#this was supposed to be fluffy. this was supposed to be a FLUFFY fic. i repeat. FLUFFY

[valkyrieromanoff]

Hii dear ❤️

I just love all your hayden christensen works so much.

I have a request where Reader plays padme's role and during all the shooting for the movie they fall in love with each other and eventually they get married and evan is also very protective of the reader and sees her as a younger sister. You can add scenes like the movie interviews or press tours.

I have searched for a fic with this idea for so long but haven't found one. 😔

Plz I would really be glad if you do a fic regarding this idea. It's also ok if you can't do it no pressure dear 😊

Love ❤️

Taker care

🎀YOU AS PADMÉ X HAYDEN CHRISTENSE: THE LOVE STORY🎀

synopsis: in the bustling backdrop of a New York casting call in 2000, you meet Hayden Christensen, an enigmatic young actor vying for the role of Anakin Skywalker. A shared screen test ignites an undeniable chemistry, blurring the line between performance and reality, and leaving you both with a lingering sense that this is only the beginning of something extraordinary.

words: 1.1k

warning: not based on real events, fluffy, hint of romance

a/n: hello there, I was SO hyped when I read your idea—it’s seriously brilliant and such a vibe! ✨ Honestly, I’m super honored you trusted me to write this with you ��. IDK if you were thinking of a one-shot, but I was imagining turning this into a mini-fanfic (like 10 chapters or so?) to really explore all the phases of their relationship—the tension, the feelings, the growth, all of it 🫶.

I hope you love what I’ve written so far, and PLEASE feel free to share your comments or opinions—they’re totally welcome and super important to make this story the best it can be for everyone! 🥰

CHAPTER ONE: CASTING

The sun was beginning to dip behind the Manhattan skyline as you stretched in your chair for the hundredth time that day. You’d been at this since the early morning hours, reading the same lines over and over again with a rotating cast of hopeful actors vying for the role of Anakin Skywalker. George Lucas had been clear about what he was looking for—a young man who could embody Anakin’s volatile mix of rebellious passion and burgeoning darkness. But after dozens of auditions, no one had quite nailed it.

Some actors were technically good but lacked the raw, unpolished edge George wanted. Others had the right look but couldn’t summon the emotional depth required for the role. And as the hours wore on, your excitement for the project was slowly being drained away by the monotony of the casting process.

You exhaled heavily, flipping through the well-worn pages of the script in your hands, your mind wandering to thoughts of escaping the stifling audition room and stepping into the brisk New York air. That’s when you heard his name.

“Hayden Christensen.”

Your eyes snapped up as a young man walked into the room. Honey-blonde hair framed his face, and his quiet confidence filled the space effortlessly. He wasn’t overly polished like so many of the others. There was an air of authenticity about him, as though he didn’t need to try too hard to be noticed.

Your gaze lingered on him as the casting director pointed out where he should stand. He nodded, offering a small, polite smile to the room before taking his mark. There was no unnecessary bravado, no nervous fidgeting—just a focused calm that intrigued you instantly.

When he began his lines, it was as though the room shifted. His voice carried a raw vulnerability, his delivery perfectly balancing Anakin’s simmering anger with the aching, earnest desire for connection. It wasn’t just an audition; it was as if he was Anakin Skywalker.

For a moment, you forgot you were supposed to be evaluating him. His intensity drew you in, his words lingering in the air long after they were spoken. You found yourself leaning forward in your chair, captivated. It was the first time all day you’d felt the spark of something real, something electric.

“(Y/N), are you ready?”

Your name snapped you out of the trance. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, as one of the assistants handed you the pages for the scene. Your heart was racing, and you didn’t know why. All you knew was that you were about to step into that scene with him.

The moment you walked up to Hayden, he looked at you, and for a split second, the rest of the room seemed to disappear. His eyes, an arresting shade of blue, locked onto yours, and you felt a spark—like the ignition of a lightsaber. He smiled, a small, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, and suddenly, the world felt different.

When the scene began, your eyes darted to the script once or twice, double-checking your lines to ensure everything was perfect. But as the words fell from your lips and his presence seemed to pull you in, something shifted. The boundary between reality and performance blurred, and suddenly, you were no longer reading lines—you were living them. The emotions, the conflict, and the forbidden pull between your characters surged through you like a tidal wave.

“I can't. We can't. It's just not possible,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. It wasn’t just Padmé speaking; it was you, every syllable laced with an ache that felt startlingly real. Your heart, unbidden, protested against the logic of the line, just as hers would.

Hayden’s blue eyes locked onto yours, their intensity almost startling. They were so bright, so alive, but within them swirled a mix of hurt, longing, and something deeper—something that made the air between you feel impossibly charged. His voice was low, thick with a quiet desperation as he stepped closer. “Anything’s possible. Padmé, please listen…” His hand extended toward yours, trembling slightly, as though he couldn’t help but reach for you.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The warmth of his hand brushed yours, and an unfamiliar spark danced up your arm. Your fingers almost curled instinctively toward his before you pulled back, forcing yourself to remain in character.

“You listen,” you countered, your voice soft yet firm, filled with a mix of resignation and sorrow. “We live in a real world. Come back to it. You’re studying to become a Jedi Knight. I’m a Senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go… regardless of the way we feel about each other.”

The words came effortlessly now, as though they belonged not just to Padmé but to you. And as you spoke them, you noticed the way Hayden’s expression shifted—how every ounce of his being seemed to pour into the scene. He didn’t just act. He felt. And in his eyes, you saw it too—a connection, an unspoken understanding that transcended the lines on the page.

With each passing moment, the distance between you closed, not just physically but emotionally, spiritually, as if this moment was fated—destined to unfold exactly this way. By the time you finished your last line, the silence in the room was almost deafening, the air charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

The sound of applause jolted you from the trance-like state, breaking the fragile spell that had wrapped itself around the two of you. You blinked, stepping back instinctively, though your chest still felt tight, your heart still racing. George Lucas and the rest of the team stood clapping, clearly thrilled by the chemistry that had just unfolded in front of them.

