#like the ships will be everywhere you turn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

r3starttt · 2 days ago

Text

GUITAR

PAIRING: Ellie Williams x reader

SUMMARY: Where you fall for your bandmate.

CW: requested months ago, sorry for that. Fluff. Modern AU.

AN: thanks to @topimpabunny for helping me write this <3

TAGLIST: @twopeoplee @greysontheidiot @sapphic-ovaries @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @1-800-fantasy @prwttiestbunny @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @abbys-muscles @lott6i @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight

As the tour neared its final, with only two cities left, the days felt heavier, not just with the physical but the mental exhaustion. There was about a week remaining—seven days of awkwardly dozing off on Ellie's shoulder during long drives between hotels, ot sharing late-night cigarettes while the rest of the band devoured greasy slices of pizza in the back of the bus.

Sometimes, Ellie would order the strangest dishes at fancy restaurants, pushing plates towards you with a raised brow and that silly smile on her face, silently daring you to try whatever odd creation sat before you because she never liked whatever she ordered.

It was the same routine you've got used to at home, just expensive and with a subtle shift you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Your new album had become the album. You heard it everywhere—on the radio, in the restaurants you dined at, in the stores you wandered through. People recognized you more frequently now, and though the rush of success was thrilling, it came with suffocating attention.

The band had begun to earn a proper, equitable pay for the first time, unlike a few months ago when you were the highest-paid simply for being the voice, the face of the project.

Now, after endless rehearsals and countless hours spent side by side, the bond between all of you had deepened. It was impossible to go anywhere alone—someone from the band was always by your side. And truthfully, you preferred it that way. It felt like the early days, when the band was just an idea, and you were all strangers awkwardly navigating each other's space. Back then, you barely knew the teens who would later become family, waiting for the bassist to count you in, while now, they waited for your lead, their laughter contagious because you were the one making them laugh.

Yet, the fame you’d found felt strangely coincidental, as if it had happened by accident rather than design. It was your first proper album, and you wanted it to be special, so, each member had contributed a song, a break from your usual routine of writing everything yourself to later check with the band and other people to make it work properly and making something personal yet sellable.

Ellie had written one of them, of course—Ellie Williams, the girl who went viral a few months before the album dropped, the one who captivated the crowd with a stage presence that to you and everyone else in the band, seemed so unlike the quiet and shy girl who lingered offstage.

Her lyrics were tender, delicate, yet deeply abstract, they spoke about love in a way that couldn’t be easily directed at just anyone. You’d helped her shape them, fine-tuning the words until they fit with the band’s sound. There was a familiarity to her devotion, an intimacy that felt strangely personal.

The fans, naturally, ran wild with it. They created stories based on the stolen glances on stage and pictures a very intense fan took from late-night cigarette breaks, interpreting the alone moment as something more. A love story in the making.

But how could they not? After years of being side by side, didn’t you know Ellie better than anyone? She could read you, read all of you, with a glance. But the public, craving romance, chose to believe in something more.

You weren't the only one, the public would ship everyone in the band, and it was fun, so no one ever spoke about it.

And so, the rumors grew. What had once been innocent interactions turned into something else, something heavier. Still, you leaned into it, playing along with the joke. Sitting next to her during interviews, exchanging glances on stage, especially during her song. It became part of the act, a little game between you, Ellie, and the crowd.

By the end of the tour, it wasn’t even intentional anymore. It was just... your thing.

Before the show began, the backstage buzzed with the familiar hum of excitement, the echo of the crowd’s screams blending with the playlist the band had curated for the waiting fans. Your favorite song was blasting now, the melody spilling through the walls and bouncing off the concrete floors. The audience was singing along, their voices loud and passionate, filling the venue with a pulse you could feel deep in your chest.

You hummed the lyrics under your breath, half-focused as you scrolled through your phone, scanning social media for comments about your last performance in Seattle two days ago.

Around you, the controlled chaos of pre-show prep unfolded. A makeup artist dabbed eyeliner onto someone’s face in the corner, while another fluffed the drummer’s hair with quick, expert hands.

Next to you, Ellie fidgeted in one of those creaky rolling chairs, her knee brushing yours for what felt like the tenth time. She couldn't sit still, her fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm on the vanity as someone dampened her hair, her leg bouncing like she had energy to burn and no place to put it.

