#also I didn’t comment it before but how does the next patch feel about being the coolest ever with mY FAVORITE MISSING BBYS COMING

[mazojo]

Heizou said “I am gonna give you all your favorite character tropes in one” and went on with his day like nothing with my heart huh?

[yourangel137]

“You’re such a good girl.”

Hello darling 🐈‍⬛ anon! It’s good to see you again! I’m sorry this took so long to make, but I hope u like it, pls lmk!

Pairings: Albedo x Fem!reader

Warnings: S m u t without any plot. Straight up going at it + praise kink :D

Type: drabble

Word count: 740 words

Summary: Reader has a praise kink and Albedo is sure to use that to his advantage <3

“You’re so beautiful..” Your cheeks flush, breath becoming uneven once his hands trail over your skin. His fingertips trail gently over your imperfections, however, to him, they aren’t imperfections but just another part of your body to love. His lips kiss every inch of your body, hoping to give you the feeling of love you always wished to feel, and it does. Every kiss makes your skin feel like it’s on fire, every hickey he places on your skin is yet another patch of art on your blank canvas and even though you felt overwhelmed by his love, you let him continue. “You’re so gorgeous. You’re perfect..” His words leave you with yet another skip of a heartbeat. You’re forever thankful to him, for his love. Even if the nights ended up more rough, even if they ended up more lustful,, in the end he’ll always stay and take care of you. Making love always felt so good with him, but having lustful, needy sex, also always felt good. He never made you feel used, always keeping a close eye on your every movement, listening to your every word and always stopping when the code was called. He’s giving you the respect you deserve and you feel so incredibly lucky to have him as your lover.

You feel his lips press against your neck, softly nibbling on your skin and making little hickeys here and there. A soft noise leaves your slightly swollen lips, swollen from all the making out you did with your boyfriend. “You sound so good, like music to my ears. Does it feel good, Darling?” you blush, cheeks heating up in mere seconds while his voice sounds huskier than usual, softly talking in your ear. “Y-yeah.. it feels good.”

“That’s good to hear, my love. You’re being such a good girl.”

The sudden praise sends waves of lust through your body, a reaction you never expected to get from praise. Goosebumps cover your skin, showing his praise even made your skin react and of course Albedo noticed that. “You like praising, I see~ I never expected you to react like this upon my word use. I will note that down for next time.”

Before you could deny his words you feel his hand grope one of your breasts, massaging it in his hand and gently rubbing over your nipple. Your nipple hardens, needing more of his attention and before you could comment on it you can already feel his lips press around it. Your hand places itself on top of his head before he starts sucking and licking your nipple, playing with the other nipple with his fingers. Albedo seems to always know what you love, where to touch you to make you moan and how to fuck you properly to make you climax. Maybe he indeed writes things down and remembers things along the way when exploring your body.

You let out a louder mewl the moment you feel him pinch one of your nipples, He takes a moment to take in your noises with a smirk plastered on his face. Albedo moves away from your chest, looking at your current blushing state before asking: “Can you be a good girl and open your legs for me?”

You didn’t let him ask you twice, your legs immediately open for him and his hand soon finds its way where you wanted it the most.

“Good girl, you’re listening so well to me.”

Your untouched pussy clenches a little bit, praise really seems to be doing a lot to you but you’re not complaining about it at all. His fingers softly starts rubbing your needy clit, your glistening precum already sticking onto his fingers while he rubs it all over your clit. “You’re so wet for me, Y/N, I bet we wouldn’t need any lube.”

“You did that to me..” You softly spoke out, biting your lip afterwards to hold back any louder noises threatening to come through your lips.

“Oh I know that, it just means I’m doing a good job, right? I already promised you I’d make you feel good, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.. You did.. Hnngg.” You answer, hands gently gripping onto the bedsheets the moment you feel two of his fingers enter your wet pussy and him moving his fingers in and out.

“Good girl, this is what you deserve after all, for being so good to me all the time.”

I hope u have a good day<3

Much love,

Angel

20-08-2023

[amhrosina]

The Four Times Frank Almost Asks You to Marry Him, and the One Time He Does. (Frank Castle x Reader)

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST REQUEST FORM

A/N: I love Frank Castle so much, I just want to cry. I'm currently watching the Astros lose to the Mariners, so here's some soft!frank to make everyone feel better. This is just a reminder that if you get a response from @yourfriendhenrywinter, that's me on my main account! They're linked together so I can't reply to comments as amhrosina atm!

Summary: I feel like the title of this makes the summary self-explanatory. This is four times Frank almost asks you to marry him, and then the one time he actually does it.

(Warnings: vigilante!reader (similar to Black Cat, but not actually Black Cat lol), socialiate!reader, mentions of cuts/blood/bruising - the usual Frank stuff, mentions of grief/death, guns, soft!FrankCastle, a wild Matt Murdock briefly makes an appearance)

The first time Frank almost asked you to marry him was after he’d shown up on your doorstep, beaten and battered to high hell. You’d ushered him in the door, still wiping the sleep from your eyes. It was almost four in the morning, and you had to be up in two hours to get ready for a meeting with your agent, but you didn’t complain to him about it once.  

You did, however, tear him a new one for patrolling without backup. He tried to hide his grin as you stitched a particularly nasty cut up, being so gentle with your hands and so stern with your mouth.  

“Frank, it’s dangerous. I mean,” you shook your head and grabbed another piece of gauze, “you could’ve called, you know? I would’ve met you somewhere. Watched your back. Shot a few guys.” You shot him a pointed look as you focused your attention on a small cut under his jaw.  

“I didn’t want to bother you unless I had to. You have work soon, sweetheart.”  

“I don’t care. Better for me to be tired than for you to be dead in a ditch somewhere.” 

He watched you as you moved from injury to injury, cleaning, patching, and even suturing a few cuts. Your fluidity was graceful and enamoring, something Frank adored about you. How it looked like you flowed from room to room, barely placing your feet on the ground before you were already taking your next step. How you could take out a team of trained gunmen without ever having to touch the ground. And when you turned that graceful attention on him, he was a goner. He had never felt something as gentle as your hands, except maybe your love for him.  

You began to clean up your bathroom counter, scooping empty gauze packages into your trash can. He rose to help you, but your stern gaze had him promptly sitting back down. 

He murmured your name, intent on grasping your full attention so that he could tell you just how much he loved you. How his heart ached for you when you weren’t with him. How your love had burrowed its way into his soul, healing the missing piece of his heart. He would always love Maria and his kids, but he also knew he couldn’t sustain himself on anger and vengeance forever.  

A knock sounded at the door before he could figure out where to begin. You made your way to the door, grabbing your gun off your side table before looking through the peephole. Frank was right behind you, hand resting on your waist, ready to pull you aside if the person at the door meant any harm.  

You sighed, uncocking your gun and opening the door.  

“Hey Devil Man.” You smiled. Frank narrowed his eyes at the man dressed in red.  

“I smelt blood.” You nodded, like Matt’s timing wasn’t completely inconvenient, and opened the door wider, inviting him in.  

“Since the whole gang is here, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”  

You walked into the kitchen, tinkering around for coffee mugs and creamer. Frank continued to glare at Matt, who was grinning wide like a cat.  

“Cockblock,” Frank grumbled, rolling his eyes.  

//

The second time Frank almost asked you to marry him, you were standing over an unconscious Russian mob member, panting because you had just whacked said Russian in the temple with your gun.  

“That’s what I thought you said,” you huffed, stomping away from the guy, who was tied to a chair and missing most of his clothing.  

Frank hadn’t expected you to lash out the way you did. The Russian was going on and on about Maria, Lisa, and Frank Jr., saying they deserved what they got, calling them weak. Frank was beyond letting some mobster rile him up about his past, but it apparently didn’t sit right with you.  

You had stalked towards him, predator stalking prey, and asked him to repeat himself, a little louder so you could hear him. The guy had said three words before you raised the gun and smashed it into the side of his head.  

Frank grinned, watching you stomp around and mumble to yourself. He heard parts of your rant; picked out words like “common decency” and “how dare he”.  

“What’s so funny, big bad punisher?” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“’s nothing, sweetheart. I just love you.” He averted his eyes from yours out of habit, but you didn’t mind. Frank’s been betrayed so many times in his life that allowing himself to be vulnerable and trust anyone was a feat, let alone confessing his love for you so openly. You returned his smile, leaning over to poor a bucket of water on the Russian, who came to kicking and sputtering.  

‘Right,’ Frank thought, ‘back to work.”  

//

The third time Frank almost asked you to marry him, he was sitting on the floor of your apartment, watching you answer questions on the morning news. You were pretty well known around New York. Your parents, who were wealthy real estate investors, had left you everything they owned in their will, which skyrocketed your status among New York socialites. If only they knew what you got up to once the sun went down.   

A photo of the two of you holding hands outside of a bar was leaked online, causing all kinds of controversy among the elites. Your relationship with Frank had been kept from the public, which served both of you guys well, but when the photo had been released, your agent demanded that you make a statement, denying any type of relationship with him.  

Frank had walked you to the door that morning, kissing you on your forehead and telling you to do whatever you needed to do. He wouldn’t let elite assholes hurt his feelings or his relationship with you. 

You walked on set confidently; chin held high as you were bombarded with questions about your relationship with the vigilante Frank Castle. You cleared your throat, silencing the questions.  

“I know you have many questions. I wish I could say I cared enough to answer them,” you paused, “My privacy has been violated. A private moment that I was sharing with my partner has been turned into a...a shitshow, really.” Your voice was crisp as it came through the tv speakers. The corners of Frank’s lips turned up. You had just cursed on live television, and that wasn’t even the worst thing you had done yet today. 

“Frank Castle is not a bad man.” Your firm voice boomed across the silent set. “Frank Castle was abandoned by his country. The country that he served, with honor, for eight years. The country that slaughtered his family in broad daylight.” 

Frank swallowed thickly. This was not on the script your agent had sent you. 

“I think most of you don’t even care that I’m dating Frank. You just want a story that will sell papers.” You rolled your eyes. "Anyways, my point is, if any of you went through what Frank went through, you would wish you had the courage to do the same thing he did.” 

The questions started up again, and you sent a sympathetic look towards someone off camera, no doubt your agent who was likely fuming.  

“My relationship is my business, but for those who are wondering,” you slightly paused, making eye contact with the camera, “I’m in love with Frank Castle, and I don’t really care if anyone has a problem with that.” Your voice was soft, flittering through the speakers directly into Frank’s chest.  

He knew that this would likely damage your reputation with the elites, but it was clear that you didn’t care. He let out a hearty laugh, sipping his coffee and getting up to make you breakfast. If he had been able to go with you to the news station, he would probably be on his knee right now, begging for your hand.  

‘Another time, then,” Frank grinned, ‘another time.’ 

//

The fourth time Frank almost asked you to marry him, you were knelt down, knees in the soft ground, cleaning a particularly difficult glob of sap off a gravestone. He was not expecting to find you here, among his family’s graves. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find you cleaning the gravestones.  

Frank had come by to talk to Maria, which always grounded him. He wanted to apologize to his kids for not protecting them when he should have. He also wanted to ask Maria for her forgiveness for loving someone else after her passing. It wasn’t a conflict in his head; he knew that Maria would have wanted him to find happiness, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about how deep his love for you ran.  

He inhaled sharply when he realized what you were doing. Your voice carried down the hill a little bit, hitting him squarely in the heart. You were talking to Maria.  

“Was he always this grumpy?” You asked her, smiling bashfully. “He likes to act tough, but I know he’s a big teddy bear inside.” You wiped the top of the gravestone off, sitting back on your heels to observe your work. Sighing, you leaned back, moving into a crisscross position. 

“I’m so sorry this happened to your family, Maria.” You paused, resting your chin on your hands. “I hope it’s okay that I love him. I really do. He’s...happier than he used to be. When I first met him, I mean.”  

Frank blinked the tears that had gathered in his eyes. Overwhelmingly, and simultaneously, grief and love passed through him like a wave, nearly knocking him over.  

You tilted your head, looking at the two graves next to Marias; Lisa and Frank Jr.’s resting places.  

“Your dad misses you. You probably know that, but I see it in him all the time. The way he lights up when he gets to talk about you guys. I hope he never stops. Weirdly, I feel like I know you, even though we never met.”  

You leaned back, searching through your bag for something. It nearly broke Frank when you pulled out a bouquet of peonies, Maria’s favorite flowers.  

“I’ll take care of him,” you promised, setting the flowers down at the base of Maria’s grave. You ran your fingers over her name, etched beautifully into the stone.  

Frank’s knees almost gave out. He fumbled with the little black box in his pocket, vowing to ask you to marry him as soon as he finished talking to Maria.  

Your phone began to ring, startling both you and Frank. You held the phone between your ear and shoulder and began to pack your things away, chattering to whoever was on the other end of the line about a contract you hadn’t signed.  

Frank was a little ashamed that he hid from you as you made your way towards the exit of the cemetery, but he figured that your conversation with Maria was something you didn’t want him to know about. He was so sure about his decision that it choked him up. He was going to ask you to marry him very soon. That he was sure about.  

When Frank asked you to marry him, you were being coaxed awake by a soft voice, hands wondering over your back and brushing the hair from your eyes.  

“Sweetheart,” Frank’s voice was like honey to your ears, “I’m sorry for waking you, but this is too important to wait until morning.”  

You rubbed your eyes and clicked the lamp closest to you on. Frank was crouched down by your bed with a small smile on his face.  

“What’s wrong, Frankie?” You asked, sitting up and checking him for cuts or bruises. 

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” He let out a soft laugh. “I just wanted to ask you to marry me, that’s all.”  

He slowly set an open ring box on your lap. Your eyes went wide, searching his face for deception.  

“What?” You gasped. This was unexpected, to say the least. 

“I don’t think I could take another day without putting a ring on your finger...” he searched for the right words, even though he had been practicing this speech for hours, “I don’t have much to offer you, but I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”  

Your eyes grew teary as you smiled, palming his cheek.  

“Oh, Frankie,” you mumbled, “Of course I’ll marry you, you beautiful, beautiful man.”  

Frank let out a sigh of relief, tension leaving his shoulders, and smiled wide. Your grin matched his.  

He plucked the ring out of the box, grasping your left hand and pushing the ring onto your ring finger. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you and kissing his cheek.  

“I love you so much, Frank,” you mumbled into his shoulder.  

“I love you, Sweetheart.”  

Frank’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as you jumped out of bed, hurriedly running towards the kitchen. 

“Where are you going?” He called after you. 

“I have to call Karen and tell her!” You responded, voice carrying across the apartment. 

“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” he said, laughing, “Can’t it wait until later?”

End Note: I love the idea of Frank finding someone who he can trust and fully love after Maria's death. I hope if we ever see him in the MCU again, he'll be happy and healthy :'). Thank you for reading!

Requests are open!

Tag List:

@alexxavicry

[7-wonders]

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x Reader

Summary: Life has never been the kindest to you, and you've come to expect only the worst from it. But when a golden-eyed stranger shows up at your place of work and promises you that all your dreams will come true if you just trust them, how are you to say no? Get ready—a ball in the Dreaming awaits.

(Based on the below ask)

Word count: 14.2k

Notes: A couple of housekeeping notes before we get into it! First, this is very heavily inspired by the "Season of Mists" plot from the comics. In the wider universe for this story, this replaces the events in that comic arc. There are no spoilers for the actual comics, though. The only thing you need to know about SoM is that there's an event that brings basically every important magical being to the Dreaming. This isn't super important, but I wanted you guys to be aware of the thought process behind what I did.

Also, for all my nonbinary and male readers—this fic features a gender neutral reader! I sincerely hope that everybody enjoys this.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (but especially comments and reblogs), so if you enjoyed, show a gal some love!

Desire of the Endless

Desire of the Endless is facing a problem.

For the first time since…well, they can’t remember, actually, that’s how long it’s been since they felt the need to apologize for anything.

Desire has always prided themself on being completely and unapologetically them. If somebody didn’t like that, or if someone’s feelings got hurt, then too bad. That was their fault for not knowing what they were going to get into when they made Desire’s acquaintance.

However, Desire can also recognize when they’ve taken things too far, which is a very steep bar to hit. Practically everything that Desire does, they can justify it completely. This time, though, they finally can’t justify what they’ve done.

So an apology it is. A simple apology, however, is not going to cut it in this situation. Not that it should! But still, it would be a lot easier to patch things up if all it took was a “sorry.” 

Oh well, Desire would just have to get creative in coming up with the apology to end all apologies. Thankfully, they had their dearest twin to turn to when they needed help with a little brainstorming, which is how Despair ends up lounging on a shiny red settee created from the very fabric of the Threshold.

Said anthropomorphic personification watches as her twin continues to pace, back and forth and back and forth, the heels of their shoes clicking against the floor for maximum effect. They perk up every so often before muttering something and shaking their head, discouraged once more. Despair, apparently having finally had enough, lifts her head from the armrest to give her full attention to her twin.

“Your despair is too much for even me to bear, Desire. Please, what is it that troubles you?”

“Our brother troubles me, and not in the way that he normally does.” Desire takes a seat next to their sister. “I find that I…regret the way that I have treated him over the past couple of centuries. I went too far.”

“Was it the ‘helping to trap him in a magician’s basement for a hundred and sixteen years’ or the ‘impregnating a sleeping woman in an attempt to make him spill family blood by killing the new Vortex’ that went too far?” Despair asks dryly.

Desire bares their teeth in a teasing warning, but Despair merely shrugs as if daring their twin to do it and rip her throat out. Desire sighs, knowing that they won’t be able to rattle her, they’ve never been able to accomplish that, and continues. “Regardless, I realize now that I went too far, and I want to make amends with him. Apologize to him.”

“And how are you planning to do that? I doubt a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will patch things up between you two.”

“I realize that too, which is why I seek to give him something to prove just how sorry I am. That’s where you come in, my dearest Despair. I’ve been brainstorming for days, but I have absolutely no idea what to give him as an apology.”

“Hmm.” After a moment, she nods. “I see your problem. Dream’s never exactly been easy to give a gift to.”

Despair begins to think, absentmindedly digging her fish hook into the skin of her face before dragging it down and repeating the process. Desire has always found themself morbidly fascinated by this compulsion that their twin has, unable to look away from the jagged skin that hangs open and the black ichor that drips sluggishly from the wounds.

The hook comes to rest on Despair’s lap, a sign that she’s finished thinking. “Most of your transgressions against our brother have involved you seeking to destroy the two things that control him most. His realm, and his loves. His realm is his duty, his function, his responsibility; he must have control over that, for it’s who he is.”

“Yes, Dream is nothing if not a stickler for his silly little rules,” Desire agrees.

“True, but you’re forgetting that second piece of the puzzle I mentioned. What has Dream always wanted more than anything?”

What was the one thing that Dream wanted, needed, desired, more than anything? The answer, though Despair already said it, hits Desire in the face. “Love,” they gasp. 

Love! A mere step away from, and more often than not, intertwined with, Desire’s very function. 

“But I cannot make somebody love him. Desire him, yes. That’s easy. Though the two are similar, love is something that even I cannot meddle in.”

“I’m not saying that you make somebody love him, nor that you even use your function to acquire this gift.”

Desire’s brows raise from the intrigue of what’s just been said. “Then what?”

“We both know that you’re extremely talented when it comes to meddling in others’ affairs. Instead of using it to harm this time, use it to help. Find Dream’s true love, and make it so that they come together. I believe mortals today call it a ‘meet-cute’?”

At first glance, it seems difficult, if not impossible. While the idea of true love is not rare (at least, to higher beings that know such a thing exists–mortals are still attempting to figure that out for themselves), true love among the Endless is, as of yet, still undiscovered. What if Dream doesn’t have a true love? Even if he does, how is Desire to find out such info—

Their train of thought screeches to a stop as they remember the function of their other brother. Of course! Destiny surely has it in his stupid Book whether or not Dream has some poor soul destined for him. And if he doesn’t, and the rest of his life is meant to be a string of shorter, passionate loves, then it would still be written down. Desire can bring him that happiness sooner as a show of good faith, a way to prove that they’re truly ready and willing to make amends. It’s growth, baby, and Desire’s entering a new era.

So yes, the task does seem difficult. But if there’s one thing Desire loves, it’s getting to play matchmaker. Getting to play matchmaker while meddling in the life of their favorite/least favorite sibling? Even better.

Slowly, a Cheshire Cat grin spreads across their face, and they press a kiss to Despair’s cheek, who begrudgingly accepts the affection. “You, my sister, are a genius.”

“I know.”

After seeing their twin back to their realm, Desire begins their second favorite hobby of scheming as they try to figure out how they’re going to trick Destiny into giving them a peek at his Book. Tough, considering the Book is literally chained to Destiny, but Desire has never been one to back away from a challenge.

Their chance at trickery comes sooner than expected, a mere two weeks later at the first family dinner held since Dream was deposed. None of the six remaining Endless are particularly thrilled to be in the Garden of Forking Ways, and it shows in the guarded way that they hold themselves as they stand around the room and wait to be summoned to the seven-sided table that sits in the middle of it. 

Well, all except for the youngest are guarded. Delirium sits upside down in her chair, creating multicolored butterflies that fly out of the palms of her cupped hands and lazily around the room.

As the shades that serve Destiny move in and out of the room with various platters of food and drink, said Endless finally motions for his siblings to sit down along with him. Even then, they remain in an awkward silence. This family dinner is such a sudden event that none of them are entirely sure if there’s a reason behind it, leaving all feeling a little wary.

Destiny, being the eldest and the host of tonight’s festivities, is the first to speak. Naturally, it answers what none had been brave enough to ask. “I suppose you must be wondering why I called you all here.”

“Yes,” Dream says, even though it’s an obvious question. Of course they’re all wondering why they’re here. 

“The Book has determined that we must meet.”

“Obviously,” Despair sighs. “But why? What are we meant to do while we’re here?”

“Rainbow butterflies!” Delirium throws her hands up into the air, releasing a swarm of rainbow butterflies. “Has everybody been watching the butterflies that I’ve been making? They’re pretty.”

Everybody simply watches the youngest sister, none saying anything. Finally, Destiny shakes his head. “No matter why we’re meant to be here. It clarified much that, previously, made little to no sense. Something important will happen. Something that sparks a chain of events, causing much change and upheaval.”

“And what is that occasion?” Death asks.

“This meeting. That is all.”

“Explain this further, my brother,” Dream prompts. “What must happen?”

