hopingforfakedreams

[hopingforfakedreams]

For One Night

“For me?” Connor pleas and how can Markus resist those innocent puppy dog eyes? Gorgeous brown eyes staring over at him from across their small shared room in the ‘android apartments’, lips pressed into an irresistible pout.

With a reluctant sigh leaving his lips, Markus relents. He closes the short distance between them in a few quick strides and plants a chaste kiss over Connor’s mouth – smiling as he feels Connor’s previous pout melt into a contented smile similar to his own. “Okay, if you must.” Markus speaks, voice low as he barely inches far enough back from Connor to not be speaking into his mouth. He still eyes the sweater captured in Connor’s clutches with a cautious glare; it’s the most embarrassing item of clothing he thinks he’s ever laid sight on.

The sweater is one of those ridiculous couples holiday sweaters, usually used for pranks or fun according to the quick search he did in the first few seconds of seeing it. It’s two sweaters sewn together through the middle, resulting in only two sleeves for a total of four arms.

This particular monstrosity is following the festive colour scheme of red and green, opposite sides contrasting each other so that one sweater is green is red hemming and the other is red with green hemming. The makers of such a sweater then, absurdly so, have embroidered the words ‘I’ve been nice’ and ‘I’ve been naughty’ on the two sweaters respectively, using a glittering white thread that glimmers as the light catches it just right.

Markus hates to think where Connor found such an item.

There was no surprise when Connor excitedly shoved the ‘I’ve been nice’ side of the sweater in Markus’ direction, giddily slipping his part over his own head. Markus laughed, reaching an arm out to run his fingers through Connor’s now dishevelled hair, tucking a loose curl back into place only to watch it fall over the side of his face again. Connor just shot a cheeky smirk in his direction as he gestured for Markus to slip the sweater on.

Connor would be lying if he said that he wasn’t pleased with the finished result, glancing at their reflection in the mirror on the closet door. His eyes met Markus’ through the mirrored glass and he smiled, warmth flooding his system as he felt Markus reach out for his hand through the shared middle of the sweater. He felt Markus’ thumb brush over his knuckles, the soft contact of skin leaving tingles in its tracks. From outside the sweater, it wouldn’t be known that they were holding hands. The intimacy made Connor bite his lip to distract from the warm feeling he felt.

As an added touch to the outfit, Connor pulled out two headbands designed specifically for Christmas – a holiday usually celebrated by humans but quickly shared with androids too (or at least, those that wished to celebrate). Felt reindeer antlers were fastened to the headbands, and as Connor turned to slide Markus’ one over his head after doing his own, he didn’t miss the way the RK200 tried to cover his amusement up with a frown.

Straightening the antlers on top of his lover’s head, Connor smiled with accomplishment – a blue check mark appearing besides the mission of ‘make Markus look outrageously cute’. Leaning forward, Connor pressed a delicate kiss to Markus’ cheek, lingering within the other’s space long enough to brush their noses together and share a private look. Markus’ mismatched eyes flickered with emotion as Connor stared into them – a trait of the other that Connor adored; Markus could never hide his feelings, not completely.

Cheekily nipping at Markus’ nose to break them both from the bubble that was surrounding them, Connor pulled away and cast another last glance at them both in the mirror.

The sweaters had been his and North’s idea. They’d decided upon throwing an ugly sweater party amongst those in New Jericho – androids and humans alike, whoever decided to show up was welcome. It was just something to bring some holiday cheer to the place and those there, a year after the revolution, to avoid fixating on the anniversary of those that sacrificed themselves for their freedom and instead celebrate it. It’s what the gone would have wanted.

They’d spread the message through word of mouth, telling those invited that they were free to buy their own sweaters from a store or, if equipped with the skills, they were more than welcome to make their own.

When Connor had told Hank about it, the older detective had laughed and brought up some Google searches on his phone of stupid couples sweaters that people supposedly wore for a laugh. He insisted that Connor buy one for himself and Markus, since this was their first Christmas together as a couple. Connor knew that Markus would be against the idea, not wanting to look so ridiculous in front of his people, but what better way to show that you’re not the ‘all-perfect leader’ that many androids seemed to believe? Also, Connor desperately wanted to spend time with Markus and just be happy over the smallest of things, and if forcing his lover to wear an ugly sweater was the way to go about it then so be it.

Upon sharing the thought with North, Connor was fully persuaded that this was a good idea. A great one, according to his closest friend (Hank not included since he was pretty much family at this point, who Connor suspected just wanted to see Markus make a fool of himself. He had been worried that Markus may be offended, but then North reassured him that it was just an opportunity to have fun and ‘what are the holidays for if not to have a laugh, Connor?’.

Markus had also been looking much more stressed as of lately, and Connor knew that he was because he often checked the RK200’s stress levels and they were never lower than 46%. It was unhealthy for Markus to push himself so much, even if it was in the attempts to sort out a better freedom for androids. Connor didn’t think it was worth it if it killed a part of Markus inside with each day of long hours, endless paperwork and dead-end conference calls.

North agreed with Connor, insisting that he needed to do something to help destress their leader, ‘and no, Connor, I don’t mean shove your dick up his ass – as much as he may enjoy it!’ she’d stated, causing Simon who was sat at the desk over from them to stammer over his systems so badly that he dropped a whole stack of files from his hands. Connor had blushed blue at the comment, however true it may be (don’t judge him, he’d found that sex significantly lowered his lover’s stress levels and helped him relax so really…who would blame him?).

He didn’t take her advice to heart, mind you. Some things worked as a temporary stress reliever for both himself and Markus and honestly, he couldn’t care less if it was a bad coping strategy or not (it’s not like it’s bad for their health). And Markus never complained.

When they both arrived outside the church, Connor almost backed out of the plan.

Hand still intertwined with Connor’s, Markus gave him a gentle squeeze whilst rolling his eyes playfully. “You’ve dragged me this far, I’m not turning back now.” he said, matter-of-factly with a hint of amusement in his tone, as he dragged them both through the large double doors and inside.

The church had been completely transformed from the usual cold interior to a warm festive appearance; largely decorated with what Connor deducted was mostly hand-me-downs from human supporters (most of whom he assumed would be attending tonight). Familiar faces milled around the crowds, laughter and conversation along with loud Christmas songs flooding Connor’s sound unit with such force that he had to adjust the settings to make it more bearable.

They continued to walk through the crowds of party-goers, smiling in the directions of greetings thrown their way before they spotted their close friends milled around the drinks table. No surprise there, Connor thought briefly.

When their friends laid eyes on them as they approached, they couldn’t hold back their barks of laughter. Connor didn’t miss how Markus was now smiling freely – having realised that nobody here cared about how he looked, they all simply cared if he was happy. It was understandable; Connor felt the same as most of the androids here in the fact that he believed he owed Markus for his life. Nobody would say anything against their leader smiling and enjoying a night with his lover, even if he wore a ridiculous sweater whilst doing so.

Their friends also wore terrible sweaters. Simon’s was just a clash of awful colours and pom-poms sewn on, making him look like he simply rolled a bunch of materials over himself. Josh had the most acceptable sweater on, with ‘Merry Christmas’ written using beautiful embroidery thread. However, it was knitted completely out of glittery wool. North, unsurprisingly, had a crude sweater on which was similar to Hank’s own sweater that simply stated ‘fuck off’. Connor could only hope that there weren’t many children at the party.

Hank clapped the two boys over their shoulders, squeezing slightly as he smiled, “How do you both manage to make such a stupid sweater look cute?” he commented, taking a sip from his glass – which, after a quick scan, Connor revealed was just water. Hank had been cutting down on the alcohol, after much insistence from Connor himself.

Markus laughed at Hank’s words, taking the glass of enhanced thirium (basically wine for androids) offered to him by Simon with a grateful smile. North raised an eyebrow as she pulled them into a quick hug, pointedly looking at Connor’s sweater and reading it. “I’m not even going to ask.”

Connor smirked, sending a quick wink her way. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

By the end of the night, and a couple glasses of enhanced thirium later, Markus came to the conclusion that Connor’s ideas were not half as bad as he may believe them to be at first thought. He definitely felt more at ease and he was enjoying spending time with his friends without having to worry about work-related topics. Maybe Connor had been right when he’d said the RK200 needed a night off. He took another sip of his drink, agreeing that he could relax. For one night.

Markus doesn’t remember feeling so utterly unbothered by things, feeling so carefree and just merry, in a long while. Perhaps never, if you disregard the late nights and early mornings spent wrapped in Connor’s arms, sharing memories and feelings through their interface with only the sound of nature to accompany them. Nothing would beat those moments of absolute bliss.