For a while, the two of you sat in an easy silence, the kind that only comes after years of knowing someone so well, words become unnecessary. But then, Ellie’s black, crooked nails crept into your view, tapping on your screen just enough to block it from your eyes. You sighed, shutting off your phone and tossing it into the mess of clothes, makeup, and half-eaten snacks scattered across the vanity—Ellie’s snacks, mostly.

"You good?" she asked, her tone teasing, but there was a nervous edge to it, her lips bitten raw from anxious chewing.

You gave her a sideways glance, rolling your eyes as you tugged at the collar of your shirt. "Are you?" you quipped, but your tone had more bite.

Ellie responded with a playful slap to your knee, her brows pulling into a frown, a silent question—Did I do something wrong?

"Fumbling the opening riff for the last three shows" you raised an eyebrow, your tone revealing exactly what you thought. A question and a statement in one.

As she does, her laugh brushed it off. With loud steps she pushed herself off the vanity, her converse dragging slightly on the floor as she scooted closer to you. The old chair creaked beneath her, and you could feel her knee against yours again, a quiet reminder of the space you shared. "That’s ‘cause I know you’ll cover for me," your eyes met in that playful glint, unmistakable. "It’s our thing, isn’t it?"

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The way you two moved in sync on stage—the fleeting looks, the almost accidental touches that made the crowd lose their minds—it was all part of the unspoken act, the rhythm that made them believe there was something more than the love for music.

"Oh, so that’s what they’re here for?" you teased, leaning back slightly but keeping your gaze steady on hers. "To watch me save your ass every night?"

Ellie’s grin widened, her eyes narrowing with that familiar, quiet confidence. "Nah," she said, her voice dipping low, "they’re here for that look you give me right after I hit the wrong note."

It was the way she said it, the softness behind the teasing, that made your heart stutter for a moment. You were used to Ellie’s banter, the way she could disarm you with a smile or a well-placed quip, but this felt heavier somehow. The rumors, the touches that lingered just a second too long, the unspoken words hidden in the corners of her playful eyes—it all started to feel like something more. And for a brief second, you wondered if she felt it too.

"You keep talking like that," you murmured, your voice quieter now, "and people are gonna think we’re actually playing into it."

Ellie’s smirk softened, her gaze lingering on yours for a beat longer than usual. She didn’t respond, at least not with words, but her fingers casually reached out, grabbing a handful of sour gummies from the vanity, "Maybe we are," her tone almost too casual, lighter.

Just then, the familiar roar of a specific song boomed from outside— It was almost time. The crowd was waiting, growing louder with every passing second. Your pulse quickened, matching the beat of the music, and you could feel Ellie’s energy shift beside you.

It mirrored on how her chair came back to its original place, her way to give you both a moment to breathe until she stood, her movements slower than usual, and for the first time, there was a hint of hesitation in her voice, "C’mon." You nodded, counting to three in your head before standing up.

And then came the familiar rhythm of the night. The opening notes of the first song reverberated through the stage, and you forced yourself to move, pacing from one end to the other, your body pulling itself through the heat of the lights and the overwhelming roar of the crowd. Eventually you found solace in the other members. You caught their glances, subtle nods exchanged in the chaos, when the lights grew too bright or the sound too heavy.

But by the time the second song kicked in, something shifted. The rhythm found you, or you found it, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. Your voice carried through the venue, the echoes of the crowd’s chants blending with your own, and soon enough, the moment arrived where you could pause, breathe, and thank them—your people, your fans—for being here, for their endless support.

Then came the moment they loved the most. The part that had become a signature of every performance. Your hand slid gently beneath Ellie’s chin, lifting her face toward yours, your nails pressing just enough to leave the faintest marks on the edges of her lips. The mic hovered between your mouths, both of you singing the chorus in unison, voices blending in a way that felt intimate, almost too intimate for the stage.

And when the chorus gave way to her solo, you stepped back, your gaze locked on her with a look that was no longer just a performance.

It wasn’t fake—the feelings that surfaced as you watched her there, guitar in hand, fingers moving effortlessly across the strings. You still remembered when she’d first started playing, the way her fingertips had been rough, bandaged from the hours of practice. How you’d kept a stash of bandaids in your school bag, handing them to her with a teasing smile when she groaned in frustration at missing an easy chord. And sometimes, you swore she’d mess up on purpose, just to see you laugh. She’d helped you find your own voice, inviting you over to her place to practice together, pushing you to hit notes you didn’t think you could reach.

