Okay but shy/bunny reader being used to bestfriend!Rafe ditching her because he’s with some girl, she never points it out and somehow she always lets it go because she’s just a babyy and Rafe starts realising that they don’t hang out as much😭💖
it was hard seeing rafe go—always was, and always will be.
you tried to convince yourself you were used to it now, but the familiar ache in your chest when he'd say goodbye to you, topper, and kelce and walk away hand in hand with his flavor of the week was getting worse and worse.
before you'd realized you had feelings for rafe—beyond just the affection you gave to your close friends—you hadn't cared at all. you'd even encouraged it, same way you did with top and kelce, offering advice and recommending which flowers to bring, what places to bring them.
not that rafe ever really needed your help. it seems since the day he'd become your best friend, there was a line of girls hanging behind the two of you, seemingly waiting for their turn. at night, when it felt worse—and somehow it always did feel worse in your bed alone, wondering if rafe's was empty too and knowing that it wasn't—you tried to make yourself feel better.
you're still here, and they're not—that's how you tried. it worked for a little.
the newest girl had been around for a record three weeks, so even your usual bandaid for your shattered heart wasn't helping the wound heal.
so far, he'd skipped two meals, a day at the course, and half of a boat day to spend with her instead of you. you, kelce, and top that is. you'd hoped today was going to be different, walking back to top's jeep after lunch to head to the marina.
"you're not coming?" you call out to rafe, who was walking back in the direction of his own car. kelce and top are too far away to hear—getting into the front already. you were always stuck in the back, and you had never minded when rafe was there to keep you company.
rafe flicks his eyes over you, taking in the new dress you really shouldn't have bought just to see what kind of reaction you could get from him. your bag has your bikini in it and one of his button ups to cover you and he sees it poking out—white seersucker temporarily distracting him.
"rafe?"
"yeah. sorry, no. made plans with-"
"yeah, of course you did." you cut him off, and though even a few weeks ago you couldn't have imagined the vitriol in your voice, it comes out all too easy. "have fun."
you try to walk away but his footsteps follow—and damn his long legs, because he gets infront of you before you can escape.
"what, kid? you mad at me?"
you shouldn't say something. you shouldn't say anything.
"we're going to the boat. you said you were coming. i cut fruit for you."
"i-i'm sorry. top will eat it."
"it's not for him. that's not the point." the words teeter on the edge—wanting so badly to tell him that you miss him. that he never hangs out with you anymore, that he's choosing some girl over you and it stings worse than anything you've felt so far.
you're not sure when it started feeling so different—rafe's always done this. and standing two feet from the jeep, kelce sticking his head out the window to yell at you to get in, you realize you're going to reveal yourself if you don't shut up.
"have fun, rafe. sorry. bye."
you don't give him a chance to respond, but it doesn't take anything else for the gears to click. you're too quiet to ever admit it, too shy to say what you're really thinking, and rafe knows that—he's known it since he met you.
standing there, watching you drive away with kelce and top, he briefly wonders what the last time was he did something just with you. he can't even remember it. it all blurs together—late night runs for ice cream and breakfast while top and kelce were still passed out. the sweet way you smile at him and how your expression changes when he goes to the girl who's waiting for him. he gets in the car and can't decide which direction to turn—towards this girl or towards you.
on the boat, you kick up your feet and open your book, trying to drown out the chatter of kelce and top trying to get out of the marina and focus singularly on the romance in your hands rather than the one in your brain. you drown it out a little too much.
"that the one i got you?" rafe asks from somewhere next to you.
"god-" you exclaim, book slipping from your grip and thudding on the boat. "you scared me." catching your breath, you bend to pick up your book, but rafe beats you to it, picking it up and placing it on your lap.
"sorry."
"what happened to your plans?" rafe shrugs. you wish your heartbeat would slow down. you look down at your lap and rafe looks over you—exposed skin shiny with sunblock, a blue bikini he thinks he's never noticed before, matching nails that suit you.
summary: gojo realizes just how much he likes you when you go on your first date
note: feeling a bit soft for gojo rn so pls enjoy this little scenario…it’s 2am and i just wanna write something before i go to bed <3 gojo is probably a little ooc but this is my blog so!!!
i’m a lil rusty when ur comes to writing fics but i hope u enjoy!
warnings: fluff fluff fluff + she/her pronouns
masterlist :)
“I’m surprised this place is open so late.”