“No. I have told you all I tell you. I have brought you all to this place. The rest is up to the five of you. Drink the wines. Eat of the fruit of my garden. Talk. It has been centuries since we were all together. We must have much to discuss.”

Desire sees their opening and takes it. “Mm, I bet we do. Why don’t we start with…Dream!”

Dream looks across the table at his sibling suspiciously. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Tell me...” 

Desire is tempted to say something about his scorned lovers, but since they’re trying to work on making amends and not taking things too far, they refrain. One of the most difficult things they’ve ever had to do, truly.

“Killed any more of your unruly dreams or nightmares lately?”

What? They can still try to get a rise out of Dream in ways that won’t cut so deep. By the way his nose flares as he sits up straighter at the table, they know they’ve accomplished this mission.

“It needed to be done, and I will not take criticism from you on the choices I make regarding my realm,” Dream spits.

“Okay!” Death, ever the peacemaker, attempts to cut the tension. “Why don’t we talk about a different subject. Anything exciting happening for you, Dream?”

“Yes, actually.” Dream sits up in his seat a little straighter. “There is to be a ball in the Dreaming on the next full moon, to celebrate the return of my realm to its full strength. You are, of course, all invited.” 

Ah, so Dream is to show the other monarchs and higher beings, gods and goddesses and deities, that his power has returned and that he is not to be trifled with. Desire can appreciate a good power play, and this is really all that the ball will be. A chance for the Dreaming to pull out all the stops, serve their finest food and drink, offer the most raucous and extravagant party so that every realm in existence will know that the King of Dreams and Nightmares has returned and is more powerful than they will ever be. 

“Oh, how fun!” Death claps her hands together. “I remember when those used to be a regular occurrence in the Dreaming. Your dreams and nightmares do know how to throw a proper party.”

“I like parties,” Delirium chirps, hands chasing after the butterflies. “I’m gonna wear a princess dress!”

The rest of the dinner is fairly boring, compared to other family dinners in the past. Talk of Dream’s visit to Hell and the potential concerns there, minor gods ceasing to exist in the memories of mortals and thus returning to nothing, the problems that the Endless face in their daily lives as they continue their functions: it’s too normal for Desire’s liking, but they’re truly trying their hardest to not cause any major spats. Plus, they need to remain in Destiny’s good graces if they wish to have a chance at momentarily separating him from his Book.

When the dinner finally ends–Death is the first to excuse herself, with an earthquake calling for her to return to her function–the siblings begin to trickle out slowly, one after the other. Desire motions for Despair to go on without them, and while she would normally cause a fuss at having to leave without her beloved twin, she knows that they have an ulterior motive tonight and nods before disappearing back through her portrait.

When Delirium finally tumbles her way into her realm, it’s just Desire and Destiny left remaining in the Garden of Forking Ways. Desire sidles up to their older brother, who sighs wearily and looks with his unseeing eyes at his sibling.

“Desire, shouldn’t you be back at the Threshold by now?”

“Brother Destiny,” Desire coos, trying to seem as laid back as they usually are. “Doesn’t that book of yours ever get too heavy to carry?”

“You’re not going to fool me,” he says. Desire grits their teeth and curses under their breath. “For reasons beyond my understanding, however, the Book dictates that I do this.”

“Do what?”

It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to, but Destiny holds his Book out towards Desire. They can’t believe their luck, and quickly snatch the book from their brother before he can say that the Book said something different and take it back. Their nails–red, of course–run along the plain brown cover before they flip the Book open.

There, laid out as plain as can be, is the answer to Desire’s query. Dream does have a true love, much to Desire’s utter delight, and said true love is a human. A human! If the Universe didn’t want Desire righting their wrongs, then they wouldn’t make Dream’s other half the same species of being as the one whom Desire first meddled with all those years ago.

“Did you find what you were seeking?” Destiny asks, making Desire remember that they’re not alone. When they look up from the Book, they notice their brother’s hands twitching as he fights to snatch back his most precious belongings.

“Yes, I did.” Desire hands the Book back, and Destiny cradles it as if it’s been missing for months and not like he was inches away from it the entire time. “Thank you very much, brother mine. I believe I’ll be going now.”

After all, they have a lot to do between now and the full moon.

You

You’re attempting to sneak a couple of quick bites from your shift meal when the door chimes to signal that it’s been opened, and you sigh before setting down the french fry you were so looking forward to enjoying. Though you want to be disappointed, you know better than that.

Life has taught you better than to enjoy things so that you can find yourself inevitably disappointed by them.

Maybe that’s a little pessimistic for one just entering adulthood. Still, when you’re kicked out and left to fend for yourself in your teen years while your peers are only worrying about homework and if their boyfriend will still be their boyfriend by the time the school formal rolls around, cynicism feels a little warranted. 

You’ve worked anywhere from two to four jobs at a time just to have enough money for a place to live. While you’re now down to only two jobs, which you enjoy, for the most part, it still means that you’re far more stressed and tired than you would wish to be. You’ve made peace with the fact that you’ll seemingly always have to fight to enjoy any quality of life…well, you’ve mostly made peace with it. There are times, like now, where you’re exhausted and hungry and you just want to scream and rage at the cards life has dealt you.

Instead, you just put a smile on your face and get ready for your next customer. When you make your way to the end of the restaurant’s bar where the newcomer has seated themself, they’re already watching you expectantly. Their eyes, golden and piercing, make your skin crawl in the way that it does when it feels like someone knows more about you than you’ve cared to divulge.

“Well, hello,” they greet.

The newest bar patron grins at you with dark purple-painted lips. They’re stunning, and also insanely overdressed (seriously, a fur coat?) for a casual bar. You’d think that they were just coming from a party if it weren’t for the fact that it’s 7 p.m. on a Wednesday. Going to one, then? Mid-week parties are rare, but they seem like a person who just naturally gets invited to every and any party.

“Hi there, how are you?” you greet, cringing at the worn-out sound of your customer service voice after almost 12 hours of using it.

“Oh, just swell.”

“Great! What can I get for you?”

“Hmm, gin and tonic?”

You nod, hands already reaching for the required ingredients. Though it took forever to really get the hang of bartending, it’s kind of like riding a bike; once you learn, you can’t forget. “I’m on it.”

Your patron gratefully takes the glass that you slide across the bar to them, taking a long sip before letting out a satisfied noise. “My, you do know how to make a good drink.”

“Hah, thank you. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, but I’d love it if you could spare a moment to chat.”

“Um–” You scan the bar in a quick check of your other customers, of which there are few now that the dinner rush is over. Just a couple of regulars, so you really have no excuse to say no. “Yeah, sure. Just for a moment, though.”

It’s not uncommon that people want to talk with you. Whether because of your job, that you’re a captive audience, or the fact that you’re providing them with a steady stream of alcohol, customers love spilling their guts to their bartenders. This customer, however, gives you hesitance. They just look like they’re up to no good, like they’re hoping to use you for something that you don’t want to be a part of.

Regardless, you put away the bottles you were using and turn your full attention to the customer, who’s savoring their drink in much smaller sips than they did previously. Although you’re a great multitasker, people think that you’re not fully listening when you’re doing other tasks. And though you try to get your busy work done during your shift so you can get out of here the second you’re scheduled to clock out, you also know how to maximize your tip potentials. You win some, you lose some, you suppose.

When they finally do speak, you’re not expecting them to say, “You look like someone who wants more out of life.”

It’s an odd way to start a conversation, but you’ll bite. Not the first philosophical patron you’ve had. “I mean, who doesn’t? I feel like life is just constantly seeking…more. More money, more knowledge, more connection.”

“A very interesting way of considering the meaning of life. But you, specifically. You have not had a very easy go of things, have you?”

You narrow your eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“You wish for adventure. For a purpose bigger than that which you’ve been led to believe you’re destined for. For something great.”

Swallowing harshly, your pulse thunders in your ears as you grip the wood of the bar, suddenly feeling extremely disconcerted. It could just be a generalization, one that most people would relate to were they called out on it, but it seems like the customer knows you, knows your innermost desires, just from looking at you. Finally, you slowly nod. Their grin somehow seems to grow even bigger.

“Mm, I thought so. Take this.” From within the sleeve of their coat, the stranger produces a business card. “It will help make all your…dreams come true.”

Hesitantly, you take the piece of paper from them. When you look down at it, expecting to see the usual business card information like a name and a phone number, you’re surprised to see that it’s completely blank. Even when you flip it over, the blank back greets you.

“But there’s nothing on—” Your sentence trails off when you look back up, the nameless customer long gone. In their place sits the empty glass, stained with their dark lipstick, of course, and a ten-dollar bill. Other than that, an intoxicating perfume is the only sign that they were even here in the first place.

An indeterminate amount of time passes as you try to figure out what just happened, with the only thing snapping you out of your stupor being the calling of your name. Tate, this evening’s line cook, stares at you expectantly.

“You okay?” she asks. “I’ve called your name three times now, but you’ve just been standing there like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um.” 

Are you okay? Spooked, yes, but there’s nothing that you can really do about that now. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” Tate nods, still not looking too convinced. “Table seven’s looking like they’re ready for the check.”

“I’m on it.” 

And you are. Like the good, dutiful worker you’ve always been, you push down any of your actual emotions and thoughts and put on your service face, smiling and ready to accept anything thrown your way.

By the time your shift is over at 11, the encounter with the nameless customer is long forgotten. All that you can think when you finally make it home is about going to bed and sleeping until you have to be up for your other job tomorrow morning. 

Just unlocking the door and stepping into your tiny apartment has your shoulders releasing the tension that had been built up in them all day. Yeah, your apartment is tiny and probably not the best in terms of quality. But it’s yours, and it’s home, and that’s what matters to you. You’ve made the very best of it, and for now, nobody can take that away.

It takes almost all of the remaining energy you have to strip off your work clothes and do some semblance of your nighttime routine, and you mentally thank Tate for insisting you eat something while on the clock. You don’t think you could stay awake long enough to actually eat something right now. When you fall into bed and pull the covers up around you, your only thought is that you hope that you have the type of deep sleep that doesn’t produce any dreams or nightmares. Lord knows you need it.

The hopes that you had are promptly crushed when you open your eyes to find yourself standing on a bridge that leads to a large palace. It’s the oddest place you’ve ever seen, an amalgamation of palaces from all sorts of cultures. Domes and spires and turrets make up the outside architecture, and though it sounds like an eyesore, it’s actually quite beautiful. Strains of music spill out from the open doors, and guests in a variety of finery make their way inside to join what appears to be a party. 

You should be wondering why you’re here, as well as how you’re currently having the most vivid dream you’ve ever had, but all questions seem to be answered by the logic of it being a dream. Of course weird things are going to happen; it’s a dream. Maybe tomorrow, you’ll wake up and think about just how strange the dream actually was. But right now, you’re just going to go with the flow, even if that flow is, apparently, a royal ball.

“Hello, mortal,” a voice as sickly-sweet as honey croons next to you. When you look to your right, you find your golden-eyed customer from earlier in the day standing next to you. This still doesn’t concern you, and if you took the time to be concerned, you’d still just chalk it up to the nature of dreams.

“It’s you!” you exclaim.

They hold their hands out and wave them in an effortless jazz hands. “Yes, it’s me.” 

They’re somehow dressed even more elegantly than they were at the restaurant, wearing a silver corset tucked into a pair of wide-legged, black trousers. Their heeled boots add a couple of inches to their already-tall figure, and you have to look up in order to properly look them in the eye.

“I was beginning to get a little concerned that you weren’t going to take my offer.”

“Uh, sorry? I just got off of work a little bit ago.” 

They wave a hand dismissively. “What, didn’t tell your boss that you had better things to do?”

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming with the details,” you mutter. Your former customer begins to take long, purposeful strides towards the crowds waiting to get into the palace, and you hurry to catch up. “Wait, where are we?”

“This is the Dreaming and you, my dear, are about to attend a ball.”

“What, like in Bridgerton?”

They scoff, obviously offended by your reference. “Please, this is miles better than anything Bridgerton could even hope to come close to. But yes, I suppose so.”

Panic floods you, but not for the reason you’d think. “But I’m not even dressed for a ball!”

They raise a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow at you. “You’re not?”

When you look down at yourself, you find that you are, in fact, dressed for a ball.

An entire galaxy has come down from the heavens in order to settle itself on the champagne-colored fabric of the most fancy clothes you’ve ever worn. The golden stars, all different sizes, shimmer with each twist of your body that you make in order to properly catalog your outfit. The best part of this ensemble, by far, has to be the cape that you’re wearing that’s held on your shoulders by three delicate chains clasped together across your chest.

“Oh my god,” is all you can say, finding it difficult to tear your eyes away from the complete transformation your wardrobe has undergone.

“Close, but not quite,” they say cheekily. “Though, I do enjoy being worshiped.”

You meet their liquid gold stare. “Why are you helping me? Why am I here?”

“Now that’s a long story. Let’s just say that I owe somebody an apology, and you’re a part of said apology.”

There are so many more questions bouncing around in your mind, but they turn on their heel before you can ask any of them, forcing you to keep up with them as they walk to the entrance of the palace. 

“Hello, Wyvern.”

The dragon (a dragon! You’re staring at a dragon!) bows his head at the greeting. “Desire.”

“Is that your name?” They ignore your question.

“You are, as always, welcome in my Lord’s domain.” The wyvern looks at you. “Your guest, however, needs an invitation to enter.”

“Go on, present your invitation,” Your companion prompts.

You furrow your eyebrows. “My invitation?”

Oh! The paper that they had given you back at the bar. But wait, where had you put that stupid paper? You have to think for a second before remembering, and any relief you had felt is washed away by the panic returning in full-force when you remember where it is. Looking at your mysterious benefactor with wide eyes, you grimace as you try to figure out how to explain this to them.

“I left it in the pocket of my work jeans.”

They sigh as if you’re a minor nuisance, which, maybe you are. “Check your pockets, dear one.”

Slipping your hands into your pockets, you’re already preparing an “I told you so” speech. After all, how could that business card have magically moved from one set of pockets to another? When your fingers brush against something very paper-like, you almost can’t believe it. Your mind has already worked out the whole “dream logic” issue, but teleportation seems to be too much even for that.

When your hand emerges holding the paper, your friend smiles smugly at you and nods their head in the direction of the large, mythical animals. “Now present your invitation.”

You hold the paper up towards what had previously been referred to as a wyvern. Even though there’s nothing written on it, he studies it for a moment before nodding. “I bid you welcome on behalf of my Lord. Enjoy the festivities.”

“Uh, thanks!” you say, manners winning out among the insanity of the evening.

The crowd parts for your friend as guests bow their heads politely, which makes you think that there’s a lot that you don’t know about this person who inserted themself into the middle of your life. What did I get myself into?, you wonder as you hurry behind them and into the ballroom.

You haven’t exactly seen very many ballrooms in your life before now, but even if you had, this one would be your favorite. It reminds you of pictures you’ve seen of Russia’s Imperial Palace during the reigns of the tsars, all cathedral ceilings and marble columns. One of the walls is just a line of windows that looks out over a picturesque valley, and breathtaking artwork from some of history’s most exalted artists looms overhead. The guests of this ball, all opulently dressed, mingle below, with many already dancing to the music that comes from an unseen orchestra.

At the top of a long set of stairs sits a stone throne, currently unoccupied. The ruler of this land must be really lonely, you think. Why else would they purposely place themselves so far away from everyone else, if not to feel the sharp sting of being alone?

The pièce de résistance of this entire room, however, has to be the ceiling. You’re not sure whether it’s magic or if the ballroom doesn’t even have a ceiling and instead looks straight up at the most striking view of the sky you’ve ever seen. You can’t tear your eyes away from the swirling galaxy that’s more beautiful than any NASA telescope picture could even begin to capture, and you’re sure that your jaw is hanging open and making you look like an idiot.

You’re so caught up in the wonder that sits directly over your head that you don’t notice when your new friend spots someone or something that they want to go check out. Apparently deciding that it’s a good idea to at least give you a little courtesy warning, they sidle up behind you.

“Have fun,” they whisper into your ear. 

When you turn around, they’re nowhere to be seen, which means you now have to fend for yourself in an unfamiliar situation. Not ideal, but you should be fine. After all, this is just a dream, right?

Since you were given the advice to “have fun,” you decide to try and actually do so. People watching is always fun, made even more so when everyone is dressed up in all manner of finery. As you study the crowd a bit more, you realize that “people watching” is the wrong term to use, because the vast majority of the guests here aren’t human people.

There are beings clothed in white robes with huge wings on their backs that surely must be angels. Some guests wear traditional regalia from Greek, Roman, Japanese, and other historic empires. The most unsettling are the ones that look human, beautiful, even, until you’re able to take an extended look at their faces and realize that the beastly masks they’re wearing, the horns and the snouts and any other combination of monstrous features, aren’t masks at all. Rather, those are their faces, heavily decorated with makeup, but terrifying just the same.

There’s a little girl in an oversized party dress and clown makeup clapping her hands as a gargoyle tries blowing up a balloon, and a literal void with faces in it speaks to a tall, imposing figure with golden curls and black wings. You’re pretty sure one of the guests is even a human-sized cat woman. Not Catwoman, like the supervillain, but a cat woman. You try not to stare, but it’s impossible, and your eyes keep finding your way back to her as you continue to walk around the outskirts of the ballroom.

Even though you’re completely and utterly normal, it’s impossible for anybody attending tonight’s festivities to not feel the sheer power that each and every being here seems to possess. It’s beginning to make you feel self-conscious: if you can sense the magic that all of the guests have, then surely they can tell that you’re not like them. Everywhere you turn, it seems like you’re meeting somebody else’s eyes as they judge you and how out of place you are.

Your chest grows tight as your skin pricks with heat, the room suddenly beginning to be far too crowded for your liking. There must be a way for you to get outside. You need air, or else you’re worried that you’re going to pass out in front of all these partygoers—after a moment of frantically scanning the room, you see the main hallway that you and your strange new friend had entered through. Knowing for a fact that this path will lead you outside, you set out with a determination to make it through the crowd.

This task, however, is much more difficult than you had previously thought it would be. Apparently, the room being so crowded wasn’t just a part of your panicked imagination; there are far more guests here now, and it’s almost impossible to move through all of them. The music, which just minutes ago seemed whimsical and charming, now sounds sinister in your ears as somebody grabs you and begins to dance with your unwilling form.

Like a doll, you’re spun from one person to the next, all of them ignoring your helpless pleas as you beg them to stop. Instead, much to your chagrin, they all seem to take joy in your panic as they laugh and leave you with no choice but to obey their whims. You’re dizzy and breathless, and at this point you can’t tell if it’s from the dancing or the anxiety.

The next set of hands that grab you are much gentler than all the preceding pairs, and they bring you to a stop instead of sweeping you into another dance. Finally, finally, it seems that somebody has taken pity on you, the poor human that’s become nothing more than a glorified plaything. When your vision finally rights itself, you note that your savior’s even managed to pull you out of the maelstrom of people that had so easily claimed you. You go to thank this person, only to have what little breath you’ve regained stolen from you when you look up.

The man standing before you is a classic study in contrast. His chalk-white skin stands out strikingly against his robes and his hair, both as black as pitch. The only difference in shade comes from the flames that you can see licking up the bottom of his robes like they’re meant to be there. Though, in this dream world, it makes total sense that flames would be a good accessory.

He’s objectively one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen, but his features are sharper than that of a normal human’s, from the stately slope of his nose to his high cheekbones that are completely devoid of the flush that normally hides behind skin. The biggest giveaway that he’s not like you are his eyes: black pools in which stars twinkle and sparkle. They should be frightening; after all, nobody should have eyes that look like that. Instead, you just find yourself enraptured as you try not to lose yourself in them.

“I do not know you.” The bluntness with which he makes this statement is so jarring (not even beginning to mention that he has the deepest, smoothest voice you’ve ever heard) that it pulls you out of your daydreaming about his eyes, and you glare up at him.

“Okay? I don’t know you either.”

He seems to realize that he came off like a major jackass, and quickly backpedals. “Apologies, I did not mean to make it sound so accusatory. I simply find myself…curious. I believed that I knew everybody here.”

“Well that makes one of us, because I think I only know one person here.”

“Who?” he asks curiously.

You look around the room to see if you can find your mysterious friend, but they’re nowhere to be seen. “I can’t find them, it’s too crowded in here. You already know that though, considering you just saved me from being crushed or forced to dance until I collapse from exhaustion. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Of course. After all, I could not let one unfamiliar with those here be forced to mingle with Cluracan of the Faerie.”

He nods his head in the direction of a tall, willow-thin man with golden blond hair and pointed ears. If his pompous attitude wasn’t visible even from a distance, then his outfit, a coat and breeches with the same coloring as that of a peacock, would surely clue you in.

“By the looks of it, that would have been a fate worse than death,” you remark solemnly.

The man laughs. It’s a harsh bark of a laugh, one that sounds like it comes from someone who both doesn’t know how to laugh and has never heard a laugh before. People in your general vicinity look your way in alarm and discomfort, but you can only watch with a delighted, albeit confused, grin on your face.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“If you were to meet Death, you would find that she is actually quite pleasant. It is…enjoyable…to spend time with her.”

“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time with her.”

“I have.” 

His eyes grow soft and distant as he thinks of Death, and it’s obvious that he’s quite fond of her. He shakes his head slightly, pulling himself back to the present. 

“You did not look as though you were enjoying yourself, even before you were forced to dance.”

“So you were watching me?”

He suddenly feels the need to fastidiously study the galaxy ceiling, but you can see how his cheeks flush with embarrassment. To your surprise, it’s not the normal pinkish shade. Instead, it’s a light purple that spreads under his skin.

“You were!” you tease triumphantly.

“As I said, I believed that I knew everyone here. I was curious when I saw that wasn’t the case.” He looks back at you, those starry eyes twinkling. “You have not answered my question.”

It takes you a second to remember what his question was in the first place. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, everything here is so wonderful and fantastical! I guess I’m just not much of a party person. Never have been.”

“I must confess, I also find I am not too fond of these parties.”

“So then what are you doing here?”

“Currently? I am attempting to avoid Queen Titania of the Faerie.” 

He nods his head in the direction of a woman with blue-tinged skin and some of the most frighteningly dainty features you’ve ever seen, almost like those of a china doll. She’s frocked in a midnight blue gown with puffy sleeves, and as she moves through the room in an apparent search for your companion, a whole entourage follows obediently behind her.

“She’s not as good of a time as Death, I’m guessing?” you ask.

A smirk is the only answer that you get from him, apparently deciding to be enough of a gentleman that he won’t outright insult anybody.