Now, standing on stage, so much time had passed, and yet, the memories felt as close as ever. You could still see that shy girl who had walked up to you after your first rehearsal with the band, gifting you a pack of mints and a bottle of nail polish the day after your birthday. She’d missed it, having barely known you then. "Good for your voice," she’d said, quoting something from Google about the mints. The nail polish? "I like your nails. Thought this color might look cool. Maybe you could do mine next time."

It was more than just an act, more than just something for the crowd to swoon over. It was the nostalgia of seeing how far you’d both come, from awkward first meetings to now, standing side by side under the blinding lights of the stage. And not just Ellie, but the whole band. These people who had let you in, who had become family. Every show was a reminder of that—of the gratitude that swelled in your chest, for being part of something so much bigger than yourself. For being allowed to belong.

“Thanks, I really mean it.” Backstage enveloped you in a familiar haze, a blend of sweat and excitement hanging in the humid air, even with the doors flung wide open. You held a beer in one hand, the cool glass resting on your knee, while the other leg stretched out under the small coffee table, cluttered with half-eaten pizza and discarded snack wrappers.

“Imagine if we’d given up on those quiet girls—our band would’ve flopped,” Jesse piped up.

He had been tough on you both at first, “If you never open up, it’s never going to work,” he’d remind you in every rehearsal until he finally broke down your walls.

Ellie rolled her eyes at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Imagine if we’d given up on you, dude. Stop bothering.” With a gentle shove, she sent him reeling slightly, causing him to spill his drink across his shirt.

“She’s right. You were an ass to us,” you chimed in, matching Ellie’s playful energy, your gaze meeting Jesse’s, who wore a mock hurt expression. “You’re so meant to be,” he shot back, laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Shit, actually—” you began, setting your drink aside. “They’re saying our songs are related, like the lyrics give off similar vibes and stuff-” But he quickly interrupted, familiar with the comments online. “So, are you two gonna kiss already, or…?” Ellie laughed shyly, a flush creeping up her cheeks, the thrill of the moment mixing with the awkwardness of the conversation. "Fuck off"

“I was actually thinking we should,” you teased, leaning into the moment, watching Ellie’s eyes widen with exaggerated shock. Her expression morphed into one of mock disappointment as she found herself trapped between whatever this was against her. “Bro—” she spoke, her voice muffled by a mouthful of pizza, “if you want me that bad, just say so.”

Laughter erupted around you, filling the small backstage area with warmth and that sense of belonging you dearly loved.

With the tour finally over, everyone was back home. After years of relentless rehearsals, sleepless nights, and grueling performances on any stage that would have you, the band had made it. The fame brought more than recognition—it had granted each of you the chance to finally own your own apartments, a small but significant milestone. But none of you had expected just how exhausting coming home would feel.

Tonight was no different than the old routine you were just starting to forget—at least until you’d called Ellie.

You hadn’t expected her to pick up, let alone offer to come over. But she did, and now she was on her way. For the first time in what felt like forever, Ellie had volunteered to help without any ulterior motive. Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe, though she'd never admit it, she missed you.

Ellie had been trying to keep herself busy since the tour ended. She’d spent a night at Joel’s house, picking up her cat—who, to her mild surprise, was slimmer than when she left her. Joel had apparently decided Ellie’s feeding instructions weren’t trustworthy and had followed some Google advice instead. He’d kept her up late, asking about the tour, her health, and, not-so-subtly, about you. Ellie brushed it off with a laugh, insisting, “It’s part of the contract and stuff.”

The quiet of his place, the chirping crickets, and not having to deal with dishes or city noise had been comforting.

Back home, though, the boredom set in. She’d spent hours in bed with her cat, alternating between snacking on an embarrassing amount of sweets and scrolling aimlessly through social media.

When you called, she jumped at the chance to escape. Crowds had never been her thing, and the fame made going out even harder now. So, she headed to your place.

Meanwhile, you’d been keeping yourself busy too, sorting through the mess of your apartment while trying to maintain some semblance of a routine—vocal exercises, and, of course, scrolling through fan edits and comments online.

You missed the rush of the tour: the exhaustion, the adrenaline, the late-night parties with the band. But mostly, you missed Ellie.

She’d always been the one you were closest to, the one who felt like home no matter where you were. Watching videos of her onstage, reading comments from fans who adored her just as much as you did—it warmed your heart. There was something so Ellie about it all, a mix of quiet charm and undeniable presence that you couldn’t help but love.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. She was here

Minutes later, Ellie stepped into your apartment, cat carried in hand. You barely gave her a chance to close the door before your focus shifted to the cat.

