#Hob needs to step it up

[valeriianz]

I've had this Dreaming The Proposal AU sitting in my drafts for a while. Then @voukkake comes out with this art and I figured it was time to brush off the dust and share what I'd written lol. This is seriously all I'm going to write so if anyone is interested I'm begging you to pick this up. I'm dying to read Dream awkwardly interacting with Hob's family (also @valiantstarlights suggestion that Betty White is Destiny?? ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT). Anyway...

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Dream is about to be deported because his visa application has been denied. He is in the middle of a meeting with his lawyers when Hob, his secretary, pops in the room to inform Dream of a very important phone call and Dream comes up with the insane plan to marry Hob to keep his immigration status.

He gestures for Hob to come over and Hob, clueless, wanders into the room and stands next to Dream, who takes him by the arm and tugs him just a little bit further to stand awkwardly close.

Dream announces their engagement and Hob stands there, shell shocked and feels his mouth moving against his will. That yeah, they are getting married. They are in love, sure. It isn’t until they leave the office, following Dream back to his, that Hob’s brain seems to come back online.

“What just happened in there?”

Dream grouses, head down, already back to his work as if nothing happened. Like he didn’t just use Hob as a pawn in his scheme to get around his denied visa application.

“They were going to make Morningstar editor-in-chief.” Is all Dream says, disdain dripping from every word. He still hasn’t looked up.

Hob stands there, still as a statue. His head is swimming with words, with emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… and a small tiny flicker of undeniable interest that he hastily stomps out.

He manages to put the pieces together rather quickly though, while Dream continues sifting through paperwork.

“This is illegal,” Hob manages to croak out, brows furrowing. 

“Oh, please. The government looks for terrorists, not book publishers.” Dream’s head is still down in his paperwork.

Hob blinks, taking a step up to Dream’s desk. “I'm not marrying you.”

“Sure you are.” Dream sets aside a stack of papers and finally gives Hob his attention. “Because if you don't, your dreams of ‘touching millions of lives with the written word’ are dead.” 

Hob’s jaw drops. That was a line, corny as it was, that he’d used in the panel interview for this job. Three years ago.

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“Were you not in that room? I could get fined, I’ll go to jail over this. If you want me on this deal, you will promote me to editor.”

Without even glancing up from his phone, Dream scoffs.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well then I guess you’re screwed. Buh-bye.” Hob turns with a flourish and has to bite back a grin at how Dream splutters behind him and grabs him by the arm.

“Fine– fine! Editor.” His face seems to go through the five stages of grief. He drops his hold on Hob.

“And You’ll publish my manuscript.” Hob throws in. In for a penny.

Dream’s brows narrow and he shakes as if he’s physically controlling the urge to stamp his foot.

“Sure. I’ll publish your hack manuscript.”

“Good.” Hob slips his hands in his pants pockets, staring at Dream, deciding on one last nail in the coffin.

“Now do it properly.”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “Do what properly?”

“Propose. Like you mean it.”

Dream’s entire body seizes up, but he manages not to let it show, distracting himself by slipping his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks and clasping his hands in front of him.

“Will you marry me?”

“No.” Hob, the arrogant bastard, is visibly biting back a smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”

Dream takes a long, steadying breath through his nose.

“Hob Gadling. Will you–”

“And get on your knees.”

Dream absolutely refuses to decipher the thrill that shoots through his body at Hob’s command. Instead he keeps his mask of irritation and indifference on as he scans the crowd around them. They are still outside the courthouse, and the concrete sidewalk is going to potentially tear Dream’s Hugo Boss black wool pants.

So he carefully lowers himself, scowling as the smirk on Hob’s face only widens as Dream slowly settles onto the ground.

Once he’s as comfortable as Dream’s going to get, he clears his throat.

“Hob Gadling,” he glares at his subordinate from under his lashes. “Will you fucking marry me?”

Hob curls his lips in mock consideration, looking up past Dream’s head. He rocks back on his heels and nods with a forlorn sigh.

“Okay.” He still hasn’t met Dream’s gaze. “Could've done without the sarcasm but it will do. See you at the airport tomorrow.” 

And turns and walks away, leaving Dream to fend for himself on the ground.

#dreamling #hob x dream #the sandman #my writing #i guess this is my niche now? #transcribing romcoms into dreamling fodder lol #i cant stop thinking about that *chefs kiss* perfect line on the airplane #when Dream asks Hob what he's allergic to. as a test. #and Hob confidently responds with 'tree nuts. and the whole spectrum of human emotion.' #or Dream cornering Hob at his family's home and getting in his face at how irritated he is by the taunting and teasing and that #Hob needs to step it up #and Hob. sly as ever. throws back: 'oh. thats no problem for me. i can be the doting. sweet. smitten fiance. but it's /you/... #... that needs to be convincing.' #and then he idk offers them to practice kissing in private and Dream is so mortified by the prospect but also. #.. definitely a little (a lot) interested #okay im done lol #the proposal au

[littledreamling]

Listen, I love Hob and his incurable hope, but I’d be lying if I said that the concept of Dark!Hob, a Hob Gadling that realized that his immortality isn’t tied to his morality, a Hob Gadling that figures out that it’s his desire to keep living that keeps him alive and nothing more, a Hob Gadling that decides that a life of soldiering and banditry and (later in life) white collar crime is far more enjoyable than trying to walk the fine line between goodness and safety, wasn’t extremely interesting to me. I need more explorations of mob boss Hob, of hitman Hob, of professional criminal Hob, because he can keep his faith in humanity while simultaneously using his inability to die for personal gain and the gain of others

#And he doesn’t have to be evil #I’m not talking about turning him into a terrorist or slave trader #but he can be a little fucked up #as a treat #the man literally cannot die #why would he waste that by staying on the right side of the law?? when he could get away with shit most people can’t even dream of?? #Dream wouldn’t approve but what could he do about it? He told Hob that how he lived was his choice #and I don’t think Death would step in #after giving him eternal life she basically stepped back and minded her own business #Hob is Dream’s not hers #I need Dark!Hob to know the Corinthian and Ethel Cripps #I need Dark!Hob to be heavily involved in the mafia scene all around the world in various centuries #I need Dark!Hob’s name (or preferred sobriquet) to be spoken with the same (or more) reverence as the Corinthian’s #If we can call the Corinthian (a literal serial killer) our little meow meow we should be able to do the same with Hob #let’s twist him and see how far we can go before he breaks #let’s see how far he can go before Destiny steps in #sandman netflix #the sandman #Dark!Hob #hob gadling

[girl-by-the-lake]

https://twitter.com/K500yen/status/1519604914712084481?s=20&t=041pMMO7cBUQ7I9cTPSygw

Aaaaaah, their faces when Xie Lian puts his hand over Hua Cheng’s to keep the umbrella up, they’re so cute!! It’s so soft and sweet, you are too kind. Thank youuuuu 😭 I always love checking out your blog for my daily dose of HuaLian. 💕

May I offer some hypoallergenic flowers in return?

#Is this called manifesting??? Oh goddamn i thought that was a bunch of bullshit ngl #They just… look… so ✨good✨ Together you know? #one of these days i will find something that i think you havent already seen and send it your way - i’ll work harder #my excuse is i dont understand or use twitter but that #while true #isnt a good excuse - sometime between now and tuesday i’ll see if i can explore the chinese language side of twitter and see if i can #find anything good for you - it’ll be like a treasure hunt #because youre so nice and kind and sweet and you send over the best things - i need to step it up in return #:) #thank you! #asks #personal #hob

[sim0nril3y]

Handy Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon begins to notice that some things around your flat are a little worse for wear, so he makes it his job to fix them. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, smut, p in v, very little foreplay, dirty talk, praise, cumplay, creampie, canon-typical swearing.

The sound of sizzling frying in the pan seemed to become background noise around your idle chatter, using a spatula to move and flip it around the pan whilst you spoke. “… and she was telling me…” Even your incessant talking became background noise instead all that Simon could focus on was that sound of the drip, drip, drip of the tap. His eyes focusing on it like it was a target he needed to eliminate. Drip, drip, drip it mocked him again and his fingers tightened on the mug in his grip.

Did you not hear that? Did it not drive you fucking insane? Simon’s eyes flickered over to where you stood with your back to him, continuing to natter mindlessly. “… I was thinking that she had to be joking…” Then you laughed whilst drip, drip, drip consumed his attention again. “… there was no bloody way…” It didn’t faze you at all. No, you simply kept your attention on the bacon in the pan that was swiftly becoming burned. “… Oh, and then-”

“Love.” His voice was tight and stern as you glanced over your shoulder at him, eyes bright and inviting, reminding him that you didn’t think like he did, you didn’t obsess over the tiny details and that was something he loved about you. “You, uh… you got any tools 'round here?” He asked, standing in a moment to approach the offending tap, observing it, moving it, turning it on and off a couple times. “Tools?” You quizzed before frowning heavily, moving the bacon aside and switching off the hob. “Oh.” The opening a stiff looking drawer to produce the oldest looking screwdriver he’d ever seen. “I have this…” Announcing like some accomplishment.

Under his breath he muttered. “Fuckin’ hell.” Holding the tool in hand, gripping the handle hard before throwing it aside uselessly. “Stop fussing.” Your voice announced then, placing down a plate that held freshly made bacon sandwich where he had originally been sitting. “Whatever you’re obsessing about…” You took a hearty bite of your own sandwich. “It can wait…” Another bite. “Until you’ve eaten…” Then licking your fingers as you grabbed the condiments from the fridge and held it out to him. “Red or brown?”

Simon’s shower had been everything but relaxing. The water had been cold for far longer than he had appreciated and directly above him the light flickered so horrendously that for a moment Simon could have convinced himself he was at a rave. “Light is flickering in your bathroom.” Simon announced, towel wrapped around his waist as he stepped into the lounge to find you. “What’s that?” You quizzed from where you stood observing a canvas, then turning to him. “The light. In the bathroom. It’s flickering.” He reiterated in a low voice whilst your eyes were lingering on his broad chest, watching the water trickle down his skin. “Oi. Pay attention.” Simon bit out playfully.

Snapping you from your trance a low hum came from your throat. “The… light…” Then out made a small noise of recognition. “It’s actually always done that.” The statement followed a careless shrug as you turned your back to him to regain focus on your painting. “You told your landlord?” He asked with concern. “Uh, yeah…” The response was quick and Simon knew you too well. “Think I’ve mentioned it before. Said he tried to fix it but it was some bigger wiring problem, or something…” Another shrugged and it bothered Simon significantly.

He had a problem with you living in a place like this. It wasn’t a good area to begin to live in. Outside teenagers screamed and caused mayhem all night, idiots drove cars around too fast and noisy at night and others got up to shady things away from prying eyes. Too many times Simon had left your flat to find never seen before dents in his car or a bunch of teenagers loitering around it. It didn't scare him but he didn’t like the thought of them playing the same tricks on you.

Besides all that, the flat just wasn’t up to standard for you. It was tiny and cluttered and half of it didn’t work or was in the process of falling apart, all that on top of knowing that you rent was way too high for what you were getting. Simon knew he needed to fix this.

That evening a frown pressed to his lips as he walked into the bedroom with a couple glasses of water. Placing one down beside you he pressed a kiss to your hairline. Then moving to the other side of the bed Simon stopped by the radiator. His hand reaching out to touch it as he frowned. The heating was on full blast everywhere else, so why wasn’t this one hot at all? He removed his hand and touched a different part and his frown intensified. “This rad isn’t working…” He mentioned as you glanced up from where you were rubbing a sweet smelling moisturiser into your legs, as if you could be anymore soft and supple, Simon lamented internally. “Isn’t it?” “You didn’t know? Babe, it’s stone bloody cold.” Then pressing his hand to it again, as if he might have gotten it wrong, but it remained completely unchanged beneath his fingers. “I know that must bother you ‘cause you’re constantly putting your cold feet on me.”