You forced a smile, stepping back farther to give Hayden the moment he deserved. He was speaking with George now, his body language a mix of excitement and relief. He was the chosen one. Everyone in the room knew it. He had just won the role of a lifetime.

Yet, even as you lingered in the background, trying to focus on the buzz of conversation around you, you felt it—him. His gaze. It burned softly, like sunlight warming your skin even when you weren’t looking. Over the shoulders of directors and producers, he stole glances your way, as if drawn to you in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

And then there was you. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settled in your chest, making it harder to think clearly. You couldn’t quite place it—was it admiration? Excitement? Curiosity? It felt like all those things and more, tangled into a knot that you didn’t want to unravel just yet.

You didn’t know where this would lead, or why you felt so certain that this was only the beginning of something bigger. All you knew was that, somehow, you were eager to find out.

[fatuismooches]

Now I realized we're always comforting the segments since the time of their life is depressing, but we never comfort Prime himself. The one who experienced everything. Reading the Zeta fic honestly broke me, I just want to go up to Prime and hug him and pamper him and everything.

The segments are from one point in Dottore's life. One phase. They don't usually stray from the personality or actions they've had during that time. Perhaps that's why you found it easier to comfort them, as they never left that state, and you could read them better. But Prime, he is a culmination of all of them, he is them and yet he is not at the same time. He has a bit of all of them ingrained in him and yet he's not the same as them.

The more you get to know about the segments, the more you indirectly get to know about Prime as well. On the very rare occasions you get to see the segments being vulnerable, your heart aches not only for them but for Prime as well. At least the segments now have you for comfort and reassurance, but who did Dottore have back then? He had no one, only faced with the reality of your sleeping body daily. When the realization hits you, it just hurts you... really bad. Prime never shows any weakness - he's always cunning. Intimidating. Manipulative. Around you he was confident. Teasing. Bold. One could never guess how he felt all those years ago. You could have never guessed, and you know him better than anyone.

You don't even know how to bring up the topic, you imagine that even if you try he'll brush it off and change the subject. That was simply the man he was - he'd never admit to such things, at least not without a lot of nudging, (and you meant a lot.) Instead, you settle with making sure that he knows you're here now, and that you're always going to be with him. You randomly hug him throughout the day (even if he does get a bit annoyed at times.) Nuzzling your cheek on the top of his head, into the soft fluff of his hair, arms gently but firmly wrapped around him as he questions your sudden presence, shuffling through paperwork, but you remain silent as your grip tightens.

You don't even care if the position is uncomfortable, you just hold him and hope to transfer your feelings to Dottore somehow. You don't care how weak you are, if you can do something to make him less stressed you'll do it. Cooking his favorites to pampering him in the bath (the lazy way he lays on you while you wash his hair, it's almost as if he's going to crush you) to even organizing his office just the way he likes it without him knowing. You mumble sweet things into his ear while he gives you that look at the almost nauseating cheesiness, you kiss his scars and rub your hands over his calloused areas.

You don't care about anything. You just want to provide some comfort to him. It's the least you can do, after everything you've caused in the last few centuries.

[scurvgirl]

The Milkovich house is a disaster. Actually, disaster is an understatement. Ian always knew how the Milkoviches lived, shit he'd lived that that too for a bit. But it hits different when you're one of two people now tasked with sorting through everything.

Most of it is trash. Some of it, though, is meaningful. An even smaller portion of it is pure treasure.

Ian pulls out a picture, clearly taken years and years ago. It shows two young children, more like toddlers really, dressed up in matching costumes. A Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

"Holy shit," Ian breathes as he stares at the picture. He knows it's his husband but he has to be sure. He flips the picture over and in neat, blue ink reads "Mickey and Mandy, Halloween 1997". He can barely process it. Little Mickey. Little Mickey dressed as Mickey Mouse. He flips the picture over again to stare at how adorable his best friend and husband were when they were little. Mickey is smiling in the photo, a big open mouthed smile, maybe even mid laugh. Adorable. Precious.

"Hey, whatcha got there?" Mickey's voice cuts through Ian's thoughts. Oh no, Mickey shouldn't see this. But also....

"Just a picture of you and Mandy." He tries to deflect, but Mickey's quick. He darts to Ian's side and snags a peak of the picture before Ian can hide it.

He expects curses, eye rolls, maybe a hand to snatch it from Ian. What he did not expect is how Mickey goes still then looks away.

"Throw it away."

"Mick-

"Throw it away! My...my mom took that. Before she...look, just throw that shit away." Mickey picks up a beyond-repair shirt and stuffs it into a 'throw away' trash bag. He stomps off into the house, leaving Ian alone with the picture.

He looks down at little smiling Mickey and Mandy. He can't throw this away, he can't just toss whatever evidence that some parts of Mickey's childhood weren't all bad. He tucks the picture into his coat and continues to sort through the mess.

__

Much, much later, they're home. They shower together for quickness and it really is quick (okay, there is some groping) before falling into bed together. Fuck clothes, they're married and at this point, everyone in the house has seen them.

Ian turns to Mickey and tentatively places his hand over his husband's. Mickey accepts it, a finger worries at Ian's wedding band.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Shit, Ian, when do I ever want to talk about it?"

There's a long pause before Mickey presses his free hand to his eyes. "I dunno, man, it's just...I'm a fucking orphan. Terry was fucked up and terrible and I wanted to kill him, should have killed him, but he was...fuck. I dunno. I dunno all this feeling shit is just fucked."

Ian doesn't respond verbally right away, instead he scoots over and gently coaxes Mickey into his arms. Mickey allows it, his head coming to rest on Ian's pec while Ian holds his hand.