You mutter absentmindedly as you look at the pastries behind the glass, face at a respectable distance while Gojo stands beside you. He leans down to see what you see, his own eye catching the chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf.
“Nanami told me about it a while ago,” he explains. “Says he likes to come here when he can’t sleep since they’re open so late.”
“Do you like this bakery?”
Gojo watches as you pick and choose which pastries you want to try. The girl behind the counter lifts her gaze to him, eyes widening before averting her gaze to the small box in her hands.
“Haven’t tried it, actually,” Gojo says. He rubs the back of his neck when you turn around. “I, uh, wanted to wait. To try it with you, I mean.”
He sees your mouth morph into a shy smile and he can’t help but return it. Gojo turns and orders a beverage from the cashier, watching as her fingers fumble with the buttons before she relays the bill.
You’re about to pull out your wallet when Gojo reacts quicker than you can comprehend. You watch as he gives his credit card to the cashier without batting an eyelash. He laughs when you huff and grumble about being able to pay for the pastries since he paid for dinner, but he bumps his hips with yours and tells you it‘s on him.
You look so perfect under the awful fluorescent lights in your best dress and hair let down. He’s not used to seeing you like this; so carefree without your worries tucked away in that pretty little head of yours.
Gojo used to think he’d make it through life without relying on anyone and that he couldn’t count on other people for his own source of happiness and companionship. But he can’t deny there’s something about you that tugs at his heart strings a bit too aggressively.
This feeling follows him to the morning prior, when he asked you to accompany him to dinner. Gojo had guessed that you liked him more than you let on but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. This new sensation in the pit of his stomach travels with him tonight, especially when he takes a step back to fully absorb the way you look in his jacket. It dwarfs your shorter stature yet Gojo thinks it was made for you to wear.
The girl behind the counter turns around to finish the order, leaving the two of you to your wits for the time being. Gojo senses that this—casual dating or otherwise—isn’t something you do often. He silently thanks Shoko for drilling him about you (likes, dislikes, who you are as a person aside from the so-called friend group you two belong in) because he sees your finger tapping against the side of your leg and decides to make a move.
“I really like spending time with you,” Gojo starts. “I could do this again and again if you let me.”
“Really?” you ask, sounding something akin to disbelief. Your dress follows your movements as you turn around but all Gojo can focus on is the way your cheeks begin to blush. How cute.
He takes a step forward, nodding. “Believe it or not, I really enjoy spending all of my money on cute girls.”
“Is that so?“ you ask with an uptick in your voice. “Wonder if I’m the cutest, then.”
Gojo knows you’re joking by the way you’re smiling at him, but he wants to set the record straight.
“You are,” he says, “because you’re the only one.”
A soft sound distracts the two of you and he looks past your shoulder to see the cashier has set his beverage on the counter. Gojo thanks her and grabs the cup when he notices notices she’s written her phone number on the back of the surface. His stomach drops when he sees your eyes linger on the penmanship.
He panics.
“I must be special.”
Your voice lacks the humor from moments prior, eyes glazing over the written numbers while Gojo pathetically stands like he’s a frozen statue. He doesn’t know why he cares what you think of him nor why he wants to disprove the theory that he can’t settle down because of an innate need to flirt with everything that breathes. He watches you swallow and avert your gaze to the exit sign when he nods furiously.
“Yeah, you are.”
Gojo throws the beverage in the trash can beside him and cups your jaw in both of his hands to pull you into a tender kiss in the middle of a poorly lit bakery with two other patrons. He thinks your lips taste like coconut and sugar, so soft that he could keep his mouth on you forever and never complain.
He must be doing something right because you’re kissing him back.
You pull away first and he laughs at your flustered state, leaning in to press another quick kiss to your lips before you can escape him. He pays no mind to the girl who walks into the back room.
“I’ll spend however long it takes to make you understand that I’m serious about you,” Gojo promises.
“You better send Nanami a thank you card.” You grab the box of pastries. “Taking me here was a good start.”
a little gift for 1000 followers! thank you all so much for supporting me and being with me on my simblr journey, even if youre just here to lurk i still appreciate you sticking around and supporting me!! This tattoo set is all completely hand drawn by me and honestly im super happy with it! some of the designs are ones that people suggested and others are just random ones that i wanted to throw in there. i hope you guys like them, and if there are any issues please let me know!