A delicate laugh fell from your lips. “Well, what’s the point of having a warm, strong body beside me if I don’t utilise it?” You jested causing Simon to scowl. “Wind your neck in.” He muttered, before trying to fight the smirk that pulled onto his face. Once again, his eyes focused on the radiator, as if his new targed. Simon mentioned. “Probably needs to be bled. S’not hard. It’s something you should learn to do…”

You simply nodded, continuing your night-time routine that he actually enjoyed watching, by the end you smelt absolutely delicious and he was more than happy to eat you. “Y’know, there isn’t much that works in this flat, babe.” He said then, moving to lay down on the bed beside you, leaning on his side in your direction. “That oven is dodgy. Every tap leaks. Lights flicker. Rads aren’t working….” Then he frowned again, reaching out to rub your knee. “These are things your landlord should be sorting…” For a moment you were quiet and then looked at him with a genuine smile. “I really hadn’t noticed, Si. I think I’ve just gotten used to it.”

It may have been something that you’ve gotten used to, but it certainly wasn’t something that Simon was going to allow. By the time that you woke up the next morning to your dismay Simon was gone from your side. Instead of worrying yourself too much you started your day and decided to put some more work into the canvas that you were obsessing over. Maybe some green? Or… maybe some blue… that would be a nice bit of contrast… what story were you trying to tell with this piece?

A knock interrupted you, placing down your brush and then wandering to open the door and smiling as Simon stood there, toolbox in hand. Your eyes trailed over his frame, looking as handsome as ever and very handy too. “Oh, you here to check my pipes?” You cooed flirtatiously causing Simon to chuckle as he stepped inside, kissing your forehead and muttering. “I think you mean clean your pipes, love…” He corrected you. “I’ll do that later if you’re a good girl and let me work.”

You allowed him as much time to work as you could manage, but as you found him working under your sink, tight dark coloured shirt riding up to reveal the trail of short hair leading down it seemed impossible to resist. “My-my…” You whimpered, your voice quaint and lewd as you sauntered a little further into the kitchen. “That is an awful big hammer you have there~” You purred in a breathy tone. “Maybe I could hold it for you~” “Fuckin’ hell…” Even without seeing him you could hear the smile on his face. “You’re bloody insatiable, love.” Sliding out from the cupboard to look at you standing there, shifting from one foot to the other as if waiting for his command. “Fuck, c’mon then…” He mentioned, lifting his hips off the worn tiled floors and shifting his jeans and underwear down to his upper thighs, cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. “Hurry up.”

Hastily you moved to straddle his thighs, rubbing your clit in tight circles and humming as you warmed yourself up, stroking his cock languidly with your free hand. His eyes rolled back for a second, lower lip gripped between his teeth. “C’mon, baby…” Large hand spanked your hear and a moment later you were lowering yourself onto his hard member, gasping at the way it intruded and stretched your slightly underprepared walls, pressing your hands hard to the wide expanse of his chest as you happily bounced your hips. “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Quicker now.”

The look on your face was completely enchanted with lust and love, unable to form even the most basic of sentence. All you could manage was huffing and puffing, bouncing yourself with an unsteady rhythm. “C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” Simon grit his teeth, plating his feet on the ground and resisting the urge to begin to fuck up into your relentlessly, if you wanted this then you were gonna work for every fucking second of it. “Go on. Ruin that perfect little cunt on me…” His hands cupping and caressing your hips, feeling the way they faltered and sort his guidance.

In your defence, it was difficult to concentrate on keeping a rhymth with the way your thighs were burning, Simon had a way of keeping you his pillow princess, so times when he made you work for it felt extra hard. Not to mention, the way his cock split you open was mind-numbing, each time you sunk down his cock would press firmly against your special spots before bumping firmly against your cervix, kissing it before sliding back and promising to meet it again mere seconds later.

“S-Simon~” You cried softly, feeling your thighs cramping and pressing your hands firmly into his chest before your desperate eyes found his own. “Simon, please~” The sound was nothing more than a whimper, but it was enough for him to take mercy on your poor worn body. Beginning to thrust up firmly into your tight cunt, locking you into place with a firm hold on your hips. This produced loud gasps and moans beginning to tumble from between your lips, instead of planting your hands into his chest, now your desperately curled his shirt between your fingers. “Ohfuck. Ohfuck.” You cried helplessly.

“C’mon pretty girl.” He muttered coolly, fucking up into you without stopping or pausing, finding lasting stamina that were thankful that he had. “C’mon, get yourself there. You know how. Show me.” He pressed, watching the way your fingers slipped down and began to rub your clit in tight circles, whimpering, leaning forward, panting and then finally. “Simon~” That beautiful noise. Oh, he if he could play it on repeat in his head he fucking would. It was like a fucking lullaby that would coax him into a peaceful sleep everynight.

The way your body convulsed and locked up above his own, Simon observed with adoration, taking in the way your eyes rolled just slightly before sealing closed, mouth popping open, tongue sometimes bit between your teeth, nose scrunching, chest thrumming. It was fucking beautiful. Every second. He wanted to enjoy it over and over, but the way that you tight walls strangled his cock caused him to splutter out a low noise and then begin to shoot his thick load inside whilst your walls milked him for every pump.

There you leant into his body, breathing hard and both completely spent. It was bliss. All his worries had disappeared, the sound of that dripping sink was gone and instead replaced with your adorable whines as you slowly regained composure, smiling down at him so sweetly and carefully sliding from his length and sitting beside him.

For a moment he lay there, his body almost numb and then reaching over to pull your thigh aside and watching the way his cum seeped from your spent walls, convulsing weakly as it dribbled to the floor. “Beautiful.” He commented, closing his eyes for another second and committing that image to memory. “That’ll be me through the rest of this…” Simon mentioned, reopening his eyes and gazing at your cunt one final then and then tucking himself away. “Go on. Off you go. I got work to do.” Climbing back under the sink and resuming his handy work as if he hadn’t just destroyed your sweet cunt.

“Yes, sir~” You cooed, carefully climbing back to your feet and lingering in the doorway. Still sensing your presence Simon spoke without looking. “Thought I told you to bugger off.” Listening to you giggle in response. “Just give me a minute, I’m trying to think of another porny handy man line to use on you…”

Masterlist | Ask | 16-11-2023

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x y/n #ghost mw3 #cod mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #1k

[ceesimz]

Panna!

Not my best work, but it was fun to write nonetheless. FYI: panna means nutmeg, but it's also a playground/street football game where it is either a 1v1 or basically a huge free-for-all and you had to get as many nutmegs/pannas as possible - great memories :)

Living with Leah was a much different experience than you thought it would be.

The first time you met her she was a little shy but the more you got to know her, the more enamouring she was and before long you had completely fallen for her, as had she for you. Each date, you peeled back another layer of each other's personality and you saw a side to her that was inexplicably softer than the sometimes rather grumpy, stoic demeanor she had for her career. It was easy to like her, adore her, and eventually love her, and you made sure to offer her a safe space for her to let go in when she was away from the view of the public. She did the same for you, allowing you to switch off when you needed to in her presence. Ultimately, the relationship was so rewarding and comforting, it seemed almost too good to be true. In moments of self-doubt and insecurity, you felt like you were just waiting for the shoe to drop.

And when you moved into your new house together, that shoe did indeed drop, but in a way you didn't expect.

As time went on of you sharing the same space, an extremely irritating side of Leah came out in full force. You had seen glimpses of it so far of course, and it never failed to make you laugh, but living with her? It was next level.

Leah seemed to embody the nature of that of an annoying younger sibling or a tiresome teenager who had a maddening addiction to just being absolutely infuriating. When she was in a certain type of giddy mood, this habit seemed to reach new heights. You loved it, but sometimes it felt like you were going to explode with the aggravation you felt towards her.

You know that saying of if you don't react, they'll get bored and stop? Yeah, that didn't apply to Leah.

"Leah, I'm trying to cook dinner, put the football away please." You started out by asking her politely as you manned the pasta in the pot on the hob, your girlfriend doing kick-ups by the fridge.

"I'm alright here, babe. I won't get in your way, swear. Just wanna be with you, and I am bored." That's kind of sweet, you guess.

Deciding that the pasta can survive without constant surveillance, you step away from it to unload the dishwasher but clearly Leah doesn't agree with that.

"Nah, forget that, I'll do it later. Come here, one versus one." She grins, quickly flicking the ball between each foot.

"And why would I do that as someone who doesn't even know which foot to use?" You raise an eyebrow and stand across from her with your hands on your hips.

"Bit of fun, babe, lighten up. Let's do a game of panna." She teases, passing the ball to you. "You first."

"What is panna?" You frown, confused.

"Just try to nutmeg me." Leah rolls her eyes, though she knows your knowledge of football lacks compared to her as someone who lives and breathes the sport and has done all her life.

You squint your eyes sceptically at her, before slowly inching towards her and attempting to dribble the ball the way you've seen her do it probably a million times. However, as soon as you get close, she removes any gap between her feet and instead stands like a penguin.

"How am I supposed to nutmeg you when you stand like that?" You scoff, but she just smirks smugly at you and shrugs.

"No one likes a quitter."

"No one likes a stubborn girlfriend that forces her girlfriend to play a game that's impossible to win." You hit back, and a smile tugs at your lips as you see Leah suppress a laugh.

"Fine, let me go against you." She steals the ball from your feet in the blink of an eye, and now the cards are stacked impossibly against you.

"Right, 'cause this is totally fair."

You roll your eyes but nevertheless prepare to defend your pride against the decorated footballer that stands before you. This little stand off lasts all of two minutes as Leah performs as many standing tricks as she can - it's hard not to laugh because, despite the talent she's portraying, it just looks like the result of a button-spamming FIFA player.

Finally though, you gain the confidence to lunge at her to get the ball back, but Leah of course spots this immediately, and flip-flaps the ball straight between your legs.

"Panna! You just got your shit rocked, baby." She celebrates as if her performance wasn't as easy as stealing candy from a baby. You watch as she cheers quietly to herself under her breath and dances like a fool. If the world could see her now, you think.

Feeling slightly humbled, you go back to your place at the stove, finding comfort in your cooking skills at least.

...This oddly felt like you were playing into some kind of stereotype.

"Put the ball away now, please." You tell her once more, but as ever her ego takes no prisoners.

"Aw, is someone's ego hurt?" Leah pouts pitifully at you, her hands falling to your waist when she stands behind you. You weren't having it though, not when she had humiliated you purely for her own ego.

"No, I just have many dangerous weapons in my arsenal here and I wouldn't want the leader of England to come to any harm." You return the patronising pout on her face, swatting away her hands and wagging the pasta ladle you had just pulled from the boiling pan in her face.

"Alright, message heard." She walks away with her hands surrendered.

For the next five minutes that the spaghetti spends boiling, you both exist civilly in the same area whilst doing different things. You're preparing for dinner as Leah is of course dilly-dallying with the football again. Each punt against the ball as she does kick-ups or ridiculous little tricks slowly grinds your gears, until she eventually begins occupying floor space in the kitchen that she obviously knows you'll use.

"Move, please, I need to drain this pasta." You say initially, a bit of bite to it but not as much as you easily could reach. However, she doesn't move, and instead gets in the way even more. "I have a pot full of boiling water here, move!"

You shoved past her where she was messing around with the ball near the sink, a shit-eating grin on her face which its only purpose is to infuriate you more. She does move out the way though, lifting the ball up into her arms with the foot, but she only steps so far away.

"What are we having?" She asked in an all too innocent voice, watching as you drained the pasta - the aggression you did this simple task with probably should have been a warning sign to her. But that had never stopped her before.

"Spaghetti, what does it look like?" You shake your head at her. "And you will eat it this time."

You were yet another unfortunate victim to Leah's limited and fussy palate.

"Not my fault you used a rank sauce last time. You better have gotten a new one." She grumbled like a picky toddler, starting her kick-ups again right in front of the next cupboard you need to get into.