"I fucking hate him. He taught me how to shoot, how to hotwire a car. I hate him and he's gone. He...he hurt you."

"This isn't about me," Ian whispers, giving Mickey a squeeze.

"It is cuz I'd be...I'd be in jail right now because I'd have killed that stupid fucking nun by now if it wasn't because of your stupid ginger ass."

Ian pauses, listens to Mickey's breath hitch, feels wetness not from their shower on his chest.

"Do you want to kill her?" Ian asks softly after a while.

"No."

Oh so gently, Ian cups Mickey's jaw and tilts his reddened, tear streaked face up.

"I'm sorry you're hurting, baby, and I am not sorry he's gone. He hurt you and he can't do that anymore." Ian presses a kiss to Mickey's forehead.

Mickey doesn't say much more, either from exhaustion or not wanting to talk about it anymore. Either way, Ian holds him and he doesn't pull away.

"That picture you found was the best day of my life before you. Mom dressed Mandy and I up, we went trick'or'treating, ate so much fucking candy. Then she had to fucking die." Mickey sniffles and Ian holds him closer.

"So stupid, dressed up as that damn mouse."

"You were cute," Ian cuts in because he can't help himself, "you're still cute."

"Sap." Mickey pushes Ian without any real force, making them both smile.

"Yeah, I...have a confession, Mick."

"Fuck, what?"

"I didn't throw the pic away."

Mickey doesn't respond right away, just runs a finger along Ian's chest, fidgeting with some of his chest hair.

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

__

They're back at the house the next day. More trash. More hateful messages and books and shit that Ian would like to forget.

In the end, it's Mickey who finds it. He walks out of one of the smaller bedrooms holding a short, black book. He's staring at it like it's some foreign object or a bomb about to go off. Ian is by his side in a moment.

The book's label is written in that same neat script as the picture - "Mickey and Mandy Growing Up".

"It's a photo album," Ian whispers.

"Yep." Mickey's eyes don't move away from it. His body is still.

Ian places a hand on Mickey's shoulder, "You don't have to open it here, or even today or tomorrow. Let's pack it and when you're ready, we can look at it. Together." Finally Mickey moves. He nods his head and gives the album to Ian.

"Keep it with the picture."

Ian takes the album then leans forward to press a kiss to his brave, emotional, incredible husband. His husband who has the chance to be as happy as the little boy in the picture.

[skyyguy]

Last Line/WIP Thursday

Tagged by @onyxsboxes @wayrad and @thegrandpineapple It's from the current winter fic I'm working on and I'm so mad at this fic okay

“You need a damn muzzle,” Gale huffed back, but he knew John could hear the silent plea in his voice, feel it in the way he pressed back against his fingers, the groan that vibrated through his spine, pressed against John’s chest. “And you called me the dog,” John growled, ignoring the snide remark to comment on the way Gale's cunt flexed around his fingers, pulling him in, eager and soaked. He nipped along the ridges of Gale’s spine, sliding his legs down the bed till he could sink his teeth into the plushness of Gale’s ass. Gale yelped at the pain that shot through him from John’s unusually sharp canines, his cunt squeezing around John’s fingers, a groan passing his lips before he could stop it. “Shut up and fuck me, John,” Gale ordered, voice rough and feral, and John hummed as he lavished his tongue over the bite mark, pumping his fingers, scissoring them to help stretch an already-well-fucked stretched Gale out.

Tagging @swifty-fox @sleepr-agent420 @air-exec

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday🎄

tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

i wasn't gonna post anything but i wrote quite a lot today and need validation lmao (I think I might be about halfway done but who knows, it always gets away from me haha) today some buckley siblings feels, and hopefully soon ill get to the fluffy christmas part haha

prev snippet

___

"(...) I used to make stuff for Maddie, and then when I was older I would save money to buy her something small and mostly symbolic.” he glances at Eddie. There’s a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and sadness on his face. “She made all my Christmases bearable, and after she left-” he stops abruptly and quietly clears his throat. When he speaks again, he doesn’t finish the sentence. Eddie wants to ask, but he figures Buck will share what he’s comfortable sharing, he doesn’t want to push. “But that was the one thing I wanted so badly, more than anything, more than any cool toys or- or anything,” he chuckles again, “and Maddie tried to give it to me, and she got in trouble for it. So after that, I just never asked again.”

“Buck.” Eddie says softly, wishing he could do anything to make it better, to fucking go back in time and give Buck all the Christmases he ever dreamt about.

“But I always wished-” Buck continues, then glances at Eddie nervously. 

“Wished what?” Eddie’s thumb softly swipes along Buck’s neck and jawline, as far as he can reach. He just wants to comfort him somehow, and at the moment this is the only way he knows how, just a comforting touch, being there, listening.

“That one day, when I grew up,” Buck looks down at his lap again, his voice getting even quieter, “I’d have my own family and I’m gonna do matching Christmas sweaters every single year, and take tons of pictures of us all together, and-” he pauses again, and, with a teary laugh, raises his hand to wipe at his eyes. Eddie wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him. (...) “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t-” Buck shakes his head, and leans away from Eddie’s touch. Eddie aches to keep touching him, to reach out and follow, but he respects that clearly that’s not what Buck wants anymore, that’s fine. “I don’t have my own family yet, so it doesn't matter. Let’s just drop it.” he says, tone decisive, face red, eyes glued to the screen again. 

Eddie frowns. What the hell is Buck talking about? He has a family, right here.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990

[beanghostprincess]

"Jealousy and other pathetic feelings"

(Zolu/Sanuso fanfic)

Luffy’s like the sun. So bright and hot that it burns if you approach him enough. Everybody wants to stare at him, but only Zoro is brave enough to get blinded and melt in his rays. Usopp, on the other hand, is so domestic and fragile Sanji fears he might slip in between his fingers like sand. It’s delicate. Both things are. - Zoro and Sanji pining over their boyfriends and moping around with jealousy because Luffy and Usopp are acting closer than usual.

