Pran always opens his eyes first when they kiss. Pat, on the other hand, usually keeps his eyes closed like he wants to savor all the lingering tastes on his lips before he lets his other senses distract him. Lips still slightly parted, tongue darting out just a little, every kiss seems to make Pat sated, and Pran doesn’t want to lose a chance to commit every one of these moments of Pat into his memory.
Pran still gets a rush of headiness every time he sees Pat this way, and sometimes his thoughts would go back to their first kisses on the rooftop, how it felt like a fantasy, never to happen again.
It’s real, though, Pat’s kissed swollen lips and satisfied smile, unmistakably smitten face. Those were his now. All Pran’s.
He needs to remind himself of this reality, still unbelievable sometimes no matter how long they’ve been together. Because Pran has never really felt sated. Even as the awe and wonder that is Pat keeps filling him up, gratuitously so, his bottomless hunger from years of yearning for this man somehow lingers, refusing to be satiated.
Pran thinks he’s probably a bit wrong in the head when it comes to Pat, because Pat had always been wrong for him, forbidden, impossible.
So he opens his eyes first after they kiss, savors Pat savoring Pran’s taste on his lips, reminding himself again and again that Pat is his now, and hopes that one day this seemingly unending yearning will finally, finally be satisfied.
(As it is, though, he wouldn’t bet on it, but Pran guesses that’s okay, too.)
traffic was slow for the crash years (bad buddy fic, patpran, 80k words)
written by fiercynn, cover art by @architectxengineer
“Hey,” he says, stopping short. Pran keeps walking. “Hey!”
Pran stops as well and turns to look at him, exasperated. “What?”
“What if this is how we get our faculties to stop fighting?" says Pat. "By pretending to date?
featuring:
canon-divergence
fake dating
pining pran, oblivious pat
architecture & engineering shenanigans
angst with a happy ending
read the completed fic here!
everlasting thanks to my BRILLIANT team of betas, @scribescribe, @hydrochaeriswrites, & @nicolasechs!
the AMAZING cover art is a commission by the fabulous science (@architectxengineer) - you can commission them yourself by emailing them at sleepygoom [at] gmail [dot] com!
wonderful people have also made related works for this fic:
apart from the incredible cover art commission, science (@architectxengineer) did a super-cute sketch for chapter 2, and these adorable animated illustrations of the bus stop scene in chapter 3
the brilliant atria (@mahuhumaling) made an edit to "don't blame me" by tswift about scenes from chapter 4, it's amazing, you can watch it on twitter or instagram
the awesome greybrocolay on twitter made a wonderful comic of a scene from chapter 8!
this fic also has a playlist that you can listen to on spotify or youtube! i also wrote my commentary on the song choice but that is spoilery for the fic, read at least through chapter 7 before you look at that.
enjoy!!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Vanoss and his friends are trying to find the elevator they saw on the cameras', including their missing friend who appeared in this strange labyrinth...
Words: 1.551 | 10.200
Excerpt:
Droidd had his hands on his hips, not looking in the least impressed by his friends. "I suggest we go back. I find that idea more exhilarating."
"Droidd, don't be a bitch," Nogla said, rolling his eyes.
if only i wasn’t terrible at art. if only i was capable of making ref sheets, but alas, i am a dumbass when it comes to art and i have no artist friends so i’m screwed. also, i’m making a bbs au fic. literally don’t know what i’m doing because i literally have no plot but i have a cool idea so. i guess i’ll just throw some fucking words into my notebook and onenote and hope something happens. yeet.
Prompt: It’s so cold in my room and i can’t sleep. Even though i have three blankets on, i still come to see if you’re awake. And you are, it would seem you’re into this whole intimate thing more than I thought.
Genre: Softcore Smut (Minor)
Rating: 13+
Pairing/Ship: Daithiriser (irish Fucks) aka Daithi x Terroriser
Requester: @crittervolocity
Enjoy!!!
The house was overwhelmingly freezing.
He flipped onto his stomach and buried his nose into his pillow, shoving frosted hands beneath his slightly warmer pillows.