“Did you seriously bring her?” you asked, raising an eyebrow but already reaching to scoop the feline into your arms.

“What? You call her your baby but don’t want to see her?” Ellie teased, extending her arms to take the cat back. You ignored her, cuddling the purring creature like a newborn.

“She is my baby,” you said matter-of-factly. “Is she skinnier?”

Ellie shrugged, following you into the mess of your living room before plopping down on your bed like it was her own. “Joel fed her like Google told him to. Said she was too fat.”

You chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as Ellie kicked off her shoes. “He’s not wrong.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, unlacing her dirty Converse while the cat curled against your chest. “So,” she asked, her voice playful, “did you miss me?”

You looked at her, her familiar scent lingering in the room. “Yup. Can’t live without you, Ellie,” you replied, deadpan but sincere enough to make her pause mid-motion.

“Dude,” she muttered, shooting you a look before tossing her shoes across the room with a loud thump.

You laughed, setting the cat down and joining her on the bed. “I mean it, though,” you said, groaning as you stretched out beside her. “I miss the partying, the chaos… I’m too bored here.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agreed, leaning back on her elbows, her gaze meeting yours. “But it’s kinda nice, isn’t it? Having some time to do nothing for once?”

You tilted your head, watching her for a moment. She had a point, but it was hard to appreciate the quiet when part of you just wanted to be back onstage with her by your side.

The silence crept in slowly until you chose what felt like the right words.

“I just think we should go back soon." Ellie sighed, tipping her head back. “We deserve a longer break, to just... I don’t know, be normal for a second?”

You turned to look at her, your expression tightening. “Normal... Sure just, being on stage," you paused, simply staring st her. "It feels... right.”

She frowned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, so this doesn’t feel right? Me, here, with you?”You quickly huffed. Sitting up “That’s not what I meant."

Ellie seemed clearly bothered by it, but when wasn't she overreacting about life itself?

“It’s just... I miss it. It’s like it’s the only time we—” you stopped yourself, suddenly feeling exposed.

Ellie’s eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable in them. “The only time we what?”

You swallowed, looking into your lap before staring back. “The only time we get to have those moments.”

Ellie shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “Well, shit. Sorry for wanting to spend time with you outside of that.”

You blinked at her, not surprised but... conflicted. "Why is it such a bad thing that I want to go back?” She just groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “When did I say it was?”

“You’re insinuating that I’m crazy for wanting it.”

“I’m not saying that."

There was a silence again, this time louder than before, the type to ring loudly in your ears. It was only interrupted by the sudden purring of the cat settling on your lap.

“I’m saying we deserve a break, and that includes you.” Ellie spoke again, her tone quieter than usual. “I know that” you cleared your throat, playing with the soft of the fur.

Ellie let out a heavy sigh, sitting up and dragging her hands down her face, fingers lingering at her jaw as if grounding herself. “You’re making me feel bad,” she murmured, her voice quieter, but still laced with frustration. “For just—wanting to spend time with you.”

The weight of everything—of missing her, of wanting more, of not knowing how to say it—pressed down on you, suffocating. You pushed a hand through the cat's fur, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. “Els, the whole reason I wanna go back on tour is to see you more.”

Ellie blinked, her brows pulling together in that sheepish frustrated look so characteristic of her. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you stared down at your hands. “Because I was fucking- i dont know, it's awkward,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And you’re not helping—playing into the whole us thing—”

Ellie’s jaw tightened, her hands curling against the blanket before she slowly released them.

Yet, she used her stubborn for good and just leaned in, brushing your lips with her chapped ones.

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a long moment, the room felt too small, too still.

#( 𝕽EQ'S﹕⠀ ❪ Ellie ❫#A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ( ellie )#ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie fluff #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n

157 notes · View notes

fangbanger3000 · 2 days ago

Text

a last note on the ai-fic bullshit

a couple days ago, a person i had never spoken to before shared my call-out post on x with the earnest intention of spreading awareness of the issue. she was attacked and harrassed so harshly by the same group of people who have been dragging my friends and i through the mud that she ended up having to deactivate.

this group of perpetrators then did their very best to turn this whole conversation on its head by accusing the poster of being anti-solavellan, of sharing the post with malicious intentions of dividing the fandom and tearing down amateur writers, and grouping her and i/my friends as antis and what not.