This is a silly fluffy prompt that @leiatroublecat gave me and I turned it into a bittersweet, character analysis, angsty fic because I am a menace to society! That being said, I hope you all enjoy it!! <3

[citrine-elephant]

hey who wants dilf leon tied up and squirming again

[headfullof-ideas]

took a break to stop screaming at the ONE PART of the chapter I’m working on (which is the VERY last scene and a half of the entire thing, btw, which makes it all the more frustrating that words refuse to come) to do some doodles that I told myself to wait to do until i finished the chapter. And by doodles i mean out of context storyboard scenes. I have a few different sets to post

Most of these are actually from the next few chapters in a row, or the chapter i’m working on, save for two. I will not say which two. That’s the whole point of ‘out of context’

[dacialogansuperfan]

hi hello here's a megarod drabble

rated g

rodimus yanks open the door to his favourite supply-closet-turned-hiding-spot and promptly falls face first into chest armour like a brick wall. the door is swiftly tugged shut again, a broad servo brushing against his lower back for an astrosecond before fingers close around the handle and pull, plunging the small space into near darkness. their optics, fixed on each other, provide just enough light for rodimus to make out the slight downward curve to megatron’s mouth. not a frown, more of a wince.

“so,” rodimus starts, leaning back against the door to put what distance he can between them. a frame as large as megatron’s, built for hard labour and cobbled together half from spare parts, runs hotter than the average mech. so does rodimus, for obvious and significantly cooler reasons, and the two of them stuffed into a space that can charitably be called tailgate-sized are beginning to throw off uncomfortable levels of heat, even for him. “come here often?”

megatron sighs. just that small movement of his chest, a quick breath in and released, knocks their plating together, megatron’s armour scraping lightly against his cheek. it already feels a little hot to the touch. when he speaks, rodimus can feel that too, the soft rumble of it passing through him, almost shaking the tips of his helm. 

“no,” and somehow, there’s no reproach in that tone. just a faint, lingering amusement that could be about the existence of rodimus’ secret hiding place, in general, or their present situation, specifically. “but i’m guessing you do.”

rodimus grins. for once, megatron doesn’t have a leg to stand on, vis-à-vis being the more competent captain, if he’s been holed up in the secret hideout longer than rodimus has. which he has. right now, at least, rodimus is totally kicking his aft at being professional, and captainly, and pretty much everything else regarding heading up the lost light, if only because he hasn’t spent the majority of his duty shift in a closet.

never mind that he was planning to spend the rest of his shift in said closet. still is, tentatively, provided megatron’s bizarrely good – as good as it gets with megatron, which pretty much means he’s not actively annoyed at something –  mood lasts, and he doesn’t decide to haul the both of them back to the bridge.

speaking of –

“why are you in here, anyway?” this close, he has to crane his neck to get a good look at megatron’s face, and even then, he’s mostly staring at scuffed chest armour, swooping engravings to either side of an autobot symbol mostly obscured in the dark, and the curve of megatron’s lip plates. he watches them curl into a slight grimace, deepened by the shadows thrown from rodimus’ own optics.

“i’m avoiding minimus.” straight to the point, with only the tiniest bit of shame. rodimus is starting to feel a weird kind of deja vu, but for an experience he’s only ever been on the other side of. it’s both deeply strange, and a little thrilling stepping into megatron’s role, seeing that chastised look in his optics. rodimus takes a step forward, forcing megatron to take one back to keep their plating from colliding.

megatron looks down at him, still wearing that almost-frown, but with a tilt to his helm that suggests confusion, rather than anger. rodimus just smiles at him, brings one hand up to rest over the patterns on his chest.

“i thought you two got along?” at rodimus’ questioning look, one massive shoulder shrugs, scraping against the side of the closet with a muffled shriek. megatron winces, optics shuttering against the noise, and tries to shift his weight away from the wall. he only succeeds in knocking over a cluster of mops leaned against the other side of the supply closet, and his optics stay closed throughout the ensuing clatter that creates. rodimus muffles a laugh into the crook of his free arm, the one not resting against megatron’s heated plating.

when megatron’s optics finally flicker back on, rodimus pokes him in the chest. “so?”

megatron sighs, jostling rodimus’ servo. “you’re right, we usually get along… surprisingly.” that last word softer than the rest, like it wasn’t entirely intentional. rodimus gets that. megatron liking any of them, them liking megatron, was possibly the most surprising thing to happen on this ship – and that was a difficult, if dubious honor to earn. it wasn’t bad, just – hard to wrap a processor around. the relationship between all the autobots on this ship and their co-captain was still tentative, delicate.

rodimus is not entirely sure he’s including himself in that, though.

something else thunks heavily to the floor as megatron brings his arms up behind him to rest, at a somewhat awkward angle, on a low shelf. they’re doing sort of a terrible job at hiding, if that’s what this is. his mouth is a wry smile when he says, “he loses me at alphabetizing.”

rodimus laughs again, a quick burst that is mostly muffled into megatron’s chest. he seems to be doing that often in megatron’s presence, since the universe jump. it’s another one of those tentative, delicate things that he mostly avoids thinking about.

the light of their optics, blue and red overlapping each other in the diminishing space between their faces as rodimus leans up to do something stupid, if only because he hasn’t in a while and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to not think about those delicate things in this tight, hot space with megatron smiling at him like they’re sharing a secret. it reminds him of those flimsy little glasses he’d once picked up on earth, red and blue, held up to his optic and watched the world split into two. this feels sort of like that, between one blink and the next megatron’s smile disappears and is replaced with that same, oddly charming looking of confusion from earlier. rodimus is practically on the tips on his pedes, his arms coming up to wrap around megatron’s neck. holding him in place, or holding himself up.

likely a bit of both.