Sensing Markus’ overthinking, Connor squeezed his hand – which was still clutched with his own, fingers tangled together like they were designed to fit beside each other. Connor didn’t speak, still listening to the exaggerative storytelling of North and Simon, but he leant closer to Markus and nuzzled his nose into Markus’ shaven hair and inhaled deeply, a smile plastered over his lips. The small gesture made Markus feel all sorts of emotions: want, happiness, peace and most of all, love. Shifting his head subtly, Markus managed to capture Connor’s smiling lips with his own in a sweet kiss, a soft exhale slipping through the gap of their lips as he felt Connor lean into his body more and kiss him back.

His internal clock told him they’d been kissing for over five minutes now, but Markus would have happily continued it if it hadn’t been for the loud gag that came from North as she swatted at both of their arms. Connor chuckled, not apologising as he leaned forward again to place a final kiss to Markus’ lips as Markus smirked. He definitely didn’t miss the proud smile on North’s face even as she made a comment about them being disgustingly sweet.

[hopingforfakedreams]

* hurt prompts

‘ are you bleeding? ’

‘ take it easy. you hit your head. ’

‘ where does it hurt? ’ 

‘ sit still and let me take a look! ’

‘ how did you get that black eye? ’ 

‘ you should see the other guy. ’ 

‘ did i say you could get out of bed? ’

‘ that’s going to leave a bruise. ’

‘ i’ll get some ice. ’ 

‘ that’s what you get for picking fights. ’

‘ are you trying to give me a heart attack? ’

‘ what’s wrong with you? ’

‘ you can barely stand. ’

‘ did you throw the first punch? ’

‘ that’s a nasty bump. ’

‘ get in the car. you’re going to the hospital. ’

‘ at least bandage it. ’ 

‘ no, you’ll get an infection. ’ 

‘ wet floor signs are there for a reason, you know. ’

‘ you’re lucky. that icicle could’ve killed you. ’

‘ where’s your gratitude? i rescued you! ’

‘ i’m calling the nurse. ’

‘ was that stupid dare worth it? ’

‘ what happened to you? ’

‘ sit down. i’ll make some hot chocolate and fix you right up. ’

‘ are those bandages? ’

‘ you need stitches. ’

‘ look out for that tree branch. ’

‘ i’ve got you. just stay awake. can you do that for me? ’

‘ lean on me. ’

‘ you got two choices: let me carry you, or die out here. take your pick. ’

‘ shit, you’re burning up. ’  

‘ you’re not dying. it’s only a sprained ankle. ’

‘ lie down. ’

‘ i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand. ’

‘ you’re in no condition to be walking around. ’

‘ wake up! wake up! ’

‘ i don’t feel sorry for you. ’

‘ look at your face! ’

[hopingforfakedreams]

I wish you would write a fic where...

Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)

[hopingforfakedreams]

let's do that thing the cool kids are doing

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox and i will write the next five.

[hopingforfakedreams]

Awe thank you so much!! Means the world to me 😊❤

So this was based off of a post by @bottseveryflavorbeans and it’s taken me 3 months to actually be happy with what I’ve written. I hope it’s not too bad…

[hopingforfakedreams]

So this was based off of a post by @bottseveryflavorbeans and it's taken me 3 months to actually be happy with what I've written. I hope it's not too bad...

[hopingforfakedreams]

Fanfiction Writer Asks

Most of the writer ask posts I come across are only like ten or so questions long so I thought I’d try to make a longer one because we like talking about our writing! Feel free to reblog!

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction?

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

7) When is your preferred time to write?

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind?

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why?

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why?

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories.

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names?

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx?

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write?

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec not the answerer)

32) Are any of your characters based on real people?

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written?

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person?

40) Do people know you write fanfiction?

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written?

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx.

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

44) What is the last line you wrote?

45) What spurs you on during the writing process?

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it?

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about?

48) What’s your favourite trope to write?

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

[hopingforfakedreams]

I honestly don't understand how this has happened (I swear, there's gotta be some mistake!) But my first fanfic has managed to be #1 in something!? I wrote this 2 years ago and I didn't expect anybody to read it, so thanks to everyone that has! Y'all are the best ❤

[hopingforfakedreams]

Dylmas - Lucky People

3rd Person POV

Thomas sighed, something he'd found himself doing quite a lot recently, as he padded across the uncarpeted floor of his bedroom. The early morning sun was peeking through the slit between the thin curtains draped in front of the only window in the room, hiding a view of the campus lake and science facility.

Thomas had only been into the science facility of the University once, on his induction day back in September, since he was studying both Art and English degrees.

It was the middle of May; the end of term was drawing nearer with each passing day. Soon, Thomas would be back in his hometown, back in his parent's house, back to the peaceful lull of the countryside and having bare minimum responsibilities for a whole summer. Soon, Thomas would be back to his boyfriend.

Dylan, 5'10" of overexcitement and sarcasm, a well-toned body with permanent messy brown hair. Eyes that, although most would believe were a boring brown, Thomas found so intricate – shades of maroon and hazel blended into the depths of the shadows, but then a bright green tint masking them as the sun highlighted them.

Dylan, a year younger than Thomas and known as his boyfriend for just over four years. Thomas couldn't wait to finally see him again.

It'd only been a couple of months since they'd last seen each other in person (they skyped and facetimed every other day) but Thomas just missed being wrapped in Dylan's strong arms, feeling the warmth surrounding him and being safe. He missed the musky scent of pine and mint that Dylan always seemed to smell of, mixed with the residue of sweat from a hard day's work in the garage – Dylan was a trainee mechanic, working long days in the local garage of their hometown.

Today, however, Thomas missed Dylan more than most because today was Thomas' birthday. Usually, the two of them would go out somewhere nice for the day. Maybe a picnic in a field, a walk along the beach, a day shopping in the nearby city. Anything, as long as they spent the day together.

But this year, of course, that wasn't going to happen. Thomas was stuck over here, with a two hour lecture starting in thirty minutes and Dylan was all the way back at home, probably not even awake yet.

With a fallen heart, Thomas got himself dressed into comfortable joggers and a t-shirt, throwing on a light jacket and some trainers. He heard Dexter, his roommate, call out a goodbye before slamming their shared dorm's door shut behind him.

Thomas left his bedroom, picking up his bag on his way, and shoved an apple from the kitchen counter in with his stacks of notes. He checked his reflection in the mirror by the bathroom, ruffling his dirty blond hair with his fingers (it'd grown a lot over his year here) before deciding to just leave.

The lecture, as expected, dragged. It wasn't particularly interesting, though Thomas' hand ached awfully by the end of the two hours because of writing non-stop notes.

Kaya, a close friend of his from his English class, grabbed his arm as they left the lecture hall.

"C'mon, let's go get a drink!" she said, smile bright as she tugged on Thomas arm.

"Ugh, Kaya, it's 11 in the morning on a Wednesday." Thomas complained, eyes rolling out of habit.

Kaya scoffed, "So what? It's also your birthday, we have no more classes today – thank God," she pretended to pray, "so let's go get some alcohol in our systems to celebrate!"

Thomas found it hard to argue against her, so he ended up just following alongside, arms linked and Kaya singing Disney songs terribly out of tune. Thomas eventually gave in to the infectious good mood that his friend was in, joining her as they belted out the lyrics to 'I Just Can't Wait To Be King' and skipped down the campus grounds in the direction of a nearby pub.

A few people turned and gave them odd looks, but neither of the two minded.

By two in the afternoon, a couple beers and a round of shots later, Thomas felt much better about the day than he had earlier. He still missed Dylan, terribly, but Kaya had managed to let him relax his overthinking mind just for a little while.

The two friends spent another hour or two sat talking, sharing drinks and just laughing together, until they decided that they should leave. Thomas walked Kaya back to her dorm, as she was considerably more intoxicated than he was, and left her with a warm hug.

As he walked the short journey back to his dorm, not drunk but slightly tipsy, he wondered what he would do for the rest of the day. Dexter was out at classes all day so he'd have the dorm to himself. He could try to cook something? Or maybe he'd just order in a takeaway and watch sappy rom-coms on his own.

But, as he clicked open the lock to his dorm, he noticed candles lit on the small table by the kitchen counter. There was a low humming sound in the room, along with muffled talking coming from where the two bedrooms were.

Thomas was just about to call out, shutting the door behind him as he stepped into the main room of the dorm, when a loud beep rang out and the humming came to an abrupt stop. Thomas' head whipped around to find the microwave flashing 'end' in neon green writing.

Shortly after the beep, there was a crash and a loud string of curse words, followed by the soft sound of socked feet running along floorboards.

Thomas didn't even have chance to speak before a familiar person came rushing into the living-room/kitchen joint room, the voice from earlier now much clearer and recognisable.

"Ah shit, I knew five minutes wasn't enough!" Dylan said, to himself as he had yet to notice Thomas' presence, grabbing whatever was in the microwave and almost dropping it onto the counter, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, that's hot!"

Thomas laughed at his clumsy boyfriend, who was now bouncing on his heels as he wafted his burnt fingers in the cool air.