my thoughts on that development aren't any that i can express with any diplomacy or maturity whatsoever, but @drakonmo herself did a wonderful job at gracefully carving out the very important conversation we, as fans, need to have within our communities. whether you observed or participated in the conversation surrounding the silence and the song and the following shitstorm, i strongly urge you to read her post (here) (on x).

tldr/to those who might be in a rush, let me pull out some highlights:

by deleting the evidence and refusing to acknowledge the public claims were ever made, these people who despise me and wanted to foment discourse could succeed, armed with the trust and respect of loyal followers.

suddenly, the entire wall of text of explanations, of signs, of concerns were reduced to nothing but one portion of the whole. people began to attack OP and me and write threads, posts, etc, saying we were insulting all creators everywhere and we were - singlehandedly - the reason people didn't share their artwork.

clearly, these people argued, this insult and injury to all writers everywhere was a sign of these posts being a hate campaign. suddenly people could completely ignore the fact that the OP is a HUGE shipper, and i have been the world's most vocal proponent of shipping the particular character with anyone and/ or everyone.

i saw some people ask questions - what's happening, what's the drama, what's the situation? and they believed blindly the first things said to them without even trying to seek the truth or sources for themselves - and i truly mean this was an issue on both sides, for both people who ultimately agreed with me and people who did not.

the people that deliberately misrepresented what was being said, who nitpicked so that they could justify choosing "us versus them" - i ask that you consider, if you can and you would like to, to internalize and reflect how you may be susceptible to situations like this happening OFFLINE.

if ONLINE FANDOM misinformation can rouse such a level of discourse, hatred, fear, and anger over a fanfiction or ship ...what are the implications for REAL LIFE?

are you possibly reading a headline and believing it without reading the full article?

are your political and personal opinions swayed heavily by your peers, rather than being shaped by information and political education?

are you well informed and checking for bias from your chosen news sources?

do you exist in an echo chamber that has actively harmed your ability to understand other perspectives and worsened your capacity for allyship?

we best fight FASCISM when we recognize how we approach the people and issues around us, no matter how small. supporting artistic integrity in your fandom is a low rung on the ladder, but your approach to a sense of community and how news, conflict, and opinions form and spread IS vital.

thank you for reading, and thank you to those who have stuck by me (and by mo) despite the backlash it might have caused you. this has been insane and i look forward to never discussing that fucking fic again, but that doesn't mean we get to turn our heads to how this all turned to shit in the first place.

as a self-proclaimed safe space often characterised by escapism, we owe it to one another to make sure this community is as safe as can be and remains one where we care for one another despite which fictional characters we think should kiss.

#fang #dragon age #solavellan #fandom critical #the silence and the song #tsats #dav #da #da:v #ai art is not art #i'm not sure what to tag this honestly atp i'm just using the same tags as before #propaganda #solavellan critical #question mark #dreadrook #who gives a fuck this is important #solas dragon age #solas #discourse

61 notes · View notes

termagax · 22 hours ago

Note

25- Write about your ship bathing or swimming together 🐟🪝💕

"Come on, you reek."

"I do not."

"This whole place smells like a whales arse"

"Smelled like that before we got here."

The protest was half-hearted, an irritated grumble as they let him scoop them out of the bed anyways. The fish had spent most of the day asleep, whinging about being sore, which meant it was as easy as it'd ever be to get them to clean up a little.

They relaxed a bit when Roadhog slid into the tub behind them. Their current hideout between jobs was some pricks idyllic vacation home in the mountains. Rat had disabled the alarm and they'd already spent the better part of the week enjoying the luxuries of the wealthy, one of which happened to be absurdly massive bathtubs.

They had a lot of mass between the two of them, so it wasn't too often that there was ever really room for the both of them to bathe comfortably. Even still, the fish's ridiculous tail had to drape over the far edge so they could properly stretch out.

"I think I smell nice," they said, leaning back into his stomach as hot water filled the tub.

"You don't," he said with a snort. They jabbed him in the side with a bony elbow. He just laughed.

If he was being honest, most of the time they didn't smell awful. They had a naturally fishy sort of thing going on, briney and musty, but like a wide, swampy river more than a bait shop. Not the best, but he'd developed a taste for it that made it seem... sweet, almost. Homey, if he was feeling sappy.