-3 swatches (all together, left arm by itself, right arm by itself, leg by itself)
-teen to elder
-male and female frame
-bgc
-found in the upper left arm
-if you use them pls tag me i would love to see your sims
notes: this is silly & overtly fluffy & all over the place if i am completely honest rn. neteyam is a little flustered & probably ooc. sorry :’)
"there you are."
"here i am," you mirror back instantly, hardly sparing a glance up at the far too familiar voice as your fingers continue to work at chopping up some vegetables. it's a busy day—a momentous day. there is no time to waste.
"let me help," neteyam offers, already making moves to steal your knife from you as he steps to your side.
but you weave it away from his grasp, nudge him back with your shoulder and point the knife at him as you address him. "aht, don't think so," you differ, then continue your slicing. "besides, don't you have your own tasks to get to, mr. mighty warrior?"
days like this require a lot of preparation; everyone chipping in and doing their part so that it all gets done and runs smoothly. if even one person slacks off, it could cause a rift in sanctified plans. and that simply wouldn’t do. no, it would not.
"i have completed all of them, actually," he retorts, but he shrivels when you narrow your eyes up at him. "okay, almost all of them."
you scoff, let your pupils meet your sockets with a roll as you pry the truth out of him. of course, one of the most important days of the year and it is now that neteyam chooses to have an irresponsible whim. you aren’t sure what you’re gonna do with him.
"your mother will have your tail if she finds one thing out of place for tonight, you know this." it isn't necessarily a warning, but there is some tip-off in your tone. "you must get everything done."
neteyam hums, leans his hip against the raised wood that you are using as a makeshift counter. he says nothing, simply watches you. takes into account how you dice up the vegetables in front of you diligently before sliding them to the side with your knife and moving onto the next ones. his stare is driving you crazy—no one works well under pressure, after all.
it causes you to have a slight blunder; a misstep. you cut a pattern a tad too fast and send a slice of root tumbling towards the ground. neteyam's instincts are superb, quick, and he catches it before it hits the dirt. mumbling a thank you under your breath as he places it back on the tray, you find the heir before you still not making a move to speak.
you aren't sure why it unnerves you so.
"what do you have left to complete?" it's not the question you want to ask, but 'what the hell do you keep staring at?' doesn't sound quite as nice. so you settle on it.
you take a pause, a breath, to turn to him. throughout the years you have seen the eldest sully child wear many expressions. ones tainted by smiles, irritation, pride, devotion—but this one has you tipping your head in the most peculiar way.
because timidness is not something you think you've ever seen don the strong features of neteyam sully.
he carries himself with such an air of confidence; shoulders pressed back and chin held high—not arrogant, but undaunted. he does not shift gaze unless he is avoiding scoldings and he does not suck in his cheek unless he is fighting frustration. so, you wonder, what could possibly have his face contorted in such a reticent manner. if you did not know any better, you’d almost call his demeanor a rendition of shy. but that seems rather uncharacteristic of him, doesn’t it?
"ah—are you sure you don't need help with that?" he's deflecting, brushing off your inquiry like he hasn't heard it. and you can't decide whether you find that amusing or concerning.
he's making way for your knife again and you twist your arm to hold it out of his reach behind you. you eye him carefully, flit your gaze all around him to pick up on anything that you can that would explain his behavior.
"tell me." it's not an order, you aren't demanding, but neteyam nods his head like he's respondent of such.
"my father told me i needed a, uhm," he stutters, licks his lips, like he's tripping over his own tongue. and it's undeniable the way you see his ears twitch. "for the celebration tonight. i need a.."
"a what, neteyam?" you press, cock your brow up at him. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. never witnessed him so.. "you need a what?"
"a.. date."
so fidgety.
"a date?" you repeat with widening eyes.