At the sound of Thomas' laugh, Dylan froze, swivelling his body round so fast that he almost toppled over. "Thomas?" he said, eyes falling onto the blond's instantly. "Oh my God, Thomas, babe!"

Dylan was suddenly skating across the glossy floor, smile wider than ever as he rushed towards Thomas – who now had his arms thrown open. Dylan's body collided with Thomas' in a messy hug, Thomas wrapping his lanky arms around his boyfriend and spinning the two of them around in a small circle, Dylan's feet lifting off of the ground momentarily.

"Fuck, I've missed you liked crazy." Thomas spoke into Dylan's hair, breathing in the welcome scent of pine and mint with a smile so wide.

"Missed you too, babe." Dylan said into Thomas' chest, eventually pulling away to look up at Thomas. They didn't need to say anything else, the look in their eyes told all, as Dylan tilted his head up, Thomas' hand slipping under his chin and coaxing him closer.

Thomas' lips sealed over Dylan's, sending the all-too-familiar but still confusing shock down his spine. Dylan let out a small, strangled noise from the back of his throat and sunk happily into the kiss. Thomas' hand had moved from his chin to his cheek, his thumb stroking over Dylan's cheekbone in a way that sent little sparks through Dylan with each brush.

It was a slow kiss, languid and content, but full of all the want and desire that had built up between the two. Dylan licked at Thomas' lower lip, pressing forward when Thomas made a soft, pleased noise and opened his mouth. Thomas moved his other arm, which had been wrapped tightly around Dylan's waist, up to the brunet's dishevelled hair and threaded his finger through it. Dylan let out a hum of pleasure, and had his eyes not been closed already they surely would be now.

Thomas tasted of alcohol and apples, and for some strange reason it was an addictive combination that had Dylan wanting more. So, as Thomas pulled away just enough to look Dylan in the eye and rest his forehead against Dylan's, Dylan found himself chasing after Thomas' lips.

He bit his lip as he realised, stopping just before his lips met Thomas'. Thomas had noticed, though, and bent his head just enough to press his mouth back onto Dylan's in a chaste kiss. As he pulled away for the second time, he placed a finger over Dylan's slightly swollen lips. "Later." he said, voice hoarse and low.

Dylan blushed, but smiled, gently kissing the tip of Thomas' finger before grabbing Thomas' wrist and dragging him to the table set up for two.

"I wasn't actually sure when you would be back but I decided to cook a meal for us. Like a date but without all the hassle of booking a table and dealing with other people." Dylan said as he gestured to the table and Thomas smiled. The table had a white cloth thrown neatly over it, hiding the coffee stains on the wood, placemats and cutlery placed precisely in front of the seats and two wine glasses half-full of a deep red wine.

Dylan motioned for Thomas to wait one second and he suddenly rushed to the other side of the counter where he'd left the food – which was now cooled down enough to pick up again. Thomas couldn't see what he was doing, but before long Dylan had returned carrying two plates of lasagne and peas.

He placed a plate in front of Thomas, looking almost embarrassed but also proud of his efforts. "I didn't make the lasagne, it was one of those ready-meals, but I figured that's probably for the best. I'd probably burn the place down if I cooked something from scratch."

Thomas chuckled, Dylan wasn't wrong there; he'd never been able to cook without something burning or catching fire. It was fine though, because Thomas was an okay cook.

Dylan sat down opposite Thomas and smiled over at him, the candles on the table casting a soft orange light over their faces. "Happy birthday, babe." Dylan said, clinking his wine glass with Thomas'. Thomas felt himself still smiling, grateful for whatever was responsible for his luck in finding Dylan and having him right here, right now, so unexpectedly. He felt like the luckiest guy alive, looking over at Dylan and knowing that he was his.

He should have always known that Dylan would travel all miles just to see him on his birthday, the same as he would do for Dylan. That was just the sort of couple they were.

Please go leave some love on Wattpad ❤

[hopingforfakedreams]

Affirmations for fanfic authors

It’s okay to take a break. - We all need time to recharge, and your fans will still be there when you get back!

It’s okay to go from fandom to fandom. - Nobody is going to criticize you for following your muse, and if they do, then you know who not to associate with in the future!

It’s okay to have a niche. - If smut is where it’s at, then write smut. If you’re all about the fluff, then schmoop away. If angst is what does it for you, then invest in tissues. Nobody has the right to tell you that you should be doing something else if that isn’t what interests you!

It’s okay to be critical of your own work. - Just don’t allow yourself to become so self-deprecating that you freeze!

It’s okay to ask for help. - If you’re unsure of a trope, concept, fact or universe, reach out to your circle of friends. Chances are, they’ll be more than happy to help you because they want to see you succeed!

It’s okay to ignore criticism. - Constructive criticism is only constructive if it helps you. If someone says something that doesn’t assist or improve you in any way, then please feel free to ignore whatever nugget they are imparting, because chances are good they don’t have the best of intentions for you!

It’s okay to stop writing all together. - Your fans will miss you (and chances are good you have way more than you realize,) but sometimes, you just gotta do you!

It’s okay to write with whatever method works for you. - Long writing marathons where you bang out 12,000 words in one day? Great! Linear, dry style that means you occassionally get stuck because you can’t figure out this scene, but it’s all worth it in the end? Rad! Piecemeal work that you thread together at the end? Fabulous! As long as it works for you, there is no wrong way to write!

It’s okay to have fun. - I think this goes without saying, no? But it seems that sometimes, authors need permission. So consider this permission to wile the hell out, and enjoy the ride!

[hopingforfakedreams]

✨💛 This is the Amazing Person Award! Once you are given this award you are supposed to paste it in the ask of eight different people, who, in your opinion, deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're amazing inside and outside 💛✨

Awe! You're too sweet omg ❤

[hopingforfakedreams]

Acquainted (dylmas au) - Chapter Ten

Another coffee 'date' (as Thomas had started calling them) had been arranged for later that week, in the early days of February.

When the arranged day arrived, a grey fog blanketing the sky and leaving everything below in a white, damp state, Thomas was anxious. He wasn't sure if maybe he'd been a bit too forward the last time that he'd seen Dylan – the morning after their movie night with Tyler. Dylan hadn't protested, but he hadn't exactly said anything that would put Thomas' thoughts to rest.

The few days after that morning, Thomas had been busy with interviews, resulting in him and Dylan only texting each other throughout the day rather than meeting up. There had been, however, a night when Dylan had rung Thomas and the two had spoken on the phone deep into the early hours of dawn, not hanging up until Thomas had accidently drifted into a short slumber, totally exhausted. 

Shrugging on his favourite brown jacket, Thomas grabbed his things (phone, wallet and keys) and left his apartment – which, now that he and Dylan had finished decorating, felt much more homely than before.

Dylan, as usual, was waiting for Thomas. Wearing a green khaki jacket, worn-out denim jeans and a band-tee (as well as his signature, bold-framed glasses), Dylan leant against his beloved Jeep. A smile overtook the brunet's face as he caught sight of Thomas, and he immediately jumped up from his Jeep and opened the passenger door for Thomas – bouncing eagerly on the balls of his feet.

Thomas thanked Dylan, strapping himself in as Dylan walked around the front of the vehicle and slid into the driver's seat, starting up the engine. Allowing a moment for the windows to clear, Dylan shivered and turned up the heat.

"Stupid winter." he muttered, warming his cold-blue hands.

Thomas smiled fondly at him. Dylan looked much younger now, the stubble not as noticeable as it once was now that Dylan had shaved it off a few days ago. It had already started growing back, but much tamer now. It suited him, Thomas thought.

Once Dylan believed that the vehicle was warm enough, they set off down the roads to the coffee shop that they'd visited not too long ago – though, to Thomas, it felt like a lifetime ago. 

As expected, the coffee shop was almost empty of customers, a few people sitting at tables reading books or doing crosswords or typing into laptops. Nobody glanced up when the two entered, shaking off the cold.

They each ordered one of the many tropical-flavoured teas, and before Dylan could hand over the money to pay Thomas was sliding his own money across the counter to the barista.

"Hey, I was going to pay!" Dylan said, huffing.

"Well, you paid last time, I'm just returning the gesture." Thomas shrugged, but Dylan wasn't pleased. "Anyway, take it as a thank you for helping me decorate. Or even as repayment for the pizza the other night, since you refused to let me pay then."

Dylan crossed his arms, but he couldn't argue with Thomas' logic. Huffing out a "Fine." he shoved his money back into his pocket. Thomas found it more than slightly adorable.

Their drinks didn't take long to be made and they took them, thanking the barista, and headed straight for the same table in which they'd sat when they first came here.

They spent the next hour speaking about random topics that came to mind, simply enjoying being in each other's presence. However, Thomas found himself (on more than one occasion) staring absentmindedly at Dylan's lips, noting how they moved so fluently as Dylan spoke, how Dylan's tongue would frequently swipe over the bottom lip leaving behind a glossy trail and how when Dylan was listening to Thomas speak he would subconsciously bite down onto his lip ever so gently.