The fluffy blanket lying over his main spread and quilt didn’t make him sweat like it usually did.
He tried curling in on himself, maybe pulling his knees to his chest and creating a burrito with his three blankets.
Nothing worked. He was basically stuck, unable to pass out yet unable to get up out of fear for it getting even colder.
Fuck it, he thought.
The quilt dragged behind him, slipping across the floor, fluffy blanket propped up on top of it and over his head like a mysterious cape.
He was tired, and really cold, and about ready to simply walk back to his room before the door slipped open.
An equally tired, and cold, Irishman stepped into the doorway, looking Brian up and down before smiling, “Hey”
Brian felt his cheeks rush red, eyes drifting to the floor before he huffed and shivered.
“Ye couldn’t sleep eit’er, eh?”
Brian nodded, glancing back up, “I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to share uh... body heat?”
The other Irishman just shrugged, creaking his door open and stepping aside, hand still propped across the doorway but arm raised a bit upwards for Brian to fit right through.
Due to their height differences, Brian slipped beneath his arm with a small fond smile, muttering a quick, ‘T’anks’, before glancing at David.
“Usually ya don’t like t’e gay stuff.”
David shrugged, “I’m freezing mah balls off, just climb in already.”
Brian followed his command and slid into his bed, the warmth hitting him like a rocket from Nasa.
He hummed and gratefully curled into David’s warm sheets, his own blankets piling over David’s small collection.
“Ya gonna make everyt’in’ hot, Brian,” David chided but he grinned nonetheless, slipping in beside the other and sliding up close.
Brian was vaguely confused, eyeing the other to find him glancing at his lips and neck.
“David? Are ya okay?”
The other male seemed to ponder for a moment before raising his eyes to meet his gaze.
Brian felt his face flush as the other leaned up.
He went to move up as well but within moments, the other Irish man was on him.
Their fingers gripping each other like no tomorrow, lips perked and faces tilted.
Neither knew how they got here, but the warmth radiating from one another kept it moving.
At least until Brian slipped his tongue out, a small whimper falling from his lips.
David pulled away, the man beneath him close to panic as he leaned up to apologize or run away.
Brian’s mouth was closed instantly, a hand reaching down to slip into his shirt, cold fingertips dancing on his porcelain skin.
David bit Brian’s bottom lip, pulling away and trailing peppered kisses on his jawline and neck.
His tongue slipped out to slide along Brian’s collarbone, the male rutting up against the other desperately.
“D-David-!”
The Irish man smiled, moving to cover his lips once more, “Shut up, Brian.”
blind! ohm, ohmtoonz drabble
prompt: “deaf/blind”
idea: messy meet-cute on the dangerously busy city streets where luke literally saves ryan’s life
1834 words
Retinal detachment. A condition with the eye caused by a head injury; a hard enough collision in which the individual then bleeds into their retina. It causes the retina to come loose which can be medically fixed if the individual is delivered to surgery with enough time. If not; it results in complete blindness in the affected eye.
For Ryan, all he needed was an unlucky night and the company of the wrong kind of people.
The bar fight started without him noticing, and escalated in seconds as the taller of the three quarreling men threw one of the others into an occupied table and chairs. The two bar patrons abandoned their drinks to stumble away from the fight. The third man was quick to jump in, grasping an empty chair and easily launching it towards the initiator.
Perhaps Ryan was just too tired to notice all the details as he watched carelessly with a sip of his beer. Fights weren’t uncommon in the bar, ending with a few bruises and embedded shards of glass.
It was no conscious decision for the smallest of the three to dodge towards where Ryan was perched on his bar stool, and tunnel-vision rage possessed the man who had picked up the impromptu weapon by the legs. He didn’t notice the agility of his opponent. He didn’t notice Ryan sitting innocently behind him.
When the chair swung through the air, the man in Ryan’s way dropped to the floor, only allowing him to see what was to come far too late for it to be avoided. All he could do was turn, half a cry making it past his lips before the heavy wooden back of the chair slammed into his upper back and head. He was thrown to the floor, head exploding with pain and seeing nothing but a black. The chair fell atop him, forgotten by the attacker who turned back to his original enemy.