"no, no not a—not a date really but i need someone for the—“
"the staining ceremony.” you finish for him, continue his sentence because with all his blubbering you aren’t sure he’ll ever spit it out.
he nods curtly.
the celebration tonight is for all the young warriors who have proved themselves throughout the calendar year as being strong willed and great protectors of the clan. neteyam, of course, is one of them. has been since he earned the right to be titled as such. so perhaps it should have clicked in your head that he’d be searching for a partner for the staining ceremony portion of the night.
but a part of you—if you’re being completely honest with yourself—just figured he had one already. events like this take weeks of planning; most warriors find their artisan a fortnight in advance. because it cannot just be anyone.
the partner one chooses for the staining ceremony must be someone with whom they feel a connection. some of the older warriors choose their mates. some of the youngest choose their mother or father. some settle for siblings. others, in brazen acts of outstretched hands, choose a mate unbonded; one who they harbor feelings for but have yet to seal such in the eyes of Eywa.
you cannot lie and say you had not pondered over who neteyam’s choice would be. a part of you thought he would pick kiri—they have always been so close and she has been his partner for such ceremony before. but, you are not deaf to the murmurs of your village, you are not ignorant of what has been passed from mouth to ear of all that will listen. there have been other… prospects who have been suggested to neteyam for this special commemoration.
your name has not been among them.
“well,” you continue, tear your eyes away from him and get back to the task at hand. there is no need to dwell on such things and fall behind. you have just one more batch of greens after this to prepare then you will be done and can walk away from all this. “if you’re here to ask my opinion on who your choice should be, i’m not sure i will prove to be much help.”
a shut down; a cut off. you’d like this conversation to be over as soon as possible because it’s making your fingers itch. you’re offering him a gateway to close the topic off.
but he doesn’t seem to get the memo.
“no,” he chuckles, now, and you can tell he’s shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. it’s breathy; like he’s punched it out of his chest and finally broken past the barrier of whatever flusteredness had him trapped before. “that’s not why i came to find you.”
“if it’s to convince kiri to sacrifice herself to do it for you again this year, i’m not game for that either.” you don’t understand why his laughter leaves you agitated, why this whole situation has caused an odd twisting in your gut.
“that won’t be necessary,” he disputes, “i do not need kiri to be my partner this year.”
your fingers fumble, your slicing stutters. “oh?” and you want to kick yourself for how your voice hitches. you clear your throat, bite the corner of your lip that neteyam can’t see. “convince some other poor soul to do it for you? is it zuy’nik? i know she presented you a kill from her hunt recently.”
neteyam hums. “no. i have not chosen zuy’nik.”
you grip your knife harder, focus carefully on the blade as you chop down on a bundle of leaves. your throat is dry, your heart is thundering. you feel silly.
“sënuul, then?” you question, do your best to sound as disinterested as possible even though your chest is burning to know who could be lucky enough to have been picked by the heir himself. “i hear many young warriors wish for her. they say she has delicate hands.”
your hands—in contrast—have grown tense; your chops near erratic. being this worked up over a man who is not your mate seems so futile, so nonsensical. if your mother were here to see you now she’d call you childish.
but is it so childish to want things your heart yearns for?
“while that may be true,” neteyam agrees with the sentiment, and that makes your stomach lurch, “it is not sënuul either.”
“then who is it? who could you possibly—“
a hand covering yours has you cutting yourself off. neteyam’s palm melds over your knuckles; stops your unsafe cutting and stills your wrist’s movements. before you can even bring yourself to look at him, calloused fingers are hooking around your chin. swiveling your head around, you have no choice but to meet his gaze. and it is not averting, not twinkling with tepidness like it was before. you think, for a moment, that’s because he’s passed the feeling onto you.
“i do not wish for any other partner in this clan.” and his voice does not waver, does not stumble, now. you swallow as you listen. “i came here to ask if you would do me the honors, for tonight.”
your tongue feels like cotton; the fuzz of it floating to your brain to make everything go static. this is.. not what you had expected.
you had expected to follow neytiri’s orders for preparing the food for the meals that would be shared. you had expected to dress yourself in the ceremonial clothing and jewelry you keep for these special occasions. you had expected to stand around the edges of the circle during the opening dance, serve food to the elders, and sit with a content tight smile as you watched kiri declare neteyam’s war paint for the third year in a row before the true celebration began.
you had not expected yourself to be standing face to face with neteyam, ears twitching embarrassingly sporadic, as he asks you to join him in one of the most intimate and important events of a warrior’s life.
and you suppose you can use that element of surprise as the reason why you find yourself a tad bit speechless while you nod dumbly. a wide grin cracks across his face, curves up his cheeks as he lets out another breathy laugh.
