#max 500 words

[cable-knit-sweater]

Maybe I’m too busy (being yours)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan

Word count: 3.3k

Rating: T

Summary: based on this prompt/headcanon by @sparkagrace and inspired by late night evanstan conversations with @musette22 💖💖💖

A couple of years after Chris & Sebastian end their relationship, they run into each other on the streets of New York. Sebastian invites Chris over for dinner at his place. They talk, but it takes a while for them to hear what the other is saying.

Or, idiots in love, fried chicken, tearful kisses, reunions.

Read on AO3 or below

The first days after New Year's Eve always feel a little strange. He spent Christmas with his mom, went to a NYE party at a friend’s place, and now he’s recovered - which, unfortunately, is taking a little longer, now he’s getting old - Sebastian kind of feels like the first days of the year are just as weird, with time not making sense, as those days in between Christmas and New Years.

He guesses it’s different for people with a 9-5 job, who have no choice but to go back into their normal routine. He’s mostly glad that’s not him - he loves his job, loves the freedom it provides him too - but on the other hand, it kind of makes it harder to get back in the swing of things and not just laze around.

His friends would laugh at him, if he told them, and so would his mom, who’s always telling him “Sebastian, you never relax, you should take a break, you work too hard,” while pinching his cheeks like he’s still a little boy, and not a 40 year old man. He loves it. She also may have a point. Maybe.

But Sebastian loves to stay busy. He loves what he does, has grown to love it even more over the years, with more opportunities coming his way, allowing him to take on projects he feels more passionate about or that allow him to flex different muscles. The only thing is that he won’t have a project to start on for a little while, so work-work is out. What he can do though, is get back into a healthy routine in other ways. Maybe go to the gym again. Don has been asking him about his workouts…and he hasn’t been the best at sticking to them recently.

He takes the 2nd of January to just hang around his apartment, catch up on some shows and movies he missed, but on the 3rd he gets up early, puts on running clothes and a beanie and hits the pavement. He’s spent so much time in LA recently, he’s happy to be back in his own little bubble, even if that bubble is him and dozens of other people jogging down the West Side Highway.

It’s cold, but not too cold, the gentle breeze in his face more energising than it is bothersome. When he gets back home, he feels good about himself, having gotten some fresh air and his muscles pleasantly aching, which a hot shower eases to the point it’s no longer uncomfortable. That’s one thing down, a bunch of things on his list left to tackle.

Sebastian spends most of the rest of the day at home, cleaning up his apartment, doing paperwork, reading some scripts and replying to some emails, and it’s a good day, productive, and he aims to keep that feeling going for the rest of the week. He’ll be flying to LA on Sunday anyway, and from there on he’ll have enough work related obligations to keep him busy, so he intends to make the most of those free days he has now.

He goes to the gym the next day, bringing the very late Christmas presents he got Don and the rest of the crew with him, and they joke around for a bit before Don decides it’s time to get back to business, and puts Sebastian through his paces like he usually does. He says his goodbyes just before lunch time, dropping by his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes before going to his favorite coffee place and spending the afternoon working on his writing. It’s a short story, for now, but maybe, if he gets the courage, he’ll try and turn it into something else one day. A script, maybe, he hopes.

When he looks up from his notebook, it’s already starting to get dark outside. It’s been gloomy all day, but still, it’s now noticeably getting late, and he barely even realised. He packs up his things and takes the last of his coffee to go.

He’s not paying too much attention as he makes his way home, thoughts still on the story he was writing getting jumbled up with thoughts of what to have for dinner, when he walks into a wall. It wouldn’t be the first time, he thinks, self-deprecatingly, but then the wall moves, and it’s actually a human being. Sebastian goes to frantically apologise, only for his eyes to meet a pair of surprised, green-blue eyes he knows, knows so well, and never, ever, expected to see here, right now.

“Seb,” Chris breathes out, the surprise on his face making way for a beaming smile. “I- what are you doing here?”

Sebastian chuckles, even as his heart is beating out of his chest. “I- hi, Chris, I-uhm, I live near here?”

Chris ducks his head, blushing a little. “Right, I knew that, of course.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Sebastian can’t believe they’re being this awkward, with how long they’ve known each other. He can’t bear for this conversation to end just here. “I- what are you doing here?” he asks, then curses himself silently for not asking him something better.

Chris scratches the back of his neck, a nervous gesture, Sebastian knows. “I uhm, I was supposed to have a business dinner, came all the way out here for that and another meeting tomorrow, but they just cancelled,” gesturing with the hand holding his phone. “I was just trying to find somewhere to go for dinner. They uhm- the place they wanted to meet is a little fancy, I think they wanted to wine-and-dine me or something, but now it just seems silly so-”

Sebastian realises Chris is rambling, and will continue to, and because he wants to help him out, and his brain is no longer connected to his mouth, he says: “Oh, I know a place. I was just going to get some take-out, you’re welcome to join me?”

The look on Chris’s face is one of pure surprise, and Sebastian hates it. It should be normal for him to invite Chris to dinner. It might have been, he knows, years ago, when they did more than text twice a year. So much more.

“You-are you sure?”, Chris says, and Sebastian can feel Chris’s hand on his arm as he pulls them a little out of the way of oncoming foot traffic. “You- if you just have a suggestion that’s okay too, I didn’t mean to invite myself, I’m sure you have plans.”

It’s hard to concentrate. Looking into Chris’s eyes, having his hand on his body. It takes a moment for Sebastian to respond. “No-no plans, I’d love for you to join me.” He’s worried for a second that Chris now feels obligated to join him, but before he can back track, Chris responds, relief and excitement clear on his face.

“I’d love that too,” he says, voice soft. “You lead the way.”

Sebastian nods, only mourning the loss of Chris’s hand on his arm for a second. Maybe two. “I uhm, what if we just go to mine and I order in? Might be easiest.”

Chris smiles. “Whatever you want, that sounds good.”

They make their way to Sebastian’s apartment. He’s glad he cleaned up his place the day before, so now the only thing he has to worry about is…Chris, and the conversation not becoming too stilted. Luckily, Chris takes the lead, asking Sebastian about what he’s been up to. It’s just small talk, but at least it’s no longer awkward.

When they get inside, Sebastian offers Chris a drink and tells him to make himself comfortable. Sebastian is decidedly not freaking out about Chris going through his bookcase, about Chris lounging on his couch, about Chris putting a bottle of beer to his lips.

Eventually, Sebastian can’t put off joining him on the couch much longer, and he makes his way over.