It drove Thomas insane.

By the time they'd pulled up into the carpark outside Thomas' building, taken the elevator to Thomas' floor and stepped into Thomas' apartment, the conversation between the two still hadn't come to a stop. It was a wonder there was anything left in the world to talk about!

Thomas instantly, after abandoning his jacket and shoes by the door, headed into the kitchen to make them each another drink – because you can never drink too much tea or coffee.

Dylan followed after him, humming a popular new song that Thomas vaguely recognised.

Whilst Thomas had his back turned, Dylan began sliding across the tiled floor of the kitchen with his socked feet as an advantage, still humming. It wasn't until Thomas heard Dylan begin to sing, voice quiet and nervous at first but then suddenly evolving into a deep, throaty tune, that he turned around to face the man now twirling on the spot. Thomas just watched, at first, in a stunned silence as he listened to Dylan singing.

Feeling the eyes burning on him, Dylan abruptly stopped moving and his voice faded into the quiet of the room. He blushed.

"You're really good." Thomas said, watching Dylan shift under his gaze.

"I'm not really."

Thomas just scoffed, not believing Dylan for a second because he'd heard him singing and he was good. Amazing, in fact.

Instead of arguing, though, Thomas turned back to add the milk to their drinks. Dylan, in the meantime, had sat himself up on the counter besides him, legs swinging in the air.

"Thanks," he said as Thomas slid the coffee over to him. He didn't pick it up though, instead seemingly preoccupied with watching Thomas take a sip of his tea.

Thomas noticed and looked up at him, a tiny height difference between them now with Dylan sat on the counter. "What's on your mind?" he asked, placing his mug down and meeting Dylan's gaze.

Dylan didn't answer, just staring into Thomas' eyes with curiosity and hesitation. He'd begun drumming him fingers on his thigh, and biting his lip anxiously.

"What?" Thomas pressed again, now feeling apprehensive himself. He nudged closer to Dylan, almost stood between his legs, and rested a hand over the constant tapping of Dylan's. The touch instantly soothed Dylan and his hand stilled, warmth spreading through it as Thomas didn't lift his own away and instead chose to leave it on Dylan's.

"I-uh..." Dylan started, and Thomas didn't miss the crack of his voice. Subtly, Thomas' thumb began stroking lightly over Dylan's hand – a caring gesture that warmed Dylan's heart, helping him find the words to say. "I really like you." Dylan eventually spurted out. 

Thomas paused, thumb stilling, and Dylan's heart sank so low in his chest that he thought there was no hope of retrieving it. But then, Thomas smiled, a smile that reached into Dylan and grabbed his fallen heart, placing it back into its rightful position.

"I really like you too, Dyl."

Dylan chuckled, breath shaking.

But then he panicked, and he realised that maybe Thomas had misunderstood what he meant. He hadn't meant as a friend, that wasn't what Dylan was trying to say, but maybe Thomas had thought that was what he meant.

Thomas didn't miss the look of worry that etched itself into the features of the face in front of him. He brought a hand up to cup Dylan's cheek, brushing back his fallen fringe and staring into the disbelieving eyes that were looking at him from behind glasses. "Dylan," Thomas started, but he wasn't sure where he was going with it and let his voice trail off into the silence.

His other hand moved to hold Dylan by the waist, thumb caressing small circles into the exposed slither of skin from where Dylan's shirt had riled up. Dylan's breath hitched, eyes trained on Thomas as he manoeuvred himself to stand between Dylan's legs.

"I-" Dylan began, mouth dry, but he was cut off.

Thomas had leant forward and brushed their lips together in a soft, tentative kiss. Dylan tilted his head to meet Thomas' lips at a more comfortable angle, bringing his arms around Thomas neck, hands dangling down and fingertips dancing over the back of Thomas' neck. Thomas shuddered under the feeling.

Within a moment, they broke apart, lips so close and breath ghosting over their faces, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. Their eyes met, unspoken words hovering between them.

Thomas found himself stepping back, eyes drifting from Dylan's and face heated – despite every fibre in his body wanting nothing more than to rush forwards and press his lips to Dylan's again because, in all his life, he'd never felt the tingling warmth that shot through him in that short kiss. Never in his life had he ever felt so strongly for somebody. 

And that frightened Thomas, because up until know he'd found it easy to put his affections under 'close friendship' but now he was doubting himself.

The two finished their drinks in silence and Dylan left after conjuring up a feasible excuse for needed to get back to his place. Thomas had let him go without so much as a proper goodbye, and now he was left alone with his confused thoughts and feelings.

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[hopingforfakedreams]

Acquainted (dylmas au) - Chapter Nine

"What can you tell us about the character? What's he like?" the interviewer, who was off-screen, asked.

Thomas leant back in his chair, jumper riding up a little as he ran his hand through his golden locks. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, lips parted, as he thought of an answer.

"Umm, he's, he's umm...he's cheeky and kind of umm...he-he's smiley and kind of flirty and he's just coming in to puberty." Thomas started, bringing his eyes down to meet the interviewer as he spoke. He stretched his arm back, rolling his shoulders before continuing. "He's excitable but also kind of quite...kind of naïve about a lot of things, at the same time. He tries to be manly and pretend that he does know a lot of things so it creates a nice mixture of being a, uh, a man and a kid sort of thing, and I-I like that."

Dylan was engrossed in the interview. Captured by Thomas' beauty, his flawless skin and feather-soft hair. Every time Thomas stretched, Dylan's breath got caught in his throat at the sight of pale skin under his jumper – where underneath, Dylan knew was a slim figure and toned chest. Which Dylan only knew from their days painting, when Thomas would reach up to the higher spots of the wall and Dylan would just so happen to be glancing over.

Then there was Thomas' voice, which was just as deep and smooth as it always was. His accent was heavy but it suited him. It gave him a sophisticated ambience.

"Dylan, man, come on." Tyler's voice suddenly stuck through Dylan's thoughts and Dylan didn't have time to protest as his best friend slammed the lid of his laptop shut.

"What was that for?" he finally demanded after gaining his voice back.

"You've sat and watched this interview three times already. That's without mentioning his other three interviews – which you've watched countless times as well." Tyler didn't sound accusing, more caring, as he stood by Dylan's bed with a hand on his hip and a knowing look.

"What? I'm just being a supportive friend!" Dylan said, hands gesturing wildly.

Tyler hummed, "Dylan, you and I both know that you're not doing this because you're trying to be a supportive friend. A supportive friend doesn't have an obsession with the person, nor do they blush whenever their name is mentioned. You've known Thomas just over a month now and already you practically live at his place! You've been there almost every day since that first time and you finished painting ages ago."

Dylan sat on his bed, cross-legged, staring down at his hands in his lap. He knew that Tyler was right, but he was just afraid to admit it. Dylan knew that the moment he accepted his real feelings for Thomas, the more real they would become. Which meant that when Thomas eventually rejected him, it'd just hurt more.

"Look," Tyler said, perching himself on the edge of Dylan's bed and placing a comforting hand on his back, "I know why you're holding back, and I understand, but Thomas clearly likes you. Maybe not in the same way, who knows? But he spends as much time with you as you spend with him, so that must count for something, right? You won't know unless you make a move."

With one last reassuring smile, Tyler left Dylan sat on his bed with his thoughts. Tyler was right, of course, and Dylan knew that. But he still wasn't prepared to make a move. Not yet, anyway.

It was the next day (closer to night, really) that Thomas was knocking on Dylan's front door.

Dylan rushed to open it, ignoring the pointed look from Tyler. Thomas stood with a wide smile on his face, holding up a pack of 6 beers. Dylan took note of his brown jacket, unbuttoned to reveal a beige cashmere jumper underneath. He also wore his signature black jeans, the ones which clung to his legs in a way that made Dylan's heart stutter.

"Thought I'd bring these round, they're wasted at mine." Thomas said as he placed the beers on the floor, removing his jacket and shoes whilst Dylan locked to door behind him.

Thomas had also brought a small backpack, black with a white stripe across the front.

"Tyler's just ordering the pizzas," Dylan said, pointing through to the kitchen as he and Thomas sat on the couch. "What movie did you think we should start with?"

Thomas shrugged, tucking his feet up under his legs as his eyes scanned over the shelf full of DVDs that Dylan and Tyler owned. "Whatever you choose, I'm not bothered."

Dylan nodded, picking out the first instalment of the Star Wars series and placing it into the DVD player. Tyler came through, now carrying a blanket that Thomas presumed he'd taken form one of their bedrooms.

"Pizzas are ordered. Dylan said you liked BBQ chicken?"

Thomas smiled, eyes flicking quickly to Dylan (who was bent down, sorting out the TV). Of course Dylan would know his favourite pizza topping; they'd ordered it at his place countless times before. It still warmed his heart though.

"Yeah, thanks, Tyler."