It feels like a lightbulb goes off over your head as you think over what he said. “Wait, Queen Titania, like the character from Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

He looks immensely pleased at the connection that you’ve made. “The very same.”

“Huh. I wonder how Shakespeare met her.”

This seems to make him ponder something, and after a moment, he speaks again. “Where were you trying to go? Before you became an unwilling dance partner, that is.”

Oh yeah. You’ve so thoroughly enjoyed talking to this man that you almost forgot that you were on the brink of panic just a few minutes ago. “I was trying to find a way outside so that I could get some air.”

He nods. “Come, then. We shall get you some air, myself a reprieve from hiding, and I will tell you the story of how Shakespeare came to develop his cast of characters.”

When he holds his hand out to you, taking it is one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made.

Keeping to the walls is a much better strategy than what you had tried before, which was to forge your own path through the crowds and hope for the best. You duck through one of the stone awnings near the back of the room, one that’s partially obscured by a heavy curtain. When you’ve successfully made it out, your companion’s relief at not being caught by the Queen of Faerie is palpable, and it makes you giggle.

You walk with him through the gardens for the rest of the evening, enjoying foliage that absolutely doesn’t exist in the real world and the company of one of the most enigmatic creatures you’ve ever spent time with. Yet, as he asks you question after question about the most mundane of subjects in your daily life, listening with rapt, awed attention as you answer each and every one, you feel like you’re the one that’s mystical and worshiped across all cultures.

(Though he hasn’t said it outright, you get the feeling that he’s some type of deity, which is simultaneously frightening and fascinating)

The flowers continually pull your attention away from the conversation at hand, not that your companion seems to mind too much. He dutifully fills the air with facts about each of the plants that you stop at, which is why it’s such a surprise when you’re suddenly surrounded by silence.

Looking up from a variant of daisy that shimmers as it goes down a gradient of white to red, and back again, you notice that he’s watching you. You smile at him, waiting for him to launch into the tale of how this flower came to be in this garden, and when he still doesn’t move, you grow a little concerned.

“What is it? Are you okay?” you ask. He seems to finally rouse himself from whatever daze he had gotten himself into.

“Yes, I…” He trails off, continuing to stare, before he shakes his head a couple of times and looks back at the party. This time, when he speaks, his voice is somehow softer than before. “I believe I promised you a story, yes?”

When he finally does get around to telling you the promised story, it’s so much better than anything you could have imagined. The man is a truly gifted storyteller. You can practically see the scene as he develops it, of a man in a darkened pub being offered the tantalizing gift of inspiration for works that would live on well past his death. Did Shakespeare worry that he was making a deal with some sort of demon, or was the prospect of everlasting fame more powerful than any fear or trepidation he may have felt?

“Is it a true story?” you ask, when he finishes with the first performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream which was, surprisingly, performed for an audience that included the actual Queen Titania. Apparently, she was thrilled by her portrayal, and gave the play a glowing review.

A coy tilt of the head is the only answer that you get, leaving the true interpretation of the story up to you, the listener. Though you want to say that it’s fake–after all, Shakespeare making a pact with an immortal creature that then helped him to come up with plays that would forever change the course of humanity just sounds ludicrous–another part of you, the part that has spent this impossible night surrounded by Fae and gods and all other manner of fantastical creature, knows that this is, in fact, true.

“Are you the one that gave him inspiration?”

“Perhaps,” is all that he says.

“You’re frustratingly vague, you know that?”

This makes him smile, and he looks down to simultaneously rein his emotions back in (he does that a lot, you notice) and to pull something from the sleeve of his robe. 

“Am I?” he asks.

His pale hand comes up to present you with one of the color-changing daisies you were looking at earlier. Your breath catches in your throat when he tucks the flower behind your ear, and when his hand lingers against your cheek, you think you’ll never establish a normal breathing rhythm ever again.

“And what would you do, were a stranger to come up to you and offer you anything you ever wanted?”

“Well, I–I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

At this point, you can barely do more than whisper. “On who the stranger is.”

Though you try not to, you can’t help yourself from looking down at his plush, pink lips. You dart your eyes back up to his face, worried about being caught, only to see that he’s done the same.

He leans in even closer, nodding his head slightly towards you. “May I…?”

You nod softly, worried that any sudden movements will ruin the perfect little bubble that you seem to have found yourself in. Are you really about to kiss this powerful being, the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on? When he brushes his nose against yours, you know the answer is that yes, yes you are about to kiss him. Just as your lips meet his, a harsh alarm jerks you out of his arms and back to consciousness.

Rolling over in your familiar bed, in your familiar apartment, you hit the screen of your phone harshly until the alarm finally turns off. Laying on your back, you stare up at the ceiling and replay every moment of the dream you just had while it’s still fresh in your mind.

You let out a disbelieving sigh at just how wonderful of a dream you had. The giddy smile is impossible to remove from your face, and you run your hands over your flaming cheeks as you giggle.

What a dream. A royal ball, mythical creatures, a gorgeous outfit, and the most captivating man you’ve ever imagined. You already know that you’ll be thinking about your dream man, and the kiss you almost shared, for days to come.

A second alarm, the one that warns that you really need to get out of bed and get ready if you don’t want to be late, begins to sound from your phone.

“Fine,” you mutter to the inanimate object, sitting up and pulling it off of the charger. “You win. I’m up.”

As you get out of bed, you don’t notice the daisy petals that you leave behind on your pillow.

You go about your day feeling like you’re on cloud 9, unable to stop thinking about last night. Not that you want to stop thinking about any moment of your dream. By the time you’re back at the bar for yet another evening shift (only two more days until you have an actual day off!), somebody finally decides to ask what the hell happened to you.

“What the hell happened to you?” Reese, tonight’s hostess for the restaurant side of the establishment, asks. “You’re walking around like a Disney princess or something.”

You shrug. “Just…had a really, really wonderful dream last night.”

“Like a sex dream? I’ve had a few of those that I’d call ‘really, really wonderful’.” Tate pipes up through the kitchen window, meaning you have no choice but to reach through and shove him.

“Fuck off!”

He laughs and jumps back to avoid your ire. “So it was a sex dream!”

“No! It was just really sweet and romantic, y’know?”

“I get it,” Reese says.

You gesture to her gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Who was the lead? Mine’s usually Harry Styles.”

Though you both sigh a little wistfully, you shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man before last night.”

“Isn’t it, like, a thing that you can’t dream of people whose faces you’ve never seen?” Tate asks.

“With a face like his, I definitely would have remembered seeing him while I was awake.”

“Fuck,” Reese grumbles when the door opens and a family walks in. “Can’t people be a little kinder and realize that we’re gossiping here?”

“Apparently not.” 

Everybody shares in a “we hate our customer service job” groan before breaking to do their respective tasks. Reese slaps on a big smile and asks “how many are joining you guys this evening?” Tate flips a couple of burgers on the grill, and you turn to check on your regulars that are enjoying a couple of after-work beers.

Sometimes, it really sucks that you can’t just daydream about whatever you want because you’re forced to work in order to survive. But as the night wears on and your plastic tip cup housed beneath the bar continues to grow more stuffed with bills thanks to very generous tippers tonight, you see the importance of not living in your head.

That is, until someone’s standing across from you at the bar and you smile at them in preparation to take their order, only to almost drop the glass you’re cleaning when you lay eyes on your dream man from last night.

He’s traded the long robes for a simple black peacoat, a black shirt, and black jeans, but he still manages to look regal in them. The wardrobe isn’t the main difference, though. That would be his eyes. Where last night they were black pools of stars, tonight, they’re a bright blue. Just as stunning, but in a completely different way.

The only thing about him that’s the same is his hair. The black strands are still just as wild and untamed as they were at the ball, and it makes your heart flutter to see. You have to hold yourself back from reaching across the bar to try and smooth them out a bit, but really, you just want to feel how soft his hair must surely be.

He’s smiling at you, that same shy smile that graced his lips while he was talking to you about plants. You realize that you need to say something, anything, but all you manage to come up with is, “Hi.”

“Hello.” His voice still sounds like what you imagine melted dark chocolate must sound like if it could talk, and your cheeks grow hot from it.

“It’s you. You’re real!” You wince at the stupidity of that statement. Obviously he’s real, he’s standing right in front of you!

He looks very amused by this, and you don’t blame him. “Did you think I was not?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, it was just a dream.”

“It is never ‘just a dream’.”

You come around from the other side of the bar so that you can actually be standing across from him without anything impeding you. 

“I believe we forgot to properly make each other’s acquaintance last night.”

It’s only when he says that that you realize that he’s right. You don’t even know his name, and he doesn’t know yours. A glaring oversight on both of your parts, but one that he looks ready to correct. 

He gently takes one of your hands in one of his, bending just slightly at the waist as he brings your hand up to kiss the back of it.

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. You may call me by either name, dearheart, for either shall sound sweet coming from your lips.”

You entrust him with your name, and he grins so radiantly that you feel as though you’ve been standing in front of the sun. He repeats it back to you, and you could swear that you’ve never heard your name sound so beautiful before now. You’d give anything to hear him say it again and again. Hell, if the last word you ever heard on this Earth was this man–Dream! Morpheus!–saying your name, you’d die happy.

Even though you’re totally sure that this isn’t a dream (you know, you pinched your leg to make sure), part of you is still worried that either he or you will disappear again. Who’s to say that you’ll be able to find each other a second time? Just in case your fears come true, you decide to act before you can remember why you don’t act before thinking.

Dream’s still holding onto one of your hands, and you use it to pull him closer to you, close enough that your noses are almost touching as he bends his head just slightly to look at you. His eyebrows are raised as he waits for you to make your next move. Said next move consists of you wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long-awaited kiss.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it at all. One hand rests on your waist while the other goes to your chin so that he can tilt your head the way that he likes–you’re certainly not going to stop him from doing that. 

The restaurant patrons all start cheering, and you can hear Tate and Reese wolf-whistling. It’s embarrassing, but you’re too wrapped up in Dream right now to fully care. Maybe after you separate. For now, since both of your arms are over Dream’s shoulders, it makes it easy for you to flip your coworkers off without having to interrupt your kiss. 

Later, you’ll have to see if you can track down your strange, golden-eyed friend and thank them for giving a blank business card to a stranger who worked at a bar. After all, they were right. That card has made all your dreams come true.

Dream of the Endless

Dream of the Endless is not at all thrilled to be playing host to beings from almost every realm that the Dreaming has even the most tentative of alliances with. He received his reputation as a recluse for a reason, and it’s certainly not because he loves being social.

But tonight is not for him, no. It’s for the Dreaming. He had been gone for far too long, even if it was against his will. Not only had the Dreaming crumbled physically, but its standing as one of the most powerful realms in existence had crumbled too. Now that he was back and his kingdom restored to its former glory, if not more powerful than it was before his departure, he intended to remind each and every naysayer just why the Dreaming commanded their respect.

Of course, right as he’s thinking that the night is shaping up to be quite successful, he sees a guest that he most certainly did not invite. He knows this for certain, because he knows everybody and their dreams just by looking at them. Even if he didn’t, when one is alive for as long as the Endless have been, one gets to know most everybody that’s of a higher rank or class of the various realms.

You, with golden stars swimming across your body, are entirely unfamiliar to him. Even more unsettling is the fact that he doesn’t just intuitively know his name, which means there are other forces at play here. And on this night, where the Dreaming is meant to be at its best, he will not allow his enemies any opportunity to take that away from him.

It’s obvious in your demeanor that you’re uncomfortable amongst the crowds, and Dream is not the only one to notice it. When the eyes of the Trickster God, Loki Skywalker, land on you, Dream can almost see the plan formulating in the Norseman’s head. He takes a couple of quick steps, and before you can even blink, he’s swept you unwillingly into a dance.

You’re immediately begging for him to let you go, your fists pounding against his arms as you attempt to free yourself from his embrace. Loki does finally acquiesce to your demands, but simply spins you into another’s arms. Those in the general vicinity all seem to be in on this little joke, all of them laughing and taking their turn to have your resistant self in their embrace.

Suddenly, you don’t look like a threat. You’re simply a person, scared and out of your element, a pawn in the games of beings much more powerful than you. Dream may not know your true intentions, but he can’t continue to let this happen under his purview. With a single thought, he’s across the ballroom and pulling you into his own arms and away from those hoping to be next in line for a dance.

You stumble over your own feet, your body still propelled forward by the inertia of the other dancers that came before Dream. Blinking furiously to try and clear your vision, you’re finally able to look up at him without getting dizzy. 

Dream watches you try to figure out something, anything to say, and in return he studies you as well. It’s still impossible for him to divine any sort of information about you, but he can’t sense any other being’s magic on you that would be blocking his access. Apparently, you’re simply an anomaly, and that’s not including figuring out how you got past the gatekeepers in the first place.

“I do not know you,” he finally settles on saying. Apparently, by the way that you glare at him, it comes out much harsher than he had planned.

“Okay? I don’t know you either.”

He has to apologize, obviously. “Apologies, I did not mean to make it sound so accusatory. I simply find myself…curious. I believed that I knew everybody here.”

“Well that makes one of us, because I think I only know one person here.”

“Who?” he asks, wondering if this is the person that is blocking his access to you.

Though you look around the room, you don’t seem to find whoever it is. “I can’t find them, it’s too crowded in here. You already know that though, considering you just saved me from being crushed or forced to dance until I collapse from exhaustion. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Dream finds himself perturbed. Why wouldn’t he have helped you out of your less-than-ideal situation? It seems like common decency, but perhaps human society has decayed so badly that even this simple act warrants a heartfelt thank you.

“Of course. After all, I could not let one unfamiliar with those here be forced to mingle with Cluracan of the Faerie.”

He nods towards the aforementioned Fae, who is currently strutting around looking for his next conquest. Behind him trails his sister, Nuala, just as fair as her brother but decidedly a much kinder creature. She whispers something in his ear, and he merely brushes her off before continuing his search.

“By the looks of it, that would have been a fate worse than death,” you remark.

The statement, said with the confidence of someone who does not know that there are forces far beyond that which they may believe, is so humorous to Morpheus that he can’t help but laugh. How could anybody regret their time spent with Death? She is the literal oxymoron of her name; in fact, she should be the personification of sunshine instead of death.

Instead of shying away from him, because he does know that his laugh is truly horrific and thus wouldn’t blame you for doing so, you surprise Dream by grinning at the sound and looking rather proud of yourself for eliciting a laugh from him. Oh, he really enjoys this. 

He’s always found himself fond of those able to look beyond his function. As he continues to interact with you, he realizes that you apparently have no clue who he is. He also realizes that talking to you is not the same chore as it is to converse with the others that are here in his realm tonight.

Before he knows it, he’s offering to take you out to the gardens and tell you the tale of how a young Will Shaxberd came to be known as history’s greatest playwright. He shouldn’t be abandoning his guests, for that’s not what a good monarch does. However, it’s too tempting to not try and have you to himself. When you accept, he finds himself thrilled for the first time since before his imprisonment.

Dream takes great pride in the palace’s gardens. Much of the flora there had long since gone extinct, and the only thing keeping them alive in this moment was the Dream Lord’s memory (or, the memories of dreamers long gone whose knowledge Dream had leached from) of when they still flourished. He was happy to share those memories with anyone willing to listen, and you were proving to be one of the most engaged audiences he had entertained when it came to his garden.

Time is a fickle thing in the Dreaming, to be certain. Hours can pass by like minutes, or minutes can be days. It’s why he tends to keep appointments in the Waking to a minimum; he loses track of time far too easily, and often needs multiple reminders that he has an obligation in a realm not his own.

Never has Dream felt Time so keenly in the Dreaming as he does when he finally looks away from the path ahead and towards you, only for Time to seemingly come to a stop. The moon shines down upon you like an ethereal spotlight while you bend just slightly in order to fully study a daisy that was last seen in the Andromeda galaxy two hundred lightyears ago. Softly, so as not to ruin it, you gently run a finger along the edges of the velvety petals. Your smile as you do so is filled with so much kindness that Dream believes he could drown in it, not that he would mind in the slightest.

Dream had experienced love at first sight far too many times for his liking. A secret hopeless romantic, it was far too easy for him to immediately see the best in any potential romantic partner and offer himself up to them on a silver platter. Indeed, he had given lovers the finest jewels or entire worlds created just for them, and every single one had ended up spurning him in the end.

Perhaps that’s why this feels so different. This isn’t love at first sight, for he certainly had held no love in his heart for the strange intruder wandering wide-eyed around the ballroom. He’s had Time on his side, allowing him the chance to actually get to know you.

And after getting to know you, Dream wants. He wants to feel the gentleness of your touch on his skin, he wants your soft smile directed towards him. He wants to hear every thought that goes through your wondrous mind, he wants to know what you like and don’t like. He wants you, in every way that you’ll allow him to have.

Time finally restarts again, and Dream notices that you’re staring curiously at him. Distantly, a small part of him wonders how long you’ve been looking at him like that. A much larger part of him admires the color of your eyes.

“What is it? Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes, I…” 

He really must stop staring at you, he knows that it’s already far past the point of politeness. Shaking his head, Dream looks back at the ball and tries to contain his emotions once more before speaking again. 

“I believe I promised you a story, yes?”

Dream didn’t earn the title of “Prince of Stories” for no reason. Still, it makes telling stories infinitely more enjoyable when the audience is interested in what he’s saying. You, however, are not just interested. You’re enraptured, hanging on to every word he has to say. This, by far, is his favorite type of person to tell a tale to. The fact that it’s you, the mysterious human who somehow snuck into his palace, makes it even better.

After his tale is finished, you ask him if it’s true. He can’t help but to demur, planting the seeds of doubt even though it’s very much true. After all, if he had wanted you to know that, he would have told you outright during the story.

“And what would you do,” Dream asks, suddenly feeling bold, “were a stranger to come up to you and offer you anything you ever wanted?”

“Well, I–I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On who the stranger is.”

Dream really wants to kiss you right now. By the way that you whisper, and how Dream catches you looking at his lips, he thinks that you feel the same.

He leans in even closer, nodding his head slightly towards you. “May I…?”

You nod, and Dream is so thankful that you do. He’s not sure that he could bear the rejection, not when you’ve gone and made him fall in love with you so effortlessly.

Dream has seen plenty of teenagers dreaming of their first kiss. Mere children on the cusp of adulthood, their emotions are always so palpable. The fear of messing up, of getting this wrong. The exuberance of finally getting to kiss the one they have not been able to stop thinking about. The burgeoning passion of young love, sealed, quite literally, with a kiss.

Right now, as your lips just begin to meet his, Dream feels much like those teenagers. He’s terrified that he’ll move too fast or make some wrong move to push you away, while at the same time, he’s thrilled that you want to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you. Underneath it all, the embers of something more promise to be fanned into flames once he actually kisses you.

Before Dream can actually do that, though, he feels your lips become less real, less firm, against his. He can only watch as your body fades from within his grasp and you disappear, presumably back to your Waking body. After you’re well and truly gone, with no sign of you falling back asleep and appearing in his embrace once more, Dream can only stare at the spot you once occupied.

When Dream comes out of his stupor, his head falls to his hands in disbelief, unable to believe his truly rotten luck. He remains in this position until the sky begins to grow light and he remembers that he has duties he must attend to, duties that include politely but firmly seeing all of his guests out of his realm.

As Dream nods his head at guests telling him how much they enjoyed the festivities and thanks others for coming and accepts quiet alliances re-formed by those who had believed the Dreaming well and truly gone, he’s quite proud of the fact that he’s somehow pulled himself together enough to not currently have a hurricane that reflects his emotional state sweeping through the Dreaming proper. It doesn’t matter that said hurricane will likely begin to rage the second the doors to the palace close and the hastily-constructed dam holding Dream’s feelings back breaks from the pressure. For now, he has it all under control.

At least, he has it under control up until he walks back into his throne room to find Desire lounging at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sibling,” Dream greets reluctantly, his patience wearing extremely thin. “Do you not have the desires of my guests to chase after and feed off of in your realm?”

“Don’t you worry, big brother, I’m on my way out.” They stand and stretch in a way reminiscent of how a cat stretches. “Great party, by the way. Why, you look really bummed out for somebody who just met the love of his life!”

It should not be nearly as surprising as it is that Dream’s sibling has once again inserted themself into his life, where they do not belong. Regardless, it is as surprising as it is rage-inducing. Between one blink and the next, Dream has Desire pinned against the wall with his hands wrapped around their neck. Desire simply laughs breathlessly.

“I should have known that you were behind that,” Dream spits.

“You don’t have to say it–” Desire’s sentence breaks off with a choking sound, courtesy of Dream squeezing even harder and resisting the urge to wring their neck. “–Like it’s a bad thing.”

“I told you that, were you to mess with me or mine again, I would not hesitate to spill family blood. Are you really so stupid as to disregard our last talk, so soon after we had it?”

Desire looks frightened, and they should be. Dream truly wants to kill right now, to unmake something with his bare hands and feel the carnage that he creates. “No, no, no, you have it all wrong!” they say. “I’m giving you a gift, sweet Dream. No strings attached, nothing you have to do besides say ‘thank you, my favorite sibling’ and accept it!”

“A gift.” Dream’s hands loosen around Desire’s neck, but still remain fixed in place.

“Yep!”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Because I really am sorry, Dream. Truly. I regret how I’ve treated you, especially over the past couple of centuries. You’re a pain in my ass–just as I’m a pain in yours, I’m sure–but you didn’t deserve what I did to you, and for that, I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t believe them, a fact that is plainly clear and causes Desire to roll their eyes. When they push back against Dream, he finally lowers his hands and takes a step back.

“We’ve been siblings for long enough, and you’ve felt my influence on—how many lovers is it? Tell me, did you feel any of that on your little dreamer last night?”

“No,” Dream admits.

“No, exactly. So when I was trying to figure out, ‘how can I say sorry to my beloved big brother and truly mean it,’ I thought it would be nice of me to find out if you had a true love, who said true love was, and then bring your true love to you! You can thank brother Destiny’s little Book for helping me there; he would have never allowed me to look and see if you had a true love if it weren’t for the Book telling him to do so.”

“What?”

This comes as quite the shock to Dream. It’s one thing for Desire to try something as outlandish as looking in Destiny’s Book; it’s another thing entirely for Destiny to let them do so. As Desire said, if the Book did not tell him to do something, then Destiny would not do that thing.

“Mhm,” Desire says, looking entirely too pleased at this situation. “The universe itself wanted me to give you this type of an apology.”