“well, since we’re here, and we’ve got time to kill,” he says by way of explanation, before brushing his lip plates against megatron’s. quickly, before he can lose his nerve.  

megatron makes a small sound of surprise against his mouth, the soft derma cracked in a half-dozen places of gentle friction against his own, but doesn’t push him away. instead, two rough, large hands come up to rest at his waist, grip paradoxically light. he shivers anyway, pushes himself more firmly against megatron, who finally starts kissing him back.   

rodimus’ back hits the door behind him with a dull thump. he feels himself being pushed, gently, back to the ground, until megatron is bent over him, above and all around him, rodimus’ pedes planted firmly on the floor.

it’s nice. really nice. rodimus can feel the beginnings of charge building lazily between them, the temperature in the already muggy closet climbing by degrees, but for now just this is enough.

when they finally pull away from each other, rodimus slaps a hand to megatron’s mouth.

“we can talk about it later,” and yeah, maybe he makes a face at that, but he does mean it. “okay?”

the look on megatron’s face, what’s visible of it, is almost comically relieved. rodimus snorts, keeping his hand over megatron’s mouth until he gets an eager nod. for a guy who made a name for himself by talking, he avoids the personal kind with an efficiency bordering on pathological. rung might have something to say about it, at least, but rodimus is all for it.

they have time, to deal with whatever this is properly. for now, megatron’s lips over his, warm and yielding, moments after he pulls his hand away – like he can’t wait – is good enough.

[skyfumgus]

I am sadden by the lack of pizzahead fluff fics.

Like come on man, let me read fluff of the fucking clown. I feel like it would be very cool

[do-you-know-this-adhd-character]

Do you know this (canon) ADHD character?

Proof: Discussed within the book, from chapter 2

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

New fic alert!

Summary:

After that interview with dogs from BatterSea, Lando falls in love with one pup in particular. He's too anxious to believe that he could be a good dog owner, and resigns himself to the pup going to a different home. He pretends it doesn't affect him.

Martijn plans a little surprise for him to make him happy.

[axxa-the-allikatt]

Guys I’m sorry 😭😭. I’d gotten half way through the fics when I got my periods. Now I have horrible cramps and I feel like keeping my head in the freezer cuz it feels like it’s splitting open. I’ll hopefully feel better in a day or two so please bear with me 🫠.

[oreo-creampie]

Y’all may get a random satosugu x reader blurb cause I’ve been so sad, and I need a distraction so writing about those two helps

[quilleth]

I'd say I'm sorry about how unhinged I can tell I'm going to end up being about da4 and lucanis specifically but dragon age dragged me into fandom in the first place so really i'll just be going back to my roots. Hopefully as a bit better of a writer than i was for my hawke...assuming i can manage to write again eventually

[valiantstarlights]

[Dreamling Week Day 3: Curiosity (killed the cat)] An All-Consuming Kind of Love

This fic is very much within dead dove territory, so please read the CWs and proceed with caution. But if you enjoy that kind of thing, may I shamelessly ask for incoherent yelling in your tags? Please? 🖤

CW: oh wow where do I start 😂 Student!Dream highkey seducing Professor!Hob, Hob cheating on his girlfriend Eleanor with Dream, marathon sex...everywhere, Dark!Dream, drugging someone's food, blackmail, death(?) threats, dubcon, feminization, and equally unhinged!Hob.

If anyone needs assurance after reading those tags, then rest assured that Dream and Hob will end up together and they'll live happily ever after.

The thing is, Dream Endless isn't even Hob's student. He's only sitting in for his sister, Delirium, the one who is actually enrolled in Hob's course, because she had to go to rehab.

The first time Dream showed up, he was dressed in black from head to toe, and stared at Hob so intensely that after class, Hob had to check in the bathroom to see if he had something stuck in his teeth or, god forbid, if his fly was open.

And after that day, well.

Dream still dressed in black, but his style has...branched out. The first time Hob notices the mesh shirt instead of the usual black t-shirt, it took him a second too long to tear his gaze away, and Dream had smirked. His gaze, if possible, became even more intense after that.

And then he started wearing skirts. Plaid black and grey ones that Hob should not be salivating over, especially when Dream crosses his legs.

And after that, the skirt came with fishnet stockings and high heels. Just, full-on embracing slutty schoolgirl core, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.

(Hob isn't that old. He's just 34, and his students are no more than a decade younger than him.)

No one reprimands Dream because apparently, his skirt's length is long enough to pass inspection, and there's no rule against wearing fishnet stockings or heels.

(The people doing the inspection doesn't know that Dream would often roll his skirts up until the hem would fall barely past his mid-thigh.)

Hob supposes that he should count himself lucky that Dream's tops became more conservative when he started wearing skirts. If he had paired his mesh shirt with the skirts, it would have been all over for Hob.

Luckily, Dream's tops are mostly composed of simple blouses, often with long sleeves, accessorized with a long red ribbon tied around his neck, like he was a goddamn present waiting to be unwrapped.

Hob tries very hard not to notice it when Dream pulls one end of the ribbon in class and twirls it around his long fingers. He doesn't do it hard enough to untie the ribbon, but it's enough to keep Hob's imagination churning out incredibly vivid images of what he'd like to do to Dream's pale neck.

Hob is trying very hard to be a good person. He has a girlfriend he loves. He's even thinking about proposing to her once he gets promoted.

--

A few weeks before Delirium is set to come back, Hob is running late, and accidentally bumps into a student while going up the stairs.

The student falls forward, and Hob barely catches them from faceplanting into the edges of the stairs. The papers they were holding aren't so lucky, however, and ends up scattering around them in a cascade of paperwork.

Hob curses but bends down and starts helping the student gather up their papers. The student, a step above him, bends down as well to start collecting their things.