“thank you,” he murmurs, and he still hasn’t let go of your chin. “i was worried i would not get the chance to ask you in time. i was pushing it, but i tried to get all my other duties done as fast as i could.”
now that, the mention of time, finally knocks you out of your little lovesick trance.
“hey, wait,” you huff, shove at his chest lightly with your free hand. “you should have asked me sooner! i should have already had your stain pattern planned out, and—and now i have to go get all of your paints and i didn’t factor in the time for that. you’re terrible!”
“ah, i’m not terrible. i am sure you can just wing it,” he waves off, simpers like this is funny.
“wing it?” you gape at him. because he genuinely cannot be serious. “this will be your war paint pattern for the rest of the year. if it’s bad then you will be stuck with it. you want me just to wing that?!”
“why not? i have faith in you, i’ve put myself into your hands.” and it’s meant to playful, you know this, but the way he’s looking at you proves his words hold their full weight regardless. “don’t be mad at me.”
“oh, i’m mad,” you retort, brush him away as you get back to slicing because now you really do not have the time for distractions. “i cannot believe you have waited until last minute.”
“would you like me to ask someone else?” he queries, and you whip your head over to level him with a glare. “i mean, i am sure sënuul would be honored to be the partner of the future olo’eyktan.”
“you know, i liked you better when you were sputtering and nervous,” you spit back, retract your attention once again. “terrible. truly terrible.”
“ah, do not be mad at me,” he levels again, “what can i do to have you forgive me?”
“nothing. you will never be forgiven.” with no hesitation, but also no malice. your bite holds no venom, and your cheeks are still warm. such hypocrisy you spew.
“nothing?” he questions, and you don’t even have to see his face to know he is smiling. there he is again; the neteyam who holds his chin up high and taunts his brother into mindless games to prove his worth. you admire this neteyam; love this neteyam.
this neteyam grabs your face and tugs you forward before you can think of another mindless rebuttal to spout.
the kiss is light but fervent, and if you were a poetic person you might just say that his lips taste like future promises you already intend to keep. the fight drains from your body and you find no urge to bring it back. this neteyam seems to know how to quell you, how to dispel your frustration and wipe away your grievances like fogged up glass. so easy, so effortlessly.
he pulls away languidly, breath puffing against your lips. "forgive me?" he asks again, and you find yourself nodding before he even finishes the question.
he turns your head to peck your cheek then drops his hands to finally successfully steal the knife still held in yours. you tip your head, blinking through the daze to inquire what he's doing.
"i can finish that, you know."
"i know," he answers, then flashes you a crooked grin that has your stomach twisting in a way far different than before. "but don't you think you should start planning how you want to trail your hands over me?"
and, oh. part of you wants to hit him for that. but part of you wants to tug him in by the neckpiece he dons and get him to shut up by an alternative method.
as you reach forward to run your hand ever so heedlessly up his chest, a faux illusion of planning your mapping, you think you might just settle on the latter.
as a fellow denki lover, i would love to hear your interpretation of his kinks 🫶
ask and you shall receive♡ i will never not enjoy writing about denki(loml)♡
i know some people think he's a switch but he's not. <33 hard dom <33
dumbification- making you go dumb on his cock?? yeah!! people always underestimate him, calling him stupid, he's not and you know that more than anyone. but he does enjoy making you stupid though, thrusting into you hard and face, making your eyes glazed over with a vacant gaze on your face as you smile up at him dopey. "awe look at you babe. i've really fucked every brain cell out of you." his thrusts become harder with each word.
humiliation- seeing a humiliated look on your face after some hard degradation is one of his favourite looks on you. he's going to try to say and do anything that will humiliate you. "oh god you look pathetic, choking on my cock like that." "awe are you gonna cry? go on, show me, let me hear your pretty sobs" "what a slut. your pussy is so wet and i haven't even touched you yet."
piss- piss kink ties in heavily with his humiliation kink. i have a 1.7k word fic all about his piss kink, the whole thing is about it (x)
electrocution kink (him using his kink on you!!)- popped into his mind randomly and had to do it as soon as he could. he has you laying on your back with him hovering above you and touching random parts of your body upping the volts slightly each time just to see you jolt and yelp. obviously he knows how to handle the voltage and make sure he doesn't actually hurt you. focuses his touches on and around your nipple, also your inner thighs. after a particularity loud noise from you he stops his administrations and cheeks in on you, "shit! babe, are you okay, what colour? did i go too high. i'm so sorry baby."
you shake your head, "green! i'm okay denks but i want more," you rush out, pouting at the end, wanting him to continue and denki just shakes his head and chuckles.