If Desire had used Destiny’s Book to find you, then that means that they know your name. “So, you know…”

“Your little lover’s name? Yes, I do. Why, did you not catch it?” Of course they know that Dream doesn’t know your name; it’s what Dream wants most right now, so naturally, Desire can sense it. “Were you two lovebirds too busy flirting with each other to remember to ask for names?”

“Tell me, Desire,” Dream snaps. He winces, feeling slightly guilty about letting his emotions get the best of him. Not that he’ll apologize, since it’s apparently Desire’s turn to do so.

“Sorry, I had to tease you a little bit.” 

Desire finally feels a modicum of empathy and tells Dream your full name, and a part of Dream that he wasn’t aware he was missing slots into place.

“Well, I suppose I should be off now. Lots of your party guests whose desires I have to chase after and feed off of. You know.” 

They grab the lapels of their opulent fur jacket and smooth out the wrinkles that their altercation with Dream put into their carefully-created ensemble. Dream will feel even more guilt about that tomorrow, he supposes. For now, you’re the only thing on his mind.

However, Dream would be remiss to not acknowledge the effort that they know Desire put into creating this apology. He can’t let his sibling go without having them know that he appreciates it, and so he calls after them. “Desire!”

They turn on their heels. “Yes?”

“Thank you. I…accept your apology.”

Desire grins brightly and nods, which is how Dream knows they’re thankful for this acceptance. They wave their fingers teasingly before continuing on their path out of Dream’s palace. “Have fun with your present,” they say over their shoulder and promptly disappear.

Dream is finally left alone in his throne room which, at the beginning of the night, was all that he wanted. Now, with the silence only 

He knows your name. Not only that, but he knows that you and he are meant to be together. It truly is the greatest gift that anybody could have given him, made more meaningful since it’s Desire who has done this.

There are a number of actual appointments on his docket that he must begrudgingly attend to, even though he wants nothing more than to rush to the Waking and find you. That would be neglectful of his realm, though, and Dream promised himself, back when he believed you to be a threat, that he would not allow you to ruin his realm. 

Now, he would gladly ruin his realm if you were to ask him, which is why he’s so determined to see to everything that must be completed. Though it all feels tedious, the tasks do eventually get completed. Dream leaves almost immediately after the last report, delivered by a young dream in the form of a talking dog, is escorted out of the palace.

(Matthew is extremely confused by his boss’s sudden change of attitude. Lucienne, who’s seen this plenty of times before, simply sighs and hopes that he knows what he’s doing this time.)

When Dream arrives outside of a small restaurant, evening has already fallen in the Waking. It’s been less than 24 hours since you first made your way into his palace, a little over 12 since you were jerked back to consciousness and away from him. Truly not long, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s felt like a lifetime to Dream.

Your attention is divided between one of your patrons, telling a story about a mishap at work and embellishing just slightly, and the drinking glasses you’re pulling from a tray and drying clean. Dream can’t help but watch you in your element for a moment, but Dream is not a patient man, and a moment is all that he can afford before he steps up to the bar and across from you.

A smile is already on your face before you turn to look at Dream, a smile that freezes in place when your eyes meet his. Your hands begin to shake, and the glass nearly slips from your grasp before you manage to firmly set it down on the wooden countertop.

The shock is understandable. After all, most dreamers do not expect to see someone in the Waking that they have previously only seen in their dreams. Dream just hopes that it’s a good shock that you’re feeling, and not the one that he fears.

Your smile turns into something smaller, softer, and those fears that Dream held evaporate when you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“It’s you. You’re real!” 

After having spent a few moments trying to figure out what to say next, Dream is amused that this was what you decided on. “Did you think I was not?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it was just a dream.”

“It is never ‘just a dream’.” And today, he is so glad that this statement is true.

You round the bar in order to be on the same side as Dream, and it takes every ounce of restraint in him to not immediately gather you up in his arms and sweep you back to the Dreaming.

“I believe we forgot to properly make each other’s acquaintance last night.”

Gently, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. By the surprised whimper that gets caught in your throat, Dream assumes that courtship rituals have changed since the last time he attempted a relationship. Interesting, and something that he’ll be sure to ask you about later.

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. You may call me by either name, dearheart, for either shall sound sweet coming from your lips.”

Though he already knows your name now, he still allows you to introduce yourself to him, if only for the pleasure of getting to see the starstruck way you look at him when he says it as if to confirm that it truly is your name. If there were any residual worries about your passion for each other not translating to the waking, those are promptly wiped away when you throw your arms around Dream’s neck and pull him to you for a kiss. 

Truly, this is a new age that Dream is entirely unfamiliar with if kissing in public like this is acceptable. By the sounds of patrons’ applause, it appears that it is. What a strange new world Dream has found himself in. Not that he’s complaining. No, he’ll take victories as they come. As he brings a hand to your chin so that he can tilt your face and kiss you even deeper, he thinks that this is the greatest victory he’s ever had, for this victory has brought him you.

His own dream come true.

Desire of the Endless (again)

Desire’s enjoying their second glass of ambrosia, courtesy of the Greek pantheon, when they catch sight of Death, tight curls bouncing around her head, marching straight for them. They look both ways in the hope that there’s some other being who’s about to receive their sister’s wrath, but unfortunately, it looks as though they’re the target.

“Sister, how wonderful it is to see you tonight,” Desire greets. “Are you thirsty? Let me grab you a refreshment.”

Death simply narrows her eyes in suspicion. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“What?” Desire holds a hand to their chest. “Me? What would make you say such a thing?”

“Mm, the fact that I’m your older sister and I know what you’re like when you’re up to something. You’ve had that look about you all night, the one that says that you’re just waiting for one of your plans to play out.” She nudges her sibling with her shoulder. “So? Out with it.”

“Fine. I’m in the middle of apologizing to our brother.”

“Oh gods,” Death bemoans.

“Don’t say it like that! This is a good thing!”

“When have you ever apologized to anybody for anything?”

“I apologize to Despair quite often.”

“Because she’s your twin.”

“And I’ll have you know, I also recently apologized to Unity Kincaid.” 

Now that gets Death’s attention, as it should. Desire, apologizing to one of their pawns? Death might need to go check and make sure that Hell hasn’t frozen over.

“Alright, then,” Death says. “You do know that apologizing usually involves going up to the other party and saying you’re sorry, right?”

“That comes later. First, Dream gets his apology gift.”

Desire gestures across the room, where you and Dream are currently involved in some sort of contentious stare-down after Dream had come to your aid when you were being forced to dance with anybody wanting a dance. Not the best start to a relationship Desire’s ever seen, but Dream’s always liked a lover that can challenge him.

Death doesn’t see it in the same way as Desire. All she sees is Dream talking to an unknown mortal, one that Desire brought here. Naturally, she gets the wrong idea.

“Oh Desire, you didn’t!” Death scolds. “Have you learned nothing from Alianora, Killala, Nada, or any of the others?”

“This isn’t like that!”

“Really?” Desire nods. “Okay, then tell me what it’s like.”

“I simply brought the mortal here for Dream to find! Those two are doing the rest.”

“And you swear that you have done no meddling to make them have any feelings for each other?”

“Yes, I swear.”

Death continues to glare at her younger sibling, which, okay, Desire supposes that’s fair. Doesn’t mean they have to enjoy the apprehension, though.

“Fine. I swear on my function, as well as the first circle, that I have not manipulated either Dream or the mortal.” 

Desire makes sure to swear on the most solemn and binding of things that an Endless can swear on, both so that Death will realize how serious they are and because they know that they’re not telling any sort of a lie. 

“All I did was find out whether Dream had a true love, which he does, and then I made sure that the mortal would have an invitation to tonight’s festivities.”

Death nods, satisfied. “How did you find that out?”

“Apparently, even the forces of the universe want Dream to get laid. Destiny let me look in his Book.”

Death lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, he must have hated that!”

“He gave me exactly thirty seconds before snatching it back.” Desire scoffs. “Not as if I could have done anything to it, considering it’s literally chained to him.”

“It’s like his security blankie!”

A harsh, frankly disconcerting laugh echoes from nearby. While others would simply shrug it off, Death and Desire know exactly who that laugh belongs to. When Death finally fails at trying not to spy, she and Desire both see Dream’s shoulders shaking with laughter. Next to him, you’re sporting a pleased grin from the reaction you’ve been able to elicit. It’s quite the sight, and most try not to look so as not to incur the ire of the Dreamlord. His siblings, however, are exempt from that bit of common sense.

“Aw,” Death coos, her eyes shining as she watches the scene.

Desire knows exactly why their sister has such a reaction. Never, even in the early days of his courtship with Calliope, which was easily the “best” of his relationships, have any of the Endless ever seen Dream smile so freely and openly towards someone. They’ve especially never seen him let his guard down enough to laugh–which is probably a good thing, because the few times Desire’s heard his laugh, it’s left them feeling a little unsettled for a couple hours after.

“So this is simply part one of your apology?” Death asks.

“Yes. I truly am sorry for how I’ve treated him, especially over the last couple of centuries. Dream would have every right to not accept my apology, which is why I’m not just giving him a simple ‘I’m sorry’. Instead, I decided to shorten Dream’s path to finding true love, and both find his true love for him and bring said true love straight to him. A genius plan, truly.”

“You decided?”

Damn their oldest sister for being, well, an oldest sister. “Despair gave me the idea.”

“That sounds more like what I expected.”

Desire’s about to go on a diatribe about how this family only ever sees the worst in them (mainly for the fun of it, not because they actually care), when Death squeals, smacks Desire’s chest, grabs their arm and points back towards the two future lovebirds.

Dream is looking up at the ceiling to try and hide the fact that he’s blushing. His cheeks are a light shade of purple, and you look absolutely besotted by the sight.

“Oh, this is going so much better than I could have hoped,” Desire says as Dream levels his gaze with yours once again, the two of you seemingly challenging each other again on something. If the Book hadn’t told Desire that you and Dream were meant to be, this interaction would surely let them know.

“Shut up!” Death smacks Desire’s chest even more when Dream holds out his hand, which you take, before the two of you begin to sneak off like a couple of teenagers.

“What did I say?” Desire posits triumphantly. “Those two are doing all the work.”

“He’s going to be right pissed when he finds out, you know.”

Desire nods, because they do know. They’re expecting all sorts of threats of bodily harm and promises to break the most sacred rule of the Endless, all so that Desire can finally get their perceived comeuppance. If Desire’s being honest, they deserve that rage that Dream will direct towards them. They just hope that Dream will actually listen to what Desire has to say.

“He’ll get over it once I explain it to him,” Desire says.

“For your sake, I hope so. Won’t be too much of an apology if he doesn’t forgive you because he can’t see the validity of it.”

“He will.” Desire’s sure of it, and they grin at their sister. “Even if he doesn’t today, they can both thank me for my hard work at their wedding.”

Desire has enough tact to keep their triumphant “I told you so” to a smug grin when, barely a year later, they find themself back in the Dreaming for your and Dream’s wedding celebrations.

[wandasnatasha]

If You Run, Run To Me (18+) PT. 2|2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been six months since you and your friend Natasha started sleeping together. When Natasha catches wind of your feelings for her, will she run?

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: angst, a long emotional rollercoaster, smut (cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on).

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely comments, likes and reblogs on part 1! I haven't responded to every comment/reblog, but I've read them all and I appreciate it very much. 

Part 2 is the end of this little story and picks up where we left off in PART 1.

Crying is hard on the body. After Natasha had run out of your room, and once your emotions had left you completely drained and exhausted, you had fallen asleep. When you wake up the next day, you’re met with a minor headache, but your mind is clearer than yesterday. The whole situation seems more manageable now that you’re not in the heat of the moment. You know what you’re going to say to Natasha as you stand in front of her bedroom door.

The two of you can talk this out and work through this bump in the road or you can just forget about the whole situation if she wants to pretend it didn’t happen. You can return to normal, to friends with benefits. You can even settle for being just friends again. You could handle that… But if she wants to, and you really hope she does, maybe you can take her out on a proper first date, see where things go.

You hope a romantic relationship with Natasha is possible somewhere in the near future. There have been all these moments in the past six months - and possibly even before you started sleeping together - that suggest Natasha reciprocates your feelings.

You had caught Natasha staring at you from the other side of a room on more than one occasion. She was the one to initiate that kiss: the kiss that was the start of this whole ordeal. She had gone out of her way to learn how to make your favorite meal after that one time you had let it slip that you hadn’t eaten it in a while. She laughs way too hard at your jokes that aren’t even that funny to begin with. She sat through all of the seven seasons and 109 episodes of your favorite TV show with you. You don’t think she even likes the genre.

Natasha - the woman who hates it when people see her in such a vulnerable state; the woman who rarely asks for help - has let you clean her wounds and patch her up after rough missions. She hadn’t shied away from you then. And then there were those instances where she had showered you with affection and warmth, like when she washes your hair whenever you’re too tired to do it yourself, gently massaging your scalp because she knows it calms you down. She’d braid your hair afterward. She’d even sought out physical contact that hadn’t involved sex at all, like a brief touch to your waist, her hand on the small of your back, or her resting her head on your shoulder. 

All that goes beyond lust and just friendship, right?

“Nat? It’s me. Can we talk?” You knock on Natasha’s door. 

You think you hear some shuffling coming from her room, but when you press your ear against the door, it’s silent. Maybe you’d imagined it? You wait a moment longer, but when nothing happens, you turn back around feeling somewhat deflated, but still hopeful. You’ll talk to her later.

Everything’s going to turn out alright!

Little do you know, Natasha is standing right behind that door with her hand resting on the handle. She decides against pushing it down.

Everything is fucked!

As a highly skilled assassin and spy Natasha can sneak in and out of just about any space and remain undetected. She knows how to easily disappear and how to make it difficult to be found. It’s glaringly obvious she’s been doing just that ever since the whole fiasco between the two of you occurred a few days ago. It’s also clear that Natasha has added avoiding you to the list of her capabilities, and just like everything else she’s great at, she’s exceptional at steering clear of you.

She doesn’t show up to your shared training sessions, she doesn’t hang out in the rooms where you would usually find her, and that one time you had found her preparing lunch in the kitchen, she was gone before you could even get a word out. The only proof that you hadn’t imagined her was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had left behind.

You haven’t caught a single glimpse of Natasha today, but there’s a scheduled team meeting and you hope you can talk to her after.

When you arrive in the meeting room, you greet the others and sit down in your usual spot. The seat next to you is still unoccupied. It’s where Natasha always sits. Running late for a briefing is unlike her. She’s usually in the meeting room well before you arrive.

“Has anyone seen Nat?” You ask, wondering if she’ll sit next to you or if she’ll take someone else’s seat to further avoid you.

“Romanoff left for a low-stake mission with Bucky earlier this afternoon. They’re retrieving some intel for Fury and myself,” Steve answers.

“I was supposed to join Bucky, but she offered to take my place instead. Said that I looked like I needed a break,” Clint chimes in. 

Clint looks well-rested. He looks like he’s doing fine.

“Do you know when she- when they’ll be back?”

“Not for a couple of days at least, maybe up to a week. They’re on their way to Europe.”

Europe…? She’s switched with Clint to put a whole ocean between you.

With your thoughts being elsewhere, you don’t catch much from the meeting once it starts, but you don’t miss the sympathetic smiles Wanda offers whenever your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” Wanda catches up with you after the meeting is over. “If you need someone to talk to or if you need a distraction, I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Thank you, Wanda.” It’s the first time you genuinely smile in days. You’re grateful for her kindness towards you.

During the first few days Natasha is away on her mission with Bucky, you decide against contacting her. Perhaps she just needs some time away to process everything. It won’t happen overnight. You understand. You can give her the space she needs. You’ll be here when she’s ready.

Usually, you and Natasha would try to stay in touch whenever one of you was away while the other stayed behind. That doesn’t happen this time around. There are no voicemails, no brief phone calls, and no texts. You would be worried about Natasha’s safety and well-being if it weren’t for the fact that when you open your chat with her, you see she’s left the one message you did send on read.

Are we still friends, at least?

You know things are complicated and that she’s busy with the mission. It still stings when you overhear Steve’s brief phone call with the redhead as she reports the details of her findings to him. You wish she would talk to you, too.

Your mind is plagued with doubts and anxieties. Maybe you had it all wrong. 

You shove away the voice telling you that maybe Natasha no longer wants you in her life, but it’s much harder to do that than it was yesterday.

When Wanda notices your somber mood, she asks if you want to join her for coffee. You take her up on her offer. You’ve never really been close to Wanda, but something is soothing about her presence. Confiding in her lifts some of the weight off your chest. Talking to her is easy, you realize.

On the other side of the world, Natasha sits on the edge of a small bed with her face in her hands. Her mind is racing a mile a minute. She’s lost count of how many times she reread your message and typed a response but then hadn’t pressed send. There’s someone who’s made her feel valued and safe in a way she’s rarely ever experienced, and here she is hiding from you like a coward.

Natasha can hardly keep up with her own emotions. It’s like she’s forcing her head underwater, making herself drown in both longing and fear. She’s fighting a battle against herself and she can’t tell which part is going to stay under and which part is going to rise to the surface.

She scolds herself for letting things get this out of hand, for allowing the lines to blur, for letting herself fall in too deep. She should’ve pressed her feet on the brakes when, three months after you first started sleeping together, she had caught herself imagining what it might be like to build a life with you. The world has always conspired against her, so why had she entertained the idea that such a future might be in the cards for her? After everything she’s done, can she even accept the love you’re willing to offer? Does she even deserve what you’ve already given her? Her mind screams at her that she doesn’t.

You had told her she was breathtaking. Natasha knows what you meant by it. You’ve made her feel loved way before you’d even alluded to feeling that way about her. Natasha just hadn’t allowed herself to think about it for too long. You being in love with her conflicts with everything Natasha believes about herself.

Natasha has found herself in many unsettling situations in the past, but she could always crawl her way out of those. She doesn’t know how to do that now. She doesn’t even know if she wants to. But she should! You deserve infinitely better than to be burdened by someone with so much baggage. 

Things have already gone wrong, but what if they get worse? There’s so much she stands to lose. Natasha’s terrified she won’t be able to live up to the person you see in her. She’s haunted by one too many “what-ifs”.

What if she puts her armor down and lets you in fully only for you to realize you were wrong? What if you stop loving her? What if you left her heartbroken? What if she’s incapable of ever being worthy enough to have the “good” kind of love? What if you get together only to break up? She will have lost both her partner and her dearest friend.

When the Quinjet finally lands back on American soil after nearly a week has gone by, Natasha makes a run for it as soon as the doors open. She needs a shower, her limbs feel heavy and she hasn’t slept properly in days, but she has only one destination in mind. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say or how she’s going to say it. 

All she can think about is you.

Natasha spots you lounging in the common room with your eyes closed. She’s out of breath, but not because she sprinted here. 

You’re even more beautiful than the last time she saw you.

You’re humming along to music that comes from the TV speakers at low volume. She thinks the song might be Sokovian. It’s a language neither of you understands. It sounds similar to a song she’s overheard Wanda listen to frequently.

You draw a sharp breath when you open your eyes and become aware of Natasha’s presence.

“Natasha?” The way you say her name is filled with hope. She’s back home. You’ve missed her.

Your relief is quickly replaced by dread when you see Natasha’s body grow stiff when you move toward her. She’s right there, almost within reach, but she still manages to slip through your fingers.

Panic surges through Natasha and it seeps deep into her bones. It holds her rigid. It squeezes her throat shut. She can’t do it. Natasha turns away from you. She leaves you with your arms wrapped around yourself instead of being the one to hold you.

It’s one of Tony’s parties, but you’re not in a festive mood.

It’s one thing to be given the cold shoulder and to be pushed aside for four weeks straight, it’s another to then have that rejection rubbed in your face and shoved down your throat. You had been friends. As your friend, Natasha could have afforded you some common decency and respect. If things had to end, it could have at least ended on a better note than it did. A month ago she had still been a part of your life, and then she wasn’t.

It’s brutal to witness Natasha all over Bruce, her hand resting on his bicep, throwing her head back as she laughs at whatever stupid science joke he’s probably making. It’s the first time you can’t stand the sound of her laugh. You’ve never known Natasha to be cruel. Not to you at least. Not until recently. 

When did they get close? Has it always been like this? Did she go back and forth between the two of you? You never noticed. You have so many questions, but you’re too exhausted to even think about it.

At first, you thought it possible Natasha might reciprocate your feelings and give a relationship with you a try. For some reason, you had believed you were special to her. You had it all wrong. You were just a temporary indulgence, to be replaced when someone better came along.

You know when to give up. You know when you’re beat. You hope she's happy, at least. That's all you've ever wanted for her.

You want to hold on to the part of you that's angry. You want to replace your affection and hurt with that anger, but you can't. That would have made it easier to move on. You're mostly mad at yourself. If you could turn back time and take those three words back, you would do that in a heartbeat. You wish you had kept your mouth shut because now you have lost everything.

“I think you should have a little more faith than that, gorgeous,” Wanda comes to stand in front of you, obscuring the view you have of Natasha and Bruce. 

You’re not aware of it, but Wanda makes sure to stand in a way Natasha can still see what’s happening if she were to look in your direction. 

Someone needs to shake some sense into Natasha because this has gone on for far too long, and Wanda knows she can hold her own against the other woman.

You’ve grown a lot closer to Wanda these past couple of weeks. You hadn’t known it before, but now you know that Wanda has a great sense of humor. Her comedic timing is always spot on. You’ve enjoyed watching sitcoms with her and listening to the Sokovian songs she shared with you, her favorites. The songs make her feel like she’s back home. Talking about her brother is difficult for her, but she has told you stories about him anyway. She has become a pillar of support for you.

Wanda uses her thumb to wipe away a stray tear on your cheek. Your eyes close because for a fleeting moment it feels like you've stepped into a patch of sunlight. She doesn't remove her hand afterward. When you open your eyes and find Wanda watching you intently, you know she would have been able to sweep you off your feet if there was no Natasha.

Natasha stands motionless as she takes in the scene that's unfolding. She wants to look away, but her eyes remain laser-focused on your interaction with Wanda. Natasha wants to push Wanda to the side so that she can stand in her place instead. Bruce calls for her attention, but she doesn't hear him. She wouldn't have cared about what he had to say anyway. He isn't you.

“I have a feeling Natasha will come around. Don’t give up on her just yet.”

“How do you know?” You desperately want things to take a turn for the better, but you can't keep chasing after Natasha forever. She has to be the one to come to you. She has to stop running away. Right now, it appears she's already made her choice.