Tyler waved his hand in dismissal, smiling as he sat on the other side of the couch. 

They started the movie, all comfortably sat on the couch, waiting for their pizzas to be delivered. Once they were, they shared them out and Thomas handed a can of beer to Dylan and Tyler, and they enjoyed the rest of the movie.

The night had been suggested by Tyler. A movie night, all three of them. He'd claimed that he wanted to get to know Thomas better, which wasn't a lie but also wasn't the only reason behind the idea.

The rest of the night went more than well, the three of them laughing with each other and watching the whole Star Wars collection. When the last film came to an end, Tyler sloped off to his own room in a tired daze. 

Dylan and Thomas both stayed awake for a while longer, just sharing mindless conversation, until Dylan eventually said goodnight to Thomas and went off to sleep in his bed. Thomas camped out on the couch, blanket thrown over him and drifted into a peaceful slumber.

He was awoken later that morning, probably closer to noon – judging by the height of the sun. Dylan was in the kitchen, hair sticking up messily and no glasses on.

"Mornin'" Dylan mumbled to Thomas, noticing that he was no longer asleep.

Thomas stretched his long limbs out, sighing as he heard a satisfying click. "Morning."

"Tyler's still asleep." Dylan said as Thomas walked over to join him in the kitchen. It was hard for Dylan not to stare at how much fluffier Thomas' hair looked after he woke up, or the natural beauty of the man in general because he was still gorgeous as ever. "Tea?"

"Please," Thomas said, leaning against the counter and watching Dylan. Dylan felt his knees go weak at the rough sound of Thomas' morning voice, deeper than usual and scratchy in a way that was heavenly.

Focusing on making the drinks and not pouring freshly boiled water over his hands, Dylan purposefully avoided Thomas' gaze. It wasn't until after he'd slid Thomas' tea across the counter and begun frying some bacon and eggs that Thomas actually spoke again.

"I don't know why, but there's something really attractive about you standing in your boxer shorts and socks cooking me breakfast." Thomas said, standing just behind Dylan, his words falling over Dylan's ears in a wave of hot air.

Dylan shivered.

Thomas himself was only wearing a loose white t-shirt and old joggers; he'd changed before falling asleep. But Dylan always slept in boxers. It was just habit, and so was walking around like that in the morning. He and Tyler had lived together long enough that it was just normal to them.

Thomas suddenly snaked his arms around Dylan's waist, taking a step closer so that Dylan's back was pressed into Thomas' chest. He then rested his chin on Dylan's bare shoulder, tilting his head slightly to face Dylan's neck (the stubble of Dylan's jaw rubbing over his cheek) and took a deep breath.

"Smells good." Thomas mumbled, the words causing a vibration through Thomas' chest. Dylan held his breath.

"The food?" he asked, voice cracking.

"Sure..." Thomas trailed off.

Dylan closed his eyes momentarily before re-opening them, Thomas still holding him close. Flipping the bacon over one last time, he picked up the plate that was beside the oven.

As Dylan plated up their breakfast, Thomas reluctantly pulled himself away from him, but not before gently biting down on Dylan's shoulder with a sly smile and a playful glint in his eyes. Dylan tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, handing Thomas his plate. Checking everything was turned off, Dylan joined Thomas on the couch, where they sat and ate their breakfast.

One thing was certain, Thomas was definitely more spontaneous and flirty in the morning. Not that Dylan could say he minded because he didn't. He definitely didn't.

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[hopingforfakedreams]

Acquainted (dylmas au) - Chapter Eight

Dylan had told Thomas to wait to decorate his bedroom, claiming that he knew what he was doing and that Thomas should trust him. Thomas, of course, instantly did and so he didn't make any attempt to start painting the last room of the apartment.

Interviews for the promotion of Thomas' latest film appearance in The Fallen were due to start later the following week. 

As the end of January pulled near, the icy chill in the air still present but now accompanied by brighter sunshine, Thomas awaited his first interview. He wasn't that keen on interviews, mainly because he often found it hard to express his thoughts, but also because it meant more publicity.

When he'd confided in Dylan about this, Dylan had reassured him that there was nothing to worry about; Thomas had done many interviews before (all of them great) and he was already classed as 'famous' so he might as well embrace the publicity. Thomas had disagreed at first, but the more he thought about it the more he realised that Dylan was right. 

The date for his first interview was revealed, Thomas' agent had rung him in the middle of the night, interrupting on of his and Dylan's usual movie nights. It was now habit for Dylan to visit Thomas' almost every day, and he would usually stay late which meant they would order in takeaway and throw on a cheesy movie.

Dylan had been snuggled under Thomas' favourite, fluffy orange blanket (bought for him by his sister on his 21st birthday), glasses sliding down his nose as he rested is chin on his knees, eyes fixated on the TV screen. Thomas sat down beside him, tucking his cold feet under the blanket.

"Who was that?" Dylan questioned, voice heavy with sleep – it was almost 11pm, Thomas realised as he checked his phone.

"Just my agent." Thomas said, getting himself comfortable on the couch, "My first interview is in two days."

Dylan dragged his attention from the movie, turning to observe Thomas' face. "You'll be alright." he reassured.

Thomas smiled, "Yeah, I know, thanks. It's just one interviewer and it won't be released for another couple of days anyway. I prefer filmed interviews rather than live audience ones."

Dylan nodded, eyes flickering back to the TV. Thomas felt a warmth inside his chest watching the younger man, leaning his own head into the cushion behind him and losing himself back in the movie.

"Oh, can I have your keys that day?" Dylan suddenly broke the comfortable silence that had settled between the two.

Thomas frowned, on eyebrow quirking up. "Can I ask what for, exactly?"

He received a shrug in reply. "I want to start decorating your room, and it's more of a surprise if you're not here to see it whilst it's unfinished. How long did you say the interview would take?"

"I don't know, they're usually a good couple of hours." Thomas said, "I'll just give you my spare key, that'll be easier because I'll have to leave early. Then you won't need to get here at the crack of dawn, you can just come when you're ready."

Dylan nodded, eyes gleaming as he smiled at Thomas. "Sounds good."

Two days later, Thomas was up and out of his apartment at the early hours of morning. The sharp chill in the air nipped at his skin as he walked the short distance from his building to the taxi cab waiting for him. 

Climbing into the back seat of the cab, Thomas greeted the driver before telling him the address of the studio. It was a thirty minute drive, so Thomas settled himself into the leather seat and gazed out of the window, watching the waking city come to life.

Once he arrived at the studio, he thanked the driver and left him a tip before entering the large building. The building was at least three stories high, with a mirrored glass exterior that reflected the early morning sun. 

The interior was mostly white – white walls, white tile floor, white lights – but the furniture consisted of an array of bright colours. Chairs in bold reds, vibrant greens and electric blues; white desks painted with contrasting coloured stripes; posters made up of large, eye-catching fonts. The floor had a multitude of colourful stickered footsteps, each different colour leading along a path to separate destinations. A sign to Thomas' left informed him of which colour went where.

Deciding to just head to the front desk, Thomas smiled at the woman sat behind the computer, her face showing that she hadn't received much sleep the night before.

"Hi there, how can I help you?" she said, voice in an overly-cheery tone that didn't match her tired appearance.

"Hi," Thomas said, "I'm here for an interview. I think it was with a Mr Miller?"

The receptionist typed something quickly into her computer, looking back up with Thomas as she spoke, "Ah yes, you're in the green room on the third floor. Just follow those orange footsteps and they'll lead you in the right direction, and then take a left and you should see a small waiting area. They're just finishing setting up the room."

Thomas nodded, thanking her before following the trail of orange feet. It was a clever concept, really, he noted as he saw a sign stating 'Third Floor (main office) – Orange'.

The directions given to him lead him to a small section of the third floor where there was a row of lime green, leather chairs. A TV was hung on the wall to the right, showing a random film, but it was on silent with subtitles. There were a few magazines, all older ones from last month, and a couple of unfinished crossword puzzles, all stacked on a quaint table between two chairs.

The whole set-up reminded Thomas of the dentist that he used to visit as a child, only minus the distinct clinical stench.

Thomas had only been sat for a few minutes, staring absentmindedly at the silent movie, when a tall man, with a trimmed beard, gelled hair and glasses emerged from the room to the left. The man caught sight of Thomas and beamed, holding his hand out to shake as he approached him.

Thomas stood from his seat, returning the handshake.

"Hello, Thomas, it's so great to meet you." the man said with a thick accent.

Thomas smiled, eyes scanning over the man's label pinned to his crisp, white shirt, which read 'Mr Miller'.

"It's very good to meet you too, Mr Miller." Thomas spoke as the man gestured for him to follow him into the small room which he had just come from.

"Please," the man said, hand on his chest as he held the door open for Thomas, "call me Dean. Mr Miller is much too formal."

The man, Dean, laughed and let the door fall shut behind him.