“It’s changed,” Chris says, something in his voice Sebastian can’t quite place, but he’s right, it has.

Chris has been here before, in his apartment, but it’s been years. The last time was almost 5 years ago, when Chris was doing a play in New York, and things were different between them. Sebastian had gone to support him at the opening night of Lobby Hero, so proud of Chris for finally doing this, filled with excitement about seeing him in a role like this, up on the stage. He’d kissed away Chris’s nervousness about it the night before, tried, at least.

They’d been okay, that night. Good even. Chris had been happy about how it went, Sebastian had been happy for him, they had drinks with family and friends after and celebrated opening night until the early hours. Sebastian had felt so grateful that he got to be there to witness this, see Chris shine and get his well-deserved praise.

And then two days later, it all fell apart. Chris had come by, sat on Sebastian’s couch - his old one, he got rid of the one that had been there before, too many memories - and panicked. He was just going to be out of Marvel’s grasp, just going to gain some freedom in his work again, and he cared about Sebastian, cared so much, he’d said, but it just wasn’t the right time. He’d hoped they could stay friends.

Sebastian understood. He’d hoped…he’d hoped they’d be something more, some day. Something more than a casual hookup. He thought they had been, maybe. It had stopped feeling casual to Sebastian long before. But he understood. The attention on Chris was overwhelming. If they ever came out, it would be his career that would be impacted the most, and there was so much Chris still wanted to try, Sebastian knew, and he never, ever, would’ve wanted to get in the way of that.

If he’s really honest with himself, it’s only recently, in the last couple of years, that he’s really come to understand why Chris did what he did. His own star has been rising, slowly, steadily, and with it…he learned that the cruelty of people really knows no bounds. Chris, sweet, anxious, in his head Chris…it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he backed away from whatever could’ve been.

Even if that meant Sebastian having to put on a brave face like his heart wasn’t breaking into a million pieces. But he’d never expected to get to keep Chris anyway.

“Yeah I- I think it was time to move on from some things, spruce the place up, you know?” Sebastian says, immediately regretting it when he sees Chris’s face fall at that. What did he even say that was so wrong?

Chris doesn’t say anything for a moment, then turns to Sebastian, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I like it, it suits you.”

Sebastian just nods, taking his phone out. “Let me just- I’m just gonna order some things okay?”

He maybe over-does it. Probably. He can’t be blamed; his mind and his heart are all over the place, and if that results in Sebastian ordering fried chicken and sides enough to feed a small army, well, things could be worse.

They talk for a little while, Sebastian trying to hold back from sounding too eager at getting little nuggets of whatever is going on in Chris’s life. It’s been so long since they talked, and even if he’s going to have to recover from whatever this is for a while, will go back to thinking about Chris every single night, when he thought he was almost over it…it’s nice, to hear he’s doing well, to hear his excitement about his upcoming projects, to hear him gush about whatever new trick Dodger learned. Even if it makes this ache in his heart that’s always there grow and grow.

It’s only half an hour later when their food arrives, Sebastian putting the bags down on his coffee table. He looks up to tell Chris to dig in, but he has a strange look on his face. It goes from surprise to confusion to his lips curling into a small smile.

“What?” Sebastian asks, when Chris tilts his head, studying him like just staring at Sebastian will give him the answers to a question Sebastian wasn’t aware fried chicken would bring up.

“Blue Ribbon,” Chris says, amused, fond. “This is from Blue Ribbon.”

“Yeah, I guess?”

“You ordered from them before?”

If only he were a better liar. “I-uhm…”

Chris bites his lip, but it does nothing to stop the smile on his face or the fact that his eyes are crinkling a little. “You know that’s my favorite place?”

“I-oh?” Sebastian feels his cheeks heating up at having been caught out.

“It’s so good,” Chris says, and for a moment Sebastian thinks he’s gotten away with it. They settle in, unpacking the boxes and spreading them out on the table, and right as Sebastian is about to take his first bite, Chris leans back on the couch, grinning.

“It’s also soooo good to know there are people that watch my interviews so I don’t go through that torture just for nothing, you know.”

“I hate you, you know that?” Sebastian says, blushing furiously now. Chris just cackles. Sebastian missed that sound so, so much. His heart skips a couple of beats at them finally seeming like them, for what it feels like the first time tonight.

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t, I really don’t,” Sebastian says, not expecting the look of surprise on Chris’s face.

“I really don’t,” he repeats, meeting Chris’s eyes again. “You know that right?”

“I- yeah, of course,” Chris swallows visibly.

They’re both quiet for a while, the only sounds in the apartment those of take out bags rustling and food being consumed.

“Moved on from what?” Chris suddenly blurts out.

It takes Sebastian a minute to realise what he’s referring to. Their conversation about that stupid couch. He has a fleeting thought about too many people in his life being obsessed with what kind of couch he has, even if he knows Chris is really referring to something else.

“Chris…”

“I mean, moving on is good. I just…I didn’t know.”

Sebastian takes a napkin to clean his hands a little, then turns around on the couch to face Chris. “You didn’t know that I redecorated?”

Chris looks a little pained. “I- I didn’t know you moved on. I mean, I should’ve known, it’s been years, you- of course you have, I just hoped, I-”

He puts a stop to Chris’s rambling, placing a hand on his arm. Chris’s eyes dart to it immediately. For a moment Sebastian thinks about pulling away, but he’s selfish, and he leaves his hand where it is. “Chris, I’m a little lost here,” he says, and honestly, he is.

“I just- I missed you,” Chris whispers.

Sebastian tries to process that statement - he isn’t sure what to say in response. He missed Chris too, so much it hurt. But he can’t let himself think about this conversation going where he hopes it’s going, wouldn’t be able to bear the crushing disappointment if it doesn’t. And why would it? He’s not heard from Chris in months, hasn’t seen him in person in years. When they broke up, if you can even call it that, he figured that would be it. Chris could have anyone he wants, and without the complications and eccentricities that Sebastian brings.

“I-I’ve been thinking a lot recently,” Chris starts again, “about how I handled things. About what I’m doing with my life, where I’m going, what I’m missing.” He takes a deep breath. “And I may- I realised a lot of things, and I know that sounds lame, but I did and, and- fuck, Sebastian, I just miss you.”

“I-”

“I know, I- I get it if you don’t, I know I handled things badly, you didn’t deserve for me to just…” Chris blows out a harsh breath, closes his eyes. “I just, I haven’t seen you in so long, and you have a new couch, and I miss you, and I know you’re busy, but I just hope we’re still friends? Can we still be friends?”