"Put that fucking ball away before I stab a knife into it." You snap, pushing her out of the way with one hand and getting out the aforementioned new sauce. "See? Is this better for you, princess?"

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that, sweetheart." Leah smirks, referencing the sassy tone and mocking pet name you used for her as you shoved the jar into her face to prove a point.

"I'd like to see you try." You scoff, heading back over to the stove.

She falls suspiciously silent as you put the spaghetti and sauce into the pan. You try to pay no notice, watching out of your peripheral vision as she slowly makes her way back over with her hands behind her back.

"What are y-"

You're disrupted by her kicking the ball in between your legs, it clunking scarily loud against the glass door of the oven.

"Another one! Call me Ronal-fucking-dhino!" Leah laughs giddily, scampering away like a naughty child.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself so that you didn't chase after her with one of the multiple weapons within reach around you.

However, sticking true to your threat, you grabbed a knife from the draining board beside the sink and sunk it into the ball that had been the bane of your existence for the past however long it's been in Leah's possession. It wasn't a sentimental object, you wouldn't do that to her, thankfully it was just a ball she had picked up from the supermarket one day she had been determined to tag along as you did the grocery shop. The poor thing let out its final breath as the air puffed out of it, a sign you had won the battle. With a slightly manic grin, you went on making the rest of the meal as if nothing had happened.

Luckily you were able to cook the dinner without any further childish interruptions, though you did have half a mind to pour the whole shaker of salt onto her portion. But no, you can rise above this kind of behaviour. A household prank war against this woman-child could lead to an unfortunate break-up. Though you did just get an adrenaline rush from murdering a harmless football, so maybe it was already on.

"Leah, come here and sort your cheese out." You shout into the apartment, not a clue where she had gone off too.

Although, you forgot the scene she would walk into, only realising when a sharp gasp sounds through the room.

"What... the hell did you do?" Leah whispers in a dramatically heartbroken voice, kneeling to the ground and delicately picking up the punctured ball. You turned and rolled your eyes at the sight that met you, forever astonished at the theatrics this girl pulls off.

"Better a ball than your head." You mutter under your breath. "Sort your dinner out, I'm not being blamed for ruining it this time."

You took your bowl and walked past where she was still on the ground, nudging her shoulder with your knee as you went by to push her over. Okay, maybe you did have tendencies similar to hers.

Leah joins you on the couch a few moments later, an embarrassingly scarce amount of parmesan in her bowl as she slumps down next to you with a groan.

"I'm not watching this right now, I don't want to participate in a fucking reading lesson whilst I'm eating!" Leah complains at the choice of TV show you'd picked for this evening: Narcos.

"Tough, I cooked so I choose." You shrugged and pressed play, the characters immediately talking in thick and fast Spanish that, despite the English subtitles, is too much for your poor girlfriend to deal with right now.

"That's not fair, you always cook." She grumbles, stabbing her fork aggressively into her food. You pause the show at that statement, turning to look at her with a face that conveyed pure and unfiltered rage.

"Did you seriously just complain that I always cook?" You question in a frighteningly passive tone. Leah glances at you from the corner of her eye, not daring to turn away from her bowl. "Really, Leah?

She grimaces at the use of her name when you probe her for an answer. All day, she had been toeing a fine line, pressing all the wrong buttons, and pushing her luck with you. This time though, she'd really done it.

"Watch whatever you want, I'm not eating with you." You stand up from your seat on the sofa and storm away to the bedroom, leaving a glum and regretful Leah in the lounge who does in fact change the show on TV.

Was it an overreaction? In an hour, you'll probably think so. But right now you couldn't bear to look at the woman downstairs. You both eat, sad and alone, in your separate rooms to think over your actions.

In fact, no, you didn't overreact. You were entirely in your right to get angry over a throw-away statement that Leah had made just to win one back against you. Her immature attitude and competitive nature took over and she made an unnecessary comment about an action you not only enjoyed doing anyway, but enjoyed doing for her. So, whilst Leah thought back on how she should have behaved better, verbalised herself better, you were satisfied with your actions.

When there was a quiet knock at the bedroom door twenty minutes later as you lay in bed on your phone, bowl on the floor and meal happily consumed, you gave no answer. Leah came in anyway, a sheepish and guilty look on her face.

"May I come in?" She asks shyly, only her head in view.

"As long as you promise to not be a complete arsehole to me anymore." You grumble, not looking at her.

"I promise, love. I am sorry. I have things to make up for my utterly stupid behaviour." She says, and that does pique your interest.

You grunt in affirmation, and the door opens to reveal her holding a few items: your favourite candle from the lounge, a hot chocolate, your favourite cookies, and the oil you often used to massage Leah whenever her muscles were giving her some discomfort.

"Maybe I could give you a massage, babe? I am sorry. I appreciate all you do for me, I was just being an idiot before who didn't know when to stop. I love that you cook for me, and eating dinner with you at the end of a long day is one of my favourite things, genuinely. I'm really sorry for making that stupid comment, I am." Leah tells you softly, an air of desperation to her voice. Through all the times she loves to piss you off, nothing made her feel worse than when you truly got angry at her.

"You must really be sorry if you're letting me eat in bed." You comment quietly, referring to the pack of cookies in her arms. She smiles and nods, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed beside you.

"I am sorry. Get crumbs everywhere if you want, get your revenge." She replies and a weight lifts off her chest when you giggle slightly. "I love you, truly, madly, deeply. I'm so grateful for you and everything you do."

You reluctantly smile up at her from where you lay, then roll your eyes and hold your arms out for her.

"Come here, you massive idiot." You mutter, watching amused as she rushes to put her things on the bedside table before diving on top of you. "You're a wanker, number six."

Leah laughs into the pillow at the reference, nodding her head in agreement. She turns her face into your neck and places a few light, apologetic kisses there.

"I am." She murmurs, sighing a little and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "I wouldn't appreciate it if you started shouting that at my football games though."

"I don't appreciate you reciting a ninety's song in your apology though. Get some original material next time." You hit back, a smug grin on your face as she laughs again.

"I'll sing it for you if you want." Leah offers, voice slightly muffled by your neck as your body shakes with laughter.

"I think that would reverse all your efforts." You say, her humming in agreement. "Now, did you say something about a massage?"

The next morning, Leah believes all is forgiven from the previous night. But just to be sure, she hops out of bed since she's the first to wake up and decides to bring you a coffee in bed before you both were due to go out for breakfast with friends. It's a delight you welcome immediately, sighing contently when the hot mug is placed into your hands as you sit up against the headboard. Leah joins you in bed again, copying your position, and wraps an arm around you as well as kissing your forehead. She mumbles a few more words of apology into your ear as you drink, ensuring that you know how grateful she is for everything you do. You also welcome that with open arms, happy to hear her feelings towards you when she's not being an irritating little pest.

She watches you the whole time you get dressed for the day, and there's a soft smile on her face as she stood in the bathroom doorway whilst you put your earrings in, the finishing touch of your outfit. You mirror the smile she wears when she steps forward and wraps her arms around your waist, murmuring endless compliments into your ear that send shivers down your spine. It's a sickeningly sweet moment, it would rot any witnesses' teeth had they been there to see it, but it's perfect and it's the couple that you recognise rather than the bickering one from the previous night.

You exit the bathroom together, your fingers intertwined as Leah leads you down the stairs. Though, just as you're about to leave, you spot a smudge mark on your cheek from your mascara in the mirror by the door, so you stop to fix it. Leah, with the patience of a toddler, somehow finds yet another ball and it's one you can't stab this time since it's a Euros 2022 ball. Even though she has just done her hair, begging you to straighten it for her, she starts doing headers. And that's where the morning takes a turn for the worst.

When you'd finished fixing your makeup, you head to the downstairs bathroom to quickly wash your hands. Then you hear a panicked shout, followed by a loud bang, and lastly the sound of glass smashing. Instinctively, you rush out the room to see if Leah's okay, thinking the worst, but it seems that the only damage she has is to her ego. And, subsequently, to her relationship.

The sight that greets you fills you with more fury than you'd ever felt in your life. Your mirror, the antique one you had been adamant at buying when decorating the house, lay broken on the ground. The frame was cracked, it was surrounded by glass, and the ball laying next to it was very clearly the offending weapon. The culprit cowered in the corner of the hallway, looking at you and waiting for a reaction.

And boy did it come.

The walls of the house shook with the scale of your voice as Leah flinched like she was physically impacted by each punch that your words delivered. Nothing offensive or harmful was said of course, but your language was certainly colourful and impactful. Each word was spat with a lethal amount of venom, and Leah wasn't sure she would ever see the light of day again; living a life banished to her house, individually glueing each piece of the mirror back together as you endlessly lecture her. Eventually though, you did have to take a breath. Leah took one at the same time, though she was a shell of herself as you glared at her.

Composing yourself, you stepped over the mess and opened the front door before turning to Leah with an unnerving smile. She smiled anxiously back at you, and it took everything in you not to laugh at the nervous, apologetic look on her face. At least she knew she had messed up.

The next time you speak, it's like nothing had happened, and that fills Leah with more fear than she'd ever felt in her life. She knows she's in for it when you get back later.

"Come on, my love, we have a breakfast date to attend."

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson one shot #woso #woso x reader

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hey could I please get #8 and #12 with coriolanus snow please? (even better if he's a little bit insane as long as he ends up happy with Y/N at the end)- thanks so much :))

-E

‘’If I ask you to kiss me, to be with me, in front of all these people, will you do it?’’ + ‘’I did this for you! Everything I’ve done has been for you!’’

I've been getting requests for Peeta, but I'm not - and will not be -writing for him. I never fell for him in the movies 🫣

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You couldn’t remember how the situation got so heated, but one moment you were laughing and having a good time inside the Hob bar and the next you and Coriolanus were yelling at each other. To add drama and theatrics to the scene, it was pouring rain. 

‘’I did this for you! Everything I’ve done has been for you!’’ he shouted, his pretty eyes filled with anger. 

You halted in the wet street and looked back at him, your wet hair clinging on your body. ‘’But I never asked anything from you!’’ you shot back, sick of hearing the same speech. ‘’I never asked you to come to my district and find me after the games.’’

‘’So you’d rather I did not?’’ he retorted with an arrogant edge. 

You shook your head. ‘’That’s not what I said.’’ 

You had never smiled wider than the night you saw Coriolanus in the street with Sejanus. His blond hair was no longer, all buzzed like the other peacekeepers. His decision to bribe the commander to serve as a peacekeeper in your district was a high risk, but the happiness it brought you outweighed the danger.

His jaw tensed, raindrops rolling down his face like unshed tears. ‘’I risked everything for you! For us. Is it not enough?’’ 

Your frustration echoed in the relentless rain, wishing he would get why you were upset without you having to explain it to him. But he was a man. Men never understand why these small things matter, why they can be hurtful. 

‘’We were having a drink with friends and you…you dropped my fucking hand! It’s like you don’t want to be seen with me. We’re not at the Capitol anymore, Coryo. We’re allowed to be together.’’

‘’Peacekeepers are not allowed to have a woman while serving. I could get in trouble if someone told about us to my commander.’’ 

A bitter laugh escaped you at his cowardly answer, lost in the drumming of rain on pavement. Where was the man you met in the Capitol who crossed rules left and right to get his ways? 

‘’Since when are you following the laws?’’ 

Coriolanus stayed quiet, your question left unanswered. 

You took a few steps toward him, trying to ignore how hot he looked drenched in rainwater by lowering your eyes on the buttons of his blue button-up shirt. All night inside the Hob, you had been thinking about the time you’ll go home and get to have him to yourself.  

And now here you were, fighting in the street…

‘’You think these men stay celibate for their twenty years of serving?’’ you asked, pointing back to the bar. ‘’Don’t be a fool.’’ 