"you really are a slut aren't you? i'll give you more if you want more."
blossoming romance prompts! Finding comfort in their scent
*arrives to the prompt several months late with starbucks* hey <3
Dream/Hob | Teen | for @dreamlingbingo adoptable square B1 "Hug Starved" | tags: human au, fluff, reunion, established relationship
-------------
The right side of the bed no longer smells like Hob.
Dream buries his face into the pillow, rubbing his nose into the plush, down feather filled material and inhales deeply, just to make sure–
He groans softly, unable to smell anything– turning his head with a frown and staring into the empty room.
Hob was away on a business trip. And what was supposed to be a 5-day engagement turned into a full week, now going on ten days. Hob promised to be home “soon,” but had also shown excitement over the work he was doing, the connections he was making. This was a fantastic opportunity for Hob; he was due for a promotion and Dream knew the money would be good for both of them, for their future. They had been talking about moving, buying their own home, finally finding a place to make their own. The two of them…
But they’d never been separated this long before.
It feels foolish, becoming so upset over a mere 10 days. But even when they were friends, Dream and Hob were connected at the hip, their mutual friends often teasing them about dating long before either of them confessed their feelings for each other.
Dream pulls himself up from their bed, too large for a single person, and drags his feet to put on some tea, wrapping the blanket around himself like a cape.
Now they had been “officially” dating for nearly six months, and if their friends thought Dream and Hob were super glued together while they were “just friends…” well…
They tried not to be too obnoxious about it, the PDA. But Dream had always been a very physical lover, and Hob was nothing if not an enabler. He would allow Dream to crawl onto him during social events, happily making room for Dream on his lap without breaking conversation he might’ve been in. Encourage a drunken Dream pulling Hob into a sloppy kiss in full view of the bartender, strangers, and friends, manhandling Dream until they could stumble outside or into a bathroom.
People would brush it off as the two of them being in their “honeymoon phase,” but Dream knew this passion for Hob, the unending affection and love would never wane, so long as Hob also met him time and time again.
Because it wasn’t just Dream initiating all the contact. Hob always had his hand in Dream’s, or on his shoulder, the small of his back, even just a light touch to indicate his presence. He loved sneaking kisses wherever he could reach on Dream– his cheek, his hand, his arms. He would stare at Dream from across the room, or sitting next to each other, like he couldn’t believe Dream was there at all. It was a heady experience, Dream finally meeting his match.
On his way to the kitchen, Dream pauses to eye the now monstrous pile of dirty laundry protruding out of the bathroom hamper– too forlorn to perform the most boring task that was washing and folding. He turns and steps fully into the bathroom, flicking the light on and staring down at the tall pile of clothes and, much like a cat on a counter, knocks the basket over.
Clothes cascade to the floor, all Dream’s, of course. But near the bottom of the hamper, Hob’s old clothes revealed themselves.
Feeling just a little silly, Dream abandons his mission that was tea, and digs through the clothing until he pulls out one of Hob’s favorite sweaters, dropping the blanket to yank it on– tugging the collar up to his nose and inhaling deeply– before diving back in and finding a pair of Hob’s flannel pajama bottoms.
—-----------------------------------
Hob slips his key in the lock, unable to bite back the huge smile that stretches across his face, as he turns the door knob and steps inside the apartment.
He knows Dream will be home, and armed with that knowledge, he quietly pushes the door open, peeking around before stepping inside. Hob had told Dream he’d be home “soon,” not elaborating any further, hoping to surprise his boyfriend with his arrival. His pulse thrummed happily under his skin, making Hob giddy as he carefully shrugged off his heavy backpack letting it fall on the couch while he toes off his shoes. He bites his tongue to call out for Dream, a flicker of worry at the emptiness of both the living room and kitchen, and checks the time on his phone.
It’s 10am. Dream had been known to sleep in, especially on his off days. Hob makes his way to the bedroom, when the bathroom light catches his eye. And then, inevitably, the tangled mess of a boyfriend sitting on the floor, surrounded by dirty laundry.