“Chris…of course we can be friends, of course I miss you too,” Sebastian says, feeling even more all over the place.

“You do?” Chris asks, with his sad puppy eyes and Sebastian’s heart breaks all over again.

“Of course I do. Why- why wouldn’t I?” he rubs his hand up and down Chris’s arm in a soothing gesture. He’d never be too busy for Chris. He’d just have to call or text and Sebastian would jump at the chance to see him, talk to him. Even if he knows that’s sad, when all Chris clearly wants is to be friends, and Sebastian…Sebastian will settle for being friends, if that’s all he can have.

“Because you moved on?” Chris asks, voice smaller than Sebastian ever thinks he’s heard it.

He hates it. Chris always was the confident, decisive one. His anxiety is clearly getting to him and Sebastian wishes he had a way to stop him from spiralling.

“I wouldn’t- I shouldn’t have expected- I…maybe I should go.”

Wait. “Wait, what? Chris, I think we’re having two different conversations here. Why don’t you pretend I’m stupid and spell it out for me? Please?”

He can see Chris clearly trying to calm himself down, taking a couple of breaths before he speaks again. “You- I’m getting older Seb, and I’ve been thinking about what I want. What I want…my career is great, wonderful, I love my friends and Dodge and my house, but I just feel like something is missing, someone to share it with, and I can’t- no one…I know I’m too late, but Seb, I just miss you, miss having you in my life, and when I think about who I- it’s always you.”

As rambling as Chris’s answer still is, Sebastian can feel his heart beating faster and faster the more he says, his words making Sebastian feel like his head is spinning.

He’s not sure what to say to all of that, thoughts of confessions, proclamations, forming in his head, none of them feeling like they suffice, none of them feeling like they’ll be an answer that will bring a rambling, anxious Chris out of his head. They’ve both been dancing around it, he realises, all evening, words said and questions asked just shy of what they really want to know or voice, a fear of unrequitedness, threaded through it all.

So he just acts. Cups Chris’s face in his hands, stares into slightly wet green-blue eyes looking for an okay, presses their lips together in a soft kiss he hopes answers it all when he sees them sparkling with something like hope.

And just in case, he says in words what he hopes he conveyed with that kiss too, concise, impossible to misunderstand. “It’s you, too, for me,” he breathes against Chris’s lips, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. “It’s always been. I missed you, I love you.”

In return, a hitched breath, Chris murmuring “I love you too, I’m sorry it took me so long, I love you,” and Sebastian feels like he’s in a dream, but it’s real and it’s true and he knows they have things to figure out, that it’s not always gonna be easy, but this time, this time he’s not letting go, not giving up without a fight.

From the way Chris topples him over on the couch, covers his face in kisses, sweet words being whispered in his ear, hands tightly gripping his body, he’s pretty certain he’s not the only one that feels that way.

[nickfowlerrr]

https://www.tumblr.com/nickfowlerrr/760258643802406912 BEEFY BUCKY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE *gasping breath in* PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

change of pace

pairing: beefy!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. unprotected sex. a little bit of fluff. not edited!

words: 1.1k

notes: ask and ye shall receive 😌 lol when i reblogged that post you know he was all i was thinking about 🥴 lol thank you for sending this, e! 🫶🏻

thank you in advance for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. hope you enjoy this little drabble! 🩵

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his eyes squeezed shut while he’s breathing heavy, his hands clenching the back of the couch threatening to break the wooden frame of it. Bucky’s head is thrown back in pleasure as you slowly sink down on his throbbing cock.

He can’t see the way your lips part at the stretch of him, or how you stifle your own moan as you take him in, or the twinkle in your eyes at the sight of him already flushed and lost in the feeling of you straddling his lap, your hands on his chest as you sit on his cock.

His fingers flex as he grips the couch, doing his best to control himself and let you set the pace. Your hands glide up his chest to around his neck as you lift yourself off his lap, until just his tip is inside you, your fingers in his hair as he gulps a breath. You stay for a moment and wait until you see him relax for just a second before you sit back down, his thickness impaling you in the best way.

He whimpers the most beautiful moans you think you’ve ever heard as his eyes scrunch tighter, his lips in a pout as you slowly start to really ride his cock.

“Baby, please,” he begs softly, cheeks pink as he turns his face away from you. His eyes are still closed tight, he’s both too shy and too worked up to look at you right now.

“What’s the matter?” you ask breathily, your torturous movements not faltering as you lean closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest and your fingers curling in his hair as your soft lips ghost his ear before you lightly kiss his face, another pathetic moan slipping from the beefy man beneath you at the gentle kiss.

His bright blue eyes flutter open then as he turns his face toward you, pout still in place, his eyes much darker than they were a few minutes ago, but that gleam in them ever present.

You titter as your noses brush and you know exactly what he wants before he even says it.

You’re sinking lower on his dick as he finally speaks.

“Kiss me,” he pleads, not even trying to hide how desperately he wants to feel your lips on his. You don’t keep him waiting too long before you give in to his request. Your kiss is soft at first as you keep rolling your hips, the feeling of his tongue slipping into your mouth and his moans against your lips fueling your movements.

Slowly, Bucky lets his arms fall from their place along the back of the couch before he drags his hands up your thick thighs. You don’t stop him so he keeps going.

His heavy palms finding your ass, squeezing the ample flesh there as he follows your movements up and down his fat cock.

His touch dances up to your back and then his hands find their place settling on the curve of your waist meeting your hips. All the while, Bucky kisses you greedily while you let him, your own moans muffled by his mouth.

He squeezes your waist lightly and you don’t know what snaps or takes over you but suddenly you’re spurred on in your movements. It’s not slow rolls if your hips anymore, no. Now you’re bouncing up and down his thick cock as he chokes out a moan in surprise. His big hands are gripping you tight but he doesn’t dare deter you or want you to slow down. He just needs to feel you, needs to touch you and your soft fucking body that he won’t ever get enough of. The way you take him, the way you make him feel, it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. You’re indescribable. You’re incomparable. You’re fucking everything.

He doesn’t know how or why he’s suddenly so overcome with emotion but he feels his eyes sting as he watches you, mesmerized by you on top of him, your breasts bouncing with every raise of your hips, your mouth open as you breathe heavily, soft moans of pleasure spilling out of you.