The room was small, two chairs facing each other, a camera positioned to capture the occupant of the furthest chair (which stood in front of a large version of a poster for The Fallen). Bright lights encircled the chairs, casting a white glow around the room.

Dean gestured towards the furthest chair, sitting in the other one as he did so. "Please, take a seat." 

Meanwhile, Dylan was parking his Jeep in the car park space designated to Thomas. He pulled his denim jacket (with a wool lining) closer to his body as he stepped out into the late January air, shivering involuntarily.

Taking Thomas' spare key from his jacket pocket, Dylan let himself into the building and began the climb up to his apartment. He hadn't brought anything with him because he knew that it was all in the apartment; the paint was obviously already there, and Dylan had purposely left the few brushes and the roller there too.

As soon as he stepped into the apartment, which felt different because he knew that Thomas wasn't here, he toed off his old sneakers and hung his jacket on the empty hook by the door. 

In the kitchen, he helped himself to his favourite mug that Thomas owned (a chipped, fading blue one) and made himself a steaming mug of coffee. Grabbing a biscuit from the cupboard, Dylan carried his coffee through to Thomas' bedroom, where he placed the two on the chest of draws. Digging through the half-used tins of paint left in the closet, Dylan found the light beige that he and Thomas had bought the other week. He then pulled out the other colours: fuchsia, pale blue, forest green, and sunshine yellow.

The next few hours, whilst Thomas was participating in his interview, Dylan got to work painting the only undecorated room of Thomas' apartment – his bedroom. Thomas had no idea what Dylan was planning, but Dylan was an artist so he trusted it to be amazing.

And it was. 

Dylan stood up, paint stained jeans and fingertips coated in colours of the rainbow. As he took in his work, a proud smile spread over his face.

Three out of four of the once plain walls were now soaked in a light coffee-coloured beige, making the room appear much larger now, despite the lack of light that got through the small window. Dylan knew, too, that come late afternoon – as the warm glow of the sunset shone in – the room would be cast in a golden light that reflects off of the walls.

The main masterpiece of the room however, was the wall in which Thomas' plush double bed stood by. Or at least, where it will be standing once again as soon as Dylan moves all the furniture back to its original position. 

That single wall was now a combinations of explosive colour.

Dylan had taken each colour used to paint the other rooms of the apartment, including the beige from this room, and (using various sized brushes and different strokes) had splattered the wall in every colour. It was like a patchwork quilt, in some ways.

The colours complimented each other well, yet also contrasted greatly from each other, whilst the beige added a neutral tone and brought all the colours in with the rest of the room.

Hopefully, Thomas would like it.

It was another hour later, as Dylan sat at the island counter in the kitchen, fresh cup of coffee cupped in his paint-stained hands, that Thomas returned. He was exhausted, shrugging off his jacket and kicking his shoes back to their spot by the door.

In his white socks, he padded into the kitchen, a yawn escaping his mouth as he ran his fingertips through his fringe. 

"Tea?" Dylan asked, hopping from his stool and going towards the kettle, flicking the switch the re-boil the water already in there.

"Please," Thomas mumbled, going to join Dylan by the kettle. He went to reach for a mug but Dylan pushed his hand away.

"Ah, no need. I already set it up." he said, sheepish smile on his face, "I was expecting you back soon."

Thomas smiled gratefully, turning so his back was against the counter. He relaxed, the tension slipping from his body as he allowed his eyes to slide closed.

"So," Dylan started as the kettle whistled and he poured the water into Thomas' mug, "how did it go?"

Thomas hummed, blinking his eyes open. They fell immediately on Dylan, watching the movement of his hands. "It went well. Or, at least, I hope so."

"I'm sure it was great." Dylan said, adding some semi-skimmed milk to Thomas' tea before sliding the mug over to the blonde, who thanked him with a smile.

Thomas took a sip of his tea and hummed in approval. "You always manage to make a great cuppa."

Dylan winked over at Thomas, shutting the fridge door after replacing the milk. "My mother taught me well, then?"

"Definitely." Thomas said, nodding as he took another sip. "Did you finish the room?"

Dylan laughed, displaying his paint covered clothes, "Yeah, I sure did. I hope you like it!"

"How could I not?" Thomas began to walk towards his bedroom, holding his cup of tea close to his chest as the warmth thawed out his stiffness from the cold outside.

"Ooh, wait!" Dylan called out, jogging after him, holding his own half-drunk coffee.

Thomas waited outside the closed door of his bedroom, anxious to see the results of Dylan's creativity. Dylan looked down, opening the door and letting Thomas through.

He had been right in thinking that the sunset would look great under these colours, Dylan noted as he stepped in after Thomas and took sight of the way the golden rays bounced off of the beige and enhanced the other colours.

Thomas was speechless, staring round him with wide eyes. Saying that he was impressed was an understatement. Dylan had really outdone himself.

"Wow..." he whispered, "This is amazing, Dyl! How did you manage it in such a short time?"

Dylan shrugged, fighting down a blush. "You were gone for quite a while, to be honest. It was a simple design really."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have thought to do it." Thomas said, shaking his head in wonder. 

"So, you like it then?"

Thomas met Dylan's gaze, sensing his uncertainty. "I bloody love it." he confirmed, bringing a wide smile onto Dylan's face. 

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[hopingforfakedreams]

Okay but wow, you're the sweetest! Thanks, love 😊❤

Also, brown eyes are great. They often have so many different shades in them - flecks of amber and firey good, greens and blacks. I love brown eyes.

3.

thanks for the ask!!! <3

3: (truth) What are your three favorite things about your appearance? (dare) List all nine of your tumblr crushes, and describe each blog/blogger in one word.

Didn’t specify truth or dare… so doing both! 

truth: 

1. my… hair? it’s black and straight. how interesting. 

2. my eyes, i guess. it’s brown. what a unique color. 

3. (argh i can’t think of one) my legs. because they keep me upright. 

dare: 

nine??? crushes????? oh my. don’t know many tumblr peeps yet to have crushes on them buuut maybe i’ll do a couple friends! 

@flareprince: artist!! (a super duper skilled, cool artist! and gif maker. you’re awesome.) 

@fansarewaiting: chill (like,, i can’t even explain. you have an aura. a chill aura.) 

@ssangster: friendly (was not expecting such a friendly person!! was pleasantly surprised!)

@annikajlee: outgoing (can’t believe you approached me first!! we should talk more!!!!)

@hopingforfakedreams: writer (a super good one in fact. check out her dylmas fic on wattpad at Hope-and-Believe!! we don’t talk here much but we talk a lot on wattpad lmao, hi.) 

it’s not 9 but i don’t know much of y’all,, hope to talk to more of you! 

[hopingforfakedreams]

Acquainted (dylmas au) - Chapter Seven

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In a week's time, Thomas' apartment was starting to look much more 'lived-in'. He and Dylan had finished painting the hallway that following Monday, and since then Dylan had been round every day to help with the other rooms.

They'd spent every minute close together, painting and talking and laughing. By the end of the week, Thomas felt like he'd known Dylan his whole life.

The hallway had been finished with the remaining deep fuchsia, and the kitchen was done in a contrasting pastel teal. The living-room was now a coffee-coloured brown, with an Irish green feature wall with a brickwork fireplace. The mantelpiece overhanging the electric fire (one that had been designed to look like a traditional log fire) was empty, excluding a single photo frame displaying a picture of Thomas and Dylan posing in that exact spot. It was taken just after they'd finished painting that room (both covered in green and brown paint, Dylan cross-eyed with his tongue out and Thomas laughing at him, arm wrapped around his waist as he pulled him into the shot).

Although Thomas would never admit it aloud, that was his favourite picture ever taken.

He had many other photos, some of him with old friends and others of him and his family, that he was going to place up on the mantelpiece once he found enough matching frames.

Only Thomas' bedroom was left to be decorated. They would have done it earlier but they discovered that there wasn't enough paint leftover to do the whole room. There was a small amount of each colour left from each room, and neither colour seemed to suit what Thomas wanted.

Thomas wanted a plain but bold colour in his bedroom, something that would liven it up; the sun rarely reached through his window because of where it was positioned. He would only get a small slither of golden glow in the late afternoon, casting a soothing atmosphere into the room.

Dylan had told him that he knew exactly what colour they needed, and with him being an artist, Thomas decided to trust him. Leaving the leftover paint as instructed by Dylan, Thomas grabbed his shoes, jacket and wallet and followed Dylan out of his apartment.

It was just after noon on a Friday, which meant that the roads weren't quite busy but they didn't have long until rush hour.

Thomas skipped down the stairs with Dylan, complaining about how they should have used the elevator like 'normal people', but it fell on deaf ears. Dylan just hummed happily to himself.

They reached the bottom floor, where Thomas pocketed his keys and they both headed towards Dylan's blue Jeep (which had been parked in the resident's car park, in Thomas' reserved space). Thomas had told Dylan to use it since he didn't have a car himself, and Dylan was round so often – he didn't want Dylan paying parking fees when there was a perfectly good spot there.

