraws his fingers regardless. Yone slumps back to catch her breath as he flicks open the bottle again, using even more than previous to prep if the sounds are anything to go by. She peers up at him through her lashes, lips hanging open as she watches the head of his perfect cock disappear under the foreskin with every firm stroke. K’Sante sighs, his resolve shaking and betraying just how desperate he was under his self control.

He pulls her up into his lap, cock snug against the curve of her ass, red hot and soaked. She sighs at the sensation, hooking her arms loosely around his shoulders and gazing at his handsome face in the dark.

“I love you,” she whispers, as though it was a secret from the universe itself.

K’Sante holds her face, stroking her cheekbone, wiping the tear track with nothing less than complete devotion. “I love you too.”

His gaze sweeps downward, leaning back to take her all in. It takes so much to follow his eyes, peeking down at her flat breasts and the cock that sits between their stomachs. She tries to cover herself but K’Sante catches her wrists. There’s no force behind it, she could easily push away.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

And God, his eyes are so genuine, creased with warmth, Yone almost believes him. She pulls him closer, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. “K’Sante, please- I’m-”

“I know, I’ve got you. I’ll go slow, alright?”

Yone doesn’t trust her voice, so she only nods.

K’Sante lifts her, just far enough for the head of his cock to press against her entrance. The slick sound should be humiliating, but it only drives her further to the edge. Each inch is as agonisingly slow as the last and tempts her with the reckless desire to slam down in one go. His breaths are shaky and loud against her ear as he kisses her throat and murmurs encouragement.

“You’re so perfect.”

“K’Sante-”

She bites her lip as he finally bottoms out, panting against his shoulder. She’s drooling, she realises, regaining enough sense to wipe her face. K’Sante runs a warm hand down her back, slow and sturdy. The other stays at her hip, digging in hard enough to bruise. K’Sante probably isn’t conscious of how tight his grip is, but it grounds her, stops her slipping too far.

“I’m going to move, alright?” he murmurs, waiting for her nod before he gives a deliberate rock of his hips. Yone hums, holding him tighter. Satisfied, he repeats the action, slightly harder. They build up a steady rhythm, neither of them interested in rushing this little pocket of peace.

Yone buries herself further into his neck with every movement, taking one hand back to cover her face and muffle any whimpers that threaten to spill past her defences. K’Sante tilts his head far enough to plant a kiss to her cheek.

“Yone, plea-” He cuts himself off with a low groan as Yone rolls her hips back against him. K’Sante takes a breath, then tries again, “I want to hear you.”

“No,” Yone grunts, digging her nails into his back with the effort.

“You always sound so good, Yone,” he sighs against her skin, kissing his way down her collarbone.

The jerk of his hips is relentless and knocks the air from her, still she clutches her mouth, spit dripping between her fingers. She squeezes her eyes so tightly they start to hurt, gasping.

K’Sante sighs and stills, leaning back. Yone tries to follow, but he slips a hand under her chin. He guides her back, gazing into her eyes with that wonderful, handsome smile.

“You’re beautiful. Every part of you is,” he says, pressing their foreheads together, “and I’ll tell you as many times as I need to, until you believe me.”

Yone makes a choked, embarrassing noise. “K’Sante-”

He pulls out and she gives a mournful, desperate whine. K’Sante doesn’t leave her wanting for long, easing her back down to the damp sheets and sliding back in with one even thrust. He wastes no time returning to their previous rhythm, the slick slaps utterly vulgar and much too loud.

Yone is burning, resisting every impulse to hide her face in the pillow. She curls one arm over K’Sante’s shoulders, the other holding his face. She parts her red, bitten lips and tilts her head back. The first moan is too low, it breaks and tapers off in a sound that makes her cringe, but K’Sante picks up his pace.

“That’s it,” he groans, kissing her nose, “you’re doing so well.”

It calms her nerves, even if only a little. Yone gets louder, reaching between them to wrap her long fingers around herself. She moans again, a prettier sound than the first. K’Sante shudders and somehow gets even faster. He’s babbling now, like he often does when he gets this far-

“You’re so perfect, Yone. You feel so good. So-”

She opens her mouth, though she isn’t sure what she was going to say as her words dissolve into a high gasp. She tightens her grip on herself, jerking in fast, hard strokes. Yone throws her head back into a perfect arch, the sounds breaking from her unabashed and filthy. If she were more lucid, she’d worry about their bandmates hearing them but she’s well and truly past that point.