It feels so good. Everything feels so good, he can’t stop himself. He cries meekly, the most pathetic noise leaving him as his balls squeeze tighter and tighter with your every bounce. His hands tight on your hips and he whimpers again, “Baby, fuck, ohhh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grits, puffing as he tries to hold himself back. You speed up your movements, feeling your walls squeeze even tighter around his thick length as you get closer too.

Bucky slips his hands from your waist to your heavy breasts, grabbing them and squeezing them in his big hands before he lets his lips and tongue slide all over them, kissing them, licking them, before he wraps his lips around one of your pert nipples, sucking and licking the sensitive bud as you whine and moan in the intense pleasure it sends through you. He’s moaning as he takes his pleasure in kind, showing the same dedication to your other breast as you move atop him.

He’s so close. So fucking close. He buries his face in your chest as he holds you close, whimpers and pleas spilling from him as you fuck him perfectly.

“Please let me cum, baby, please,” he grips your hips again. Eyes squeezed shut, he’s almost pained from how badly he wants to just let go. To fill you up and keep you leaking him for the rest of the day. His balls twitch at the thought and he cries out again.

You reach a hand down behind you and gently squeeze him and he almost doesn’t even hear your permission to cum inside you as he shoots his load despite himself the very second he felt your touch. Groans and debauched whimpers leaving him as he holds you down on his lap, finally letting himself move as he bucks up into you.

You have to hold onto him as he fucks into you. Your own moans and whimpers mingling with his as he brings you to your own orgasm without even really trying, your silky walls tightening around his cock and milking him as he rides out your shared high.

His head is on your chest as he keeps you in place on his thick lap, heavy breaths and sighs leaving you both as you hold his head to you, your fingers playing in his hair.

“I love you,” he breathes against you, his eyes closed in bliss as you pet him. You smile down at him, and he doesn’t see it, but he feels it when you place a kiss on head and hold him closer. His arms tighten around you before he carefully turns you both so you’re laying down on the couch now, him on top of you, head still on your chest as you murmur back with that same soft smile,

“I love you, too.”

[sweetlikeyou]

made a playlist for all u hoes <3

[lethalhoopla]

I am once again losing my mind.

This time: I went to look up references of Varric, and just typed "Varric Tethras" into the search bar. I was going to just tab over immediately to the images section, eyes barely glancing over the obvious top-result fandom wiki, then (more entertainingly, but still expected) Wikipedia link-

but. but the next one.

GOODREADS??

.... There's absolutely no tongue-in-cheek in the entry either.

(of course I immediately clicked on it who do you think I am)

There are 3 quotes from him relating to storytelling, both from 2 and Inquisition, as well as a book attribution:

The Dragon Age Novel Edition of Hard in Hightown.

ATTRIBUTED TO VARRIC TETHRAS.

with Mary Kirby*~

Absolutely unblinkingly written summary/bio.

I love this with my whole heart. Varric you beautiful bastard -- and DA writers/editors (Mary Kirby very much most importantly included) you even more beautiful, dorky, wonderful bastards.

---

*if you're not in the know, Mary Kirby is a cornerstone of the DA writing team, including being the one who was in charge of Varric (and Merrill!). To say she's his "trusted human confidante" is certainly putting it one (delightful) way.

[anony-man]

A little (lol) Texaid drabble written for a good friend in celebration of her and her partner’s wedding anniversary. Hope you enjoy, @siberat!

Given both their respective places in the world, it seemed unnatural to have spent almost an entire day doing what most would consider normal activities. Usually, when First Aid got the chance to sneak off and spend a little one-on-one with Vortex, their time was occupied with quick, feverish touches behind thin, closed doors and wary glances cast around the room once they’d both settled in for some sleepy snuggles. Today, however, things were different—much different.

The start of the weekend hadn’t exactly been abnormal, at least. A private ping from the Combaticon coincided almost immediately with the end of his shift, and First Aid was far from surprised to find that Vortex had requested he come over for the night… and the morning. What had surprised him was that when they woke up the next day, Vortex seemed far more affectionate and doting than he usually did, but without an apparent reason.

Sure, First Aid thought, Vortex tended to go through phases of being affectionate and obsessive then distant and cold, but something seemed different this time around. He tried his very best to determine just what the reason could be, but Vortex’s vague behavior didn’t help much. His uncharacteristic suggestions of pleasant, domestic plans to spend the day and strangely tender shows of affection were also rather confusing, but as the hours passed, First Aid eventually just decided to roll with it. He was enjoying himself, after all.

The day had been a pleasant one, though First Aid was a little surprised at the things Vortex had suggested they do together. A walk through one of Cybertron’s prettier cities had come to a rather sudden halt after Vortex announced they had an appointment booked for a full-body wax job and tune-up. It was a little strange, First Aid had thought at the time, but stepping through the shop’s doors and smelling the soothing scents of high-quality waxes and other earth-inspired fragrances had instantly put his wandering mind to rest. One hour-long session later, and First Aid was feeling more refreshed than he had felt in years.

Following the appointment had been a trip to one of First Aid’s favorite restaurants, which was a bit of a surprise to him. As far as he knew, Vortex never cared much for the dishes inspired by earth culture and human fuel, but First Aid had been overjoyed to get the chance to sit down and indulge in some of his favorite foods and sweets, all while Vortex sat across the table from him, sipping at a glass of engex and smiling every time First Aid gushed over the addictive flavors of his meal’s next course.

Now, having finished their walk through the town, a visit to the wax shop, and a rather delicious dinner, they were sitting outside, a comfortable silence filling the air between them. Vortex’s seemingly well-organized and long-planned adventures for the day had landed them out on a park bench in the center of one of Cybertron’s prettier cities, their comfortable seat overlooking a span of galaxies beyond the atmosphere.

First Aid, for his part, was a little unsure about being ntimate in such a public setting, but Vortex hadn’t hesitated to stretch an arm over the back of the bench in a successful maneuver to pull First Aid’s frame flush against his own. After a moment of stiff silence and a small tilt of his helm to catch a glimpse of the arm that had so comfortably rested over his shoulders, First Aid gave in, allowing his frame to melt into Vortex’s side. The act earned a satisfied sound from Vortex, and First Aid couldn’t suppress the smile that split his face as Vortex leaned in and placed a quick kiss to the top of his helm.

The overly soft affection was strange and out of character for him, most certainly, but First Aid found himself enjoying it far too much to question Vortex’s motives.

“Been a good day, yeah?” Vortex eventually said, breaking the silence First Aid had just grown accustomed to.