Wanda tilts your chin gently. You don't feel the need to pull away when she leans in closer to place a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. She moves to ghost her lips over your ear, then she whispers, “I can read minds, remember?"

All Natasha can think about is how Wanda might discover the birthmarks on your skin. What if she already had? Has Wanda made you feel good? Better? Natasha can't stand the thought, but she can't get the image out of her head. First, it creeps up on her. Then it hits her with full force. Those unwelcome images merge with flashes of a future that leave a burning sensation in her chest. It makes her sick to her stomach. 

Natasha envisions a life where she will never place kiss after kiss from your forehead, to your cheek, to your neck. She'll become the forgotten part of a vague memory. She'll move to the quietest corner of your mind to make room for a different set of green eyes, a different shade of red hair. Natasha will be the bad experience you bring up when you're comforting a friend or a child who's going through heartbreak. You'll say: "Years ago I went through something similar. I thought I'd never recover from it. But I did, and so will you".  

"You'll be okay," Wanda reassures as she wraps her arms around you in a tight hug. It's nice to be held.

Wanda doesn't have to turn around to know Natasha is no longer focused on Bruce, but is glaring daggers into the back of Wanda's skull instead. Natasha's thoughts are thunderous. She wants Wanda to back off, but Wanda stays right where she is with you in her arms.

Natasha needs to understand that if she isn't prepared to step up then there is someone else willing to do so. If Natasha doesn't go after you to fix things, there will come a day when she'll look back on her life, and she'll think about all the mistakes she's made: losing you to someone else will be the one thing that stands out from all the rest. It will be her biggest regret.

“And hey," Wanda pulls back to look at you. "If I'm wrong and things don't work out. Well, you know where to find me."

That pulls a smile out of you. Your talk with Wanda hasn't solved any of your problems, but you do feel better than you did a minute ago.

"Thank you, Wanda. For everything." 

You think that under different circumstances, or in another life, Wanda could have been your favorite redhead.

“I would have liked that,” Wanda beams.

"Me too," you say. "I'm not really in a party mood, so I'm gonna head out."

A beat goes by.  

"I'll be in my room if you-" You leave the rest of your sentence hanging in the air, but Wanda can fill in the gaps. 

She nods in understanding, "Maybe I'll see you in a minute."

She watches you walk away. Then Wanda twists her body around at high-speed. Two different shades of green cross from different ends of the room. Natasha is hit by the severity of the clear message - no, the warning - Wanda delivers. Natasha needs to run after you and grab this chance with both hands. She doesn't have many more left, if any, at all. But Wanda does, and you will not wait around for Natasha forever!

For once, Natasha listens to another fear than the ones that have been tormenting her.

Natasha runs in the direction you went, and she prays to whatever God that's listening, that you're willing to give her one last chance.

There's a sharp, urgent knock on your bedroom door. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat when you open the door and see a different face than the one you expected.

"Hi," she breathes out.

"Can we talk? Can I come in?" Natasha's fingers fidget with the silver-arrow necklace resting against her neck. 

You hesitate. But then you move aside to let Natasha enter your room. You close the door behind you before turning to face her, wrapping your arms around yourself. You both remain standing near the door. She will have to shove you to the side if she wants to make a run for it.

Natasha stays rooted in place.

You want to lunge forward and reach for her, but you don't. You won't be able to bear the devastation if she pulls away again.

Natasha looks down at her feet and she takes a deep breath. There's a list of things she wants to say. It's nearly overwhelming, but she knows she has to start somewhere. She looks you straight in the eye when she says the most important thing that comes to mind.  

"I'm sorry."

"You've hurt me," you respond, confirming what Natasha already knows. It's not your intention to make her feel guilty or to hurt her back, but it's the truth.

"I know I've hurt you and that I haven't been fair to you. I have no excuse for that. I'm sorry for making you cry and then just leaving you. I'm sorry for pushing you away and for treating you the way I did. You deserve so much better than that," Natasha voices her regrets. 

She understands that her apology doesn't make how she treated you okay. She won't hold it against you if you want nothing more to do with her, but she needs you to know how much she regrets her behavior. She would take it all back if she could, but she knows she can't.

"Thank you," you accept her apology. You still have an array of emotions you need to process on your own time, but her being here and apologizing, means everything to you. 

You still want Natasha to be a part of your life. There's just one thing you need to know, however painful the answer may be.

"Are you and Bruce- Did you-?"

"No! There's no Bruce and me."

A brief silence follows.

"Are you and Wanda?"

"No."

Natasha releases the breath she was holding, but anxiety rears its ugly head. 

"There are a lot of things I have to work through, Y/N, things that I struggle with. My past is ugly and I have a lot of… baggage. I don't want to burden you or disrupt your life."

There's no malice in your voice when you say, "You've already disrupted my life. You turned my world upside down when you came into my life. I like it that way. I can decide for myself what I want my life to look like, Natasha, and I want you in it. I want you to 'burden' me. I want to get to know you fully. If you ever feel ready to talk about your struggles or your past, I'm here to listen to the good and the bad. You don't have to be perfect. I'm not either and I don't expect you to be. If it's patience you need, I have a lot of that. I think I've proven that by now."

You continue, "Relationships aren't fairytales. Whether it's friendship or more, it requires work from everyone involved. I'm prepared to put in the work and fight for you. I'm prepared to show you how much I adore you. But when you feel the need to run, I need you to stand your ground and face your fears. I need you to talk to me and I need you to fight for me too. Can you do that?"

"I want to," Natasha steps forward. She reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. Her voice breaks when she speaks again. "I'm scared."

"I know you are," you squeeze her hand. "I can be just your friend if that's what you need, but please don't become a stranger… Where do you want to go from here?"

Natasha brings your hand to her lips. She kisses each knuckle one by one before placing a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Where does she want to go from here? Natasha wants to wake up with you tomorrow morning and shower you with little kisses. She wants to confess that, ironically enough, she's actually afraid of spiders. She knows it will make you smile. She wants to take you to Ohio to show you where she spent three years of her young life; she'll tell you the story. She wants to stop running away from love.

"I want to take you on a date." There's no hesitation in Natasha's answer.

"I would love that," you smile. 

"And I really want to kiss you right now," Natasha adds.

Your gaze drops to her mouth. Her lips look smooth and well-moisturized, no doubt from the lip balm she's always applying. You wonder if it's the last lip balm from the set you gave her seven months ago, or had she lost that one like she usually does and bought a new set herself? Either way, you also want to discover this flavor directly from her lips.

"What flavor do you have?" You refer to her lip balm, still transfixed by her lips.

You swear you can feel the blood pumping through your veins as everything happens in slow motion. Natasha moves her tongue across her bottom lip. She fights back a smile. She puts a hand against your cheek. She moves a hand to the back of your neck. She pulls you in closer. The warmth of her skin gets nearer. Her lips brush yours. They are soft. Do you taste vanilla or coconut? You don't know. You can't think straight.

At first, Natasha kisses you like she's learning how to kiss for the very first time, like she's trying to savor every second of this moment and commit it to memory. 

Your back hits the door as the kiss turns from soft to frantic. Her lips are warm and demanding against your own. And God! This is a woman who knows how to kiss! She traces your bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, begging for entrance, which you eagerly grant her. Pleasure and arousal pulses through your bodies. The time you've spent apart makes you desperate for each other, like you're presented with a feast after starving for weeks. Every missed kiss needs to be made up for.

You only break apart when you desperately need to come up for air.

"Do you want me to stop?" Natasha pants hot air against your neck.

"No! I've missed you, Nat," you sigh when Natasha places open-mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking at that particular spot, hitting your pulse point with great precision. 

Natasha untucks your blouse from your pants. She moves her hands under the fabric to grope at your breasts through your bra. "Oh, I've missed you too. Very much."

Suddenly, buttons fly around your room as Natasha rips open your blouse. She crashes her mouth against yours before you can comment on her actions. Before you know it, your blouse and bra drop to the floor. Your head falls back against the door as Natasha catches a nipple between her teeth. She alternates between kneading each breast, drawing circles around your nipple with her tongue, leaving goosebumps across your skin. She wants to worship you like you deserve. She wants to taste and rediscover every inch of your body, and that's exactly what she's going to do. The little sounds you make only spur her on further.

Natasha makes quick work of unbuttoning your pants as your lips melt together in a searing kiss. You gasp into the kiss when she slips a hand inside your panties. She doesn't have much room to move her hand, but she manages to glide her fingers between your legs. She smiles proudly against your lips as she feels how soaked you are for her. She's dripping for you, too. 

You let out a whine when she breaks the kiss and stops her movements after a few strokes. All your complaints are forgotten when Natasha looks you straight in the eyes as she guides two of her wet fingers into her mouth, sucking and moaning at the taste of you.

She's driving you crazy, and she knows it. 

Natasha slips your pants and underwear down in one swift motion, dropping to her knees to help you step out of the items. She looks up at you from her position on her knees. Her lips are swollen from kissing you. The sight of her nearly makes your legs give out. Natasha feels a flush creep up her body as she watches you drink her in.

"Bed!" God, you would love for Natasha to fuck your right here against the door, with her on her knees, but you wouldn't be able to hold yourself up.

With Natasha back on her feet, you waste no time undressing her as you stumble your way to the bed. You are the one on your back for a change as Natasha kisses her way down your torso to the inside of your thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin. Her warm breath moves to hover over your center for a moment, and then she leans in to run the flat of her tongue between your folds, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. 

Natasha coats her fingers with your arousal. You clamp down on her finger when she slides her middle finger inside you, curving upward, moving at a slow, tortuous pace. Once she's sure you're used to the sensation, she starts pumping the single digit in and out of you. Her index finger joins a moment later. When Natasha looks up, she sees you have your eyes closed, chest heaving. She's enthralled by the way your body reacts to her, moaning in pleasure, taking her fingers so well as your juices drip down her wrist.

You look ravishing.

Natasha dives in to circle your swollen clit with her tongue, sealing her lips around it and sucking it into her mouth. In mere seconds you're a writhing, moaning mess. You grab a fistful of her hair, grinding against her face, causing Natasha to moan against you. Your thighs tighten around her head instinctively. She carries on, alternating between sucking and licking your clit. 

It isn't long before your back arches and your entire body shudders, calling out her name while you come on her tongue and fingers. She continues her ministrations as your orgasm spasms through you.

"Fuck, you're good at that!" You finally speak, opening your eyes.

Natasha peppers kisses all the way up to your neck. She looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes, pleased with herself.

"I want to ride you," Natasha admits eagerly. 

She's going to be the death of you.

"Of course you do," you chuckle. Some things never change. "Do you remember where I keep the strap-on?"

"Nightstand. Right side of the bed. Bottom drawer."

You give her a peck on the lips, humming in confirmation, "Go grab your favorite toy."

Once Natasha has grabbed the lube and strap-on, and you've put the harness on, she quickly finds herself on your lap. You spend the next few minutes making-out sloppily, your fingers thrusting inside her.

"Ready?" You inquire.

"Hmm," Natasha hums in response.

You take your fingers out of her, grabbing a hold of the dildo. You rub the head through Natasha's folds and against her clit several times before you position it at her entrance. She lets herself down, slowly, moaning and whimpering at the feeling of being thoroughly filled. Not for the first time do you wish you could physically feel how her walls grip around your strap. 

She begins to move in a slow rhythm, alternating between rolling her hips and sliding up and down the base of the toy. You grab a handful of Natasha's ass. Your free hand cups her breast, and she puts her own hand over yours as she throws her head back, helping you squeeze and roll the tender flesh. Beads of sweat drip down the valley of her chest, and you can't help but lick the salt from her skin. Her moans get louder when your fingers find her center, and when you thrust your hips upwards, hitting her at a different angle.

Loose strands of red hair fall onto Natasha's face, sticking to her forehead. There are signs of your own arousal on her chin and shallow breaths escape from her parted lips. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip every so often. You're at a loss for words as you look at Natasha, taking in every detail of her face as she bounces on top of you, working herself into a frenzy. 

You know Natasha's peak is mounting with each desperate roll of her hips, and when she finally gets the release she craves, it's with your name falling off her lips, your favorite sound in the world.

Natasha wraps her arms around you, embracing you, holding you close. 

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You ask, pressing a small kiss against her neck.

"You are breathtaking."

[nicolesainz]

Can I ask you a question? (LH44)

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings! Angst, bit smutish, enemies to lovers, it’s 16+!!

“Oh and Y/N is out! Her first DNF of the season. But who was it Martin? Did you see? Who crashed onto her”

“I think it may have been Hamilton. Or Norris”

“Let’s see the replay. AND IT WAS INDEED HER TEAMMATE THAT TOOK HER OUT! Ouch! First Mercedes DNF of the season. Don’t know how happy Toto will be after this” Crofty commented

“At least she wasn’t hurt. It seemed like a pretty bad crash. She spun all the way to the barriers”

Hamilton Radio 📻

L: Is Y/N okay? She didn’t leave the space and I couldn’t break! Verstappen was behind me

B: she’s out of the car and seems fine. Focus on the race Lewis and prepare for a penalty.

A lap later

B: Lewis you have a 5 seconds penalty. Gonna serve it at the pit stop, okay?

L: Got it. Is Y/N? back at her motorhome?

B: she’s okay. She’s with Toto

————————————————————————

“Lewis Hamilton wins the British Grand Prix and secures the championship gap between Max Verstappen!”

Asshole! I was praying for a slow pitstop besides the penalty but they were more than prepared to put the tyres in under 2.5 seconds. Thanks to Lewis, Checo is now P3 in the Drivers Championship. Fucking hell.

Ever since I was signed for Mercedes is like he hates me. I get that after 2016 he’s been having a rough patch, but that doesn’t mean he should bottle all my chances of doing well in the championship too!

Now I know why Nico and Valtteri gave up so soon.

Of course I went to see the podium. Charles was P3 and I was very proud of him. And for Max too. We were childhood friends and I’m glad for all of their successes. When they saw me under the podium, both of them rushed to wash me with champagne and check out to see if I am doing well.

————————————————————————

“He is a great guy! There’s no doubt to that, but due to the pressure Mercedes puts on his back, it’s like he becomes a whole lot of different person on track. I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose” Valtteri tries to reassure me but I don’t seem to calm down.

I could feel my heart breaking when I felt my car going on the gravel and into the barriers. I was more scared about my career at that point, than my own self. I was so close to winning and in a glimpse, it was taken away from me.

“I don’t know Valtteri. He is a nice guy but I feel like he does it on purpose, so Toto won’t take me seriously and kick me from the team. And I don’t wanna mess up my chance. I don’t know which team is willing to take me in if I get sent out.”

Before Valtteri could finish his sentence, a flash figure appeared right next to me, slowly approaching. It was Lewis.

“Hey Valtteri. Uhm, do you mind if I steal Y/N for a moment? Can we talk in private?”

He look at me then at Bottas with a worrying look as if I would say no. That was my intention at first, until Valtteri gave me a look to go and talk to him.

“Yes, sure Lewis! Also Congratulations on the win!” Bottas flashed him a smile and paves his way back to the Alfa Romeo garage.

Lewis kept looking at me while I was looking at every other driver being interviewed, and alongside them Toto talking with George. Oh no! My heart sunk for a moment. Was I going to lose my seat to Russell? All because of an accident that I wasn’t to blame? I hoped to god this didn’t happen.

“Can we talk please? Y/N?” He softly grabbed my arm and I flinched at his touch. But why did I though?

“Ok, speak!” I finally faced him. His eyes were filled with sadness and disappointment. That’s definitely not the look a winner should have.

“Can we go somewhere more privately? I don’t want to be here. I promise I won’t waste your time” he almost seemed as if he was begging

“My time as it seems is over, so why not give my remains to you. Let’s go” I followed him back to his motorhome. There, Lewis locked his door and put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign outside. Weird. Really odd

“So what’s up? What did you wanted to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about the crash”

“What about the crash?”

“I want to apologize. I panicked. You barely left any space and with Max pressuring me from behind, I didn’t think clearly. If I had pulled back, there was a possibility all three of us would end up on the wall or crash to each other”

“So you decided to just throw me in the wall? Your teammate?”

“Instead of being crashed my both Max and me, I’d be easier to lead you towards the gravel. That would ease your way to the barriers and wouldn’t get hurt as much as you would have”

“You could have gone outside of the track and overtake me from there. Would have been a penalty, but still a double podium for the team. Or do you truly not care about the team and just yourself?”

“You know it firsthand that being in a position like this, inside a car, going at 300 speed is risky and decisions aren’t easily made under pressure.”

“Still you benefited-“ before I could finish my sentence

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about the championship. I don’t care about the race nor me winning. At that moment and every given moment whenever we race I think about you and how I want you to finish the race in a good position. I’m always hoping it’s first or at least on the podium. Whether I had 7 or no championships, I would still care about you”

The words that came out of Lewis’s mouth, left me truly speechless. Is he seriously thinking about me during the race? When everyone else is thinking about the win or a decent finish?

“If you don’t believe me, ask Bono how many times I’ve asked about you on the radio after your crash or every other time during the past races. Go ahead”

“No no, I-I- I can believe it. I’m just curious about the why? Why care about me? Teammates should obviously care about each other but not think about the other during the race or generally ask about them on the team radio”

It seemed like Lewis was struggling to find an answer for my question. He was trying to say something but simply couldn’t. As if a wall had been lifted that was preventing him from saying it.

“Because I am actually mad for you! I would lose all my races just to see you succeed and smile on top of the podium, than be on the podium and not smile because you’re second”

Lewis came closer to me with us being inches apart from one another. We had never been so close. His hands cupped my cheeks, while mine were unable to move. I didn’t move away from him. I felt the softness of him surrounding me.

“Do you have any idea how mad I was when I saw you hugging the other guys after the podium and not me? I would have died to be at their shoes that moment. And almost every time you hug another driver after the celebration”

His lips were mere centimeters away from mine slowly closing the gap, on what made it our first kiss. His smooth and soft moves made me feel as if I was in heaven. My heart and brain were shocked. Suddenly, the kiss became hungrier, which led Lewis’s tongue interact with mine. That lead to me letting a soft groan come out of my mouth. He picked me up and lead us to his small bed on the motorhome. I was placed on his lap and kept on kissing one another. His mouth begun leaving my lips and following a path down to my neck. My nails dug deep into his back, removing the shirt he was wearing, revealing his multiple tattoos on his tinned chest. Sweet lord. His fingers were caressing my womanhood hardly, until I felt the wetness underneath me. Was I actually doing this with my teammate, who I had sworn he hated me?

“That will teach the others a lesson”

“What lesson?”

“Never steal my teammate”

————————————————————————

[fidelixcorde]

Layer One ... the outside

Name: Taylor Lillian Borelli

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Hair Color / Style: Dark Brown, almost black, extremely curly and bouncy

Height: 5′2″

Clothing Style: Jeans, flannels, tshirts, tank tops, boots, sneakers, boho dresses

Best Physical Feature: Her eyes. Everyone she has ever known has commented on how expressive her eyes are, and so she preens when thinking about them.

Layer Two ... the inside

Fears: Failure, being abandoned

Guilty Pleasures: Milk chocolate candies, Ring Pops, singing along to goofy songs

Biggest Pet Peeve: Unnecessary noise

Ambitions for the Future: A cottage in the country side, with children of her own. Living a peaceful life with a family, no monsters to be seen.

Layer Three ... thoughts

First Thought Waking Up: Shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! (at her phone’s alarm)

What You Think About Most: The Hardys, Nancy and their friends, the Winchesters, make sure to pray at the alters, work on new spells and potions, see how Angus is doing

What You Think Before Bed: No one better die 

Best Quality: Her loyalty

Layer Four ... what’s better

Single VS Group Dates: Single

Beauty OR Brains: Brains

Cats OR Dogs: Both

Layer Five ... do you

Lie: Often (it’s part of her job) but never to her loved ones

Believe In Yourself: A little too much

Believe in Love: To an extent

Want Someone: verse dependent

Layer Six ... ever been

On Stage: Yes!

Done Drugs: Absolutely

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Only in foster homes when she was much younger, yearning to fit in sooner so that she may be loved enough to be adopted. It didn’t work. She stopped trying

Layer Seven ... favorites

Color: Green, almost all shades, but favors dark forest and emerald shades

Animal: Crows and ravens

Movie: Anything with Robin Williams, but especially Hook, Jumanji and Patch Adams. She also has a soft spot for the 2003 live action Peter Pan

Game: Baseball (sport) and Dragon Age series (video games) while Uno (card game) is her best bet at winning anything

Layer Eight ... age

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: Monday

How Old You Will Be: verse dependent

Age You Lost Your Virginity: 15

Does Age Matter: It depends on the situation, honestly.

Layer Nine ... finish the sentence

I Love: murder My Family

I Feel: Like I have everything under control

I Hide: My Depression

I Miss: Nothing

I Wish: My abuse had never happened

Snagged from: @shesdaylight Tagging: Anyone who sees this!

[karen-carlisle-off-the-artboard]

A Weekend of Unexpected Happenings - Supanova Round Up

https://karenjcarlisle.com/2023/11/13/a-weekend-of-unexpected-happenings-supanova-round-up/

And Supanova is over. Here’s what happened.

Pre-event:

Thursday night: Cracked tooth, and one quarter of my molar is gone!

Friday: emergency dentist appointment, bogged up tooth, and bump in for Adelaide Supanova event.

Day one Supanova:

Saturday was quiet, possibly due to the Christmas Pagent and a Viking Festival being scheduled on the same day. We muddled through. A few of my readers popped by to say hello; it was great to have chats.

Random Acts of Kindness:

When checking out the creators in Artist Alley, I found someone selling those fuzzy worms on a string as earings. It brought back some fun childhood memories. Then, unexpectedly, they handed me a purple one (sans earring) as a gift.

Later in the day (after a particularly slow patch) a complete stranger (now known as Rebecca) said hello, showed me a teal, baby octopus she had made as her very first crochet project. When I handed it back, she said it was also a gift. It’s so cute. And in my second fave colour! I safety-pinned it to my waistcoat. She later came back to say hi again (and saw I was wearing it). Good vibes all round!

Day Two

Sunday started out well… There was a lineup to get into the parking lot, promising a larger crowd today. I remembered to post my ‘walkthrough’ video – from the front door to my table in Artist Alley.

Then… Dearheart wasn’t feeling well.

He went for a walk to clear his head. Fifteen minutes later, he still hadn’t returned. Fellow author, Chris, checked the male toilets to make sure he was okay. He wasn’t there. I phoned him; he was in the Showgrounds First Aid getting checked out by the Ambos (Ambulance paramedics for the non-Aussies) on duty.