"I'm sorry, Professor Gadling," the student says, and Hob looks up because he knows that voice. And sure enough, it's Dream Endless, wearing his slutty schoolgirl outfit.

Hob is just about to say that it's fine, he's the one at fault here, when he sees a sliver of the inside of Dream's blouse, and catches a glimpse of a lacy black bra.

His thoughts come to a standstill. Is Dream...also wearing female undergarments under his clothes? For some reason, the thought never occurred to him before, and the revelation has him gawking like a fool in broad daylight, leading Dream to say, "Are you alright, Professor? You look flushed."

Hob nods and keeps his head low after that, intent on just helping Dream gather his things and handing it to him so they could both get to class.

"Thank you, Professor," Dream says after Hob has given him his things. He's looking up at him through his lashes, even when they're roughly the same height. For some reason, Dream always manages make himself look smaller than Hob.

And, fuck, is he wearing make-up? Or had his lips always been that shade of pink?

Dream smiles when Hob remains transfixed, and starts going up the stairs again.

Hob's big mistake is looking up to follow Dream with his gaze.

Because Dream is wearing a thong under his skirt, and Hob can see the base of an anal plug resting between his ass cheeks.

He swears under his breath, and sure enough, Dream looks back down towards him. "Sir?" he asks, sounding demure and shy and tempting. He cocks his hips to one side and Hob could see how the plug twitched, like Dream just squeezed tight around it.

"I'm fine," Hob says through gritted teeth, and speedwalks his way up the stairs and a couple of corridors to reach the lecture hall.

Dream arrives not long after him and makes sure to sit in the very front row, legs slightly open, eyes dark, daring, wanting, allowing Hob to take a look.

Hob spends the rest of the class behind his desk to hide his erection.

--

Hob can't pinpoint when exactly he admits to himself that he wants to fuck one of his students.

(Again, technically, Dream isn't even his student, but the fact that he's using the word 'technically' already means he knows he's in big trouble.)

Was it when Hob rushed out of the lecture hall the very same day he bumped into Dream on the stairs, his messenger bag placed strategically in front of his crotch area?

He couldn't help it if his thoughts were racing, and his body was quicker than his mind. He couldn't help it if the thought of sliding Dream's thong to the side, removing his plug, and sliding right into his slutty little hole had him locking himself up in a bathroom stall and jerking himself off furiously.

Was it when Dream came to class eating a red lollipop so lasciviously that even a couple of students stared at him in lust? Was it after, when he coldly turned down the Corinthian twins' offer to fuck him?

Was it when Hob was having sex with his girlfriend one night and almost moans out Dream's name when he came?

Or is it today, when Dream is sucking on a popsicle in the quad, in plain sight of Hob's office window? When Dream deepthroats the popsicle while gazing lustfully into Hob's eyes?

Is it when Hob tilts his head just so, beckoning Dream to come to his office? Hob's consultation hours just finished, after all, and he's just about to head home for the weekend.

When did Hob realize that thoughts of Dream have consumed him? He doesn't know.

But perhaps it was on the very first day Dream came to his lecture hall and their eyes met. When Hob thought how cute Dream was and how unfortunate that he was his student. And then delighting, afterwards, when he finds out that Dream isn't his student, at least not officially.

--

Hob pins Dream against the door as soon as he enters his office and fucks his tongue inside Dream's still slightly cold mouth.

"Fucking tease," Hob mutters against Dream's lips, almost ripping his white blouse in his haste to put his mouth on Dream's bra. On Dream's tits.

"Professor Gadling," Dream moans breathily, not even pretending he doesn't want this. One of his long fishnet-clad legs is already hooked around Hob's waist. Fuck. This flexible little minx. Hob wants to see just how far he could bend Dream in half. "We shouldn't--ah, here--"

"Then where do you want me to fuck you, hmm? In my car in the middle of the parking lot? In the apartment I share with my girlfriend?" Hob bites Dream's throat and soothes the skin with his tongue. "Or maybe you want me to fuck you raw in your dorm room. Do you have roommates, baby? Do you want them to watch?"

Dream squirms in his arms, panting, trying to dissuade Hob from stripping him naked. He looks absolutely delectable, and Hob is intent on finally untying that damn red ribbon from his neck and marking him up with his teeth. "I..." Dream licks his lips and runs delicate fingers against Hob's stubble. "My family has a cabin. It's about an hour's drive away. We could--"

"You want me to drive us to your family's fancy cabin for a fuck?" Hob asks and grinds his erection against Dream's, watching in rapt attention how he keens and throws his head back against the door in pleasure. "When I can just take you right here against the door?"

Dream shakes his head. He's blushing so prettily, suddenly so shy, that Hob leans forward and gives him another filthy kiss.

"Professor!" Dream protests, and actually pushes him back a little. Not enough to dislodge Hob's body against his, but enough so they could talk face to face. "I was thinking...maybe...for the whole weekend?"

Oh, fuck.

"You want me to fuck you for an entire weekend?" An eager nod. "In your family's cabin?" Another eager nod, and a hopeful, chaste kiss to his chin. Dream is so fucking sweet and sexy at the same time that Hob doesn't know what to do with him. "Baby, I don't think I can drive like this." He grinds his cock against Dream again, and Dream responds this time by reaching between them and fondling Hob through his slacks.

"It's okay, Professor," Dream says, smiling impishly. "I'll take the edge off for you."

--

Despite Dream torturing Hob with his slutty outfits for what feels like several months already, Dream proves that he can be a very good boy when he wants to.

"You should call your girlfriend, sir," he says, lips slick and red and tempting, Hob's cockhead resting against his lower lip. Hob has already cum in his mouth once, and true to Dream's word, it has taken the edge off. Hob could think more clearly now. "So she wouldn't worry. Tell her you have a conference or something."