“Yeah,” he quickly agreed. “Yeah, it has been... but what’s with all the fancy outings? I mean, usually we just crash at your place and call it good. Did you plan on doing such extravagant stuff, or—“

“Oh my god,” Vortex said, cutting him off with a dramatic sigh. “You really don’t remember?”

The once comfortable mood suddenly felt rather sour, and though he couldn’t hear any actual resentment in Vortex’s tone, First Aid still pulled away. A glimpse of Vortex’s expression told him the Combaticon was less upset and more amused, however, despite what his tone might have suggested. Of course, this only confused him further, and if Vortex wasn’t going to give him the context he was looking for, First Aid supposed he’d just have to figure it out for himself.

“Remember what?” He asked, sounding nearly as exasperated as Vortex pretended to feel. When the Decepticon refused to stop pouting over the loss of physical contact, First Aid huffed and settled back against his side. “Is it supposed to be a holiday or something? Because… I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d remember if something important was happening today.”

Vortex shifted against his side, struggling to find another position nearly as comfortable as the one he’d first settled into. The silence seemed to be his way of avoiding the question entirely, so First Aid pressed a little more.

“Hey,” he said, pulling back once more. “I’m serious, ‘Tex. What is it? What did I forgot?”

Sheepish wasn’t a word First Aid would have ever imagined using to describe Vortex, but the way he sat there, plating flared and faceplates flushed as he scratched at his neck made him rethink the decision. First Aid was almost afraid he’d have to keep pushing for an explanation when Vortex finally spoke up.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he said, his frame lifting in a full-bodied shrug that somehow encompassed all of his obvious discomfort at once. “I just… I dunno, thought it might be fun to try out one of those stupid human things you seem to like so much.”

“And that would be…?” First Aid said, leaning in.

“You know,” Vortex shrugged again. When First Aid didn’t respond, apparently not knowing, he huffed and said, “relationships and stuff. Like, when two humans are together for a while or whatever, they sort of… I dunno, celebrate it or something.”

It took a moment for First Aid’s mind to process the implications, but when it finally struck him, he was almost surprised to realize how much time had passed since he and Vortex had started… well, fraternizing. He couldn’t quite remember the exact date, but he was fairly certain Vortex’s calculations were right, and that they had unofficially been “together” for close to a year at that point.

It was a complicated thing to think about, but the look of uncertainty that had molded itself to Vortex’s expression distracted First Aid from the process. He gave his unofficial (or official, now that… now that they were celebrating) partner a warm smile and cooed, reaching up to cup Vortex’s face in his servos.

“You know,” he teased, leaning in close until their forehelms touched, “for a Decepticon, you tend to be awfully romantic.”

“Hope that ain’t a problem,” Vortex whispered back, his voice soft against First Aid’s cheek.

“Not at all,” First Aid whispered right back. “Not in the slightest.”

Apparently that was all the assurance Vortex needed, as the next thing First Aid knew, he was being touched right back. Vortex was on him in and instant, frame blocking the world from his sight as he crawled up into First Aid’s lap and slunk a servo around to hold his helm in place. It was unnerving, a little threatening, almost scary—however, it was also romantic, in Vortex’s sweet, sinister way.

When Vortex’s fingers slipped under his chin and lifted his helm, First Aid obliged, meeting him halfway for a quick, gentle kiss.

“Happy unofficial anniversary?” First Aid asked with a giggle, reaching up to intertwine his fingers with Vortex’s.

“Yeah,” Vortex said, already eyeing First Aid up again as he readied himself for another kiss. He leaned back in, slower this time, and between the gentle kisses they shared and the soft, assuring squeezes of each other’s servos, he added, “something like that.”

[casiavium]

I'm going to put a bunch of skyward sword NPCs into a random generator and then write little one shots about how they'd interact with ghiralink

[scummy-writes]

there is a fanfic I want to finish and post, that is not smut (shock! Gasp!) but it still deals with triggering themes. On one hand, I understand that i can just tag with with a few tags I think are used as a preventative measure, and put a warning at the top of the fic in Red and etc, but also on the other hand, I don't want the wrong idea to come out of it.

I know I can write it in a way that makes sense to me, because its for me, but I can't ever control what people takeaway from what I write. I can try to be as blunt as possible but people are always going to walk off with their own take and opinion on it.

it's weird. I don't run into this issue often, so it's an odd feeling to be debating on posting a fic over this issue and not on if I believe it's good enough to post or something. I am unsure of how those who regularly write triggering content do it.

[violasmirabiles]

working on my thing for the dollars fandom event activity 1 but . got a real bad case of my brain is fucking mush and thoughts are coming So Slow and also my hands are so goddamn cold i gotta take breaks all the time to wash them with hot water or to make myself a cup of tea so i have a hot mug to hold. and also this thing apparently wants to happen in finnish before it wants to happen in english so thats slowing things a bit too. ah well at least its not gonna be a long one

[cloudwhisper23]

Tumblr keeps putting me in random spots on the dashboard. I'm not going to be able to find anything at this rate.

[doubtingthomasin]

🎄 Dec 1 - Candy Cane 🎄

@hellcheerxmas

Chrissy's not having a great day. She's already bombed at least one midterm, she's sure of it. Luckily, her grades can take the hit, but her mother still won't be happy.

It feels like Jason keeps staring at her any chance he can get, without a doubt trying to figure out why his girlfriend suddenly dumped him just a few weeks before Christmas break. She told him multiple times that she just wasn't happy and needed to be alone for a while, which is true, but he just doesn't seem to understand the concept.

So he stares at her as she opens her locker, her eyes heavy with stress. She unlatches the lock, opens the door, and has to hurriedly catch a small object trying to fall out. Chrissy opens her hand to see that it's a small candy cane, the kind you buy in big packs, with red and green stripes all around.

Perplexed, she immediately turns to Jason, but he's long gone. She's sure he knows her combination, and she hasn't had the chance to change it yet, but he wouldn't walk away without seeing her reaction if it was him.

There is...one other person that might know it.

Someone else who's stood by her at her locker countless times.

She searches over the heads of the other students and finds him. Eddie's gathering some books out of his locker down the hallway, but he turns directly to her once his is closed, giving her the sweetest smile she's ever seen from him.

He saunters into the stream of people heading away from her, leaving her blushing bright red with a pleasant flutter in her stomach. She's only been tutoring him for a few weeks, but the effect he has on her is getting harder and harder to ignore.

She's closed her locker by the time she finally sees the small note attached.

Sweets for the sweetest. -E.M.