Half an hour later, I phoned again. He wasn’t coming back. The Ambos had told him to go home. Not long after, one of them came to my table to confirm their recommendation Dearheart should go home, and make sure someone would be there (as I couldn’t drive til the evening as I’d had migraine medication).

Then came the flurry of phone calls and messages, and realising just how many of my friends don’t drive! Fortunately, our friend Cheryl could pick him up. (Many thanks)

I tried to avoid panic attacks for the rest of the day. I had to quickly master the Square payment tech (thank you to a local artist Christie for helping out there), try to work out how to do pull down and pack up everything at the end of the day. (Dearheart usually does the bulk of it at the end of events as I’m usually borderline-migraine, out of spoons, and in pain.)

Again, the indie community came to the rescue. Matthew (fellow author, from Stonetable) helped lug things to and from the car, Christie and Kylie (regular fellow con-creators) helped with removing signs and packing (and kept me from falling in a heap), Chris (fellow author) and Daniel (author on other side of me, whom I’d never met before) helped wrangle posters and packing. I’m blown away at their generousity. Just that morning (before all the drama) Chris and I had been talking about how friendly and supportive the indie author community was. This proved it. Again.

Thank you all.

Post-Con Update

I’m exhausted and in pain, but glad to be home and glad Dearheart is improving. I’m still feeling fine. It seems likely it was food poisoning (we think we know what caused it – a ‘cookie’ sample that was undercooked, and have been told there were other negative comments about them). It was also the only thing I didn’t eat as well.

Con-wise, this was the slowest event I’ve ever attended. Usually Supanova is one of my busiest. I have more books left than anticipated. Thankfully, I sold out of my crochet bees.

It appears most of the creators in the Artist Alley felt the same way. At least I have two mini events next month.

I’m crossing my fingers I’ll sell out by then.

Note: (This post will be posted – in part – on my website blog later)

[shojimezolovemail]

how do you think the jackass guys would react to finding out their medic has a thing for blood 🙏🏻🙏🏻

A/N: i took this in a different direction for some of them so if you’re not satisfied i apologize :”)

warnings: suggestive content, blood, pet names (doll, babe and sweetheart) and jackass level violence

JOHNNY KNOXVILLE

he’s known for getting absolutely obliterated on the jackass set

so your little blood affliction is fed often

johnny’s not clueless though, he sees the way you looked at him especially after anaconda ball pit

you looked a bit…hungry

so of course he points it out

“ya like what you see, doll?” “gotta thing for bloody men, huh?

you shake off his comments but he’ll bring it up later

probably cornering you after they’ve finished filing for the day

you won’t hear the end of it until you tell him upfront

STEVE-O

with those pictures of him covered in blood that float around twitter who could blame you?

you’d probably be the mastermind behind those pictures after watching him eat shit so much on set

and he doesn’t think much of it because he’s going for that edgier look anyway

but when you start kissing him especially hard after he smears the blood though

he’s grateful for any affection you give him but the kisses you give him are only similar to when you wanna fuck

and maybe it took steve-o a few day to put that together but when he does

lord are you in for a treat

“hey babe, are you…into blood?”

your face is immediately heating up and it’s almost as if steve-o can feel it because he gets a shit eating grin

clear your schedule for the next day and a half because you will not be walking after his discovery

CHRIS PONTIUS

honestly he probably found out because you gawked at small cuts he’d get after shoots

chris is too much of a sturdy guy for bigger, bloodier injuries (to me at least)

he laughs a little because you already seem so embarrassed and he hasn’t even said anything yet!

“Y/N?”

“chris.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

you know he knows

“sweetheart, i am not going to judge you if you’re into a little blood.”

lets say he tries to get more injured if it means he gets to spend more time with your gawking eyes on him

BAM MARGERA

i’m gonna be honest, i think bam is a little freaky so he’s probably into blood too

the guy who’s obsessed with HIM being into blood is…not shocking

you’d still probably feel a little embarrassed because you’re supposed to be focusing patching up the guys

but seeing your set crush come to you when he’s got a bloody nose is enough to make you want to pounce on him

bam is pretty observant so when you especially take your time examining what could’ve caused his bloody nose, if not for an injury

“hey Y/N?”

“yeah bam?”

“you look really attractive right now.”

that was all you heard before he presses a quick kiss to your lips

effectively getting blood on your upper lip

RYAN DUNN

ryan’s confused

because he’s friends with bam, he picks up on the little medic being excitable over blood

when it’s directed toward him is where the confusion starts

you’re attracted to HIM when HE’S bloody??

he doesn’t really understand why anyone would be into blood

ryan’s not a hater though, he doesn’t care what others are into

it’s interesting to see his favorite medic get a little flustered when seeing he’s bloody

it’s a slight ego boost when you clear out whoever you’re working with to help him get cleaned up

he’s not the kinda guy to get flustered easily but you doing that is enough to make him blush

DANGER EHREN

ehren’s also confused but only at first

he’ll admit he’s got some peculiar interests though

you being so willing to latch him up and tend to his wounds, being oh so delicate

that’s where it clicks

he won’t ask you about it until he’s certain

ehren is relatively affectionate so pulling you into him isn’t something new to you

him doing it while one of his arms is bleeding profusely is though

you’re trying to convince him to detach himself from you

but he won’t and if he’s gotta play up how much he’s bleeding for you, then so be it

DAVE ENGLAND

he didn’t even know being into blood was a thing

dave never considered it at all until he brought up unconventional turn ons while tipsy one night

“oh yeah, i’m personally into blood? not in a vampire way though.”

he’s a little taken aback but he nods along

dave keeps your interest in the back of his mind for a while

that is until he gets drunk and injures himself

he’s immediately hanging off of you, trying to stroke your face with his bloodied hand

“didn’t you say you like blood, babe? is this nice for you?”

you awkwardly laugh as you try to rest him up against something so you can clean up his wound

[buck-nialled]

Hello Kitty - B. Barnes

NOTE: for the sake of this imagine, let’s pretend that Bucky knows about HK. WARNING: contains smutty ending, do not read if you are below the age of 18! aka MINORS SCOOT! also this isn’t proofread so sorry if it’s shitty?

TAGLIST: @poetic-heart @hallecarey1 @moonlightbaby10 @5-seconds-of-bucky @bbl32 @wobblymug @iwannabekilledtwice @golden-hoax @barnes-lokison

SUMMARY: it’s your third date with bucky and you are dressed to impress...for the most part

“It’s our third date.” You admit shyly to Natasha and Wanda, who sat before you on your bed. The two women’s “oohs” had your body feeling much warmer in your bathrobe than moments before. You maintained your gaze on your bare thighs, with your fingernails continuously picking at loose pieces of fuzz on your robe.

“So what are you wearing?” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at you, the corner of her lips tilted up deviously. Wanda matches her expression, further encouraging you to stand up and retrieve the knee-length, red dress from your closet. Once again, the two “ooh-ed” simultaneously at the piece.

“I don’t think he’s ever seen a dress so revealing.” Wanda giggles. Natasha joins her with a few chuckles of her own.

“He might think he chose to go out with a harlot.” Nat jives, earning another barrage of laughs from the girl beside her. Yes, Bucky did have a few years on him, but it was nothing you enjoyed hearing others tease him about. Bucky Barnes knew how to put up a shell, and do it excellently. Something you are certain of though, is nobody enjoys having their age being commented on.

“Guys, come on…” You whine, tossing the dress onto your bed and returning to the seat at your vanity, where various makeup products lie scattered.

“We’re only teasing, Y/N.” Wanda’s hand, donning several rings, waves carelessly about. Natasha hums in agreement.

“What are you wearing underneath?” She questions.

“Underneath? Why’s that matter?” Natasha and Wanda both suck in a sharp breath, and exchange a wary glance. When they lock their bewildered stares back onto you and still say nothing, you begin to grow impatient.

“Hello? Am I missing something?” You fold your arms together, leaning back in your chair and looking at the expectantly.

“Y/N, it's the third date.” Wanda snickers.

“I know.”

“Then you should know that it’s important to wear the proper...undergarments.” Natasha mumbles.

“Look who’s sounding old now.” You turn in your seat and waltz over to your dresser. “What’s wrong with wearing what I normally wear?” You call back to them as your eyes study the selection of panties and bras displayed in your top drawer.

Natasha scoffs, before bluntly stating “Your sports bra and granny panties aren’t gonna get you laid, Y/N.” You take a deep inhale through the nose and spin around to meet the woman’s interrogating eyes. Part of you almost makes a comeback on the sports bra comment, but find yourself squeaking after processing her last few words.

“Laid?! Who says we’re going that far?” You nearly choke out, laying a hand on your cheek in mortification.

“Says anybody who’s ever dated anybody. Third dates require you to bring your A-game.” Wanda informs, now making you succumb to humiliation further. The girl is years younger than you and knows more about a stable love life than you ever could. “You have to dress up. Even underneath.” She adds.

You glance down at the sloppy bow you tied to keep your robe shut. “Well...that rule is stupid. And outdated. Who says we can’t go out on a third date, have a good time fully-clothed and end it that way?” You snip, turning back to grab a nude bra with a satisfied smile.

“Y/N, just take our advice. It’ll help you in the long run.” Nat begs, catching a sinister glint in your eyes. You make an indecisive noise, feeling giddy for keeping your friends on their toes, before declaring:

“No, I don’t think I will. In fact, to prove to you both how ridiculous that rule is…” Your hand shuffles around the drawer, away from Natasha’s and Wanda’s prying eyes. When you finally retrieve your most embarrassing pair of underwear, you elicit a devilish laugh and raise the piece of clothing, high and proud for their eyes to see. In sync, you watch their lips part and eyes grow ide.

“Y/N, no…” Wanda’s strawberry-blonde hair swishes on and off of her shoulders as she shakes her head furiously.

“Don’t do this.” Natasha continues pleading. But their desperate attempts to keep you from wearing the pair of panties, clutched tight in your grasp, is only further motivation for you to pull them on your body.

“Y/N, yes.” You nod. “If you two ladies don’t mind excusing yourselves, I have a date to get ready for.” Both women perceive your satisfied smile with doubtful frowns tracing their lips. Natasha and Wanda knew perfectly well that you would come to regret your decision later in the night. You, however, were too ignorant to realize the mistake you had just committed.

♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎☆♥︎

“Thanks for taking me out, Buck. I had a really great time.” Your hand, entangled with Bucky's, lessens its grip. As the two of you approach the elevator to ride up to your floor, the red fabric adorning your body stops swishing at your knees. Bucky rests his vibranium hand against his chest, sparing you a smile nobody else in the compound would ever have the delight of seeing.

“The pleasure is all mine, Y/N.” His fingers remain laced with yours throughout the entire elevator ride up to your respective floor. When you began leading the way to your own bedroom, Bucky stops you with a proposal.

“Actually I was thinking about it, and uh…” the same hand on his chest moments ago winds behind him to scratch at the nape of his neck, “did you want to come to my room and chat a little longer.”

You graciously accepted the super soldier’s offer, but it was not long before your lips and tongues pursued more intimate activities. Currently, yours were forming escalating moans as Bucky’s mouth prioritized the space between your shoulder and neck, giving each patch of untouched skin his undivided attention.

“I gotta get this off of you,” he grumbles, yearning for more of your bare skin to meet his lips. Eagerly, his flesh hand searched the back of your dress up and down for a zipper. His vibranium hand remained at the bottom of your thigh, metal fingers tucked just below the red skirt of your dress and dangerously close to--

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes enlarging at the thought of the underwear shielding your privates. Bucky’s blue eyes, darkened by the dimly lit bedroom cast down to yours with concern.

“W-what happened? I didn’t hurt you did I?” You respond with a viscous shake of your head, desperate to not let this moment slip through your fingers.

“Just had a...small chill.” Your lips tremble at the sight of Bucky’s turning up into a smirk. You swear his eyes darken four shades in front of you too, complementing the burning list fueling your actions. His lips bend down to greet the shell of your ear, and this time, a sincere chill does run through your body. It sends tingles to your toes and an itchy feeling only Bucky can give you antidote for.

“Why don’t I warm you up, then?”

You’ll admit, for being over one hundred, the man still had power to every butterfly in your stomach, and each thump of your heart. Once glance from his blue eyes could send your knees wobbling, or worse, be to blame for a full on collapse. Currently, this charm of his was sparring with your inner-shame all because of what lies beneath your dress.

You remember why you put the pair of panties on in the first place, but you never expected your long-time crush to be witness to them. Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared to deal with any future teasing from Bucky this moment would bestow on you. After all, it’d be quite nice to rub it in Natasha’s and Wanda’s face that you still got laid while wearing them.

“Yeah, I’d like that…” you elicit a nervous chuckle, following Bucky’s perusing eyes. You feel his hand still struggling to take hold of the small zipper and tug it down. His impatience grew clear when his warm palm and cool metal appendage dissipated from your back entirely, and instead, grasped the hem of the dress pooling at your thighs.

“Fuck it.” He mutters, and lifts the skirt of your dress up. By this point, your eyes were clenched shut and your teeth were grinding together in anticipation. Without realizing it, your fingers were clutching Bucky’s bedsheets for support of the various reactions feeding through your brain. Only did your hands release the cotton sheets when Bucky’s hands cloaked them.

You peeled your eyes open to see him, a cheeky smile lining the bottom of his face as he responded in a coy manner. “Nice panties.” A wave of heat filled your body from top to bottom, while your heartbeat reached a pace that you never knew to be possible. Bucky could hear each thump for himself, and chuckled to himself at the sight of you falling sheepish underneath him.

The blue beauties of his eyes dragged down your body to the light pink cotton underwear, where a familiar cartoon head was printed all around it. The yellow noses and dotted eyes stared up at him daringly, awaiting his next move. As did you.

A sharp breath leaps down your throat when a cool metal finger inserts itself through the side of your underwear, and you feel your stomach begin quivering at the feeling of Bucky’s vibranium hand sliding the panties down your leg in a teasing manner.

“Hello Kitty.” Is all he says, before introducing your wet heat to the magic trick that is his thick, pink tongue.

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo ranboo & others are mentioned - tommy won’t go home

this is part 14 to the great adventures series

an: I tried, days are a social construction on the tarosin blog… also i’m back baby <3

from the moment you were forced awake by tubbo streaming with ranboo, Tommy began sending several messages as in his own words you ‘weren’t answering him quick enough’, probably because you had only just woken up and had no idea what day or time it was.

Tommy: y/n

Tommy: y/n were going out soon I've decided so answer me

Tommy: y/n wake up

y/n: heh? I’m going nowhere I’m tired

Tommy: I’m sending you a ticket make sure you meet me there

it was around now you had the feeling you were going to be stuck with Tommy for a while and you had no idea what to expect. an hour later tubbo stopped streaming so you took this as an opportunity to say your goodbyes to tubbo and ranboo explaining you had no idea what was happening as Tommy refused to explain but you’d probably be back later so they don’t lock you outside like last time

“don’t smirk at me ranboo just because you’re tall doesn’t mean I can’t take you down”

“mhm sure yep”

“y/n you’re going to be late we’ll see you later”

soon enough you were with Tommy who finally decided to inform you of what was happening

“we’re going to go annoy George”

“great idea Tommy let’s go”

the pair of you stood at the door waiting for George to answer, the look on George's face is something you’ll never forget.

“Hello Tommy, is that y/n what are you doing here”

“Nice to see you too… the fuck”

a few minutes later you and Tommy were sat next to George when you found a rubber duck and started making it squeak annoying the others well that was until Tommy took it and started doing the exact same thing you were doing

“I now understand why you looked pissed George”

during the stream, you were sat in between the pair George looked at you and you nodded. a few seconds later George threw the rubber duck hitting Tommy, the pair of you left not long after that event and made your way to the hotel after calling tubbo to explain what was happening.

the next day you and Tommy met up with tubbo ranboo and George at a shopping centre where you were all almost immediately met with several people asking for photos and the chance to talk to you all, you hid behind ranboo until the crowd grew smaller. it didn’t take long for everyone to notice the piano before you had time to process what just happened tubbo ran to the piano dragging you with him accidentally pushing ranboo in the process

“SORRY RANBOO”

the pair of you began playing the piano Tommy joining shortly after. time flew by the five of you spent the rest of your time shopping and just enjoying each other’s company, before you knew it, it was time to get the train. you laughed at tubbo falling asleep on the window however karma quickly caught up as you ended up falling asleep on ranboos shoulder ranboo laughed quietly to himself not wanting to wake up you or tubbo

“I swear its always y/n and tubbo who fall asleep”

“its been a long day y/n couldn’t sleep in the hotel they kept mentioning something about ghosts I don’t know man they must have been watching too many horror films”

“mhm probably”

soon enough you were with the others, minx quickly pulled you into a hug

“Nice tattoo”

“I did it for money it was a sub-goal”

you and tubbo stood with Tommy looking at the ferret

“why’s it so long”

“tubbo does it look like I study zoology I play Minecraft for a living”

the next day you were at the beach, having only had a few hours of sleep the previous night it was safe to say you weren’t in the best mood, you sat next to ranboo occasionally falling in and out of sleep, ranboo kept an arm around you pulling you into his side making sure you were safe and didn’t hit your head on the rocks when you fell asleep. you were woken up by tubbo walking on something which he clearly shouldn’t be. eventually, you all made it back to tubbos house, Tommy and tubbo were in the kitchen while ranboo practised for mcc and you were asleep in the room you had been sharing with ranboo whilst he’s in the Uk.

the next day you all went out on another adventure, at this point you had no idea what was happening but you just went with it. you and Tommy chased a bird telling him about the subscribe button and giving him the name ‘funny boy’

“Why does that bird look just extremely anxious”

“because we’re too cool ranboo”

“maybe we should give him another name than funny boy”

“Charles”

it was at this point you all decided to leave poor Charles alone as it was pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

the three of you made your way to the train station forgetting that the school students would be there, a few minutes later the three of you were swarmed by several students all trying to talk to you all.

“I think we might have got on when the schools are here”

“so thankful you pointed that out boo I thought we were being mobbed by several people cosplaying as school students”

“hi everyone hopefully no one has covid”

you backed away from the crowd moving closer to ranboo

“I bet tubbos really glad he chose not to come”

you tried to avoid the crowd by getting on the train, this failed miserably. people were excited to meet the people they look up to they were all determined to sit with you all on the train taking up the seats around you all, the three of you spent a lot of the train ride talking to them, unlike ranboo and Tommy you ignored the comments aimed at the three of you not wanting to get involved after all it was rather overwhelming so many people talking loudly at once, you ended up moving seats and had a quiet conversation with someone from your community, around half an hour later you were at your destination and said goodbye before joining Tommy and ranboo at wills. the three of you sat on the floor listening to will and the others practice. it’s pretty clear Tommy has a habit of finding things as you turned around to see him with a puppet of a shark pretending to bite you

“Tommy what are you doing”

“bye y/n scream it’s going to get you”

“ah”

realising you weren’t going to scream he began telling joe, Wilbur and David to scream.

after spending time with the others and having a quick trip to the beach you Tommy and ranboo ended up at the shop recording the three of you on the security camera

“If you take a picture from there 50p”

you looked at ranboo tilting your head in confusion even though he was wearing a mask and sunglasses he was clearly equally as confused, he pulled you into his side noticing you were clearly starting to get anxious, you hated confrontation even though it turned out to be a joke it still shook you up a little bit

“I'm only joking my friend…but I did get them”

“you did we took it serious”

“aye you did”

the three of you walked away Tommy still laughing

“he scared me”

after a long day, you all went back to tubbos, you and ranboo decided to end the night early, the pair of you made your way to the shared room. you both spent a few minutes talking about mcc and how you were both going to win and coming up with new strategies. you must have fallen asleep mid-conversation as you didn’t remember seeing Tommy come into the room last night yet you were woken up by him complaining that ranboo playing mcc woke him up.

after getting ready you sat planning an adventure with tubbo

“So where do you wanna go bo”

“We should do something really cool”

“l hope you know that wasn’t helpful”

“pumpkin patch”

“it’s summer where do you think we’re going to find pumpkins…wait tubbo in October I’m taking you to a pumpkin patch it’ll be great we hardly spend time together as a pair near Halloween”

“I promise this year we’ll spend more time together”

your conversation was interrupted by Tommy and ranboo announcing they were ready to go to the beach again. once there tubbo sat arguing with Tommy and ranboo over them needing a life jacket. meanwhile, you had walked away collecting pretty rocks and sea glass putting them in the velvet blue bag covered in embroidered gold stars that dream had sent you as a thank you for the merch you sent him not long ago, you walked along the beach quietly talking to yourself

“ooh jack would like that and I could turn this into a ring for Niki…techno would like this and this would annoy schlatt it's perfect”

you laughed to yourself as you made your way back to the others thinking about schlatts reaction when he sees his gift. when you made your way back you watched Tommy swim over to tubbo leaving ranboo on his own probably waiting for you to return

“did you get any nice rocks then y/n you were out for a while”

“I did. come sit over there with me I’ll show you”

the pair of you sat next to each other away from the sea, ranboo matched your excitement every time you picked the rock you wanted to show him

“you’ve been collecting more than rocks? what’s that”

“I have !! you wanna see?”

“of course I do”

this was a moment neither of you would forget, the pair of you sat enjoying each others company looking at rocks and sea glass you had found on the beach ignoring the world.

taglist:

@denkisclown @emma0nline @fuzzycloudsz @wtfwriter @milkydisaster @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee @orkwardx0 @bearytime @kylobensgirl

[obiwanobi]

I blame @quiet-oracle and @theevildevices for this, because I couldn’t resist the urge to write 2k of hurt/comfort for the ‘Jedi but enemies’ AU, where Qui-Gon trained Anakin, and now him and Obi-Wan are well-known for despising each other but working exceptionally well together when they’re not lost in ridiculous banters and petty arguments to hide the fact that they’ll be lost without each other;

Obi-Wan winces.

Skywalker’s hand immediately withdraws. “Does it bother you when I—”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“The answer is still the same.” 

Skywalker’s sigh is heavier than the entire Republic navy.

His mouth is too close to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he shivers as a result. But it’s only because the cold of the never-ending rain outside still lingers on their clothes and in their bones, even under the tent and close to the portable heater that a clone is still trying to adjust. And also because he’s been sitting there bare-chested for the past five minutes, with Skywalker’s clumsy fingers poking at his hip and ribs, probably way harder than necessary, just to see him suffer. 