Hob chuckles and smears his cum across Dream's lips more. "How considerate of you to think about my girlfriend worrying about me when I'll be spending the entire weekend fucking you."

Dream pouts, not even saying anything in reply to that, and Hob immediately caves.

--

Hob calls Eleanor to tell her about a sudden teacher's conference being held this weekend while Dream warms his cock.

He mouths 'good boy,' to Dream, who blinks coquettishly up at him, but part of Hob thinks he's the good boy in this scenario, just doing what Dream wants him to do.

He doesn't get to say 'I love you,' to Eleanor because when he was about to, Dream sucks him so good that he had to hang up and muffle his groan against his fist.

--

Halfway through the drive, Dream makes Hob stop the car so he could suck his cock again.

Barely a couple of miles after that, Hob stops the car so he could fuck Dream's thighs in the backseat.

--

Once in the cabin, they barely make it to the bed, but make it they do. Hob wants Dream to be comfortable when he takes Hob's cock in his ass. Hob knows he's much larger than average, and he would hate to see Dream in pain.

He's not a total monster. Sure, he may lie to his girlfriend so he could fuck his student's brother for an entire weekend, but he's not going to treat said student's brother badly. He's better than that.

Hob eats Dream out twice before he even enters him, sucks on his nipples until they're red and swollen as they fuck, and finally gets to mark Dream's neck with his teeth.

He fucks Dream's hole until he's gaping and leaking cum because he's unable to clench his hole closed enough to stop the flow. Hob teases him that they should perhaps switch to a larger plug to accommodate his loose pussy, but does no such thing. He likes it when Dream has to concentrate and keep clenching his ass in between rounds so he could keep the plug in place.

All the while Dream begs for more of him. For everything.

And Hob gives it to him.

--

They fuck the entire weekend. On the bed, in the bathroom, against the walls, Dream bent over various furniture, on the rug in front of the fireplace, against the kitchen counters, outside on the front porch, on the hood of Hob's car...

Hob is surprised at himself. He's not that young anymore, but give him one Dream Endless and he feels like he's at the peak of his youth again.

Hob tells himself it's only his desperation making him vigorous. He's only going to get Dream this weekend, and after that, who knows? When Delirium comes back, would Dream still feel the need to sit in on Hob's class, or is this it? Is Dream going to move on to seducing someone else?

No.

Every time Hob thinks that, Dream seducing someone else, another professor, another man, he pushes himself and fucks the boy harder.

Unacceptable. Hob is going to ruin him for everyone else, just like how Dream has been set on ruining him from day one.

--

Dream sometimes says, 'I love you,' to Hob when he's getting fucked so good that his eyes roll up to the back of his skull, but Hob thinks it's just something Dream says without knowing he's saying it. Many people say things during sex that they don't mean.

But when Dream says, "Mine," right after the two of them collapsed in bed after yet another round of fucking, Hob says, "All yours this weekend, yeah."

And Dream says, "Well see."

--

It's Sunday night and Hob is supposed to drive them both back to civilization. Dream has insisted upon dinner before leaving, though, and Hob is loathe to reject him because Dream has been working hard, cooking throughout the day in between their rounds, and Hob knows he's going to miss this.

(Dream has banned him from the kitchen as he cooks. Hob thinks he's adorable but follows his instruction anyway.)

He feels something warm in his heart as he sees the spread of food that Dream has been preparing. Roasted lamb, venison pasties, fruit tarts--all of them Hob's favorite.

('How did he know?' a tiny voice in Hob's mind asks, but is quickly ignored in favor of taking in Dream's shy smile.)

"Did you cook all this from scratch?" Hob asks, awed. Eleanor doesn't cook. It's either Hob cooks for them both or they order in. He doesn't feel bitter about it. It's just the way they are.

"Yes," Dream says simply. "I want to be able to cook well for you."

Oh. Oh. An uncomfortable feeling rises in Hob's stomach.

Dream loves him.

Actually wants to date him.

This is a very bad idea.

"Dream..."

Dream ignores the tone of Hob's voice and sits on one side of the table. Hob belatedly realizes that, although there is a lot of food on the table, the table itself is small enough to be intimate. Like the two of them are on a date. "Let's eat."

--

"Dream," Hob says in-between bites of the really excellent pasties. "You know I have a girlfriend."

"I do," Dream says. "I even asked you to call her, didn't I?"

"And you know that I love her."

A pause. "Sure."

"So this, between us-- You know it can never happen again, right?" Like Hob isn't the one dead set on ruining Dream for any future lover.

Dream shrugs and sips his wine. He has barely eaten, but Hob saw him tasting the food earlier, so he figures Dream made all of this for him, and is just enjoying seeing Hob eat. Hob is the same sometimes, so he cannot fault Dream for having the same habit. "If you say so."

--

Hob wakes due to the early morning sunlight hitting his face directly.

He's confused for a second, because his bedroom in the apartment isn't facing east, before the events of last night came rushing back to him.

The delicious dinner. Dream drinking wine. Feeling increasingly dizzy. Dream rushing towards him so he wouldn't fall to the floor. Passing out with Dream telling him everything's going to be alright.

Hob thought it was strange that Dream wasn't panicking or rushing to grab his phone to call the hospital.

And now, Hob is tied to the bed, naked, arms and legs bound to the bed posts with silk ropes. Gagged. He tries tugging on the ropes to no avail. Whoever tied him up knew what they were doing.

He is alone in the room, but not for long.

Dream enters a few minutes later, probably alerted by the sounds Hob had been making in his bid to escape his bonds, wearing only a short fluffy bathrobe. He's holding Hob's phone in his hands

'Dream!' Hob tries to say. It comes out muffled through the gag.

"Good morning, Professor," Dream says, smiling. He leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "Will you be good for me today?"

'What the fuck are you playing at! Let go of me!'