[themagnusbane]

Never Have I Ever - A PrapaiSky Fic(let)

So the thing is, I haven't written in almost 4 years (and no. My WangXian short doesn't count because it was meant to be 31 chapters and I still have 30 chapters unwritten since Mayhem November last year).

But, @suga4mycoffee requested for a fic where Prapai is made to realize just how badly he fucked up, based on the tags I made to her post, so that got the dusty ass writing plot bunnies going and now you have a fic that I think is rusty af, but I hope you enjoy anyway Suga.

**

If looks could kill, Saifha was sure his twin would have had him drawn and quartered, buried in a shallow grave with no headstone to commemorate his passing. And if he were a nicer twin, he would probably have found remorse buried somewhere in the depths of his heart.

But alas, he is very much Payu’s twin, and bringing his brother a measure of discomfort and misery soothed his soul. The fact that it made Payu’s boyfriend just a little bit miffed, which in turn meant that Nong Rain turned those bright eyes of his on his boyfriend in a glare that would have withered a lesser man, was just icing on an already spectacular cake. 

Having Nong Sky and Prapai caught up in all this however, wasn’t something he had planned.

But… Did he find it entertaining anyway? Certainly. It was wonderful the number of secrets that a simple game of Never Have I Ever, which he is proud to admit was his suggestion, could unravel. Besides, when you looked at it from the right perspective, he really was doing them all a collective favour. Best to let them air our their fears and insecurities and hurt, so their relationships can be the more stronger for it. 

Really, he should be deified for all the service he’s been rendering. 

“Never have I ever had an ex draped all over me, even though I already have a boyfriend, and I didn’t push said ex off, the minute he pulled his shit.”

At the words, Saifha’s eyes snapped to Nong Sky, and then Prapai. At the same time, Nong Rain turned to look at his best friend, whilst Payu’s eyes were locked on Prapai. 

“That is… Oddly specific,” Saifha murmured, leaning back to watch the chaos unfold. 

Praipai meanwhile leaned forward, fingers flexing on his glass of scotch whiskey, already half empty, because Prapai apparently had very few Never Have I Evers, and although Nong Sky’s been smiling every time Prapai’s had to lift that glass to his mouth for a drink—oh to be young and sickeningly in love—there was no smile on his face now, as he waited for Prapai. As they all waited for Prapai. 

Praipai meanwhile had his eyes on Nong Sky, a softening in their brown depths that pulled a low sound from his boyfriend’s throat, had Nong Rain’s eyes widening, and Payu tilting his head the way he did when he was furiously trying to connect the dots. 

Saifha could feel his own eyes widening. Oh shit. He fucked up didn’t he?

“You saw?” The words came out in a whisper so low, the wind almost caught it and erased it. But they were all hanging on a thread, heightened by the hurt in Nong Sky’s voice, and the remorse in Praipai’s, that they all heard it. 

“Are you drinking or not P’Pai?” Nong Sky’s voice was cold. Gone was the teasing inflection that Saifha was used to hearing. And clearly he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Nong Rain’s mouth was open, and Prapai flinched. 

Saifha watched him take a deep breath, and down the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. 

He heard an explosion of sound as Nong Rain launched himself at Prapai, only to be pulled back by Payu. Saifha noted that the grip Payu had on his boyfriend was loose, barely restraining him as Nong Rain’s eyes spat way more rage than that little body should have access to. 

Saifha could tell. If Payu wasn’t holding Nong Rain back, Prapai would have had to deal with the nails and teeth of his boyfriend’s best friend who looked like he was minutes away from breaking free of Payu’s hold and dealing all the hurt he could at the man who’d dared to hurt his friend. 

And with the way Payu was holding him, Saifha could tell that he was really considering letting go, and giving Nong Rain the free rein to dole out all the damage he wanted. 

Nong Sky meanwhile seemed to let loose all the air that he’d held in, waiting for Prapai’s response. Saifha watched as he deflated, and curved into himself. His hands digging into the flesh of his upper arms as he rocked back and forth. 

“I’m sorry,” Prapai whispered, knees sinking to the floor right in front of Nong Sky, hands reaching out to touch him, and then pulling back, fingers flexing like he didn’t have the right to do that anymore. 

“How could you P’Pai? How could you?” Nong Rain’s voice kept rising, his feet trying hard to connect with Prapai’s shin. But Payu’s hold held strong and he couldn’t come close. 

“Why?” At Nong Sky’s whispered question, everyone quieted. Prapai slid a step closer, and Nong Sky’s eyes locked with his. 

Saifha could feel the moment when everything, and everyone else faded away for them. They were together, in their own cocoon of hurt and pain and regret. 

“Why are you sorry P’Pai?”

“I—“

“Are you sorry that you said you would be out in 5mins and you didn’t keep that promise? That I ran into girls there who were talking about how they wanted to fuck you? Are you sorry that they mentioned that P’Payu had made it clear that he had a boyfriend, but they had no idea that we were together? Are you sorry that they thought they had a chance with you because they didn’t know otherwise, because you didn’t tell them otherwise?” 

Saifha watched Prapai’s shoulders slump with each question that Nong Sky tossed his way. The younger boy’s voice was low and level. No inflection of the rage that Saifha would have expected. It was like he had sunk deep into the depth of all that hurt and pain; like they were were questions he had asked himself over and over again, until he had numbed himself to it, and disassociated from it all.

And Prapai responded with panic, eyes and hands reaching out to Nong Sky, trying to comfort, to heal, to soothe. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Sky. I told him. I told him when he asked me, that I have a boyfriend.”

Saifha didn’t need to read minds to know that that wasn’t what Nong Sky wanted to hear. He looked at Payu who looked about ready to let go of Nong Rain so he could smack his friend in the head himself for being an absolute dimwit. 

Nong Sky’s voice dropped even more. “So you waited for him to ask before you told him?” He stared incredulously at Prapai who looked utterly wretched. “What if he hadn’t asked? Would you have continued to let him touch you P’Pai? Continued to let him drape himself over you.” 

Saifha watched Nong Sky reach out his hands to touch Prapai’s face. Watched as Prapai leaned into the touch, hands reaching out to grasp Nong Sky’s, as he whispered several “I’m sorry’s” against the inner part of his boyfriend’s wrist. 

“Why are you sorry P’Pai?” The question again. But this time, his voice was softer, less modulated. Saifha could see him softening. Everyone could see him softening. 