“I can apply a bacta patch myself, you can go n—”

“Would you please shut up? We both know a bacta patch wouldn’t be enough.” 

Only the sound of a packet of antiseptic wipes being opened, gauze being stretched and the clone pushing buttons with no effect can be heard for a moment. 

 “I don’t think you’ve ever said ‘please’ to me before,” Obi-Wan notes lightly, then grimaces when Skywalker starts pulling on the cloth pressed to his side.

“Don’t get used to it. But if it’s the only way to make you stop being so difficult and contradictory all the time, I will gladly say it more.”

Instead of looking at his own wound —the pain in his hip is enough, thank you, he doesn't need to see the extent of the damages— Obi-Wan glances at Skywalker. Gaze focused and mouth in a thin line, there’s only concentration written on his face. 

No one could guess that only half an hour ago, on the battlefield, panic and terror were the only two emotions Skywalker was projecting loud enough in the Force to bring Obi-Wan out of unconsciousness.

Unbelievable, Obi-Wan has thought once he was aware enough to realise that it was Skywalker's hands on his face and Skywalker’s voice in his ear, begging him to come back. He would find a way to be annoying enough to drag me out of a coma if he could. 

Surprisingly, the thought has felt like a comfort. 

The clone working on the heater stands up suddenly. Obi-Wan almost forgot about him. He nods his head towards them, and goes out of the tent at the exact same moment Hyoid enters.

At the sight of the clone, all modicum of appreciation for Skywalker evaporate. 

“You called a medic?” Obi-Wan scowls, with the tone of someone who has just been the victim of a vicious mutiny. 

“Of course I called a medic. Half of your tunic is covered in your own blood and you were knocked out for a while earlier, what do you think I was going to do? Tell you to go back out there and watch you slowly bleed to death?”

“Generals,” the medic calls. In vain.

“You would enjoy that,” Obi-Wan grumbles.  

“Well, yes, but then the Council will ask me why I let you die just a few meters away from a first aid kit, and then I’ll have to explain that I gently push it away from your weak hands every time you reached for it, and how will I look, then?”

“Like someone who could have let me die on the battlefield and get away with it, but decided instead to choose the most idiotic and time-consuming option available, and I would have enjoyed that very much.” 

“Generals.” 

“Exactly,” Skywalker nods, “and I can’t let you enjoy things.”

“I know. Don’t think I never realised who was flushing the toilets every time I was in the shower when the hot water came back two days ago.”

“You were so cheerful,” Skywalker says, as if the mere thought disgusts him. “I took that as a personal affront.”

“Sirs, please,” Hyoid implores louder. Both Jedi turn towards him, almost surprised to see him there. “I’m just here to see General Kenobi’s injury, I’m sure you can continue your conversation right after. Sirs. Please.” 

It takes them a second to realise that they’re sitting so close together that Obi-Wan’s hand has settled on Skywalker’s knee when they weren’t paying attention, while Skywalker’s fingers are still maintaining Obi-Wan’s pants low on his hip so it won’t come in contact with the long gash on his side. The intimacy of the scene isn’t completely lost on Skywalker, it seems, because he rushes to take his hands away and stands next to his chair, suddenly too self-conscious to know what to do with himself. 

“I’m very sorry about him,” Obi-Wan apologises, as the medic takes Skywalker’s seat and starts assessing the mess Skywalker undoubtedly made of his hip and ribs. “He’s a rescue. He still has no idea how to behave appropriately in polite society.”

An outraged noise comes from Skywalker behind him, and despite the throbbing pain, Obi-Wan can feel the corners of his mouth turning up. A hiss replaces his smile rapidly enough when Hyoid applies a spray and starts cleaning what Skywalker missed, before pressing stingy patches on the wound. 

The medic is wise enough not to reply to him, but it doesn’t stop him from making a comment or two about how ‘this isn’t superficial sir, you should be more careful from now on,’ or ‘you’ll have to change the bandages, and I’ll get some pills for you to take’ and ‘ok, now let’s see your head, sir, don’t think General Skywalker didn’t mention it’.

His head is, indeed, becoming heavier by the minute, and he can feel himself growing too tired to care enough to listen carefully after that. Once he gives up answering questions and lets Skywalker do it for him, Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to concentrate to feel him poking obnoxiously at him in the Force, testing the limits of his consciousness. It reminds him a bit of when Skywalker was a child, tugging on his robe every two minutes to make sure he was paying attention to him.

No wonder Obi-Wan always tried to avoid him.  

“All right,” the medic finally says, pulling him out of his reverie. He stands up, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll get you your pills, and then you should rest.”

Rest sounds amazing. Obi-Wan would kill Skywalker for a good mattress and a soft pillow right now. But it doesn’t mean anything; he would probably kill Skywalker for two minutes of peace on the best of days. 

The sudden silence that falls under the tent once Hyoid is gone seems almost unnatural. Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why the faint pitter-patter of the rain outside unsettles him so much, until he realises that it’s the first time since the battlefield that he’s alone with Skywalker. 

“Are you going to keep sulking behind me?” Obi-Wan asks, finding his robe discarded on the floor and wondering if it’s worth leaning down to get it. No reply comes. “Well, you heard the medic. You can go now. I, unfortunately for you, will still live to see another...” he trails off as two arms slide over his shoulders from behind, wrapping around his neck and resting there. 

Skywalker is warm against him.

For a second, Obi-Wan thinks he’s finally going to strangle him, but a golden head falls on his shoulder gently, face hidden by a cascade of curls, tickling Obi-Wan's neck and collarbone. 

“Skyw—”

“Don’t be an insufferable asshole for a minute,” Skywalker mumbles, breath hot against his bare skin. “Just let me have this.” 

Ah. It’s one of those moments, then. 

He thought they were done with that for the day after what happened on the battlefield. Earlier.

With Skywalker’s face looming over him. Eyes so wide and so blue. One hand pressed against the wound in his side to stop the bleeding, one hand twisted in Obi-Wan’s tunic, right above his heart. 

Being the one injured and barely conscious, but also being the one calming Skywalker down. Managing to get him to release his death-grip on him. Assuring him that he wasn’t going to die.

Promising it. 

Twice.

Soothing the Hero with No Fear as he would soothe a lost and abandoned child.

“I told you already,” Obi-Wan says quietly. It feels wrong to speak louder when he knows they won’t look at each other for some time after that. “It’s all right. I’m fine now. It’s over.”

The arms around him tighten, mirroring the weight of Skywalker’s presence in the Force around Obi-Wan. 

“I thought you’d left me,” Skywalker says accusingly, sounding remarkably like his nine-year-old self. “I thought you’d left me behind again.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, as if not seeing it would erase the fact he’s indulging his instinct to nuzzle his face against Skywalker’s hair. He smells like the rain, muddy but fresh, and feels like lingering distress in the Force. It’s far from pleasant to remain close to such an unbalanced mind, and their position isn’t comfortable either. But Obi-Wan doesn’t shiver from the cold anymore. So they don’t move.

They’ve earned that second of weakness.

Obi-Wan’s hand comes up to scratch at Skywalker’s head gently, fingers tangling with unruly locks of hair. Slowly, his muscles relax and he leans into the touch, chest slumped against Obi-Wan’s back. Skywalker’s face turns towards his throat, nestled under his jaw, before exhaling, deep and warm. In the Force, Skywalker’s signature curls against Obi-Wan’s and quiets down to a low satisfied rumble, dragged away from dread and terror one caress at a time.

Obi-Wan’s mind is suddenly way too tired to be bothered by the tenderness of it all.

“I’m here now, with you,” he whispers in his hair. “That’s all that matters.”

It’s a quiet apology that Skywalker accepts with a satisfied humming noise that resonates in Obi-Wan’s whole body.

It feels a bit like an apology for more. For everything. For all the times he avoided and pushed him away as a child. For condemning him for reasons he didn’t want to admit to himself. For wanting to blame him, for taking his master away, for being such a better padawan than he was, for rubbing it in his face.

For wanting to be his friend, always. 

Obi-Wan has been wrong for so long.

When the medic comes back, Skywalker is kneeling in front of the heater, cursing it quietly, and Obi-Wan is adjusting his robe around his shoulders with slow movements. 

“All right, sir, this is what you’ll have to take before every meal,” Hyoid says, showing him a small bottle, before putting a white box on the table. “And these are the bandages and the bacta to change every day. I would advise you not to do it yourself, and if you don’t have anyone to—“

“I’ll do it,” Skywalker declares without looking up, and Obi-Wan immediately narrows his eyes.

“You? I can’t even trust you with my toothpaste tube, what makes you think—“

“I don’t care what you say Kenobi, there is no wrong way to squeeze toothpaste!”

“There is, and you do it on purpose. What kind of savage would squeeze it right in the middle—”

Skywalker suddenly turns towards Hyoid, talking over him. “How many pills would it take to be considered a lethal dose, do you think?” 

It is, of course, the one comment that ignites a virulent and pointless argument that makes the poor medic reconsider all his life choices and wonder if chloroforming Jedi generals would get him court-martialed.

After seven minutes of a loud and dramatic dispute ending with Skywalker promising to never take part in anything related to Kenobi anymore, except maybe his funeral, Hyoid decides to risk it.

[jungshookz]

yoongi comes home late & y/n’s fast asleep

➺ starring; min yoongi x reader

➺ genre; the ever-so-elusive sugardaddy!yoongi who was supposed to have his own fic in 2018 but he never ended up getting one because i moved on!!! fluff!! smerhaps/smaybe/smalmost smut (slightly suggestive themes)!! also because this is sugardaddy!yoongi the drabble is slightly cliché/2012 wattpad-y but it is what it is 

➺ wordcount; 1.6k

➺ summary; a groggy yoongi comes home late from work and is pleasantly surprised by what he’s been greeted with. 

➺ what to expect; “this is cute. i’ve never seen you in pastel purple before.”

                                     »»————-　💜　————-««

the first thing that yoongi sees upon his arrival home is you fast asleep on the couch wearing nothing but a lavender silk robe and what he’s safely assuming to be a pretty pretty pair of matching bra and panties underneath (you’re sleeping on your stomach but the robe obviously rode up while you were asleep so the end of it is sitting scrunched up on your lower back)

and he knows this is supposed to be a sexy situation and all, but the fact that you’ve dozed off with one arm and one leg hanging off the couch just makes you look...

“cute.” yoongi murmurs to himself as he bites back a fond smile, bending down to take his shoes off quietly so that he doesn’t accidentally wake you up 

he had to leave after dinner because there was some emergency at work that apparently couldn’t wait until tomorrow and before he left he promised you that he’d be back as soon as he could... 

with that being said, it’s half past midnight which is definitely mucH later than he thought he’d be back

he takes his suit jacket off slowly as he makes his way over to you, gently folding it and resting it over the top of the couch

hm

if you’d fallen asleep on your back then it’d be easy for him to scoop you up... so he’s not sure how he’s going to approach this... 

yoongi clears his throat quietly as he unbuttons his sleeves before rolling each one up his forearms 

maybe if he moves really slowly, you won’t wake up?

the feeling of the couch dipping down slightly from under you is what rouses you awake 

your eyelids flutter as you regain consciousness and you feel your heart skip a beat in excitement when you recognize the scent of yoongi’s cologne lingering in the air 

you’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for but it must’ve been a while because you can feel a slight indentation of your bracelet printed onto your right cheek anD there’s a faint patch of drool on the couch that you’re hoping yoongi won’t notice 

you didn’t mean to fall asleep but the couch is just so comfortable that you managed to convince yourself to take a little nap while waiting for yoongi to come back 

you were only supposed to be asleep for half an hour - you set an alarm on your phone and everything! - but you’re pretty sure the sun was still setting when you said that and now it’s pitch black outside 

admittedly, you were a little bummed out when yoongi told you he had to leave for a while but you understand that he has an important job and that he’s a fairly busy man 

on the bright side, him leaving left you with a good amount of time to a) wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen a little (even though yoongi’s told you multiple times that you don’t have to) b) catch up on some readings that are due for your classes, and c) change out of your grubby clothes and into the lingerie set you’d been hiding from him for a whole month (!!) 

(you’re pretty sure he’s probably seen the order being charged to his credit card but he hasn’t said anything about it.)

“hi, sleepy.” yoongi coos quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to to the back of your shoulder, “sorry i woke you up. have you been here all night?”

“yeah…” you hum, voice slightly raspy with sleep, “i was going to nap in the bedroom but i wanted to be here when you got back.”

“i’m sorry, baby…” yoongi shuffles closer, sliding his hand down the curve of your back before giving your bum a light squeeze, “if it makes you feel any better, i’m definitely a big fan of what you’re wearing.”

“really?” you roll yourself around before propping yourself up onto your elbows, not missing the way yoongi’s eyes flicker down to your chest for a brief second, “the robe’s a little wrinkly now, but…” you lift your leg up a little so that the slit of the robe parts around your thigh and yoongi glances down in interest    

“this is cute.” he comments, hooking a finger under one of the garters around your thigh before tugging at it gently, “i’ve never seen you in pastel purple before.” 

“yeah, i-” you find yourself blushing (though yoongi hasn’t even said anything to make your cheeks pink) as you reach down to pull one of your stockings up a little higher, “i thought maybe it’d be nice to try something different… i know you usually like black, but… well, i- i actually bought this set in black as a back-up, if you... if you want me to change...” you find your voice lowering when you notice yoongi leaning in and you don’t get much of a chance to say anything else before he’s pressing his lips against yours 

!

yoongi can’t help but chuckle when you reciprocate the kiss eagerly, practically shooting straight up from the couch before beginning to paw at his shirt 

you manage to loosen his tie slightly before he loops an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him

your stomach flutters at the prospect of finally getting to spend some alone time with yoongi

you’ve been swamped for the last month or so because of midterms and essays and presentations and countless readings so when yoongi asked you if you wanted to stay at his place over the weekend you basically jumped at the chance 

he’s usually the one who stays at your apartment so it’s nice to switch things up!

plus, yoongi has one of those fancy rainfall shower heads in his bathroom so that’s a definite bonus 

all of a sudden, the little voice in your head whispers for you to get up and onto yoongi’s lap- but because good things never last, he pulls away from the kiss far too soon for your liking and you resist the urge to get up and just tackle him to the ground 

he was gone for like!!! five hours!!! 

“i wanna-” you pause as you try to figure out how to word exactly what you’re feeling without sounding like a moron, “i wanna keep... like, kissing you... and stuff...”

well 

nice effort 

sometimes you wish you were more experienced so that you could be the sex kitten yoongi probably imagines you as but yoongi insists that it doesn’t matter to him 

it’s just embarrassing sometimes when you try to sound sexy but you end up sounding like a robot that’s just churning out sexy words 

you know he’s been with others before who are far more experienced with this part of the job so you can’t help but feel a little insecure when you get all bleep bloop I Want To Kiss You And Stuff bleep bloop 

“and stuff, hm?” yoongi teases, leaning in to give you a quick kiss before getting up from the couch and reaching over to grab his suit jacket, “i actually do want you to change- into your pyjamas. because you have an early class tomorrow and we can’t have you falling asleep in the middle of it. now, c’mon-”

“wha- hey, hold on-” you immediately get up from the couch when yoongi turns away and walks off, quickening your pace when he switches the main foyer lights off and disappears into the hallway, “yoongi-!”

“come on, i’ll let you choose another shirt you’re probably going to end up stealing from me-”

“woah, woaH-!” you finally catch up to him, your stockings gliding against the smooth marble of the floor as you slide around so that you’re standing in front of him, “what do you think you’re doing??”

“can i help you, miss?” yoongi grins when you slink your arms around his neck and press your body against his, “i’m going to get ready for bed, that’s what i’m doing. what do you think you’re doing?” 

“i don’t wanna go to sleep yet.” you whine pitifully as you slide a hand down so you can fiddle with one of the buttons on his shirt, “you’ve been gone all night…”

“oh, don’t pout like that.” yoongi coos, reaching up to cup your cheek before using his thumb to pluck at your pushed-out bottom lip, “you had me all day yesterday, you know. i had to bump one of my meetings to next week because of you.”

“yeah, but i wasn’t wearing this yesterday-” you pull back for a second to gesture to yourself exaggeratedly, “you’re a good businessman. we should compromise!”

“alright, alright-” yoongi laughs lightly and reaches forward so he can pull you back towards him, “name your price, boss.”

“let me join you in the shower.” you grin, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth, “and then i promise i’ll go to sleep right after.” 

“hm, i don’t know…” yoongi teases, undoing your robe before sliding his warm hands underneath it so he can cup your hips, “i feel like we’d end up doing a lot more than just shower together if i let you join me...”

“would that be so wrong?” you ask innocently as you look up at him with doe eyes, yoongi giving your hips a squeeze as he walks you backwards and towards the bedroom, “we’d save water by showering together!” 

“‘showers’ with you can last up to an hour. if anything, you’d be hiking up my water bill!”

“yeah, but you can afford it-” 

🎙️help me help you make your wishes come true (send me a request!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

🌟or something even shorter?

[bowieandqueen11]

Set Me Dreaming / Bucky Barnes Imagine

Request: can you do a bucky fic where reader catches him awake in the middle of the night and fighting off some of his troubles? like maybe bucky resists any type of consolation until he finally succumbs. i am open to any of your ideas/own interpretation! thank you!! <3

Yes I can thank you!! Also Mr Barnes it’s been seven years and I am still looking respectfully 👀 

If you like, please comment and reblog!

(The lyrics are Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller/ Frank Sinatra (we’re just going to pretend this version came out at the right time aha), and I got them from Google!)

You haven’t heard this song since that night in 1943. Since the night he proposed. Since the night he left. Since the night you lost your Bucky.

‘The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming.’

It takes you a moment to see in the darkness of the little New York Apartment you and Bucky had managed to scrounge up the money to pay for. It certainly needed some work, and sometimes you missed that smell of antiseptic and apple pie - that warmth familiarity of Bucky patching Steve up after a fight with one hand, and trying to copy his mom’s old recipes as a treat for when you got home from work in the other. This place only smelt of car fumes, and a certain stench of must and old pine that was just a sucker punch to the stomach every time you entered. Every time the two of you were reminded how stranded Steve had left you. Buck had tried to cook for you, once, a couple of weeks ago, but you had come home to find him sitting slouched, crying, on the kitchen tiles as he sobbed out how his mind couldn’t remember the measurements his mom had written down. But it didn’t matter, you think as you finally spot the sound of the noise. Wherever and whenever you had Buck, you were home. Even if everything needed work, it was worth it.

The record player swirls slowly from its spot on the kitchen counter, languid in its spinning as the familiar notes bounce around the confining walls and fill the place, and the city, with its warm jazz. At this time of night, there’s little to compete with the rippling trumpets, or the baritone voice - just the faraway sound of car horns and the jagged breathing of something coming from the fire escape. For a moment, you jump, forgetting yourself, forgetting you weren’t trapped in Hydra anymore. And then your heart starts to drop as you untangle yourself from the blankets, getting up from where you were holding your fiancée on the floor, to spot his sitting with his back to you. His eyes are gone. You don’t know how you can tell, solely just from the rise and fall of his naked back. You just know him too well, you suppose.

He’s gone from you, at the moment, eyes glazed with a faraway mist as he looks down at flashing, neon lights and dirt-tramped streets of the city he used to know like the back of his hand. But he’s not there either. No, his mind has wandered away with the song, memories allowing him some reverie by thinking back on that day. On you. A warm glow flashes through his eyes, a smile threatening to twitch at the corners of his lips as he pictures you, the love of his life, hand intertwined with his. He had sobbed against your lips that night, forehead pressed tightly against yours as he gazed at you with terrified eyes, drinking in every feature of your face as if he knew it would be the last time he would see it. If he was going to die, he wanted to make damn sure that the last thing that ever passed his mind was you. He could die happy then, knowing that he had been given one proper, good thing in his life, feeling safe in the memory that he had loved it well. That he would go knowing he would love you forever. You pretend not to feel him shake in your grasp as you dig your fingers into your shoulder, pulling him tighter against your chest and whispering sweet nothings into the dance hall, the thought of him leaving the next morning plaguing your every thought.

‘My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?’

He could barely get the words out that night, he had to mouth them against your lips and hope, his silly, foolish hope, that you would agree to marry a man who was being shipped of the next day. He just needed to go knowing that he was yours, thinking the last twenty five years you had spent joint at the hip would sway you towards the sentimental and you would agree to let him be yours, even if only for a day. It didn’t matter, he knew, as his lips trembled against your own, clenching his eyes shut to try and stop the tears spilling down as you nod your head vigorously. It didn’t matter how long you had in this life, he would be yours forever.

‘I love you, doll. I love you so much it hurts.’

‘Don’t you know I love you the same, Buck?’

He doesn’t feel you come up behind him, placing your hands on his back. Every muscle seems to be jumping out of his skin, skin flush and like a furnace to the touch, but you just wrap your arms around his waist and pull him against your back. Glancing round to see your Bucky’s face, his stubble tickles your cheek as you sigh. He’s still puffing out breath into the cold night’s air, eyes glossy and wet and by grief, filled with so much pain and love and fear that it breaks your heart. 

‘I bring you and sing you a moonlight serenade.’

Then he remembers falling. Feeling weightless in the water, gazing up at the blanket of grey sky above him, at peace in the knowledge that you were here with him, your picture still tucked into his jacket and your face the only thing he saw when he looked up at the sky, at the stars. When he finally closed his eyes, and let himself drift away to you. Then he remembers the pain. The pain of remembering you while he was tied down to that chair, jaw clenched and lips threatening to spill his sobs as they punished him for remembering you, again and again and again and again, until the end, he buries you into a pocket of his mind he hopes Hydra can’t touch. He remembers the plea that used to fall from his lips as they hit him, the tremble in his fingers once he woke up and realised that he, that James, that the Winter Soldier was holding a gun against the head of someone he had never even seen before. Not in his lifetime. But he does what he’s meant to do, what he’s told to do, finger pulling the trigger as some thought twitches at the back of his mind, telling him to keep going. To always carry out his missions, saving the world, saving you.

He doesn’t feel your lips brush against his forehead as he begins to gasp now, almost fighting back against your touch. But you only reach out to steady him, grabbing his biceps as you swing yourself over the barrier to kneel down in front of him, fingers tight as he finally starts to settle himself again. You reach up slowly, careful not to startle him away from whatever pain is haunting him, and brush his hair away from his damp forehead. You don’t miss the way he subconsciously drops his head towards your touch, the almost inaudible sigh of relief that brushes against your nose.