“K’Sante- Please,” she gasps, astonished that she had managed two entire coherent words. K’Sante nods rapidly, peppering kisses all over her face as he thrusts harder still-

She feels like she might break, but she still craves more-

Yone’s orgasm sneaks up on her, a flash of white so intense and hot that she screams, toes curling, scrambling against the covers for any form of purchase-

Eventually, it pitters out into a steady thrum as she rides it out, dimly aware of the wetness leaking out of her ass as K’Sante pulls out. He looks rather sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Hah, sorry. I should have pulled out.”

Yone hums and smiles, spreading her legs further. She’s totally going to have to wash these sheets tomorrow, but it’s worth it for the way K’Sante’s eyes darken.

“You’re going to kill me,” he says, gulping and closing his eyes in a feeble attempt to calm his breathing.

Yone giggles. “You’re adorable.”

“No, you,” he says, because he was a grown ass man and very mature.

She laughs, though the sound is somewhat rough after all that noise she’d been making earlier.

“Do you believe me now?” he asks, head tilted.

Yone shuffles against the damp sheets. “I might need some more convincing,” she says, peering up at him through her lashes.

K’Sante’s chest rumbles with a laugh. “Then I’m more than happy to oblige.”

He disappears briefly into the bathroom and returns with a warm cloth. He lifts one of her legs up over his shoulder for better access, or so he would say but Yone is pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to kiss her ankle. She sighs, watching him work as she hums the bridge they’d been working on earlier that day.

“You know,” he says, breaking the lull, “Ezreal always said you had milf energy even before you came out.”

Yone stares at him, thoroughly befuddled. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah! Guess he was onto something, huh?”

Yone wheezes, tipping her head back and giving a rather undignified snort. She laughs, breathless and unrestrained, chest heaving. When she looks back at him he’s gazing at her again, like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And, Yone finds, it’s easy to believe him, even just for a moment.

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Robin was her first kiss. If you want to get technical about it.

But they were thirteen and they were under the covers of Robin’s bed and they ate so much sugar they were shaky with it. That’s the thing about sleepovers, right? They’re like secrets. They’re little bubbles of time and space that exists completely outside of the rest of world.

So it didn’t really count.

Chrissy had been panicking about high school again, wrapped in Robin’s quilt with a pillow pressed hard against her stomach. And sure, it was still months and months away, but it was coming at them like a freight train. Too fast, with an unstoppable momentum as Chrissy was tied to the tracks.

Robin had long since made a little game out of it.

What if nobody likes me?

Then I will personally start your fan club.

Her solutions were rarely practical and Chrissy’s fears hardly ever made sense. Catastrophe after catastrophe drawn to their most dramatic conclusion. She knew she was being silly. But the game did help. It was good to know that in every single nightmare, no matter how strange, no matter how extraordinarily disastrous, Robin would be there. What if I trip and fall right in the middle of the cafeteria? Then I will trip right along with you. Right at the start of summer, with just three more months until high school, Chrissy was starting to run out of anxieties. But she wasn’t quite done with their game yet. It was too comforting. Playing along had become its own kind of security blanket. Robin tossed a magazine onto the floor of her bedroom and moved a little closer, pressed up against the headboard right alongside Chrissy. Their shoulders bumped, side by side like twin captains of a tiny ship. The magazine landed right side up next to Chrissy’s half of the bed. A pretty girl blew at kiss back at her from the glossy paper cover. Ten Summer Trends You Can’t Miss! Bold pink letters screamed at her. How to Get Perfect Curls at Home! But also… How to Nail Your First Kiss! It gave Chrissy pause. She pursed her lips together as her brain tested out the question. A whole new frontier, an unexplored ocean stretching out in front of them. What if I’m the only person who hasn’t kissed anyone yet? Robin turned to her and frowned, just a couple inches between their noses, with bumping knees and eyes so close Chrissy could see the green flecks in her eyes. What are you talking about? She said, completely ignoring the rules of the game. I haven’t kissed anyone either. Chrissy hadn’t actually been worried before. Her question was just a line in a game they had been playing for weeks, but confronted with Robin’s wide eyes something gnawed at the well in her stomach. That’s not how the game works, Chrissy said. You’re supposed to say… Her voice trailed off in the lamplight of the bedroom. She wasn’t sure what Robin was supposed to say, actually. The antidote wasn’t clear, but then again, to Chrissy is rarely was. What? Robin grinned. I’m not sure I’ve got an answer to this one. You could. So Robin leaned in, meeting in the middle, leaving Chrissy to close the gap. It wasn’t really what she meant, but as Robin looked at her, gentle and reassuring, she completely forgot what she had meant in the first place. So Chrissy kissed her. Just like that. Her lips sweet like buttery popcorn as she locked into place and let her eyes flutter shut. She didn’t really know what she was doing, neither of them did, but certain parts of them just fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Kissing was warmer than she expected. Softer.