Prapai released a breath, relief whooshing out of him as he stood to his full height, then pulled gently on Nong Sky’s hands. The latter allowed him, standing up so Prapai could sit, and then pull him in to sit on his lap, further tuning out everyone else, as they sank further into their own world. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry I didn’t immediately make it clear that I was taken. I’m sorry in trying to be kind and not hurt his feelings, I hurt yours instead. I’m sorry I was gentler with turning him down, that I was with handling your heart. I’m sorry it didn’t even occur to me that you would be hurt by it. I’m sorry, I’m only just telling you I’m sorry.”

Prapai pulled back slightly to look at Nong Sky’s face, fingers stroking his cheek, wiping away the tears that had made tracks on his face. “Forgive me?”

Nong Sky looked at him for a brief, suspended moment. 

Saifha was sure they all stopped breathing, waiting for Nong Sky’s response. 

And it came resplendent as the sun. A smile that lit up his face and had Prapai placing a murmured thank you against his pale neck, as Nong Sky patted Prapai’s hair softly. 

Saifha nodded, pleased at the result. Just as Nong Rain’s voice called out loudly “You’d better make sure it never repeats itself P’Pai. If it does, I’m coming for your head!” 

The statement had Prapai turning to glare at Nong Rain, who glared right back, with Payu silently laughing behind his boyfriend, and Nong Sky looking quite pleased. 

Honestly, Saifha really did think he should be deified for all the service he’s been rendering.

**

Oh, and for those who need context, here's the post that birthed this.

[statisticallymorelikely]

“If I don’t make it back from where I‘ve gone, just know I loved you all along.” - Inkpot Gods, The Amazing Devil

on ao3

It’s the temperature that wakes Hob, but that’s the least of his frustrations on this scorching, summer day. It’s been more than a month of dreamless sleep. Normally, he would have been grateful for the respite, a break in the cycle of nightmares of past sins and painfully pining dreams about his Stranger-turned-Friend. But what used to be a blessing has taken on a different meaning upon learning of his friend’s office. 

He knows it’s not only him. Seems like nobody else is getting a good night’s sleep. People have been more irritable lately, more prone to a sharp tongue. Thankfully, his pub isn’t prone to attract brawlers but if this keeps up, he’s betting Luke will have put someone in a headlock by the end of the week.

Hob shakes off his blanket – mentally reprimanding himself for somehow developing the need to have one at all times regardless of season– and rolls out of bed. He goes through the motions of the morning: shower, clothes, breakfast, but his mind wanders, as it inevitably does, toward Dream.

Dream’s visits have always been scarce, even after he graduated into friend status. Though gone are the days of the centennial set up, his lordship is usually too busy to stop by, what with managing the entire world’s collective unconscious. Hob understands, he has duties as well, but he can’t ignore the thrum of worry that lingers at the back of his mind. This has been the longest they’ve not seen each other since he escaped.

He misses him. And now he doesn’t even have the comfort of the fake versions of him in his dreams (the one who holds his hand gently as they stroll through fields of sunflowers is his favorite). The egg spits oil onto his hand and startles him from his thoughts. Get it together, Hob, he grumbles, transferring his food onto his plate with a sigh. He has a pile of papers to grade and really can’t afford to be distracted today, so he bargains with himself: if he can finish at least half the class before noon, he can have ice cream for lunch.

Several hours later finds him hugging a bag of ice with his left arm while his right carefully carries his spoils from the shops: a tub of ice cream and some chocolate biscuits. So what if he fell short of his self-imposed quota, the guy who assigned that bargain is a bit of a knob anyway. He circles round the back of the pub to the stairs that lead to his flat, already looking forward to a bit of mindless reality TV with his ice cream, and then later that night, maybe a cold bath. 

All those plans go up in smoke, however,  the moment he enters his flat. Because the King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares is lying on his couch, eyes closed, streaks of ash across his thin face, clothes all singed, some spots still smoldering even. 

“Dream?”

“Hob…” comes the feeble croak, and it’s enough to kick Hob into gear.

“Shit, what happened to you?” He dumps his bags on the table and kneels next to the couch, hands coming up but hesitating to touch his friend lest there be some kind of damage unseen. Hob peers closer at his face, notes the pained expression, the flush on his cheeks disappearing down to his chest, the beads of sweat clinging to his hair. Instinctively, Hob puts a hand on his forehead. Dream lets out a soft whine.

“You’re sick.” Could anthropomorphic personifications get sick? “You’re burning up. Christ.”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

There’s no time to unpack all that right now, Hob thinks, as he nudges Dream to sit up, earning him a groan. “You need to take your coat off. Boots, too.”

Dream grumbles out a protest, but lets Hob manhandle him into a sitting position. “Came to tell you something...”

“Later, love. Let’s take care of you first.” 

Hob busies himself with peeling the ragged coat off his friend, careful not to jostle him too much, briefly confirming there are no wounds or damage to his person, then tugging off his shoes, socks and rolling up his pants (ideally, he’ll take them off but he knows Dream can be sensitive about that), before disappearing off into the kitchen to put away his quickly-melting groceries. Centuries of experience has his body back on auto-pilot throwing open all the windows, gathering washcloths, a bowl, and a pitcher of cold water. He can’t help but remember Eleanor, frail body racked with fevers days before giving birth, cheeks glistening with a mix of tears and sweat in the candlelight despite how many times he tried to wipe them clean. A shudder crawls up his spine. 

No, he banishes the memory away, Dream can’t die, can he?

A muffled thump brings him back to the present and he peers over at Dream who’s managed to slump back down, face planted onto a pillow.

“Alright, your lordship,” says Hob, stowing his tray of supplies onto the table before forcing Dream to turn over, shoving a pillow underneath his head and nudging him to make space for him to sit. Dream’s eyes are glazed, filled with dark clouds more akin to smoke instead of their usual galactic blue, just the barest of recognition when he looks up at him.

Hob dampens a washcloth and slowly cleans up his friend’s face, gentle swipes across his forehead, cheeks, jaw and down the long line of his neck, washes away the soot on his arms. He dips it back in the cool water, wrings it out and places it on Dream’s forehead. This earns him a hum of relief and Dream’s eyes flutter open slightly, revealing a little more light in them than a few moments ago.

“There you are,” Hob whispers to himself. 

Despite this improvement, Dream is no longer in any shape to talk other than feverish mumbles of Hob’s name mixed with words from what Hob presumes is an ancient language. Worry still roils in his gut, but without any other knowledge on the arcane, Hob can only treat this as a human can. So he spends the next few hours alternating between wiping down Dream’s face, making him drink cold water (“I know you don’t need to drink, love, but this will cool you down”) and sitting in a nearby armchair reading his students’ essays to him. It’s almost domestic in a way and a familiar ache blooms in Hob’s chest, an ache he bore for centuries but packed neatly away after 1989.