He finally starts to remember himself, remember where he is, eyelashes fluttering open and closed quickly. He nearly bursts into tears right there and then when he spots you, wide eyed and obviously shivering from the cold in front of him. 

‘Buck. Buck - James. It’s okay, we’re okay. You’re here with me, not back there. It’s alright.’

‘Sweetheart-’, he starts, squirming within himself as he scrambles closer to you. ‘A-are you real? You’re really here?’

‘Of course I am, Buck. I’m never leaving you. Never again.’

For a moment there’s a comfortable silence, a knowing moment of trust and understanding between the two of you, before you tug on his metal arm. He gives it to you willingly, the only person he’ll allow to touch the metal without feeling revolted with himself. You pull gently at his fingers, silently pleading for him to unfurl his fists. His breath shakes, knowing it was the same way you had brought him back to himself that day Helicarrier when he had been sent to kill you. The cruellest trick fate had ever played on him. He still cried about it in his dreams, eyes strained and throat hollow with screams as he strained against you, trying time and time again to stop his arms from hurting you. To stop himself from drowning just by the thought of you.

You- you were real. You were here, and then he found himself full on sobbing again. You shush him gently, jumping up to pull his hands away from his face, away from where he had shoved them into his eyes to try and stop himself. Yet he only grabs onto his shirt that you were wearing, fingers clenching and fists white as he pulls you down to straddle his thighs. He nestles his head into your neck, pulling you tight into his arms until he couldn’t be sure where he ended and where you began. As if there had really ever been a difference for him, anyway. You brush your hand through his hair, appreciating the little hum of delight he tried to give you as your fingers scrape the nape of his neck. He sniffles against your skin, but he’s alright. He knows that you would do anything for him. Your soulmate, your Bucky.

And Bucky knew, as he held you against him, that he would never let you go again. He knew that he couldn’t pretend he was alright anymore, that somehow and someway he would have to make amends for everything he has done - everything he has put you through. Yet some warm hope fizzled at the bottom of his heart as he felt your engagement ring bump against the goose bumps of his back, knowing he still owed you a wedding as well. 

His hands are so soft, so gentle, so careful, as he grips onto your waist. His nose bumps against your forehead the same way it had that night, all those years ago, before you had lost him. His tears stain your shirt again, and although he knew he was different now, he also knew there was still some of James Buchanan Barnes left. He knew, because you had his heart, this whole time.

[infernalrevenge]

All Dolled Up

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Donna decides to practice talking to Reader, using a mini Reader!

Notes: Resident Evil 8 owns my ass and so do the lords. This is just some bashful Donna, inspired by headcanons by @wallflowerimagines! Check out their stuff, I love how they've characterized the lords and their reactions to crushes and relationships and the like. Here's the original post!

------------

And... done!

Donna closed the slot at the back of the doll's head and turned it to face her, noting all the details of her latest creation.

It had a simple uniform on: A white button down under a black vest with coattails, on its left breast was a patch of the Beneviento family crest. It was fitted with matching dark grey pants and even a pair of leather shoes for its porcelain feet.

It looked just like Y/N -- their face, their skin, their hair. It was perfect.

"Looks just like 'em, Donna!" Angie chirped, bounding up from her lap and hanging onto the side of the desk to get a better look.

Everything had to be perfect if she was going to get this plan to work, but this was just part one of... who knows how many steps. She wasn't sure exactly how long this would take, but this first step forward was better than nothing.

She set the doll gently on the desk slumped against a glass, letting out a breath as she willed the implanted Cadou to bring it to life. Angie peeked over and giggled to herself in excitement, hanging from the side to watch it all happen. Maybe when this was all done, she could have a new friend to play with too!

Soon enough, its head twitched up ever so slightly, its shining eyes trying to focus on the woman before them. They attempted to sit up straighter, their movements jerky yet slow as they tested the waters. They waved a hand in greeting, pink painted lips curling into a familiar smile.

"Good evening, Lady Beneviento!" they said, in that enthusiastic tone she knew so well. Y/N's voice wasn't quite as high pitched as the doll's, but the underlying warmth in their speech was still unmistakable.

Donna cleared her throat, giving a nod and a soft "Hello" in return.

Doll-Y/N shakily stood up on their feet, taking a few steps forward to greet the other doll. "Miss Angie, come join me up here!" They extended their hands to her, and she hoisted herself onto the wooden surface with their help. They were just about Angie's height standing up, but was now at eye level with Donna.

"Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?" they addressed the woman.

She knew it was just a title, something servants commonly called those of higher status, and she's heard Y/N say it many times, but she still couldn't help the heat rising to her cheeks at what she wished it implied.

To be someone's. To be Y/N's.

Angie was just about to respond but kept quiet with one turn of Donna's head. She made this doll to practice talking to Y/N -- the real, life-sized version of them. She wanted to spend more time with them and get used to their company. It had been so long since she tried speaking to another human being directly, almost always at a loss for words until Angie would swoop in and say what was on her mind. But she knew that with Y/N, she couldn't hide behind her forever. As much as she loved Angie and what she did for her, she also wanted to be with them as her, as Donna Beneviento. She already knew they cared for Angie like she did, and she wanted to let them know personally -- no barriers, no lies, no dolls -- how she felt.

One day, she would say everything to them. But for now, this doll should suffice.

She and Angie thought that she was used to the company of her Cadou dolls, and since she would like to get used to Y/N, then making a doll of them might help with that. Made sense, right? It wasn't ideal, but it made some sense.

She didn't quite count on how much it would be like them, though. As much as she had control over the doll, she can't control how they were when she wills it to act like them.

"If you... would like..." she started to say, almost uncertain as she glanced over at Angie. She only gave an encouraging nod in response, silently telling Donna to speak up. "You can tell me about how your day went." She did always love hearing them speak.

Doll-Y/N's face lit up, bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet and clasping their small hands behind their back. "Of course, my lady. Well, on my way to the market today, I passed a shop selling all sorts of flowers. I didn't know you could grow sunflowers around the village! Or perhaps the Duke brings them in from somewhere..."

----------

This routine went on for a few days: Donna would greet Doll-Y/N, ask about them, and they would go on about things she might already know -- hobbies they want to take up, their favorite foods and drinks, a show or movie they looked forward to watching (with her and Angie, of course), and so on. The lady would reply with some insight as well, though brief and only softly, so as to not interrupt. The doll's movements also grew smoother and more sure with every interaction, practically having Y/N's own habits and tics down pat whenever they spoke. It felt more and more like she was talking to them, the real Y/N. With every thumbs up Angie gave her after every session, it only emboldened her more. This might just work!

One day, she greeted the doll with a little more enthusiasm than usual. Y/N spent time with her and Angie at the study that evening, with her reading and them arranging some books while Angie talked to them a bit about anything they may have read recently, and new games they could play with the dolls ("And Donna", Angie threw out as a suggestion). If it weren't for her veil, Y/N would've seen how she spent most of the time watching the two people she loved converse so freely with one another, unable to help smiling at them.

Donna came back into her room practically bursting with happiness, a light "Good evening, Y/N!" escaping her as she sat down.

It seemed like Doll-Y/N noticed the positive change, so they brought up something they had in mind. "I'd like to switch things a little, if you don't mind, my lady. How was your day today?" they suggested, stepping closer to her. She suddenly grew a little shy again, hands folded neatly on Angie's lap as she kept her close.

"Oh, it was... wonderful," she replied, a smile curling on her lips.

Doll-Y/N nodded, an encouraging smile on their little face as if to tell her to continue. "I spent some of the day in the garden, watching you work for a while. Um, big you. Then I... spent the rest in the study. Also with... big you. You and Angie talked a lot about books and games." They both made such lovely company, after all. "How about you, Y/N?"

"It went by splendidly! Well, it started off just fine, with my usual chores, but after seeing you in the garden this morning I couldn't help but feel like the day's been brighter ever since," they said, taking another step forward and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, their beaming smile ever-present.

Oh. Did they just...

She... brightened up their day? Did they really think that? Did the real Y/N think that?

"Really?" she whispered, practically sounding breathless.

"Yes. In fact, your presence alone brings more warmth and radiance than the sun ever could," they continued, their smile turning rather cheeky.

...did they just flirt with her?

Donna could feel herself sinking onto her chair, hands cupping her cheeks as if she needed to hide the raging blush underneath her cowl. Never mind that only Angie and the doll replica was here to witness it. But still! This doll looked so much like her Y/N, looking at her with those bright eyes and that charming smile and sweet look on their face and--

Did she just call them "her Y/N"?

Downstairs, Y/N heard a faint squeal and thud from the other side of the manor, setting down the dish they were washing and hurrying to the lady's room.

They knocked a little frantically, speaking through the door. "Lady Beneviento, is everything alright?"

It was Angie who answered, opening up just a crack so they wouldn't see the situation behind her.

"Hey Y/N! Everything's fine, Donna just, uh, she just dropped something and was caught off-guard is all." She seemed nervous, her eyes shifting a little and barely looking at them.

"Oh, but does Lady Beneviento need help? Did she get hurt or--"

"Nope, no! Don't worry about it, we've got it covered, I promise! Now shoo, off you go!" She waved an arm out to get them to turn around before shutting the door, leaving the somewhat concerned but even more confused servant in the hall.

Donna lifted her head up from her hands, Doll-Y/N now lying lifeless on the wooden floor. Luckily, nothing seemed to have cracked on them when she suddenly relinquished control in her embarrassment. She picked them up and gingerly leaned them against a glass on the working desk, just staring into their eyes as she tried to get her heart beat back to a normal level. Even calling them "hers" in the safety of her own thoughts was enough to fluster the poor woman. If she could see her face right now, it would undoubtedly be as red as a tomato.

Was that something Y/N would even actually say? Was her mind playing tricks on her, her feelings betraying only what she wanted to hear from them? How was she supposed to handle it if they did say that?

"I think that's enough excitement for one day," Angie commented, looking between the mostly frozen Donna and Doll-Y/N. The lady could only nod in agreement.

The next day, Donna stayed in her room, not wishing to be disturbed.

It wasn't unusual for Y/N to not hear much from Lady Beneviento and instead have Angie deliver messages and orders on her behalf, but even her personal mouthpiece seemed to want to avoid them. She just kind of... watched them mindlessly on the couch while they swept the living room. What happened last night?

"Miss Angie, is everything--"

"Please just shut up and clean the carpet."

[arvinsescape]

Sweet Creature

A/N: Based on ‘Sweet Creature’ by Harry Styles. I was listening to it earlier today and this idea popped into my head.

Summary: Reader and Tom hit a rough patch and Tom’s not sure how to fix it but he knows he’s not going anywhere.

Warnings: Swearing.

W/C: 2.9K

You’d been with Tom for a while now and like every relationship it’d hit its rough patch. It wasn’t like the first year and a half of your relationship when you’d have a small argument and figured it out before you fell asleep. This was always something you’d made sure you did when you first moved in.

You’d done what most couples did when you felt that small change into chaos rise, you’d ignored it, assuming maybe the other was just tired and not spoken about it.

It presented itself in the way it usually did, your tempers with each other became short and the snapping started. You were both stubborn to a fault and didn’t take the responsibility of apologising.

“Did you really have to snap like that Y/N?” Tom had sighed when he joined you in bed.

“Look, you pissed me off. Sorry okay.” It wasn’t sincere and you both knew it; you were being stubborn. But Tom was more patient than he gave himself credit for and let it go. He knew you were stressed. You’d done the same for him the day prior.

That’s when the next issue would present itself. Tom was a very touchy and loving person, always wanting to present his love through all the affection he could. He always claimed having you in his arms felt like home. You didn’t sleep without his arms around you in some way, shape or form. Until you did. The snapping had ultimately reached a point that had you sleeping annoyed with each other and so, you stopped holding each other.

Then the next step. You’d both had enough and an explosive row had started about absolutely nothing. Neither of you could recall just what it was that started it but it grew into something it wouldn’t normally need to.

“Fuck sake Tom, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” You’d screamed at him, slamming the washer shut; you were both so angry.

“Like you can fucking talk Y/N. What is this all about?” He’d yelled back at you as you made your way into the living room.

“I don’t know how many times I have to ask you to do simple things. It’s not that hard and you’ve found a million different ways of not doing a single thing today.” You seethed.

“I’m busy! Just because I’m not on set doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do.” He shouted as he slammed his script down on the coffee table.

“Whatever. Leave me to do fucking everything!” You screamed as you slammed the living room door shut, leaving him there with his anger.

That was the night you stopped sharing a bed completely. He took himself into the guest bedroom and you didn’t talk about it. That stubborn streak in both of you taking a firm hold.

After that it was awkward. You avoided each other, not wanting yet another explosive row to take place. You’d had too many over the last couple of weeks and left it you both tired. It was as if you’d forgotten how to communicate properly. Neither knowing what to say to fix it and not wanting to upset the other.

You both felt that distance settle in your chest. You hardly spoke, you didn’t touch and you missed each other in bed. Tom had almost given in one night and as he was about to make his way back into your shared bed, he faltered at the door. Sighing and shaking his head as he made his way back into the guest, well ‘his’ room. He wanted to rip the stubborn streak out of both of you and if it was possible, he would, in a heartbeat.

You’d started to find it unbearable. The distance was becoming too much. You missed him. You’d even take another argument at this point, you just wanted to feel any kind of emotion from him. He’d gone out to visit his parents, mumbling something about ‘needing some air.’ As soon as he left you broke down. You cried, the painful ache in your chest was too much. His side of the bed didn’t smell like him anymore, signalling just how long it’d been since he’d been in there.

You made your way into what had become his room and picked up his hoodie that he’d had on yesterday, you brought it up to your face and let his scent fill your senses. You’d forgotten just how good it was. Tears streamed down your face as you pulled it over your head. You made your way into his bed and let his scent take over everything. You cried for what felt like hours into his pillow.

Tom came back from his parents; he’d had a long chat with his dad about his frustrations. His dad had comforted him saying you’d fix it and find your way back to each other, that you were young and still finding the right way to navigate yourselves and he felt some of his resolve dissolve. He shut the door quietly and took in how quiet it was. He worried for a second that you might have left, but he knew you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t take off without saying anything.

It also confused him that Tess hadn’t come to say ‘hi’, maybe you’d taken her out? Then he heard it and it broke his heart. You were crying. He made his way upstairs and into the room you’d both shared. You weren’t there. He furrowed his brows as he made his way into his new sleeping residence.

There you were and you were crying so hard and so loud, he knew you’d not heard him. The sight made his heart rise and fall at the same time. It was an odd feeling, you had his hoodie on and you were curled up in ‘his’ bed, face planted in ‘his’ pillow and Tess wrapped up with you. She always did comfort you when you were sad, not leaving you for second. Seeing you in his clothing made his heart soar but the pain in your cries made his heart drop, all at once.

He moved towards the bed and made his way into it behind you. He took you into his arms and it seemingly made you cry harder. His heart was aching more than it had over the last few weeks. He missed you, he missed you being in his arms, missed your scent as much as you did his. He knew it wasn’t the end of the two of you, that it was a rough patch but that didn’t make it any easier.

He was glad that he wasn’t due to go away for a while. He realised he needed to fix it, do something. He just didn’t know what. He was somewhat scared to approach it, it had seemingly spiralled out of his control but he would and he was determined to. For now though, he just held you as you cried, feeling his own tears fall.

You still hadn’t spoken about what happened, although you fell asleep like that. The feeling of home slowly making its way back into both your chests. You had to go out that morning and you felt something shift back towards normal when he’d kissed you and told you he loved you before you left. You wished more than anything you could avoid this outing but you couldn’t.

Harrison had decided that he was going to visit that day, texting Tom to ask if he was in. When he got his reply, he made his way to his best friend’s house. He knew something had been off due to Tom’s lack of enthusiasm in their recent conversations and had decided that he needed to lend an ear.

“What’s wrong Tom? You seem off.” Harrison had commented slowly. He got a sigh in response.

“Me and Y/N are fighting. I think. I don’t know.” Tom dragged his hands over his face and sat further back in his chair.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Have you had a row?”

“Yeah but that was like two weeks ago. We just aren’t talking at all really.”

“What was it about?” Harrison was trying to pry the information carefully from his best friend.

“Fuck knows, I can’t remember. It was stupid I know that much.” He sighed again. “We’ve both just been so stressed, we were snapping at each other a lot and I don’t know it just exploded a couple times and now we’re just left with the aftermath.”

“Have you talked about it?”

“No.”

“That’s the problem Tom. You should talk.” Harrison had a stubborn streak to him but it was no where near as bad as Tom’s. It was simpler in his mind.

“We’re both so stubborn Haz, neither of us wanted to bring it up first and I don’t know, be the first to apologise. Fuck, I miss the days when we didn’t let it take over, when we’d made up quickly after an argument.” Tom felt the tears again but he didn’t let them fall.

“Look, I know I’m not as stubborn as you two but the answer is still clear, you need to talk before it gets any worse.” Harrison said as he patted his friend’s back.

“We’re not sharing a bed.” Tom suddenly stated and Harrisons eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“That bad?” Tom just nodded.

“She cried yesterday and it was the first bit of emotion we got from each other in ages.” Tom sighed again as the memories of your cries flooded his mind.

“That’s good right? She’s feeling the same as you?” Harrison asked.

“I guess. But I didn’t know what to say to her. It’s like I don’t know how to fix it. It’s not like either of us did anything worse than the other, we both let our stress get to each other and treated each other poorly as a result. I love her and I know this isn���t the end of us, I can’t imagine being with anyone else at this point Haz but fuck, I don’t know what to do.” He let a few tears fall, quickly wiping them away.

“Do something for her.” Harrison suddenly suggested.

“Like what? What if she doesn’t want me to?”

“Look, even if she doesn’t want you to, it’ll force a conversation. She was crying Tom, I’m sure she does want you to do something, she’ll be just as lost as you. Do something nice for her, make her dinner.”

“I can’t cook Harrison.” Tom reminded him with a soft laugh.

“Call Sam. He’ll tell you what to do. She’ll appreciate the thought.” Harrison comforted him.

“You’re right. I think maybe we just need to remind each other how much we love each other.” Tom sighed.

“Yes, you do. Now stop being so fucking stubborn. Don’t let her slip through your fingers mate. I’ve never seen you so happy with another human being.” Harrison laughed as he clapped his friends back again.

You’d been gone all of the morning and afternoon; it was almost six o clock before you made your way back into the house. You had a little time to clear your head, you were ready for a conversation, you can’t let this continue on. You made your way through the door saying a quick ‘hi’ to Tess as you furrowed your brows.

What was that smell? It smelt amazing and you knew Tom had not inherited the same culinary skills his brother had. Your feet padded into the living room in search of your boyfriend. He wasn’t there but you heard him in the kitchen.

“How do you have the patience for this? Are you sure that’s everything? I don’t need to add anything else?” Tom asked whoever he was talking to. You made your way into the kitchen and were shocked by the sight before you. Tom was cooking, it smelt amazing and you wondered for a second if this was Tom. You cleared your throat and he turned around. He looked at you and gave you a shy smile.

“Sam I Gotta go. Thanks bro. I will.” He said as he ended his phone call.

“Who are you and what have you done with Tom?” You teased lightly and he laughed.

“I can’t take all that much credit. Sam guided me through everything but I made your favourite.” He said shyly. There was still an awkward tension in the air but it was better than yesterdays.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.” He said confidently. You took a moment to scan the room. He’d laid the table as if you were at some fancy restaurant. Your heart soared as you smiled. He’d even bought a bottle of your favourite red wine.

“Oh Tom.” You suddenly sighed, happy tears finding their way to your eyes, a stark contrast from yesterdays. He’d completely taken himself out of his comfort zone to do something nice for you and you couldn’t be more grateful. Whatever it was that was going on between you was slowly dissipating. He smiled sheepishly at you.

“I’m gonna go run a bath, this needs another hour before it’s ready.” He said as he made his way upstairs. You sniffled quietly as your heart felt like it was slowly gluing back together. He returned five minutes later and took your hand in his.

You followed him upstairs as he took you into the bathroom. You slowly undressed, he watched you as you slipped into the tub and smiled. He’d missed seeing you naked. It wasn’t a sexual need that had settled in him. It was that comfort and that trust that you felt at home enough with him to let him see you like this. He followed suit, finding his way behind you.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He said as you shook your head.

“No I’m sorry Tom. I was being stubborn and I should’ve apologised sooner.”

“We both should have. I love you.” He said as he kissed your shoulder.

“I love you too.”

“I’ve missed you.” He placed a few loving kisses to your neck as you sighed and rolled your head back onto his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you too. So much.” You said as you kissed his cheek. He smiled as he pulled you impossibly closer to him.

“We gonna be okay?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.” You said confidently.

“Can I come back home?” He said sheepishly. You furrowed your brows as you turned round to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Back to bed, back in your arms where I should be.” Tears were brimming both your eyes as you looked at each other. Normally, you’d pull him up for being cheesy but you couldn’t, this wasn’t the time. He was being vulnerable.

“Tom.” You sighed as you took his face in your hands, wiping the tear that had slipped down his cheek. “Of course you can. I still love you okay, that hasn’t changed, we just hit a rough patch.” You said as you kissed his forehead.

“I’ll be damned if I ever let my stubbornness take over again.” He sighed as he manoeuvred you back to your original position.

“You will and I will but it’s okay. Couples fight Tom, that’s normal. We’ll frustrate the hell out of each other at times but that’s okay as long as we still love each other. As long as you always come home.” You said as he kissed your shoulder again.

“I’ll always come back to you.” He concluded as he grabbed your shower gel and washed you. You silently cleaned each other up, fixing each other’s hearts as you went. It was loving and sweet and intimate and just what you both needed.

You ate your dinner and wow, it was amazing, you made a mental note to text Sam and thank him for his teaching skills. You cleaned up together and it was playful, normal. Like when you’d first got together. You had music playing softly in the background when your favourite song came on and you remembered your brother’s wedding you had attended six months ago. You and Tom had danced to this and you remembered your brother joking about how the two of you looked like the newlyweds.

Tom reached his hand out to you and you laughed. You’d already passed up one opportunity to tease him, you weren’t going to let this go.

“Do you not think this is a bit like the ending to a Hollywood romance film?”

“I am an actor sweetheart.” He teased back as he laughed.

Nevertheless you took his hand and he pulled you into his chest, you stayed like that in the kitchen. Slowly swaying but just enjoying the comfort of being in each other’s arms. Tom knew that you were it for him, that he wanted you and only you. It didn’t matter where he was in the world, he knew his end goal was always going to be to come home, back to you.