The closest shop was only a five minute drive away (ten when you add in the traffic jams). Dylan and Thomas spent the time singing along to the songs playing on the radio – old classic rock songs. The windows were down slightly, letting in a brisk breeze that danced through their paint splattered hair.

Thomas' fringe was still stained with bright pink though, luckily, it was fading.

Dylan pulled the Jeep up into the car park, choosing the closest free spot to the entrance. They hopped out of the vehicle and made their way into the shop.

For a Friday afternoon, the shop was quiet. That was fine; Thomas didn't like large crowds.

Dylan scanned the signs hanging above each aisle, eyes lighting up when he saw the word 'paint' and grabbed Thomas' hand, pulling the blonde across the shop.

"C'mon, it's over here!" Dylan said.

Thomas almost tripped when Dylan came to a sudden stop at the bottom of the aisle. Catching his breath, his eyes fell on the multiple shelves stocked with paint win after paint tin. There was every colour you could imagine. Blues, pinks, reds. Shades of purple and green and even special glitter paint.

Dylan began slowly walking down the aisle, his eyes sparkling up at the sight of the many colours before them. His head swiped side to side as he searched for the perfect colour.

"What colour was it that you wanted?" Thomas asked Dylan, finding it ironic that the brunet man in front of him (that he'd known for less than a month) was choosing the colour for his bedroom.

"I'll show you when I find it." Dylan replied, eyes not even moving to Thomas' direction.

Thomas huffed, rolling his eyes as he looked at a few tins of paint with the name 'Peach Malibu'. It was of a similar shade to what they'd recently painted his bathroom. It reminded him of a family vacation when he was younger, his sister and he playing in the feather-soft sand of Benidorm whilst his parents sunbathed a few feet away on striped deckchairs.

"Oh my gosh," an excited voice came from his left, "you're Thomas Brodie-Sangster!"

Thomas turned to see a young girl, maybe in her teen-years, with long brown hair that fell past her shoulders, a glittery lilac flower pin holding her fringe back. She was staring up at him in wonder, hands covering her mouth.

Putting on his best smile, Thomas stepped closer. "Yeah, that's me. The one and only." he joked.

"Wow, sorry, I just really didn't expect to see you here. Like, right here, in front of me!" the girl rambled, "I only came to get some wallpaper paste for my mum. I don't know why I'm telling you that, you don't care. I'm sorry."

Thomas rested a hand on the shaking girl's shoulder, "Hey, it's okay. I'm getting paint for my new apartment."

There wasn't really a need to tell a fan what he was doing here, but Thomas thought that it might ease her nerves. He also hated people idolising him when he was just a normal human being living a fairly normal life.

The girl laughed.

"Ca-Can I take a picture with you?" she asked, hand shaking as she held out her phone, "Please? I'm such a big fan and I love your work."

Thomas nodded, standing beside the girl and taking her phone. He bent down enough to be in the shot, his head just above hers, and smiled at the camera.

As he pulled the phone away, straightening up, he caught sight of Dylan stood further down the aisle looking over at them moodily – a frown resting on his usually smiling face.

Thomas instantly smirked, catching Dylan's hard gaze before turning back to the girl. He handed her phone back to her, smiling at the case on it when he realised that it had one of his most famous quotes from a character written in cursive white italics.

"Thank you so much!" she said.

"No problem, love." Thomas replied, giving the girl a quick hug. She squealed, blushing as she picked up the closest tin of wallpaper paste and rushed away.

Thomas waited a moment before turning back to face Dylan. Dylan stormed over carrying a tin of a seashell beige paint, frown still etched into his features. Thomas couldn't help but notice how Dylan's muscles enhanced under the strain of the weight and he had to dig his nails into the palm of his hand to drag his eyes away.

Looking up at Dylan's face, taking note of how much his stubble had grown since they first met, Thomas smirked. "You're not jealous of a fifteen year-old, are you?"

Dylan scoffed, but Thomas could see the hints of embarrassment inking into his tanned skin. "No, why would I be?"

"No reason." Thomas said, leaning in close to Dylan, "No reason at all."

Dylan seemed to hold his breath as Thomas skimmed his hand teasingly over Dylan's own, eyes locked to Thomas' with such an intensity that Thomas felt like he could melt into a puddle right there, in the middle of the aisle.

It felt like Sunday all over again as Thomas inched closer to Dylan, breath hot on Dylan's chilled skin. Dylan's warm eyes kept flickering between Thomas' eyes to his lips to his eyes, causing Thomas to smirk. Running the tip of his tongue teasingly across his bottom lip, Thomas stopped leaning closer.

"Here, let me take that for you." he said, fingers wrapping around the handle of the paint tin that Dylan was still carrying. Dylan was in too much of a daze to refuse, the handle slipping from his grasp.

Thomas brought his free hand up, lightly hovering over Dylan's arm.

He leant in, pressing a chaste kiss to Dylan's cheek, stubble running over his face. "Thanks, babe." he laughed, smirk plastered to his lips as he pulled away and started walking down the aisle, heading for the closest empty till.

It took a moment for Dylan to catch up, eyes glazed over and face hot. Thomas met his accusing stare with an innocent smile, paying for the paint whilst Dylan waited at the end of the till.

"I hate you so much." Dylan muttered under his breath as they walked out of the shop.

Thomas just laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about." he said, shoving the paint into the back of Dylan's Jeep and letting himself into the passenger seat. The ride back to Thomas' apartment was quieter than the ride there, an odd tension in the air. But neither Thomas nor Dylan felt uncomfortable.

[hopingforfakedreams]

Acquainted (dylmas au) - Chapter Six

Chapter 6! https://my.w.tt/Yk7GzWI1RL

The next day rolled around, and as Thomas slowly awakened to the mid-morning sun of that Sunday he couldn't help but smile at the memory of the day before. He'd stayed at Dylan's longer than expected, not leaving until late. At one point, Thomas had almost forgotten that he had his own apartment; he'd felt so welcomed at Dylan's. 

Unfortunately, Thomas did have his own apartment and he'd returned late that Saturday night to empty rooms. He didn't feel at home here. Not yet, anyway.

It took another ten minutes for Thomas to finally slip out from under the comforting warmth of his duvet, switching on his phone to see a few notifications and one new message. Unlocking his phone, he clicked on the unopened message.

'Hey, thanks for today. I had a great time. Hopefully we can do it again soon?'

It was from Dylan.

Thomas bit back the smile on his lips as he quickly typed a reply.

'No problem! I really enjoyed it. I'd love to meet up again.'

He then pocketed his phone, in his loose joggers that he'd apparently chosen to sleep in, before heading towards the kitchen, where he fixed himself a quick breakfast of granola and an apple.

As Thomas sat at the island counter in his kitchen, the pristine marbled countertop glistening under the morning sunrays, he thought about what he had planned to do over the next couple of weeks. 

Interviews for his latest movie didn't start until the end of the month, and so he had enough time to at least begin decorating his apartment. 

He'd already bought most of the paint; it was sat waiting in his bedroom closet, gathering dust. He'd had his sister help him pick the colours, since he'd never decorated before and had no idea what was classed as 'homely' and what was classed as 'disastrous'. 

But decorating took a lot of work, Thomas remembered his sister telling him. If he wanted to get it done quickly, he should probably have some help. And so, with that thought in mind, Thomas finished the last of his apple before grabbing his phone and typing out a quick message to the only person nearby.

'Hi, I know this might seem random but would you like to help me decorate? Don't worry if you're busy, it was just an idea.'

Thomas re-read the message, debating whether it sounded too formal or odd before he just shook his head and sent it to Dylan. The next few minutes were agonising; Thomas' eyes didn't leave his phone's screen as he awaited a reply. The whole time he was cursing himself for being so bad at texting. Dylan probably thought he was weird now, if he didn't already think so.

Just then, a message pinged in, lighting up the screen.

'That's a great idea! Want me to come round now?'

Thomas smiled, relief flooding through him. 

'Sure, see you in 10?' Thomas sent his address along with the message, remembering that Dylan didn't know which apartment he was in, even if he knew the building.

This time, Dylan's reply was instant.

'See you in 10 :)'

Thomas jumped up, shoving his bowl by the sink to wash later and running to his bedroom. He threw on an old Guns 'n' Roses t-shirt that he found in the back of his wardrobe, deciding to leave his joggers on; there was no point dressing up in nice clothes if he was going to be painting.

Soon enough, the buzzer for the front door rang through Thomas' apartment and he rushed out of his bedroom to the buzzer in the hallway to let Dylan up. Within minutes, Dylan was knocking on his door, and Thomas quickly ran his fingers through his hair before going to open it.

Dylan stood on the other side, breathless yet stunning. He smiled when he saw Thomas, that stupid, lop-sided grin that he seemed to do. The grin that made Thomas' insides melt. 