‘’It’s different for us. I was your mentor. If it gets to the Capitol’s ears that you and I found our way to each other, I will be dispatched to another district or worse, we’ll both get hu—’’ 

You interrupted him with a scoff. ‘’You think anyone in there is gonna snitch on us? These people have no idea who you are, besides that you are a peacekeeper. And even if they did, they don’t care. You could have a hand under my skirt under one of the tables and they wouldn’t even notice. They’re just here to listen to music and have a drink and dance.’’ 

Your words were a stretch, but you needed to prove your point with something that would get a reaction out of him. 

Something shifted in Coriolanus’s eyes. He reached for you, grabbing your arm in a rough grip and pulling you close to him. ‘’I’d never share you with these men,’’ he growled between you, his jaw tight.

‘’If I’m yours, then show them,’’ you challenged, daring as you looked into his eyes. ‘’If I ask you to kiss me, to be with me, in front of all these people, will you do it?’’ you asked, raindrops clinging to your lashes. ‘’I’m not asking for much, Coryo,’’ you continued, your voice a mix of frustration and longing. ‘’I just want you to be with me. If you can’t give me that, then you made a mistake coming here.’’

The world seemed to pause, the only sound being the raindrops hitting the ground and turning it into mud. 

Coriolanus opened his mouth to speak, igniting a small glint of hope in your eyes. 

A part of him will always be scared that you’ll be separated again, but he wasn’t going to lose the love of his life because he was scared of losing you. 

—

Hunger games / BOASAS taglist: @crossyourmindrights @ziggyneedsabreak @folkloreshorts @runningfrom2am @soulessien @itzfckingreal @creedsofapollo

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis@Shasta89 @sierraluvz @specialk6802  @CZARINERA @katherinejess

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

[phfenomena]

his girl. || Coriolanus Snow x Reader

| WARNINGS - none!

i’ve literally never publicly wrote anything before so apologies if this is literally shit but i just finished reading the ballad of songbirds and snakes so i just had to.

there were no records for life in district 12. she floated in and out as she pleased, leaving people to wonder was she even there at all?. the ghost girl, she was.

but she was seemingly real to him. her small and almost hollow appearing frame twirled and cavorted all along the length of the makeshift stage at the hob. the covey following suit of her irregular movements. she almost glides like an angel coriolanus thought, awestruck by the girl in front of him. the spotlights casting a halo-like glow upon her shining face. all caution thrown to the wind as she strums forcefully against the tight strings of her guitar. before his mind caught up with the rest of his body, his legs were moving on their own. gradually approaching the dais supporting the beaming girl. his lips curl up almost matching the wide and enticing smile settling on the angel's face. he momentarily forgot all troubles that perverted his every thought. his own personal bottle of medicine. as the music influencing her frantic steps died slowly, she floated to the microphone sitting in the middle of stage.

“did y’all miss me? even the hunger games couldn’t keep me away from this wonderful crowd!”

the rowdy gathering of people screamed unintelligible words around coriolanus, but he couldn’t find himself to care. his girl was in front of him, the very girl he fought tooth and nail for to survive in the arena. the girl he wanted, no, the girl he needed. her eyes meet his and a flash of recognition flees quickly, but he saw it. he didn’t imagine it all, it was real. she was real. he felt as if they were the only people residing in this shabby excuse of a bar. her mouth drops open and her teeth reveal. she smiled at him. her fingers gently strum as she continues her invocation to the mass.

“now we did enjoy singing for y’all, but it’s late and a girls gotta get her beauty rest! thank you and goodnight!”

she blows kisses towards the crowd and happily bobs off stage. his feet carry him quickly and clumsily towards her direction. he finds her standing, rocking back and forth on her heels. was she waiting for him? her eyes catch his and she smirks.

“coriolanus snow. what the hell are you doing here? and what did they do to your hair?”

she exasperated at the end and goes to touch where his curls previously resided. he chuckles and grabs her hand.

“peacekeepers aren’t allowed to have pretty and curly hair.” he teases her.

she looks solemn as she quickly pulls him into an embrace.

“i never got the chance to thank you, did i? the little man shipped me off rather quickly. but thank you coriolanus.” she mumbles into his chest, voice slightly breaking.

“please call me coryo, y/n. and there’s no need to thank me, i would’ve lost my mind and never gotten it back if you weren’t the victor.”

she laughs into him. she laughed at his joke.

“you know just what to say to make a lady feel better. i think coryo is a very cute nickname, also a lot easier for me to say. i cant pronounce all of those letters.”

her accent is thick and melodious to coriolanus’ ears. his girl is in his arms and it’s all okay.

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fluff #omg this is so bad sorry

[cuubism]

At first Hob isn't even sure the shop is open. The tiny door inset above a few steps, the utter lack of welcoming signage, the windows packed with unlabelled stacks of books--it doesn't exactly scream come in and buy something. As Hob steps up to the door, he really expects it to be locked, or for a sign to fall from the ceiling reading, abandon all hope here, mortal.

But the door to the bookshop--the name of which he's yet to determine, again with the utter lack of signage thing--just swings open at his touch, and he steps into a narrow hallway made entirely of--of course!--books.

Dust rises from the rug as he carefully makes his way deeper into the meandering corridors. The lightbulbs overhead are dim and in desperate need of replacement. The stacks are teetering and untouched. If he learned the place had been sitting here on this winding side street, exactly the same, for the past seven hundred years, he wouldn't be at all surprised.

And now Hob's marring its mysterious mausoleum aura by opening a jaunty modern coffee shop across the street.

Whoops.

Hence why he's bringing a peace offering before he accidentally starts a war over noise or crowds or god knows what else. Most places would probably be happy about increased foot traffic, but that's not the sense he's getting here.

This is all, of course, assuming he does find an owner, and not just a skeleton manning a till somewhere in this place long gone dark.

Hob doesn't find any customers. He does find several interesting-looking side hallways labelled things like, ~ the occult ~ , Oneiromancy, and "falconry -- advanced" and has to drag himself back into focus because the only thing worse than starting a turf war with a mysterious bookstore owner on his cafe's opening day is accidentally spilling the coffee he's brought--as a peace offering!--all over some ancient magical text.

"Hello?" he calls, finally giving up on the creeping about. "Anyone there?"

No answer. All Hob finds is a rickety set of stairs leading up the next level. So he ascends.

At the top is an even more cluttered room of books. This time in disorganized, unlabelled stacks on every surface. Waiting to be shelved, maybe? And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the floor with several of these books spread out in a confusing array before him, is who Hob can only presume to be the owner.

An owner who is not dead, nor ancient and decrepit as Hob had kind of been picturing. Definitely not decrepit at all. Oohhhh dear.

The lithe, dark-haired, fey thing that is the owner tapes a note inside another book and says, in a distracted tone, "Can I help you?"

"Uh," says Hob, because he came here on a mission but he's gotten really turned around, "do you drink coffee?"

This gets him a raised eyebrow, but the shop owner does turn to look at him, staring up from his position on the floor. Christ he's pretty, spectacles and all. If there is a battle over street noise levels, Hob's going to lose by dint of caving automatically to those eyes. Pathetic.

The bookstore owner looks at the coffee in Hob's hand, then back at Hob's face. "Why?"

Hob thrusts the cup in his direction. "Here."

The owner looks alarmed now, but takes the cup, gingerly, peering at it as if he thinks Hob might have given him pureed nightshade instead. "Why?" he repeats, and then, because apparently his level of self-preservation doesn't extend to things like not drinking random shit thrust at him by strangers, takes a sip, and hums in appreciation.

"I-- fuck, sorry--" Hob sits down on the floor, which only makes him look more like a maniac to be honest-- "I just-- I just opened across the street? The cafe? So I just wanted to say hi and-- holy shit, is your name actually Dream? Were you a stripper in another life or something?"

This because he's finally spotted a tiny nametag pin on the bookstore owner's cardigan-- a cat curled around a book where the cover reads, I am Dream.

"Yes," says Dream, and Hob has no idea if that's in response to the first question, the second, or both. Both is terrifying to think about. As is the fact that Hob even asked that. "The cafe, you said?"

"Mmhmm," Hob agrees, cheeks burning. Oh, he's making a right mess of this, all right.

"Hmm," says Dream, peering at him over the coffee cup. This indicates nothing to Hob about how he feels about the cafe situation.

"I just worried that more noise and stuff might bother you," Hob rushes to explain. "You seem. To. You know. Like your quiet. Is all."

"It is my understanding that cafes and bookstores frequently have symbiotic relationships," says Dream evenly, though he's still watching Hob with unnerving intensity.

Well. That was easy. Maybe Hob was just worrying over nothing. Wanting to be liked when it wouldn't have been an issue.

"Alright," he says, letting out a breath. "Well. Good!"

"Good," echoes Dream, with a tiny, wry smile.

"What is this place anyway? I've seen no signage whatsoever."

"It's called The Library," Dream says.

Hob waits for him to explain. He doesn't. "Um, but... isn't it a shop?"

Dream raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And?"

"So..." Hob says, "it's not a library."

"Purchasing something is but extended borrowing from the universe," says Dream, like that makes any sense at all.

But Hob decides there's other things he'd rather do with a pretty goth bookstore/library/whatever owner than argue semantics. "What do you carry, then?"

Now Dream preens like a cat. "The Library contains every book in print."

Now it's Hob's turn to raise an eyebrow. "That seems... unlikely? Impossible?"

Dream's self-satisfied little smile doesn't fade. "You are welcome to browse the stacks and let me know if there is anything you cannot find."

And, well, it's true that Hob didn't really get a sense of just how far back this place goes. It looks small from the street, but he's already wandered pretty far in just to find Dream, and has yet to reach a back wall.

"I will definitely have to come back," he agrees. And get lost. Definitely get lost. He's not even sure he can find his way out. He'll probably get swallowed up in Oneiromancy.

"In return I will be sure to visit your cafe," says Dream. He says it so strangely, like crossing into a foreign land. I will be sure to visit your court. "Are you open late?"

"On Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, yup," says Hob.

"Excellent." Dream inclines his head imperiously to Hob. "Thank you. For the coffee."

Hob figures he should let him get back to his labeling. He has plenty of his own work, too.

"Yeah, sure, any time. Good to meet you, Dream."

And then he scurries away before he can make it any weirder, makes his meandering way out of "The Library," and doesn't get lost in Oneiromancy.

This time.

--

The following night, Hob looks up from the till to find Dream standing across the counter from him. He looks much the same as before, with the addition of a long dark coat over his clothes, and no reading glasses this time. He offers Hob a tiny smile. "Hob Gadling."

Gosh, he looks, if possible, even prettier in the warm lighting of the cafe than in the darkness of his shop. Though to be honest, Hob had half-convinced himself he'd hallucinated Dream's existence. He hasn't seen anyone go in or out of the shop since.

"Dream," he greets, with a smile. "Anything I can get for you?"

"It is I who have something for you." He hands Hob what must be a book, though it's wrapped in brown paper. "Consider it a return gift. Or perhaps. A welcome."

And before Hob can even ask if he wants coffee or something, if he wants to sit down, he slips back out through the crowd and onto the street like a vapor, and then he's gone.

Hob tears open the paper. And then stares at the book in astonishment.

It's the book. Everyone has one. The book once read but since forgotten in the shuffle of time; title, author, too vague in recollection to pin down. Unsearchable. Never found, for all that the heart of the story might have lodged its way in somewhere deep.

It's one of those books that he remembers in blistering detail now that it's in his hands, that he read in uni but couldn't have found for the life of him on his own, and Dream's just handed it to him over the counter of his cafe.

He runs his fingertip over the midnight blue cover, the embossed lettering. In Search of Nightingales. And it's only as he looks up again at the hidden shop across the street, that he realizes he never told Dream his name, either.

#dream: its a library whose checkout term is the rest of your life :) ill get the books back eventually :) hope that clears it up for you hob #hob:....... #random drabble time i guess lol #dreamling #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #bookstore cryptid dream

[saberlight1]

let the light in — lucy gray baird

pairing: lucy gray baird x fem!reader

warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, Y/N usage, established relationship, standard ballad of songbirds and snakes warnings.

authors note: i adore lucy gray so much !! i had to write about her i swear! she is my fav girl rn, and i hope you all enjoy this !

masterlist

After you cheated to help your tribute, Lucy Gray, you were banished to none other than District 12. Well, at first it was said to be 11, but you bribed the Peacekeeper’s with the remaining money you had.