Unfortunately it was only as pleasant as it was understated. They were the most resistant of the trio to ever really 'clean up' and as the weeks wore on it began to show - and the more time they spent away from Oz, the more the nose-blindness of the disgusting wasteland faded away and Roadhog found himself with less and less tolerance for their preferred level of filth.

"Turn the water off," they said. They didn't move to do so themselves.

"It's not full." It was barely halfway, just covering their lap.

"I don't like it full."

"You're a fish. You love water."

"Not this water," they said.

"Not radioactive enough for you?"

"It's freshwater, dumb fuck," they kicked the faucet to punctuate. "It's different."

"Mmm," the smell of an incoming rant was thicker than the seaweed stink.

"Its awful, it's like trying to breathe in fucking smoke, and it tastes weird, and I get all dried out and itchy for days afterwards and it's not like I can just pop out for a swim or anything after because you cunts dragged me away from my perfectly good ocean so we can run from the cops in more scenic locations, like this absolute charmer of a fucking ice factory." They gestured at the massive, fancy windows, where a picturesque snow was falling over a landscape that looked straight from a christmas card.

"Mhm." He grabbed one of the fancy-pants soaps and lathered it up, manuvering them while they complained so he could scrub down their back. He pressed down a little harder than strictly neccessary, paying special attention to the spots they always said were sore.

He wasn't really listening as they bitched about soap in their gills and scales that shed everywhere and how much they hated flowery smells. He'd heard it all before. They could whine all they wanted, really, because there was nothing so satisfying as watching their dull, dusty scales turn all shiny, a shimmery blue-green-pink that flowed in the light.

So he stuck to his task, working down their back, melting the tense cables of muscle down smooth as they puttered on, eventually fading out into an indistinct grumble and vague, frustrated gesture.

"Babe," they complained, rolling their shoulders into his hands. "I'm trying to gripe here."

"I'm not stopping you," he said with a chuckle. They groaned, sinking into the water and rearranging themself in the tub, settling on the other side so they could glare at him more effectively. The ire was less convincing when they stuck a leg up into his face.

He rolled his eyes and complied, continuing the soapy massage, feeling extremely smug as their irritation drained away.They rested their head against their tail, expression soft as they watched him. He could never tell what they were thinking. His own face always gave him away and they could read him like a hand of cards, but he never had been able to see what was behind those eyes when they stared at him like that, intense but unfocused all at once. That's probably why the question caught him so off guard.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

He faltered for a second.

"I'm not." Deflecting seemed safest. Those eyes left his hands, staring straight up at him now.

"You don't even like me."

"Mmm." He didn't really say anything. He kept his eyes on their legs.

"You don't. You don't like anything about me." They kicked his chest with the leg he wasn't holding. He grabbed them by the shin before they could do it again.

A glance spared to their face showed a much more comprehensible look. That stupid, smug little smirk with their teeth poking out even more than usual, the kind that pushed up their eyes and flared out their fins. Whatever had shadowed them earlier had been pushed aside for this - an invitation to play.

"I don't," he conceded. He couldn't help but grin, though. He brought a foot to his face, planted a kiss right on their bony ankle. "You whine about everything."

Their eyes sparkled. He dragged them closer, away from the edge of the tub until their legs were straddling him and he could hold them by the hips. They had to scramble to stay upright.

"You're a lazy drunk." A kiss to the inside of one knee.

"You're a pervert." Leaning over to kiss their chest, licking into a gill for good measure.

"You're obnoxious - too clingy." A kiss to their shoulder.

"You're disgusting, rude, ugly, slimy, weirdo." A trail of kisses up their neck punctuating each little insult.

"And," He looked right in their eyes, forehead pressed into theirs. He could feel the gentle purr-like rumble in their chest. "You fucking smell."

The tension broke like glass on brick, their barking laugh loud enough to make him recoil. Still, the laugh was contagious, and he chuckled as they wrapped their arms around his head, pulling him down for a proper kiss.

He payed them back by dunking their head under the water.

They shot back up, betrayed and sputtering an awful lot for someone who could breathe under there. He just laughed and lathered his hands with shampoo, pulling them close again while they muttered obsceneties and threats of murder.

#otayyy everyone be. niceys.#🐊#or meansies perhaps. idk just. say something if u can :]#🐟

26 notes · View notes

keysmashcoward · 6 months ago

Text

I finally finished day 1 of hypno ship week, old friends / getting closer! I don't know if it's the most overt theming, like, it honestly could be read as an established relationship or qpr if you wanted to and I wouldn't argue with you. It's pretty obvious I'm rusty, so go easy on me! /lh

---

Despite the drizzling rain outside the little coffee stand, Hypno found managing drive thru customers far more relaxing than usual. Cars seemed reluctant to clump up into a demanding line and customers seemed to be utilitarian in their orders, requesting simple drinks with little to no special instructions.