Robin smiled against her mouth. Now Chrissy hadn’t actually read the article in the magazine, but she was pretty sure smiling wasn’t mentioned. Kissing was a serious affair, not setup and punchline, joke and a giggle.

But it was nice. Tender and sweet like the only true antidote to all of Chrissy’s fears. (What if no one likes me? Then you’ll still always have me.) They didn’t talk about it then. So it didn’t really count. Chrissy went on to kiss a boy from her math class at the acceptable culmination of their third date. His lips were dry and his hands hovered awkwardly, several inches away from her shoulders. It became the topic of several sleepovers, long past the expiration date of her childlike attempt at a freshman relationship. Robin kissed a boy from band during a game of spin the bottle at their first coed slumber party and made such a disgusted face afterwards that the boy locked himself in the bathroom. They laughed about that for years after the fact, mimicking the way Robin’s lips curled up like the aftertaste of a particularly sour lemon. Their kiss, the one between the two of them, wasn’t mentioned ever again. Not after Robin came out, not when people asked for first kiss anecdotes during games of truth or dare. Not even after that first night in Robin’s bed, months into college, with tangled limbs and pounding hearts. With hands under bed sheets and fingers curled around the hem of her nightgown. With a soft kiss pressed against the back of shoulder. Even then they didn’t talk about it. So it didn’t really count.

I think this works nicely as a little standalone, but it's also a little snippet from the upcomming chapter of Dandelions and Other Weeds (AO3), my childhood best friends to college roommates lesbian disaster fic <3

[queerofthedagger]

Spitfire Heart

[Dreamling, T, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Child Death + Drowning, AO3]

At first glance, it may appear odd that Hob Gadling possesses an aching fondness for graveyards.

On second thought, the simple fact of the matter is that he has never been particularly good at letting go—things; people; life.

He is not allowed to keep everything as easily as the latter. The people around him die, strangers as well as those he loved so much that their absence nestles between his bones for centuries.

Death used to be an inconvenience where peasants were concerned; it was something to do quietly, quickly, and unobtrusively. Something to be forgotten as soon as the prayers tinkered out.

During the worst times, there were no marked graves. There were no places to return to, to kneel on wet soil, press your hands to wood or stone, and hope that God or the church or whoever, whatever, would relay your last message—apology, confession, simple words of longing.

There was only hunger and illness and more bodies than the earth seemed able to contain.

Hob had lived, though, and he had remembered. He cannot recall the faces of his parents or his siblings, would not be able to place the cadence of their voices if his life depended on it. But he knows, instinctive and aching, the place in Sevenoaks where the mass grave had been dug and filled and, eventually, grown over.

He knows where most of his friends and lovers are buried, and he visits, still, whenever he is around.

Hob Gadling has never learnt how to look Death in the eye and not feel the urge to snarl, to run, bare his teeth and challenge her for the bare bones of life itself.

He has learnt how to pick up the pieces whenever she visits, though, no matter how often he is the only one left behind. He has learnt how to pick himself back up, and yet, there remains a time in his life that he prefers to keep locked away.

He knows what lies beyond that door. He knows it like he knows the thunder of his heart, like water in his lungs, like the nails buried into his skin and how there is nothing he can do about it.

Eleanor’s and Robyn’s graves have always been the ones he could barely bear, guilt like a noose around his neck. After all, what right did he possess to keep on living? What point in heaping guilt upon his shoulders for staying, when they were the ones to leave him behind?

Hob has always had an aching fondness for graveyards, for the places that allowed him to visit his loved ones even after they were long gone. He remembers the sites that no longer exist, the rough estimation of where gravestones or wooden crosses once proclaimed names and dates.

He has visited all of them countless times; pompous graves made of marble and intricate engravings, bedecked with flower arrangements more expensive than a maid’s salary. Humble ones, dug by siblings or children or parents, with unsteady, listing wooden crosses, carefully carved names and lacking birthdates because back then, no one recorded these kinds of things if you were not nobility. Public memorials bearing witness to humanity’s feats and horrors, and mass graves without name or reason.

Hob has borne witness to them all; he knows how the grief never changes as long as it has a place to weep at, something to press its fingertips to and utter apologies and longing and a fond, aching inside joke.

The graves of Eleanor and Robyn and their unborn child, though—those, Hob only ever kneels in front of every other decade; whenever guilt visits him, hand in hand with grief.