"Hi," Dylan said, voice barely a whisper as he tried to catch his breath.

"Did you take the stairs?" Thomas asked, bewildered. There was a perfectly good elevator – two, in fact.

Dylan nodded, and Thomas shook his head as he moved to the side to let him in.

"Why?"

Shrugging, Dylan replied, "I just thought it'd be quicker. Saves having to wait for it to come down." he placed a carrier bag onto the counter in the kitchen that they'd walked into, "And I guess I'm just used to taking the stairs."

Thomas laughed, coming round to the other side of the counter. Dylan was busy looking around the room in awe, after finally noticing his surroundings. 

Thomas went to grab the carrier bag, "What's in here?"

At Thomas' voice, Dylan seemed to snap out of his wonder, eyes darting back to the bag that Thomas was now pulling closer to himself. "Oh, just a few spare brushes and same old paper for the floor."

That brought a grin to Thomas' face; Dylan had actually gone to the effort of bringing some stuff that they might need. That meant that he cared, didn't it?

"Good idea, I wouldn't have even thought about paper on the floor." Thomas admitted, "Can you tell that I've never done this before?"

Dylan laughed, "Well it's a good job you asked me to help then!"

Nodding in agreement, Thomas emptied the contents of the bag and splayed them across the counter. 

"So, which room are we starting in?" Thomas froze. He hadn't even thought about that! "I say that we start with the hallway, because it's the first place that you see when you walk in and you want it to look inviting."

"Right, yeah, sounds good." Thomas said.

"You really haven't done this before." Dylan chuckled, shaking his head playfully as he went to grab some sheets of paper. It wasn't normal white paper; it was a light grey colour and a lot thinner than usual sheets. He'd bought it in bulk, large A2 sheets.

Following Dylan back into the hallway, Thomas watched as the brunet laid the sheets of paper over the glossy, wooden floorboards and moved any spare shoes away from the wall. 

"Where'd you get the paper?" Thomas asked.

Dylan seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking up at Thomas from his crouched position on the floor. "I bought it to use for my artwork, rough drafts and sketches. It was cheap."

Thomas paused. Dylan was an artist? He'd never mentioned it. "What sort of artwork do you do?" he said, leaning on the kitchen doorframe, his eyes not leaving Dylan's form.

"Just random drawings, really. Whatever comes to mind." he shrugged, "I've done it since I was a kid."

Thomas smiled at the mental image of a young Dylan huddled over a sketchbook, tongue sticking out as he drew. 

Dylan stood up then, wiping his hands on his black joggers. Thomas noticed he had an old, paint stained t-shirt on too – and he couldn't help but appreciate the way the material clung to his shape (obviously he didn't work out when he bought the top). 

"Do you have the paint?"

Thomas almost fell as he stood up, almost forgetting what they were doing because he'd been so enchanted by the beauty that stood before him. "Umm, yeah, yeah I'll go get it." Thomas said, voice dry.

He ran off to his bedroom, where he rummaged through the stack of large paint tins and pulled out the one he'd intended to use in the hallway. A dark, pigmented plum pink – a classic colour, bold and warm.

He carried the heavy tin out into the hallway, where Dylan was waiting with two large brushes, one smaller one and a roller and tray. 

"Here we go," Thomas said, placing the tin on the floor.

"Nice colour." Dylan observed as he bent down to open the tin, pouring some paint into the tray for the roller. Dylan then handed the tray and roller to Thomas. "You can start with just painting the main part of the wall and I'll get the edges"

Thomas nodded, getting to work on painting over the boring beige with the new colour. It instantly changed the atmosphere of the place and Thomas couldn't help but smile. Soon, this whole place would feel like home.

An hour later, the first section on the hallway was finished, the paint drying in record time. Thomas had to admire the accuracy of Dylan's work along the edges, he hadn't even needed masking tape; his steady hand had created a sharp line that didn't run onto the border.

"It looks amazing." Thomas said, placing the roller back into the tray and taking a step back. Dylan nodded in silent agreement. Dylan came to stand closer, and Thomas noticed the glint in his eyes as he smirked towards Thomas. "What?" he asked wearily.

Dylan's smirk only grew wider. "I think we missed a spot."

"Did we?" Thomas asked, eyes darting across the newly painted wall. "I don't see an-"

As Thomas was looking away, Dylan took the opportunity to swipe the paint-covered brush across Thomas cheek. The cold paint caused Thomas to shiver, the thistles of the brush tickling over his skin. He whipped his head back in Dylan's direction, catching the brunet holding the brush with a gleeful smile. Dylan broke into a fit of giggles at Thomas' shocked expression.

"There," Dylan choked out through laughs, "I got it for you."

Thomas fought back the smile threatening to show as he tried to look as menacing as possible, which shouldn't be hard considering he's an actor, but somehow he found it incredibly difficult to be angry with Dylan.

Ducking down, Thomas picked up one of the unused brushes – one much larger than Dylan's. He quickly dunked it into the tin of paint.

Dylan's eyes grew wide as he saw Thomas stand up, holding the brush like a weapon. "No, no, no. Please don't! Not my face!" Dylan squealed as he used his arms as a shield for his face, paint flicking off of his brush as he did so. 

The two battled with their brushes, paint dropping onto the sheets of paper below them. Thomas laughed triumphantly, fist bumping the air when he finally managed to drag his brush over Dylan's nose, painting the tip a dark fuchsia.

Dylan groaned, looking down at his now pink nose. The brunet went crossed eyed, which caused another fit of laughter to emerge from Thomas' mouth.

"I can't believe you've done this..." Dylan spoke, voice fake-appalled. Thomas shrugged with a grin.

"You started it."

"Well...okay, yeah I guess I did." Dylan chuckled, "Hey! I look like Rudolph now."

Thomas chuckled, "A very flamboyant Rudolph, sure."

"Shut up," Dylan said, no malice in his words as he gently hit Thomas on the arm.

Thomas didn't think before speaking, "Make me." he challenged, a flirtatious smirk on his face.

Dylan stopped, mind seeming to be racing. He slowly looked up to meet Thomas' gaze. 

Thomas was worried. Had he ruined it?

But then Dylan stepped closer, his toes almost touching Thomas', and he leaned in. Thomas held his breath, their faces were now extremely close, so close that he swore Dylan could probably hear his heartbeat racing at an unnatural pace, thundering in his chest. 

A warm wave fell over Thomas as he felt Dylan's breath hit his face, and he couldn't stop the tingles that shot down his body.

Thomas' gaze never left Dylan's, staring into the unguarded portals to the beautiful being's soul, a place that Thomas thought he could only ever wish to own. But here it was, standing so close.

Dylan's hand began trailing up Thomas' bare arm, up and up and up until it finally rested on Thomas' cheek, cupping his face. It was then that Dylan leant impossibly closer, his painted nose almost brushing against Thomas', lips tantalisingly close. Close, so close, yet not close enough.

Thomas wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them, to connect his lips to Dylan's enticing ones, but he waited. Dylan seemed to be analysing every inch of his face, every hair, every mark, and every pore – storing it away in a part of his memory to keep forever. And Thomas couldn't say he minded; he'd never before experienced such intense attention from one person.

Then, with no warning, Dylan closed his eyes, leaning in. Thomas followed suit.

Suddenly, everything went cold and Thomas snapped his eyes open just in time to witness Dylan pulling away and running his brush over Thomas' fringe.

"Ha!" Dylan shouted, lips pulled into a wide grin. Thomas was shocked for a moment, but he soon recovered, blinking a few times to bring him back to reality. "I think I won."

Thomas couldn't argue with the proud smirk on Dylan's face. Technically, Dylan had managed to make him shut up – he had to give him credit there. But, as Thomas stared at the celebrating Dylan in front of him, he swore that he'd felt something on his lips. Soft and gentle, barely there, but he'd felt it. Dylan had kissed him, he was sure of it!

But that was irrelevant now, as Dylan seemed to be pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. So Thomas decided to drop it, but he still clung to the hope that had settled itself in his mind when Dylan had leaned in.

"I can't believe you just painted my hair!" Thomas said, running into the bathroom across the hallway, where he looked in the mirror hanging over the small sink. His reflection showed him, as usual, but with an uneven pink streak running through his fringe that he'd not even flattened from his sleep.

Dylan joined him in the bathroom, glancing in the mirror and smirking at Thomas. "Payback's a bitch."

Thomas growled, a smirk on his lips as he turned to Dylan. He leant in, close enough to feel Dylan's breath on his face again, eyes locked onto Dylan's. "Oh, I'll show you that payback's a bitch."

And with that, he left the bathroom, going to clean up the paint brushes that they'd abandoned on the paint-splattered paper. He couldn't remove the smirk from his lips, even when Dylan finally came to help him tidy up, both acting like nothing had happened – though Thomas' cheek and hair was as pink as Dylan's nose.

Dylan had just started a game that he wouldn't win.