"You need anything?" False seemed particularly bored, no walk up customers to chat up or maintenance tasks to busy herself with. Hypno was debating convincing her to take over the drive thru when the employee entrance door opened, cold air and morning rain rushing in.

Jevin also rushed in. His sweatshirt was soaked and his expression looked apologetic. False whipped around from the counter she was cleaning with dedication. A sigh of relief escaped her lungs and she returned to scrubbing sticky vanilla syrup and blue raspberry stains from the surface.

Hypno's curiousity got the better of him, "Did you finally get tired to being perfect at your job?" The joke had a pinch of snark to it, but Jev's chuckle disintegrated any though that he would respond with heat.

"No, I'm just that confident you guys could deal perfectly well without me." Hypno was about to say something about how it was a Monday, and Mondays were always terrible, but Jev got to his argument before him.

"I mean, that line," a roll of the eyes and a gesture out the empty drive thru window, "only a professional like you could achieve the feat of serving the entire morning rush before I had even arrived."

Hypno tried to think of a clever response, but to no evale. A matching eye roll and a huff of exasperation would have to do.

The sound of tires on wet concrete interrupted their conversation. Hypno hurriedly slide open his window, an awkward smile covering for his annoyance towards Jevin.

"Could I get myself a quad shot Americano with oat milk and..." Hypno dropped his customer serving face in favor of a cheeky grin, "for you, maybe enough lenience to ditch work?"

"I feel like you were scouting out a day we wouldn't be so busy." Hypno's fingers easily found xB's tab on the touch screen register and entered his order. Jevin had already taken his place at the espresso machine. Hypno would have liked to think it was to prove himself after coming in late, but logic told him Jev just wasn't to kean on leaving customers waiting.

XB's eyes we're on his phone, determinally searching for something before unbuckling from his seat. His torso strained his car to hold out his phone to Hypno. After a glance, Hypno doubled his grin.

He hurriedly added a lid to xB's nearly finished drink, double cupping and sleeving, as usual, and placed it in xB's free hand.

He grabbed his keys.

---

Hypno thought an hour and a half drive was a great trade for xB's spontaneous compulsion to take him to a new teriyaki place. Him bringing food back to the parked car was even worth an earful from Cubfan about the importance of being a responsible employee.

His usual order to test and measure restaurant quality was chicken teriyaki with fried rice and a side of coleslaw. His meat was tender and juicy, rice was properly seasoned with vegetables cooked to his liking, and the coleslaw was still crisp.

XB had opted for beef with white rice and coleslaw. Hypno eyed his meal, before stabbing his fork through one of his pieces, rice clinging to the sauce. XB gave him a horrified glance and a fake pout. Unfortunately, Hypno determined that the beef was too dry, and therefore, not worth a trade for any of his precious chicken.

"That's theft, you know," xB made a move for Hypno's food, only for a hand to easily reroute his whole arm away from his goal. XB hadn't been trying that hard, but now he was determined. "I'm definitely thinking that saying, 'an eye for an eye,' yeah, that works here."

Another lunge, another redirect, all the while Hypno is quickly and efficiently tucking away the rest of their settlement fee.

"I could take this to court, you know."

"For what?" Hypno plays stupid, "you can't seriously think it's a good idea to prosecute yourself for entitlement to my things. I mean, what are you, a vigilante?"

Hypno's on his second to last piece, the chicken stabbed onto the end of his fork. XB fanes panic and places his meal out of his way, using his hand to brace on the steering wheel and seat.

Hypno eats the piece.

XB uses his leverage to bring his body up and out of his position, leaning into his personal space.

Hypno stabs the final piece and brings it to his mouth.

XB is there before him, fully crowding him against the window and earning his emotional damages settlement when he bites the chicken right off of Hypno's fork.

As he's chewing, he begins to return to his seat. Before he's there, but after he's swallowed, Hypno pulls at the back of his head for a quick, sweet kiss.

---

I might crosspost to AO3 when I've finished all the prompts, but that's also fucking terrifying, so... /hyp

Also, my sincerest apologies for the tags; they are actually deranged a bit.