At least in banishment you could attempt to find your songbird.

It was quite upsetting at first when you heard the news, mainly because you had to leave your friends behind, Coriolanus and Sejanus. Your family didn’t care much for you, and you felt the same about them.

But you didn’t have much to loose, so you were content with the decision— even if life in the Districts was very different than what you had previously known.

The first week, you didn’t see a glimpse of the brunette, but you were also extremely busy with settling in. You got a small apartment and a job as a nurse for the Peacekeepers.

It wasn’t until Saturday night when you were invited by some random girl from work to the local pub, known as the Hob. Needing some liquid courage you decided why not and tagged along.

But the second you stepped into those doors and heard that all-too familiar beautiful voice singing, your heart damn near stopped.

You can’t take my charm,

You can’t take my humor.

You can’t take my wealth, ‘cause it’s just a rumor.

Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping,

No, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping.

She sung the same song she did the first time you saw her, the smile on your face only growing as she came into view. You continued your walk throughout the crowd, splitting off with the people you came with to get closer to the girl.

Thinkin’ your so fine, thinkin’ you can have mine.

Thinkin’ your in control, think you’ll change me,

Maybe rearrange me, think again if that’s your goal!

She smiled brightly as she strummed her guitar for the intermission, as when she turned her eyes fell onto you. Shock was obvious on her face, the girl almost stopping the strumming of her guitar by it. The wide eyes she had were replaced with smiling ones as it sank in. You sent a small wave and a nod her way, the girl’s smiling only growing as she ran back up to the mic.

Can’t take my sass, can’t talk my talkin’.

You can kiss my ass, then keep on walkin’.

Nothing you could take was ever worth keepin’.

Oh, nothin’ you could take was ever worth keepin’.

She sang her heart out, her eyes and that smile never leaving your gaze.

Nothing you could take from me is worth dirt.

Take it, ‘cause I’d give it free, it won’t hurt.

Nothing you could take was ever worth keepin’.

No, nothing you could take was ever worth keepin’.

Her and the Covey Band finished the song with cheers and claps erupting from the crowd, more specifically, you.

“Thank you, 12, for another night.” She bowed, nodding before leaving the stage.

You followed her with your gaze, shuffling through the crowd in an attempt to get to her. After a moment of shoving and apologizing, you finally got backstage.

You walked through the corridor. “Lucy Gray?” You called, cautious with your steps. You nearly jumped out of your skin when she jumped on your back.

She let out giggles at your yelp, smiling against your hair as she left kisses on your neck and shoulders. The feeling of her lips on your skin sent tingles down your spine as you remembered the kisses you shared through fences in the moonlight.

“Y/N!” She smiled, jumping off your back to properly hug you. She pulled your into her arms, her head going into the crook of your neck.

“Hi,” You whispered as she pulled back, a smile on her face.

“I thought I’d never see you again, oh, I thought they killed you. That’s what the rumors around here said.” Her southern drawl mixed with her concern pulled a smile out of you.

“I’m okay, they just banished me here.” You explained, you hand coming up to rub her worry lines away with your thumb. She smiled at the action, her hand rubbing your arm lovingly. “Other than a few punches, they treated me well. Bribed ‘em into putting me in twelve, y’know I had to come back for my songbird.” You brushed some hair behind her ear.

She turned a light shade of pink at the nickname you gave to her the first time you met at the train station. “How long are you stayin’?”

“Forever, I guess.” You shrugged. “I don’t really have anyone else to go back to, really. My parents pretty much disobeyed me, and all I had at the Capitol were Coryo and Sejanus.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” She grabbed your hand, squeezing.

“It’s alright, bird. I’m with you, that makes it okay.” You teased, smiling.

She stared into your eyes for a moment, her honey eyes flickering down to your lips. Without a word, she turned on her heel, her hand still laced with yours and pulled you into a small room.

You followed with furrowed eyebrows, opening your mouth to say something, but the second the door closed you were pinned to it, her lips on yours.

You moaned against her lips in shock, your hands coming up to cup her cheeks, deepening the kiss. Her hands squeezed your hips as she smiled against your lips. When you pulled back for air, the smile never left her face.

“I missed you, so much.” She whispered. “I can’t wait to introduce you to the Covey, they’re gonna love you.”

Your thumb rubbed against the scar on her cheekbone. “I can’t wait either, bird.”

She left another kiss on your lips before turning on her heel, and running to the corner, rummaging through a chest on the floor.

You walked over to the middle of the room, a love-sick smile on your face as you watched the girl.

She turned back to you with the same rose you gave her all those weeks ago in the train station, a mischievous glint in her eye. When she was eye to eye with you, she presented it with a curtesy.

“Y/N, will you give me the honorable title of your girlfriend?” She asked, a teasing smile on her face with a serious tone in her voice.

“Why, yes, Ms. Baird, I would love to.” You accepted the rose, your cheeks dusted pink as she ran forward to connect your lips again, giggling.

Your heart was full as you held your songbird, love being shared in your kiss. Yeah, you thought, I’m gonna be okay here. 

And in the arms of your lover, nothing could hurt you anymore.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #lucy gray baird x fem reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray my beloved #lucy gray #lucy gray baird x reader #tbosas #coriolanus snow

[icallhimjoey]

Define Close

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot

Author’s note: this sort of came about after taking small little bits from several requests that i combined and then shaped into what i wanted for myself, and for a minute, i thought 'what if i don't make this one extremely self-indulgent for once' but then... why the fuck wouldn't i? so...

Wordcount: 2.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

One of those days.

You weren’t going to wait until you got home to ask Joe what pizza toppings he wanted. Not today. So you texted,

“peperoni or chicken?”

And it took just a few seconds for Joe to open Whatsapp and to reply.

“those my only two options?”

You didn’t have the mental capacity to even think of any other pizza toppings, let alone get into some banter over text with your flatmate.

“joe”

There were a million ways for Joe to have read that, to have interpreted that. Yet, he got the tone of it just right.

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of it”

No playing. Just quick solutions to problems of which Joe didn’t even really know what they were yet. Then another text from him followed, asking you the question you’d just sent him.

“peperoni or chicken?”

“chicken”

You remembered exactly when this pizza tradition started. Could pinpoint the exact date, time, and place.

“no i was wrong.” “peperoni”

The first time you and Joe shared a pizza as new flatmates, was when you’d gotten home one morning, still very obviously in the outfit you’d left in the night before. Joe had been cooking up some breakfast in the kitchen and had his jokes ready, already grinning to himself when he hadn’t even seen you yet.

“Well, well, well,” he called over his shoulder as you took a moment by the front door to just... breathe. You would’ve tried gathering yourself, but there wasn’t much to gather.

“I know you said the plan was to go out and celebrate Friday, but you didn’t mention anything about Saturday morning,” you could hear the joy in Joe’s voice, all chipper and lively. He’d very clearly had a great night’s sleep, unlike you.

Joe heard footsteps, and when they stopped in the doorway, he turned his head to look. Spatula still in hand, eggs just about ready in the pan in front of him.

“Look at what the cat’s drag–...” the comment died on his tongue. “Jesus, are you all right?”

Joe had expected a tired, sloppy girl to have walked in. One with messy hair, eye make-up all smudged and sort of drunk a little, still.

He’d been right.

That was exactly what he was looking at, which should objectively be funny. Hence the smile that still lingered on his face as his brow slowly furrowed in confusion.

“You look like the inside of a shoe,”

Joe tried his hand at humour, but it fell completely flat.

What he hadn’t anticipated, was for his flatmate to look quite so sad in reaction to his comments. So very drained of life. You’d obviously been crying and looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks.

For a moment you just stood in that doorway, looked a little dazed because, um, why were you going into your shared living space again?

You needed your bed.

Without answering Joe, and without even really acknowledging him at all, you took a shuddering breath and slowly turned back around, only to ignore Joe’s question and disappear into the hallway.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joe quickly turned the hob off and rounded the island to go after you. He was too late though, stepping into the hallway just as your bedroom door closed behind you. The immediate guilt that followed his poking-fun carried him over to stand in front of it, just enough self-restraint left to not just open your door and walk in right after you.

You didn’t seem like you needed to be pissed off any more than you already were.

From just outside of your bedroom door, you heard a very faint knock, followed by Joe’s voice, asking if you were all right once more.

“Did– did something happen? What’s going on?”

All you managed to do was sigh, just loud enough for Joe to catch it.

“What happened?”

But you didn’t want to get into it.

“Do you– hey,” Joe called your name, waited for a second, in case you wanted to answer him, but then when you didn’t, he followed it up with, “Do you want some breakfast?”

And honestly, breakfast sounded nice. But so did burying yourself into your duvet for a few days, where no one would try to look you in the eye, and where no one would try to make you talk. Were you going to listen to your rumbling stomach that wanted some food, or to the rest of your body that just wanted to be horizontal?

“Some scrambled eggs? Piece of toast?” 

You milled it over in your mind.

“Or, I could make you something else? You want some yoghurt? With some berries in?”

Joe tried. Was actively trying. But it didn’t seem to work, just didn’t seem to do the trick. It stayed silent on your side of the door.

“Some pizza?”

And it was meant as a careful joke. A hopeful small little thing to at least lift the mood, if nothing else. If you were even still listening to him at all, that was.

He was about to tell you that he’d be in the kitchen if you needed anything, that you could just let him know. No worries if not. But then he heard rustling. Stumbling footsteps, followed by your bedroom door slowly opening.

“Hey,” Joe cocked his head to the side at the sight of you, his eyes all soft, forehead crinkled with worry. “I’m sorry.”

You looked right past him.

“What... what kind of pizza?”

You focused on the important things instead. Didn’t really care to acknowledge Joe’s apology.

“Well,” Joe tried to hide his smile as he looked down at his feet before stepping aside and holding an arm out, inviting you to walk ahead of him, making your way back into the living area. “I think there’s a few to choose from in the freezer.”

You’d shared a pizza that morning, you sat at one of the stools of the kitchen island, and Joe stood on the side. He hadn’t asked you any questions then, but instead had just tried his hand at light conversation until suddenly, halfway through a slice, you’d started sobbing.

And it wasn’t like you and Joe had never hugged before.

But you’d never been hugged by him like that before.

Where Joe instantly dropped his food and stepped closer to fold arms around you. Where Joe got an arm around your head to press your face into his chest whilst the other curled down around your shoulders that pressed your chest into his stomach. Where he decided he wasn’t going to be the one to pull back first, and so you’d just embraced like that for over half an hour.

He hadn’t asked you any questions.

Not when you cried.

Not when you’d stuttered through breaths as you tried to recollect yourself after.

Not when you eventually pulled back and reached for another bite of now-cold pizza.

Not when you then silently frowned at the hardened cheese and softly sighed to yourself.

Not when you did eventually retreat back into your room but came out just a minute later and asked if Joe had any plans that day.

Even if he did have plans, Joe knew that he’d cancel them all for you.

“Want to rot on the sofa with me? Watch films all day?”

And you hadn’t meant to fall asleep all sagged into his side then, but you had. And Joe had played with the ends of your hair until the warmth and comfort had pulled him into a nap as well.

You’d never talked about what had happened then, why you had been so sad, because you didn’t need to. It was nice that Joe hadn’t asked for you to explain why you’d cried, and instead had just comforted you until you managed to smile for him again.

Joe thought that maybe, if you wanted to tell him, one day you would. But he didn’t need to know why his flatmate was sad when she was. He was happy just being there to help and fix it.

And now, here you were. Two flatmates who shared a tradition of having pizza and watching a film when you’d had a bad day.