He still knows exactly where they are, of course; the house is long since gone, but he could find his way blind if he had to. The stretch of land has been reclaimed by the forest, and generally, beneath the stinging loss, Hob is thankful for it; it is far more bearable than those places taken over by nondescript office buildings or car parks.

Today, though, the trees are looming around him and the air is damp, smelling of loss and decay. His hands are buried in the soil, guilt like an anchor pulling him down.

There has never been a time in Hob’s life when he wanted to die, but the years after Robyn’s death had been the closest that he ever got. He didn’t think it was possible to survive; that the festering hole in his heart would not devour him, no matter what Death had to say about it.

Eventually, he had learnt how to keep living beyond surviving, had taken to avoid the small graveyard beyond the church, and to treat these specific memories as carefully as something cataclysmic.

He cannot remember why he decided to come today—usually, there tends to be an occasion when he does this to himself.

The sky above him is dark, clouds rolling as if the biting wind alone is trying to promise retribution. For what, Hob doesn’t know either—what he does know is that he never visits when the days are ashen like this.

Both Eleanor and Robyn had loved the sun-soaked days, summer’s warmth lingering well into the night. It is easier to pay tribute when clinging to the happy moments, Hob has learnt this long ago.

He doesn’t know why he is here. That in itself is a cruel thought, is tearing open old scars that always, always stay tender. Once it manifests, though, he becomes aware of the weight bearing down on his shoulders, tangible. He becomes aware of the fact that he cannot move, even as his legs ache from kneeling for this long. And how long has it been? Hob cannot remember, his mind fracturing and getting torn to shreds by the grief that twists through his chest and snakes around his lungs, breathing becoming laboured until he feels like drowning, and—

And he has done this before, the grief and the drowning and the endless, never-ending misery. He does not want to do it again, but he cannot move, his fingers numb and freezing where they are still buried in the ground as if he will be able to drag his family back with stubbornness alone.

The panic snatches the last remains of air out of his lungs and he can feel his body locking down, mind beginning to drift. He has lived for centuries, has died in so many different manners that he would struggle to count them all; the desperate instinct to fight for survival is still the same as the very first time.

“That is quite enough.”

The voice is familiar, tugging at something inside of Hob that calms against all reason.

Firm hands settle on his shoulders, their warmth seeping through his clothes, and finally, finally, his mind goes blissfully quiet.

The last thing Hob thinks is that he wants Dream to stay, God please stay.

---

He gasps awake to the sight of his own goddamn ceiling.

The room is dim, only London’s refusal to turn properly dark anymore seeping through the gap in his curtains.

Hob presses his knuckles against his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

It isn’t as if he is a stranger to nightmares—they have been his occasional but faithful companions for all his life. Unfortunately, they do never become any easier to bear.

“Hob.”

He startles so badly that it almost throws him out of bed, his heart kicking right back into fight or flight mode before the specific tenor of voice registers.

In the murky light of the room, Dream’s form seems less solid. His eyes shine with dying stars, and Hob would be embarrassed about how a part of his sore heart is instantly soothed by the realisation that Dream is, in fact, still here, if he hadn’t accepted long ago how utterly, horribly gone he is on his oldest friend.

His oldest friend who has cool fingers curled loosely around Hob’s ankle and is watching him with concern pressed into the delicate lines around his night sky eyes.

“You—”

“I am sorry,” Dream interrupts, and it is rare that he does, even more so than his apologies. “I am not usually in the habit of intruding on your dreams, much less your nightmares—”

“Well, I could do without them, not going to lie,” Hob mutters; he doesn’t mean it, not really. He knows that they serve their purpose, and he trusts that if they did not, Dream would not subject him to them in the first place.

For all his haughty demeanour, Dream has never been purposefully cruel, after all.

None of those things change how his heart still hammers against the cage of his ribs as if trying to escape, and it has not, in fact, anything to do with Dream of the Endless sitting on the edge of his bed.

At least, Dream seems to understand, instead of taking offence. He says, “You and I both know that you could not.”

“No, I suppose not,” Hob agrees. He leans back against the headboard and desperately tries to scrub the guilt and the shame off his soul.

Dream’s fingers squeeze briefly around his ankle; under different circumstances, Hob would probably shiver. Right now, he mostly feels numb.

“I am going to make tea,” Dream says, and he doesn’t give Hob time to answer before he disappears from the room.

It should be an absurd notion, but Hob merely rubs a hand across his face and sinks deeper into his covers.