"That doesn't sound like a 'yes,'" Dream remarks. "Maybe you need a little incentive to cooperate?"

Dream climbs on the bed then, sitting his naked and already lubed-up ass against Hob's member, which did not get the memo and is currently growing thicker despite the predicament Hob is in.

Dream flips over Hob's phone to show him the screen, and Hob sees his 'incentive' to be good.

It's a picture of Dream, curled up naked in his arms, asleep. One of Hob's arms is looped around his body in a possessive hold, and the other is holding the phone up for a selfie. Hob's face isn't shown, but his students would know his chin and neck and hair. Eleanor would know his chest and arms.

Hob's blood runs cold. It was an impossible shot that wouldn't be possible if it's only him and Dream in the cabin, so there must another person who helped Dream carry Hob, arranged the two of them in bed, and took the photo while propping up Hob's arm to make it look like Hob is the one taking it.

Hob remembers the large, muscled, red-haired man he saw once or twice in campus with Dream. At first, he thought it was Dream's boyfriend, but finds out from overhearing a couple of students that the man is one of Dream's brothers. Hob isn't sure who the older brother is between the two.

Dream sits patiently on top of him as he's having these realizations. "Should I send this to your girlfriend, Professor?" he asks, when he sees Hob's eyes focus on him once more. "Or are you going to be good for me?"

Hob nods decisively. He'll say he's gonna be good. But the moment he gets free, he'll grab his phone from Dream, delete the picture--

Dream smiles and grinds down on him a little. His cock twitches and oozes out precome, which Dream scoops up from Hob's lower stomach and licks from his fingers, humming in delight at the taste. "My brother is nearby," he says, pleasant as anything. "If he sees you harming me, you're not even going to make it back to your car. And before you ask, we have already siphoned the gas, and removed the car battery."

Hob feels tears pricking his eyes. What the fuck...who the fuck are these people?

"Do you understand now, Professor?" Dream asks. "I said you're mine. And I'm not in the habit of lying. Or sharing, come to think of it."

Hob nods, timidly this time. How the fuck has this gone so wrong? Was there even a warning sign that Hob should have noticed before it came to this?

Dream smiles and kisses him chastely on the chin. "Good. Now, Professor, I want you to be very, very well-behaved for me..."

--

"Professor Gadling!" Dream squeals, thighs opened wide and shaking, his breath stuttering as Hob fucks him hard from behind. "O-oh gods, please, your cock feels so good!"

"You like this, Dream?" Hob says against his ear, enjoying, despite everything, this sick sadistic play. All he has to do is play along, and he's going to be fine. Everything will go back to normal. He's going to go back to his job, to his girlfriend, and put all this behind him. Maybe he'll request a transfer next semester. Somewhere as far as they could send him. "You like me splitting you open like a whore?"

Dream nods frantically and lets out a high pitched whine. "Y-yes, sir. I love...I love being filled with your cum. I love sitting on your cock all day." He gasps as Hob starts stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. "Professor, please..!"

"Please what, darling? What do you want? Tell me." The endearment slips out of him accidentally, and he feels Dream squeeze him thrice in quick succession as a reward. He curses and pounds him harder. "So fucking tight. Best damn cunt I ever put my cock in."

That line wasn't part of the script.

Dream moans at that unexpected treat and turns his head to the side, begging for a kiss. Hob grants it to him. He fucks Dream's mouth with his tongue and uses his free hand to cup one of Dream's tits. A perfect fucking handful. He twists the nipple and imagines milk squirting out of it. Imagines Dream's milk-heavy tits leaking in class, his eyes filled with tears because he can't wait for the hour to be over so Hob could nurse from him right on his desk. Imagines Dream pushing him down on the desk so he can ride him after Hob drinks his fill. Imagines him pushing aside his lacy panties and holding his skirt up as Hob fucks up into him, giving him his daily dose of cum.

"Gonna breed you, baby," Hob says. People say things they don't mean during sex. It's perfectly normal. "Not gonna let you out of this damn bed until you're round with my cum, and then I'm gonna marry you so you can be my slut forever."

Dream shrieks and cums at his words, and as Hob continues railing him to overstimulation, he gasps out, "Yes, yes, please sir--want you to marry me--I'm yours, just yours--ah--"

Hob pushes in deep and cums inside again, moaning Dream's name out loud, then peppers his sweet boy's tear-streaked face and pale neck with fervent little kisses.

Maybe he's just as fucked up as Dream is, and maybe he always has been.

--

There is a red light blinking in the corner of the room, recording.

Only one of the room's current occupants know that it's there.

--

To: Eleanor

I'm with someone else now, and he's better than you ever were. I love him and we just got married. I'll send someone to get my things.

--

Hob sends that message himself, but he sends a different photo than the one Dream threatened to send. It's of Dream wearing all white lingerie. Bralette, lacy panties, garter belt, stockings--the entire thing, but he's also wearing a beautiful wedding veil, and he's holding a bouquet of white roses. He's kneeling in bed and is splattered with Hob's cum from forehead to groin, looking incandescently happy, smiling up at the camera with eyes full of love.

Hob turns off his phone and throws it to the side, intending on going back to bed to ruin his baby boy even more.

Dream welcomes him with open arms, smile shy but looking so goddamn happy.

"You're all mine now, aren't you, baby?" Hob asks, pushing his husband back on the bed and spreading his legs so Hob could see the mess he made earlier. He grips one cheek and watches as a dollop of cum oozes out of Dream's hole and onto the bedsheets.

Dream leans up and kisses him, winding his long stockinged legs around Hob's waist and welcoming Hob's cock back into his fucked out hole once more. They are surrounded by white rose petals from the bouquet. Dream must have plucked and scattered them throughout their marriage bed while Hob was sending his last message to Eleanor. Always so fucking romantic. Hob can't wait to reward Dream for being so good to him.

"All yours forever, Professor Gadling."