And today had just been... long. Hard. Frustrating. You didn’t want to get into all the things that had nearly pushed you over the edge, and you were glad that you didn’t need to.

Joe didn’t ask questions. Never did.

Just went to get you the peperoni pizza you’d asked for.

Would cuddle you on the sofa all night if that was what you wanted.

It was what he wanted, anyway.

He was well aware that none of that was normal though.

You were flatmates.

If Joe referred to you in conversation with a friend, with a family member, or even with a stranger, you were his flatmate. The girl that he shared the living area of his flat with. The pantry, the fridge and the freezer. The coat closet by the door. A letterbox downstairs by the entrance.

Flatmates.

But if someone were to ask you if you and your flatmate were friends too, you’d tell them yes of course. You shared dinner more often than not. If you had friends ‘round, Joe would hang out too. And vice versa.

Normal.

Just normal friendly flatmates that also knew each other’s parents by their first names, but you know, those things sort of just came with sharing a living space together, right?

And no one ever really thought there was more to you and Joe, anyway.

Why would they even assume?

You dated other people. Went on regular dates with different men. Other guys. Would even sometimes sit and watch a film with someone, and Joe would join you for a little while. Have casual conversation with whoever you’d invited over.

Normal.

What wasn’t so normal was that the second it would just be you and Joe, you wouldn’t hesitate to touch if you wanted to touch. Wouldn’t hesitate to find him, wherever he’d be, and sling your arms around his stomach from behind, just to hold him for a minute. Would wait to get comfortable on the sofa until Joe would join you there and you’d wait for his arm to find its way around you before you’d settle in.

You never talked about it.

It was just what it was like. You were close. The affection was just a natural thing between the two of you. It didn’t need any words. Any explaining.

But Joe knew you both understood that this could be interpreted very differently through other people’s eyes.

It’s why you kept referring to each other as flatmates, and why you weren’t like that in front of other people.

Which was fine.

You lived together.

There was plenty of time without other people there.

When you walked into your flat that evening, the promise of a shared peperoni pizza combined with the contrasting warmth that immediately made you feel uncomfortably hot in your coat, was nearly enough to bring you to tears.

“Joe?”

“Hey, bad news,”

Oh no.

Joe appeared at the other end of the hallway.

“They didn’t have any Sprite left, so I got you a Fanta.”

You let your shoulders drop and let your head fall to the side in relief. That was hardly bad news. You didn’t love Fanta, but the bad news revealed Joe had gone out to get a pizza instead of throwing a frozen one into the oven.

“Fanta’s fine.” You smiled. Joe easily copied it.

“Good, okay. Now,” Joe continued, suddenly his face all serious again as you took your coat off and toed your shoes off. “I know that last time, I got to pick a film, so technically it is your turn... but, I’ve already chosen something to watch, and I did go out to get us the largest peperoni pizza London has to offer, so...”

You stilled and gave an exaggerated sigh, all mock frustration, because you honestly didn’t give a shit. If anything, it was nice that Joe had made the choice for you, seeing as you didn’t really have the mental capacity for any decisions right now. If it had been left up to you, you’d hav been scrolling through Netflix for at least half an hour until settling just to watch some celebrity panel shows on Channel 4.

“No sprite and I don’t get to choose the film?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe was trying stupidly hard to hide a smile.

You blinked at him a second.

“You’re not sorry.”

“No I’m not. You made me go out and it’s fucking freezing outside today.”

You made your way over to your bedroom to get changed, and just before disappearing, you said, “Cool way of letting me know you’ve not left the flat all day.”

Like Joe’s hair hadn’t told you as much already.

You wished your job would let you work from home too. Although, with Joe spending weird stretches of time just sitting around and reading, you didn’t think you’d get much work done. Would probably be a bit weird if you logged onto a zoom meeting from your spot on the sofa, half of Joe in frame.

“I did leave the flat! I just said!” Joe argued, leaving you to get into a more comfortable outfit.

You grinned to yourself.

Joe was an idiot.

In an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of joggers, you joined Joe in the living room where you found a large pizza box on the coffee table, two cans of Sprite next to it.

Sprite.

“Surprise.”

Joe had lied.

Then you looked at the TV screen, paused at the title of the film Joe’d chosen and, fuck all the way off, did he want you to cry?

“I know it’s not your genre...”

It was. It absolutely was. It wasn’t Joe’s genre, though. “But I promise you’ll like it.”

You didn’t know if you wanted to hook an elbow to his jaw or squeeze your nails into his cheeks, but you needed to do something to get this surge of emotion out.

You opted for swearing at him instead of physical violence.

“I fucking hate you so much right now,”

“Yea?” Joe sat down, pressing play on the remote and reaching for the throw blanket. “Come hate me over here.”

And so you did.

Sat down next to Joe, thigh to thigh, and let him sort the blanket so it covered the both of you before leaning over to grab the pizza box.

The heat coming from the pizza quickly found your legs through the blanket and through your joggers. It was a stark comparison to how cold your fingers still felt from your trek home.

You rubbed them together as Joe opened the pizza box and, shit, that looked good.

“You cold?”

“Just my fingers,” you replied, already putting both hands to use, ripping the pieces of crust that hadn’t been cut properly and lifting a slice out of the box.

Joe did the same, and then when he saw one of your hands lower down, he was quick to grab it, encasing your cold fingers into his large palm.

The act of being upset with him for being nice faltered, and you smiled at Joe as he smugly grinned whilst he chewed.

See, had someone else been there with you, you’d have gotten comments. If not jokes, at least you knew you would’ve gotten some judging looks. Some questions later, about what was going on between the two of you?

Nothing was going on between the two of you.

Just warm cuddles and comforting touches, which was fine when it was just you and Joe.

So what if Joe held your hand whilst you ate pizza and watched a romantic comedy together?

So what if a piece of peperoni was about to slide and fall to your chest, but Joe saw and got it just in time, and you thought he was going to pop it into his own mouth, but then instead he held it up in front of you and waited till you ate it from his fingers?

So what if, after finishing the pizza, Joe planted his feet on the coffee table and pulled you into his side a little? Grabbed your arm to lay over his stomach? Ended up with both arms slung around, his own fingers locking on your back to keep you in place whilst you watched actors older than the both of you act as if they were in their early twenties still?

Life was just more comfortable when it was filled with good snuggles, you and Joe both agreed.

But you never talked about it.

You were just close.

No questions asked.

Flatmates. Friends. Just, close.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey

[andmaybegayer]

For a different project I was reading about developments in induction heating technologies and realized I had a small misunderstanding about how induction stoves work.

So, the classic misunderstanding is in why steel works on an induction hob but aluminium doesn't. Most people assume this is because you need a magnetic material in order to induce a current, but if you know your physics you know this isn't true. You can induce a current in any conductor, and indeed inducing currents in aluminium is something that happens in industry all the time.

So then you get to my understanding of why you can't use aluminium and copper, which is that they're too good at conducting electricity. Induction generates a voltage that pushes a current through the material. Aluminium and copper are much better conductors than steel, so the generated potential is lower and the overall current is lower as a result of material interactions with the field, so you don't get nearly as much heat out of induction on aluminium as on steel. This was what I thought. This is also wrong, although it's closer.

The actual answer is one step deeper. Induction hobs have to operate at pretty high frequencies, usually 24-ish kHz, both for audible noise reasons and, crucially, because they rely heavily on the skin effect. Interestingly this makes that first wrong explanation kind of more correct, I'll get to that in a moment.

The skin effect is a thing that happens when you have an alternating current in a bulk material; the AC signal sets up magnetic fields that force current to flow in a thin layer closer to the surface of the solid rather than flowing evenly throughout the material. This increases the effective resistance of the material, since you end up with a reduced effective surface area through which current can flow. The skin effect gets more pronounced at higher frequencies, and it's part of why you'll see bundles of smaller cables used to conduct high power AC: each cable has its own skin that can carry more current than the same quantity of material in one bulk cable.

In the right kinds of steel and iron, 24kHz is enough to generate a current carrying skin only a few tenths of a millimeter thick, which has a high enough resistance to generate the heat needed for cooking. Ferromagnetic materials have very high magnetic permeability, which causes them to experience much stronger skin effects. Copper and aluminium, between their high conductivity and lower magnetic permeability, have much weaker skin effects, their skins at 24kHz are much thicker, and so you just can't kick up enough resistance to the current to generate heat, it just spins around in there getting kind of warm but you'd have a hard time actually cooking with it. Indeed, non-magnetic stainless steel also won't work on induction hobs, because it also has a much thicker skin effect.

So you have the "real answer" being a fun hybrid of the two incorrect explanations.

The main side effects I take away from this are twofold.

1) you can absolutely make an induction hob that will heat copper and aluminum and non-magnetic stainless steels, you just need a high enough frequency to generate a strong enough skin effect to generate heat. Panasonic makes one that uses 60+kHz induction under the brand "Met-all".

2) if you physically constrain the current by having a really thin piece of metal, you can induction heat it anyway. When I read this, I stopped, took out a piece of aluminium foil, and stuck it on my induction cooktop. It almost immediately got incredibly hot and I pulled it away before anything bad happened. Turns out you could definitely melt and maybe even vaporize aluminium this way. So don't do that. Apparently people do this with lightweight titanium cookware too, which would not be able to sustain the necessary currents in a large bulk solid but can if you thin the base of the pan out enough.

#cooking #induction #physics #material science #engineering

[wordsinhaled]

have some dreamling fluff, inspired by this fanart by @dingusdemeanour ! <3

-

"Oh,” Hob says, as he unlocks his flat and steps aside to let Dream in. Inside, it still smells faintly of Hob’s morning coffee despite the hours that have passed. Hob’s living room glows with mid-afternoon sunlight. "I almost forgot! I got you something."

There was no need for that, Dream almost says, but he casts a sideways glance at Hob, and Hob seems so plainly excited that he does not have the heart to dash his dream. For he knows, after all, that the act of gifting is a type of dreaming, of imagining another's future happiness.

Instead Dream says, simply, "Thank you, Hob."

"Don’t thank me yet. What if you hate it?" Hob says, though his eyes crinkle at the corners the way they do when Dream has pleased him. He is easy to please, Dream finds. Easy to talk to, as well, and easy to bring to mirth. Easy to— "Hang this up for me, love?"

Dream takes the messenger bag Hob proffers him. He holds it to his chest for a moment, rubs his fingertips over the leather strap where it is still body-warm from having been slung over Hob shoulder.

Love.

Hob is easy to love. Dream finishes the thought as he ponders how he became privy to the many tiny, quotidian secrets of Hob’s long life. When had he first learned that the nearest hook to the door is for Hob’s house keys, and the second is for his work bag? Dream deposits it there in its customary place gingerly, thinking, This knowledge, too, is its own gift.

“So,” Hob says, “don’t laugh, yeah? Or—laugh if you like, I suppose. I saw them and thought of you.” And he thrusts a small bundle into Dream’s hands.

Dream raises an eyebrow. “Socks?” It has never occurred to him that Hob might associate him with such a thing.

“Fuzzy socks,” Hob says helpfully.

The socks are, indeed, fuzzy. They are also embroidered all over with many tiny faces of cats, and made of a terribly soft material that Dream has the sudden, inexplicable urge to press to his cheek—so he does, though he is almost never a being of impulses. He can sense the dream Hob had formed in his mind when he purchased the socks, can see what Hob had pictured: how the socks would keep Dream not just warm, but cozy; how the bit of pink peeking over the tops of Dream’s boots would be a tiny reminder that Dream is—

That Dream is loved.

“I shall wear them, when I come to visit you in the waking world,” Dream says, and Hob’s answering grin is positively blinding.

#the sandman #dreamling #hello it’s me i still write dreamling <3 #have some sap #i had to!!!!

[teejaystumbles]

Happy Halloween! It's the last day of October and the last bingo square for the Monsterfucktober Bingo finished - "science gone wrong"!! 👻🧟🥰

I couldn't help writing a little story for this - find it under the cut! Thanks to @valiantstarlights for the idea of Hob reacting to Dream's voice!