It has been so many centuries, so many people he has loved and lost since then; and perhaps Eleanor would have simmered down to the ache of lovers and friends lost if not for their child. Their children.

Hob has learnt to outlive just about everything and everyone, but there is a reason why he has never married or fathered children again.

He has learnt to love life regardless, but on this slow, sluggish December morning, Dream comes back into Hob’s bedroom as if he belongs here, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands, and Hob almost asks him to leave.

He doesn’t; he has not worked on curbing his self-destructive tendencies for decades to fuck it all up in a matter of minutes, but it does take considerable effort to push himself up. To accept the warm cup Dream offers him, and to find comfort in it, too, instead of yet another reminder of things that had and had not been.

Dream hovers at the foot of the bed, and if Hob were in a better mood, he would call the expression concerned.

Finally, Dream asks, “Do you have plans for your day?”

“Probably waste a day or two in bed before dragging myself back up, if I were to be honest,” Hob says; he tries to be, these days. “After that, I should probably visit them. If that nightmare was any indication, I have been putting it off for too long again.”

“I can leave if you would rather—”

“No, please. I would… I would rather have your company than not.”

If Dream is surprised, he hides it well and, after a beat of hesitation, settles down beside Hob. He has lost his cloak and his shoes, and at literally any other time, Hob would have a quiet little freakout over the fact that he has Dream in his bed.

Their meetings might have become more weekly than centennial, and Dream might have slowly but surely opened up to him, but this is so far beyond huddling up on Hob’s sofa to catch up on a century’s worth of movies and music, he expected it to take a few more decades.

At any other time, he might have been giddy like a teenager; right now, his insides feel scrubbed too raw to do anything but lean his head against Dream’s shoulder, too bold, and soak up the comfort.

If Dream is to run out on him again, well—today cannot get any worse, anyway.

Dream doesn’t; he stiffens ever so slightly, but then he shifts until he can slowly, carefully, put his arm around Hob’s shoulder. Cool fingers come to press featherlight against Hob’s temple, slipping into his hair from there, and then repeat their path.

He closes his eyes and breathes and breathes and breathes.

It is impossible to say how much time has passed when Dream shifts, his fingers pressing a little more firmly against Hob’s temple. When he speaks, he sounds almost hesitant. “You said that you were planning to visit the place where they are buried.”

“The graves are long since gone, but I remember,” Hob says, and it still stings. After all these years, the day he returned to find the entire graveyard gone is still sharp and festering like a thorn beneath his skin. “That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

He hopes that it is; there is little else he can do about it, after all.

“In the Dreaming, their graves still exist. It would not have to be a nightmare.”

Theoretically, Dream has explained how it made no sense to consider the waking as the real world. Practically, Hob isn’t sure whether he can revisit his late wife’s and son’s graves in a dream, and not feel even worse about it once he wakes up.

He does not have the energy needed to explain this. Instead, he says, “You are surprisingly… understanding about this. It has been centuries.”

He doesn’t truly expect Dream to be a bastard about it; he rarely is, at least not on purpose. What he does not expect is the answer, spoken quietly and full of familiar, well-worn grief.

“I have once lost my wife and my son; I know of the pain that never lessens, no matter how many years pass. No matter how existence seems to move on.”

Once the words properly process, the thicket of sorrow in Hob’s throat catches fire anew. This is the kind of grief you do not wish on anyone, and he finds Dream’s hand and links their fingers together. If it is for the sake of his own heart as much as it is to offer comfort, he is quite sure that Dream knows.

Indeed, Dream only offers a quiet sigh, squeezing Hob’s hand in return.

It gives Hob the last speck of needed courage to speak the following words, out of place as they may seem. They burn against his tongue, push against his teeth until he utters them, even as they do not, in fact, logically follow. Or perhaps, they do; it is currently hard to tell. “I do not want to lose you, too.”

There is a pause, and then Dream makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds entirely unlike him, sounds raw and bitten-off and primal. His fingers slip further into Hob’s hair, and he turns his head until he speaks against Hob’s forehead.

“You will not, Hob Gadling; I swear it, upon my title and my function.”

“Dream, you—”

“You should sleep,” Dream interrupts; it is more a command than an observation, but it isn’t entirely unwelcome.

Exhaustion has been dragging at Hob’s limbs since he woke up, and something within Dream’s promise soothes his old, stubborn, spitfire heart.

As if reading his mind, Dream murmurs, “I will be here when you wake up.”

The last thing Hob feels before he drifts off are Dream’s lips pressed to his forehead, warmth like peace spreading through him. When he sleeps, he does not dream.