Hob’s heart flutters in his rib cage at the image of Dream in what is clearly Hob’s old clothes, his smile growing as Dream’s head snaps up, his eyes widening comically and his jaw dropping at the sight of Hob. His raven black hair is a mess and the way his eyes appear puffy and slightly sunken in makes Hob’s chest cleave in.
“Surprise, love– whoa!”
Between one blink and the next, Dream was up and leaping into Hob’s arms, causing him to stumble back until his shoulders connected with a wall, arms circling tightly around Dream, holding him steady.
Hob laughs breathlessly, his heart soaring at the sudden weight and warmth of Dream surrounding him; legs crossed around his hips and arms coiling around Hob’s shoulders, his head tucked into Hob’s hairline.
Hob squeezes back, one arm around Dream’s back and the other under his butt to hold him steady, crushing their bodies together.
“Hey,” Hob whispers into Dream’s ear, his hand rubbing up and down Dream’s back. “I missed you, too.”
Dream’s head moves, nudging his nose further into Hob’s hair and sniffing deeply, the warm air tickling Hob and causing him to laugh gently.
“You okay?”
“I am better, now.” Dream’s voice rumbles against Hob’s skull. Hob sighs at the sound, so much better in person, so much clearer and beautiful than the endless phone calls they’d shared from the past near two weeks.
“You smell like me,” Hob smiles as he speaks, finally meeting Dream’s gaze as the other man pulls himself around to lay a kiss on Hob’s lips.
And it’s not just the smell of Hob’s stale sweat on the clothes, but Hob can also smell hints of his favorite cologne– something he only breaks out for special occasions– as well as whiffs of coconut from his shampoo.
“Mm…” Dream hums after several long, long seconds reacquainting himself with the inside of Hob’s mouth, making the other man pant deliriously. “Not enough, I think.”
Hob laughs again, breathless. His arms are beginning to strain from holding Dream up for this long, but the other man seems content in staying where he is, the blue of his eyes bright and inviting; so much more alive than through a phone screen. The idea of turning and pinning Dream to the wall, or even walking them to their bed, is very tempting right now. Hob hefts Dream just a little higher and the motion rocks Dream’s hips into his, causing Dream to touch their foreheads together with a small whine of pleasure.
“I need you inside me,” Dream purrs, his hands now on Hob’s face, pushing his hair back and brushing their lips together. “Like you promised.”
Hob had indeed promised, on one of their many explicit video calls, to show Dream how much he missed him… by staying in bed all day and surrounding Dream in his warmth, his touch, promising not an inch of Dream’s flesh to be forgotten by his lips and tongue and fingers. The memory of it is enough to send fire racing through Hob’s veins, the exhaustion from his flight banished and replaced by overwhelming want.
But then Hob feels more than hears Dream’s stomach give a low growl, both of them pausing comically as it passes.
Hob quirks an eyebrow.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
The silence is answer enough, and Hob hums, carefully bringing one hand around to press his thumb to Dream’s bottom lip.
“Come on,” Hob turns and manages a few steps out of the bathroom before Dream finally gets with the program and unfolds himself from Hob, stepping carefully onto the floor. “You’re gonna need all the energy you can get today.”
Hob winks as he says it, grinning at the playful spark in Dream’s eyes.
hey could i get a middlespace board (ages 12-14) with late 90s grunge vibes, stuff like camo pants, nirvana shirts, cassette tapes etc, no paci please !!!! stuff like school buses or hallways, bedrooms, fish tanks or reptiles etc would be cool too. overall vibe sort of late 90s/ early 2000s midwest suburb in winter lol i’m sorry if that’s too specific! more masc leaning too👾
Surprise Sketches of some OC’s I was working on for a fic I was writing. Again, not an artist but I think they turned out okay! :D (I think the tiny is going to be smaller but I’m physically incapable of drawing that small on my current canvas size)
Don’t worry, the big guy is gentle… even if sometimes he doesn’t realize things until after he’s done them. But aghhh. Tiny with a broken wing, forced to stay with someone hundreds of times bigger than himself until he’s healed up which could take months? Amazing. Chef’s kiss
I won’t reveal the names yet, but this one is an extreme size difference because I love it so much 🫶