Morpheus looked at his new creation and frowned at the mismatched skin tones of the shoulder and leg. He had tried to keep most of the man’s body parts but the left knee had been so badly crushed that he had rather used a whole different limb than try and repair or exchange the joint. It would make for much smoother maintenance than having to deal with an inserted knee joint that was much more prone to infection or damage. The upper left arm had also been badly damaged in the accident that led to the man’s death - well, near-death. His brain waves had been declared too shallow to warrant any actual activity. The man had had no family, and no friends had come forward or visited. The man had carried a donor card, though, and so, with no one to protest, he had been quietly shuffled into Morpheus’ lab with little fanfare. Morpheus knew that what his employers did to obtain his materials wasn’t strictly legal but he tried not to think too much about it. He was being paid very handsomely to do his research, and not just in theory.

He was very satisfied with this new try. It was only his second finished work, having been commissioned after the Corinthian was a sounding success - well, mostly. He huffed and set about disinfecting the needle he had used to close up the throat of the man. His employers had had only one complaint about the Corinthian-

He talks too much, and he talks back. No need to include capacity for speech in the next one, Doctor.

Morpheus looked at the young man’s handsome face and sighed. “I would have liked to hear your voice. I’m sorry.”

He turned around and switched on the life support to see if everything ran smoothly. While he cleaned up the lab there was only the quiet whooshing sound of the respirator. He knew it took time for the subject to come back to life. He would probably have to use the defibrillator to really get it going-

A sudden loud beep from the heart monitor made him jump and turn around.

The man was sitting up and staring at him. He’d removed the respirator mask and slowly pulled off the ECG monitoring electrodes. His eyes were wide and milky, not yet able to see. It was a condition the Corinthian had never recovered from - in the end Morpheus had given him bionic eyes. With this new subject he had hope that the original eyes of the man whose body he had used would recover once a steady circulation had been achieved. (They had been the most gorgeous brown eyes Morpheus had ever seen after Calliope left him and he hadn’t been able to switch them for bionic ones straight from the start.)

“That was fast. Good- Good morning,” he said, stunned at the man’s fast return to waking. Morpheus grabbed his recorder and switched it on. “Subject 002, Working title “Hope”, Day 62 - subject has awoken after life support was activated. No respirator necessary, it seems. Subject is alert and- hey, hey, what are you doing? Take it easy!”

He dropped the recorder as the man suddenly stood up from the metal table and stepped towards him, only stumbling once on the unfamiliar leg. Before Morpheus could stop him the man had boxed him in against his lab desk. Morpheus felt several papers shuffled and bottles getting pushed over by his elbows as he tried to keep his distance but the man nearly crushed him against the edge of the table. He smiled down at Morpheus, unseeing eyes still focused on him, and hummed. Morpheus gasped, shocked at this unusual display of coordination and force so soon after waking up. He needed to keep up the subject’s emotional balance, he needed to give positive feedback to not induce a backlash or violent reaction to an unfamiliar situation. The Corinthian had taught him that.

“You’re, you’re doing really well. This- this is great. Very good,” he praised, heart hammering, trying his best to keep his voice low and soothing.

Subject 002, “Hope”, grinned happily.

#can I find endless ways to name Hob Hope? you bet #dreamling #the sandman fanart #the sandman fanfiction #monsterfucktoberbingo #hob gadling #dream of the endless #teejaystumbles #frankenstein au

[five-and-dimes]

As You Always Were

A very silly fic based on a convo I had with @gabessquishytum about Dream being an idiot but in a gender affirming way lol

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~

Hob felt like a teenager in a lifetime movie, but he was choosing to lean into it.

Gripping the bathroom sink with both hands, he stared himself down in the mirror. “You can do this,” he said to his reflection, “You deserve to live your truth. You love yourself. Even if things don’t go the way you want, you’ll survive it. You’re sexy and you know it.”

Nodding to himself, he turned away from the mirror and began pacing his flat, looking for anything left to clean or organize.

He was going to come out to his boyfriend today.

It had been two months since he and Dream became official. They had known each other in some capacity for much longer. They shared a lot of mutual friends, but for a long time Dream didn’t tend to join large group get-togethers, so Hob only saw him occasionally. Then this past semester they had both ended up in a class together for the first time. Despite studying vastly different subjects, this particular course was required and both had managed to miss it when they were underclassmen. And now, as they entered their final year of university, they both needed to complete it in order to graduate. Drawn to any remotely familiar face, they had sat together, and then started talking more, and then slowly fallen for each other.

The past months had been amazing, full of sweet dates and kisses and hand holding and Dream being nothing but understanding when Hob hesitated to go any farther. But Hob wanted to go farther, had been burning out of his skin with the need to touch every part of Dream and be touched in return.

He just… needed to let Dream know what to expect when he took his clothes off.

Stalking through the living room, he moved the books on his coffee table this way and that, as if it would make any sort of difference. It’s not like it was the first time Hob had let someone know he was a trans man. He’s had plenty of experience sharing that part of his life, with family, and friends, and hookups. It’s gone good, and bad, and all the levels in between.

So why was he so nervous about telling Dream?

He was being ridiculous. It’s not like he was worried about Dream hurting him or anything…

Groaning, he put his head in his hands and allowed himself to turn and flop face-down onto the couch. What a world he lived in, where he consciously felt grateful to not worry about being murdered. Sometimes he hated everything. 

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, shaking his head and aggressively re-fluffing the pillows he had flattened with his brief pessimism. He wasn’t going to think about the world right now. This was just about him and Dream and their relationship. And, optimism aside- even just being logical and realistic in a way he so rarely was- he didn’t think things would go badly, per say. Dream was gay, and had always been an open supporter and ally for the trans community. Worst case scenario, even if Dream decided he didn’t want to date someone with Hob’s body, he was certain they could remain friends.

Turning on his heel, Hob speed walked to the kitchen and began wiping down the counters for the third time.

Could they stay friends? He wanted to say yes, to say they could move on from this little bump in the road, but the truth was, even after such a short amount of time, if they broke up Hob would be heartbroken. He had fallen hard for Dream… could he really go back to being friends with him after knowing what it was like to kiss him and hold him? What if it was too much, hurt too badly to take that step back, and then he lost not only his boyfriend, but his best friend? And their lives were so entwined, they shared much of the same friend group, would he lose them, too? Choosing Dream over him because Hob was clearly the one being ridiculous and overemotional? 

Catastrophizing, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his therapist rang in his head.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the tentative knock on his door, glancing at the clock to see that, yes, he has spent the entire morning worrying and fussing and it is in fact the time he asked Dream to come over. 

Hob honest to God straightens his shirt. As though that will help.

What does help is opening the door and seeing the subtle way Dream brightens. No matter how stoic he tries to be, Dream has always been terrible at hiding how very fond he is of Hob, something Hob is eternally grateful for. It’s nice to have the reassurance. Especially now.

“Hello Hob,” he smiles, giving him a quick peck as Hob gestures for him to enter. He takes two steps inside before halting, raising an eyebrow as he glances around Hob’s impeccable flat. He’s been here before, he knows this isn’t the usual state of things. “It seems you were productive today.”

Hob laughed nervously, which only made Dream turn his gaze to look at him curiously, “Ah, yeah, you know, the motivation just sort of hit, haha.”

Dream frowned slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding rapidly, Hob starts herding Dream into the living room, “Yeah, absolutely, I just-” Dream allows him to gently push him to sit on the couch, “I mean, I am fine, there’s just something I wanted to talk to you about,” he paces in front of Dream for a moment as his boyfriend’s head moves to follow him silently, “And it’s nothing bad. Or, or at least I don’t think it is. It just… it just is, y’know?” 

He turns back to look at Dream and finds him staring, blinking slowly in carefully reigned in confusion, “No. I don’t know. What’s going on?”

Hob released a shuddering breath, dropping down to sit a respectable distance away from Dream on the couch. “Okay, I…” Hob wrung his hands together, “I had a whole speech planned, but I didn’t write it down and now I can’t remember any of my talking points, so I… I’m just gonna say it.”

Dream nodded, brow furrowed in concern as Hob closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m transgender.”

Even just saying the words made his chest feel lighter. It was out in the open now. Whatever happened, happened. 

And what happened was Dream reaching out to gently cover his tense hands with one of his own.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Opening his eyes, Hob looked over, and his breath caught in his chest at the soft smile Dream was giving him, the one he only showed Hob, “I know that must have been hard,” Dream continued, running his thumb over Hob’s knuckles, “thank you for trusting me with that.”

“So,” Hob’s voice was breathless, a smile slowly creeping onto his face, “So you’re okay with it?”

“Of course!” Dream took both of Hob’s hands into his, eyes wide and anxious in a way Hob had come to recognize meant he was afraid of being misunderstood, “Of course I’m okay with it! I’m sorry if I ever made you think I wouldn’t be. I l-...” He swallowed thickly, “I care about you so much, Hob. This doesn’t change that at all.”

Hob couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the cut off confession. Dream had warned him of his struggles with love, especially with “falling too fast”. Despite Hob reassuring him that Hob also had a history of falling far faster than some would deem reasonable, Dream still tiptoed around it, always wary of scaring Hob off. So it meant something that he had come so close to slipping.

“I care about you, too,” Hob leaned forward to press his forehead against Dream’s shoulder, letting out a relieved laugh, “God, I was so nervous!”

Dream pet his hair, “Understandable. I know it’s a big deal. But I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

For a few minutes they stay pressed together, Dream a comforting presence as Hob let the adrenaline bleed from him. When he finally pulled back, they smiled at each other. Before he had a chance to lean in to kiss him, Dream spoke again.

“So,” he tilted his head questioningly, “should I use she/her pronouns from now on?”

Hob could feel the record scratch in his brain. 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Shook his head, “What?”

Dream frowned, “I just meant in private. I wouldn’t change pronouns in public if you’re not ready for that. I’d never want to out you. Although I’d be more than happy to support you whenever you want to begin social transitioning.”

“Transitioning?” Hob was still waiting for his brain to restart. He felt like he was in the twilight zone. Dream was smart, Dream was studying astrophysics, there was simply no way-

“I’m sorry,” Dream bit his lip nervously, “I don’t mean to make assumptions. I just want to make sure that when we’re together I refer to you as you want. Would you prefer they/them? She/they?”

“What? No. What??” Hob shook his head rapidly as he realized that no, this wasn’t a dream, this was actually happening, “No, Dream, it’s the other way around!”

“...They/she?”

“No!” And even as he yelled the word, Hob’s face split into a grin and he burst out laughing. Dream blinked in confusion, looking like he didn’t know whether to be offended or not, and it only made Hob laugh harder.

“Dream, babe, sweetheart,” Hob gasped for breath, trying to pull himself together and failing, “I’m a trans man! I’ve already transitioned, that’s what I was trying to tell you!”

For a moment Dream just stared, blinking slowly like a cat. Like a particularly dumb orange cat.

“... He/him, then?”

All Hob could do was keep laughing. 

Slowly, Dream began to giggle too, which only made Hob laugh harder, which made Dream laugh, and the vicious cycle continued until they were both doubled over with tears on their faces.

“You are the smartest person I know, how are you such a himbo?” Hob exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Dream shoved him playfully, “I was being supportive!”

Hob couldn’t resist. He threw himself forward, tackling Dream back onto the couch, allowing himself to lay on top of him as he kissed him clumsily, barely suppressing his grin enough to press their lips together, “God, I love you so much.”

A laugh caught in Dream’s throat, his eyes widening. Hob doesn’t want to pressure him, so he smiles, leaning in to rub their noses together, coaxing a soft giggle from him. He just wants to make him comfortable in the wake of a confession that he knows is a lot for Dream, he’s not expecting anything back right now.

He thinks maybe it’s that sentiment that allows Dream to look up at him and reply, “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?” Hob grinned, leaning back so he is sitting up and stradling Dream’s hips, “Even though- and I can’t believe I have to say this outloud but now I have to make absolutely sure you understand- I have a cunt?”