Once the infernal sun has set and the earth starts to cool, a sweet breeze blows through the windows and the entire flat heaves a sigh of relief, the wood creaking as it settles down to relax. Hob is refreshing the washcloth on Dream’s forehead, contemplating whether he can bully his friend into changing into his sleep shorts, when Dream curls his fingers around Hob’s wrist, eyes finally alight with awareness.

His fever has broken. 

Hob nearly crumples with relief, breath shuddering out of him. “You’re actually going to kill me, y’know. Of all the things that tried over the years, worrying about you is the one that’ll actually do me in.”

Dream struggles to sit up and Hob clasps him firmly at the elbow, lifting him, other hand shoving pillows behind his back to prop him up. Pink tinges Dream’s cheeks from the effort and Hob hands him a glass of water, mildly surprised when the Endless takes it and drinks it without protest. 

“Thank you,” croaks Dream.

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Dream’s lip twitches at the endearment but Hob clears his throat, takes his glass and settles beside him on the couch. “So, feeling better? Care to tell me how you got like this? Didn’t think an Endless could get sick.”

“I am not sick.” 

When Dream offers no further explanation, Hob merely pins him with a look and busies himself with pushing back the strands of Dream’s hair clinging to his cheeks, something curls in his chest when Dream turns into his hand, chasing the sensation. If Hob had any virtue it would be patience, and one would think that his oldest friend would be more aware of that, so just like always, he waits for Dream to be ready.

Dream allows himself a few more moments of comfort before sighing wearily. “Hell has invaded the Dreaming.”

“What?!”

“The Lightbringer and their demons have set the Dreaming ablaze, what you call sickness is the manifestation of it in me. The Dreaming is a part of me, I am the Dreaming. The turmoil in my realm also resides within me. There is a war being waged in my bones and I’ve grown weak.”

It takes Hob a moment to process that piece of information, the thrum of worry at the back of his head graduating to full alarm bells. The image of a hundred different wars swim in his mind, unmoving comrades left in pools of blood and mud, villages empty as the landscape burns, the distant sound of children crying, muffled fearfully, the scent of gunpowder replaced by sulfur. The thought of his friend lifeless underneath a burning sky while thousands of demons crow victory. No. It mustn't come to that. Dream is the one link he has to who he is, the one who’s sustained his hope and wonder, he owes him so much, there’s so much he wants to tell him still, he can’t die, he mustn’t–

“Take me into the Dreaming. Let me help.” 

“No.” 

“Let me fight. You looked half-dead a few hours ago, and I’m a soldier who can’t die, remember?” 

“We have had this conversation before. The consequences in the Dreaming are as real as in the Waking world.” Dream’s eyes turn dark, his jaw clenching. Outside, the wind picks up and brings in the smell of heavy clouds poised to rain. “I will not allow harm to befall you, Hob, especially not on my behalf.” 

Hob would normally back off by now but no, this is too important. He leans close, peering into galactic eyes.  “I can’t lose you, please, Dream, let me help.” 

“You have already helped immensely. What you have done has already doused some fires in the Dreaming.” Dream reaches out, curves his long fingers around Hob’s clenched fists, startling the other man, but Dream doesn’t flinch, only patiently uncurls Hob’s hands and clasps them in his own. Rain starts to patter onto the street, gentle at first but gradually making way for larger drops. Dream crooks forward, gently bumping his forehead with Hob’s and they hold there, just a breath between them.

“You have cared for me and tended to me, and by doing so, have given me back some of my power,” he says slowly, deep bass carrying an enormous weight. “I came here to the temple you have built for me because your devotion nourishes me. You make me strong, Hob Gadling. Where I am going, I will need strength.”

“Then take me with you,” Hob pleads. “Please, you’re still recovering, let me be your source of strength wherever you go.”

“No. Where I must go is for me and me alone. I need to end this now.”

Hob knows he won’t be able to convince him, knows this goes far beyond his ken, that he is simply a man in the end and Dream walks where he cannot, with gods and demons and stars. He squeezes Dream’s hands, pressing his lips against his knuckles, in a final gesture of appeal, a few salty tears fighting their way out his eyes.

“Hob,” Dream murmurs, untangling one hand to lift Hob’s chin to face him. “May I tell you what I came to tell you earlier?”

Hob nods. Gently, Dream kisses his lips and emotion floods through Hob’s veins, images of himself marked with a surge of longing, wonderment in the early years, a pang of jealousy as he speaks about his family, gentle compassion for his tormented figure in 1689, blistering lust from 1789. Hob gasps and Dream takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and Hob drowns in himself more, the crinkle of his eyes, copies of his smile, hesitant hands, lips forming kind words, all forms of him from every meeting and every dream he’s ever had and forgotten, all of him singing love, love, love, branding him inside and out. 

Dream kisses him like it’s an introduction and an apology rolled into one and Hob accepts both, accepts his love, allows it to soothe the ache in his chest and reignite it at the same time, to consume him until there’s nothing left..

When Dream pulls away, Hob breathes hard, overwhelmed from what he’d just experienced. Was that what Dream felt all the time? Just a flurry of emotions and thoughts, all consuming, all encompassing, unknowable. Hob understands though what that was, knows enough to tell what a goodbye feels like. 

“Don’t go.”

“I must.” Dream gently wipes his tears, long fingers caressing his eyes, cheeks, the stubble on his jaw, as if memorizing him. 

“Wish I wasn’t such a coward. Wish I’d told you sooner.”

“I, as well,” murmurs Dream, pressing a kiss to each of Hob’s temples. “I will make it up to you, if I return.”

“If…”

“Goodbye, Hob.”

Dream vanishes in a flurry of sand and Hob crumples under the weight of regret and uncertainty.

Outside, thunder claps and the sky cries with him.

[jonghostie]

i started writing a bullet point type fic for first times having sex with atz but i started with hongjoong and got a biiit carried away with it so at this point i think it might become it's own separate thing

[hergrandplan]

my beige flag is that i do entirely too much research for a ficlet

[etapereine]

…okay. you got me, i’m gonna try to turn out another (very very short) prompt fill or two today.

[theriverbeyond]

ok NO promises but none of my WIPs feel especially enticing so if anyone has any fic prompts feel free to send em and I may try to write a little thing