Dream sputtered, face flushing at Hob’s bluntness. And yet, even as he pouts, he nods, “Yes. I love you, however you are.”

“You would love me if I was a worm?” Hob teased.

Dream nodded solemnly, replying completely seriously, “I would love you if you were a worm.”

Hob’s grin softened, and he leaned down to kiss Dream again.

And then, feeling bold and brave and loved, he grinned mischievously.

“I hope you know I’ll be telling this story at our wedding.”

(Years later, Hob will end the story by telling their guests about how Dream smacked him in the face with a pillow.)

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #trans Hob #Dream is a little confused but he got the spirit #I considered waiting longer to post this since CHBB stuff literally JUST happened #but I'm impatient lol

[btsqualityy]

BTS Dating Series #16: Nicknames

Members x Reader

Genre/Rate: 18+, fluff

Summary: Nicknames are an endearing sign of growing affection.

Warnings:n Some suggestive making out in Yoongi's part and just general suggestiveness in Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook's parts.

Kim Seokjin

The two of you were at Jin's apartment, moving around each other in the kitchen as you worked on preparing dinner.

"Hey Jinnie?" You called out to him. "How much gochujang am I supposed to put in here?"

"Hmm," Jin muttered as he stepped over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and hooking his chin over your shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure, jagi. This is Yoongi-yah's recipe and I doubt he'll answer the phone if I call because he's had his head stuck so far up his girlfriend's ass these days."

"First off, don't make fun of him," you huffed. "He really likes her and you need to be a supportive hung."

"Of course," Jin nodded dutifully.

"And secondly," you murmured as you turned around in his arms to face him. "Jagi? Why'd you call me that?"

"Well, it just felt natural," he shrugged. "Besides, you are my sweetheart. Do you not like it?"

"No," you smiled as you felt your cheeks warm up a little. "It's fine." You turned around without another word then and Jin smiled knowingly to himself, tightening his arms around you before pressing a kiss to your head.

Min Yoongi

"Fuck, I missed you so much," you murmured against Yoongi's lips as the two of you made out messily. After not being able to spend much time together over the last week, the two of you were eager to make up for lost time.

"I missed you more baby," Young replied huskily. "My pretty girl."

"Don't make me feel all lovey-dovey," you giggled. "It takes the lust away from this."

"Why not have both?" He suggested with a smirk, kissing you again before you even got a chance to respond. It didn't take long for your hands to start wondering and Yoongi's resolve broke when you reached down into his boxers.

"Fuck, come here Min," he huffed, quickly clutching your waist and changing your positions so that you were on your back on his bed, underneath him.

"Wait, what did you just call me?" You questioned breathlessly. "Min?"

"Shit, I didn't mean to say that aloud," Yoongi sighed.

"So you didn't mean it?"

"No, I did but I don't wanna freak you out."

"Why'd you call me that?" You pressed.

"It just...you feel like family to me already," he admitted with a sheepish shrug. "Like, like you're mines."

"Oh baby," you whispered, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your hand. "I am."

"Yeah?" Yoongi whispered as he lowered himself so that his face was near yours. "Say it again."

"I'm yours," you mumbled before kissing him firmly.

Kim Namjoon

"Oh my gosh," you giggled loudly from your place sitting across from Namjoon, instantly covering up your mouth so that you didn't disturb the other people who were dining around you. "You're too much. Why would you tell me about Jin eating that hot Chile in front of all these people?"

"Because I knew it'd make you laugh and I love seeing your smile," Namjoon admitted, making your cheeks warm up. "I feel like I haven't seen much of your smile these days."

"We've both been working," you shrugged, reaching out and picking up your wine glass. "I've missed you but I kind of like that we each have our own things going on, you know?"

"Trust me, I get it," he nodded in agreement. "And I missed you too." Just as you went to respond, you heard a buzzing noise and you realized that it was Namjoon's phone once he reached into his pocket. After looking at the screen, Namjoon looked back up at you with a sorry expression.

"If it's work, go ahead and answer it if you have to," you gave him permission. "I don't mind."

"You sure?"

"Positive," you smiled as you took a sip of your red wine. Namjoon answered the phone then, speaking in hushed tones since the two of you were in the middle of a restaurant.

"I'll look over the song as soon as I'm able to, Hob-ah but I can't now because I'm out with my girl," Namjoon murmured. "I'll call you later, ok? Ok." He hung up the phone then, smiling at you. "You ok?"

"More than ok," you nodded, your mind repeating the words 'My Girl' over and over again.

Jung Hoseok

"Hey baby, where are you?" You called out as you walked into Hobi's apartment, fresh from your workout and ready to see your boyfriend.

"In here!" He shouted from the living room and you walked that way, laughing when you saw Hobi's body strewn over the couch.

"And just how long have you been in this position?" You wondered as you walked over to him, sitting down next to his feet.

"About 10 hours and it's been amazing," he sighed dreamily. "How was work? And your workout?"

"Both good, productive," you shrugged.

"Enough to put you in a good mood?"

"I guess so," you shrugged.

"So much so that you called me baby," Hobi smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Is that weird?"

"Yes, coming from you," Hobi nodded. "Anything that you wanna talk to me about?"

"No," you shook your head. "I just, you always call me cute nicknames so I wanted to do the same for you."

"Well, I appreciate the gesture baby but I don't need a nickname to know how much you love me," Hobi reassured you.

"Alright, regular old Hobi it is then," you joked, making Hobi roll his eyes as you leaned over to press a kiss to his lips.

Park Jimin

"Jimin-ssi!" You shouted over the loud music that Jimin had blaring throughout your apartment, which was quickly becoming his as well these days. "What do you want for lunch?"

"What?!" He shouted back.

"Turn the music down and maybe you'll be able to hear!" You giggled and Jimin followed your suggestion, turning the Bangtan song down before walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Sorry baby," he murmured. "Repeat yourself for me?"

"I said, Jimin-ssi, what do you want for lunch?"

"Anything you make is fine, I'm not picky as long as you're cooking it," he shrugged. "Let me ask you a question though."

"What's up?"

"Why do you still call me Jimin-ssi?" He wondered. "I mean, we're long past strangers now, right?"

"Right but it just became a habit and honestly, I kind of like it," you smiled, glancing at him over your shoulder. "It's like our own little thing, you know?"

"I do know," Jimin nodded. "I like having us having a little thing."

"Oh, no you don't," you shook your head when Jimin began leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. "I'm hungry!"

"So am I," he shrugged, making you laugh out loud as he continued to kiss you.

Kim Taehyung

"Mmm," Taehyung moaned deeply as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you murmured back against his lips, receiving two quick presses of his lips to yours before he pulled away and moved his body so that he was now laying next to you instead of on top of you the way he had been. Needless to say, the two of you had enjoyed a slow morning and Taehyung had decided to give you an amazing wake up call.

"My gorgeous girl," he whispered as he intertwined one of your hands with his, leaning over and continuing to press open mouthed kisses over any piece of your skin that he could reach. "My love, my joy."

"Your joy?" You echoed, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You make me so happy, happier than I ever thought I could be with another person. Even if we're upset with each other, it still makes me happy to see you or talk to you. That's why it feels right to call you that."

"Tae," you huffed, closing your eyes once you felt the tears welling up in them.

"Aww baby," Taehyung chuckled fondly, opening his arms and allowing you to burrow into his side before he pressed a soft kiss to your head.

Jeon Jungkook

You rushed over to your front door once you heard the knocking, a wide smile on your face as you unlocked it and yanked it open.

"Hi baby," Jungkook grinned.

"Kook!" You squealed, rushing forward and literally jumping onto him. He caught you with a huff, laughing afterwards as you hugged him tightly. "I missed you so much!"

"I've only been gone for a week," he pointed out and you looked down at him.

"If you didn't miss me, just say that," you rolled your eyes.

"Of course I did," he smirked, making you suck your teeth before you kissed him passionately. Once the two of you had properly greeted each other, he set you down and you pulled him into your apartment before you shut the door behind him. "Hey, did you call me Kook when you opened the door?"

"Uh, yeah?" You shrugged with a laugh. "Is that not a nickname of yours?"

"It is, you've just never used it before," Jungkook replied. "I like how it sounds coming from you."

"Yeah? Well, if you want, I'll say it over and over again," you purred. "That is, if you can make me."

"That week I was gone must've dulled your memory when it comes to what I can do to you," he smirked. "Go get on the bed."

"Yes Sir," you winked, yelping when Jungkook reached down and smacked your ass.

................................................................

Tag List: @addictedtohobi @brittneymccray @cursedcursives @arata18nanami @leftieaquarius @devilsbooksworld @starmyy @werewolfbanshee-love @li-moonchild-il @kpop-servant @cheysjimin

#bts #bangtanarmynet #bangtanbathhouse #bts reactions #bts jin #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts v #bts jungkook #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagines

[dema-heart]

Lipstick stains 💋

Hobie x gn! Makeup wearing reader

Makeup but mostly lipstick

A little physical teasing, but nothing too saucy

Just a cute short

"Babe!" You yelled, leaning closer to the mirror to check your makeup. You hummed in approval at the cute but bold look. All that was missing was lipstick.

"Yeah?" Hobie peaked into the bathroom, tilting his head a bit. His eyes scanned you for a second as you waved him in. He smirked, hands coming to wrap around your waist and head resting on your shoulder.

"What can I do for a pretty doll like you?" He placed a quick kiss to your neck, making you shiver, before looking up at you through the mirror.

"I need you to pick a lip color for me, love." You relax against him, grinning playfully when you feel him tense as your hips connect. You give him a wink through the mirror, wiggling your hips against his playfully before turning around in his arms with a cheeky grin, booping his nose.

"None of that now, Hobie. I have somewhere to be here soon, so pick." You gesture behind you to his two choices for your lip look. He doesn't spare them a glance, the hands that now rest on your waist, holding you in a bruising grip. His gaze is hooded as he steps forward, forcing you against the counter and him.

He was pressed flush against you, his hands on your waist, causing you to arch slightly into him as he leaned down. You take a sharp breath before closing your eyes.

When nothing happens, you peak up at him only to see his teasing grin. Frowning, you watch as he leans away, holding up one of the lipsticks.

Rolling your eyes with a huff, you glare up at him, taking it from his hands as he backs off with a snicker.

"Thought you said you had somewhere to be." He teases, flashing a cheeky grin through the mirror as he leaned back against the wall.

"Shut up, Hobart."

You look at the lipstick humming in approval at the color before applying it.

With a pop of your lips, you smile into the mirror before turning to hobie.

"What do you think?" You make a silly face at him puckering your lips.

He shakes his head, laughing as he steps into your space.

"You look stunning, hun. Absolutely breathtaking as always"

You beam,smiling up at him as he leans down to peck your lips, careful not to smudge your lipstick.

"Well, aren't you a charmer. Come here." You motion for him to lean down, and he shakes his head, chuckling, already knowing what you're up to.

Gently, you grasp his chin, turning his face and planting a kiss on his cheek. Pressing your lips a bit hardder, you make sure your lipstick mark stains his cheek.

You can feel his face rise with his grin as you pull back. "There now we're both ready for the day."

"Yeah?" you're met with his cheeky grin and raised eyebrow. You always "accidentally" put on too much lipstick and just so happen to believe Hobie looks good with your kiss marked on his cheek all day.

Grinning, you tap his non-marked cheek with your hand sliding away before you really were late.

"I'll see you later Hobs, love you!"

You turn back to look at Hobie as you open the door, his goofy grin making the kiss mark more prominent. You snicker to yourself, knowing he's gonna proudly show it off when he goes to see his mates here soon.

"Love you too. Try to have a good day,luv."

You smile at his response, blowing a kiss that he catches and pretends to place on his already marked cheek, making you laugh as you close the door.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #rainbow's bookshelf #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x y/n