Rough hands had grabbed him a few moments after though the remainder of the night was lost to him. Questions he couldn’t form answers to. Flashing lights. Loud sirens, shouting.
In most cases, it could be fixed; surgically put back into place.
Ryan wasn’t most cases. He was left blind in both eyes. Permanently.
To live twenty eight years with all five senses, only to lose sight; the most valuable of all of them.
He had to learn how to live again, had to learn how to walk with confidence, to learn how to navigate his own home as if he’d never stepped foot in it before. His body was constantly littered with bruises and scratches and for months he lived alongside the company of his sister. She gave him hours and days and weeks of her time, to heal, to grow, to learn.
It took months of adjusting, walking with a blind stick and strengthening his other senses, until he could survive just fine in his routine alone. He memorised how many steps he took from his bedroom to the bathroom, the width of his doorways and the placement of the sharpest table corners in his home.
It was the city life that made things most difficult.
“Hello?”
It was hard to differentiate the sounds of the people around him from the sounds coming from his phone. “Ryan, it’s Sally. Will you be home today?” He turned, flicking his walking stick back and forth in front of him, picturing the bumps and dips in the pathway ahead of him. He expected every bump of a shoulder or a hip, not allowing himself to lose balance; he was used to the crowded streets.
“Yes, I’m walking home now.” He stumbled, murmuring an apology to the owner of the chest he’d walked into, turning and standing next to them as he listened to the cars go by. Thankfully, he could feel that the crowd waiting at the lights was thin and there was only really the one man (he could tell by the height and broadness of his chest) who was stood close enough for Ryan to feel he was there.
“Okay, I’ll be there in an hour,” Sally replied, adding a short: “Stay safe!” before hanging up the phone.
The tell-tale ring of the walking sign going green sounded, followed by the impatient beeps that marked the time pedestrians were allowed to cross. Ryan sighed, flicking his stick in front of him and stepping down from the curb. He took two steps forward. A car horn sounded, loud, long and angry.
Panic froze him where he had stepped into the road, too many sounds exploding around him as he tried to understand whether it was him in danger and where to move. A hand grabbed the back of his elbow, an arm looping around his front, and he was pulled sharply back three steps where he tripped over the curb and fell to his ass on the sidewalk.
He felt wind rush past as the horn blared from the vehicle, speeding through the space he had occupied half a moment ago.
“Dickhead.” A new voice and a sharp snap at who Ryan assumed was the driver who had ran the red light. “Are you hurt?” The hands on his arms pulled him back to his feet and Ryan felt someone else collide with his back and send him stumbling into his supposed saviour.
He felt vulnerable without his walking stick and instinctively scuffed his feet along the ground around him. “I- I’m fine. My… My white cane-” The stranger’s hand didn’t move from where it tightly gripped his upper arm.
“C’mon, let’s get across.” Ryan picked up the southern touch to his words, a strong accent on the lulling voice. He didn’t try refuse, allowing himself to be lead across the road. Once back on the footpath, he felt himself be pushed lightly against the wall of the corner building. “Blind?” Blunt. No beating around the bush. Ryan nodded shortly, blinking his eyes uselessly behind his dark glasses. “Got in some kind of accident or were you born with it,” he asked, pushing a pole into Ryan’s hand. Then another. Or more accurately, the two halves of his snapped cane.
His heart fell. Making his way home was going to be a million times harder without it.
“Some kind of accident,” he murmured, running his fingers over the broken ends to assess just how unixable it was.
“Where are you headed?” he asked. “You got any vision at all?”
Another shake of the head. “Completely blind. I’m trying to get home.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair before smiling dumbly. “I’m Ryan,” he announced, holding his hand in the air in front of him and letting his smile grow as it was taken and shaken.
“Luke.” The southerner spoke with something of a smile. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way home so you don’t step out in front of anymore cars,” he offered, giving a tug on Ryan’s arm. “What street?”
The blind man shook his head. There was no need to waste this guy’s time. “You don’t have to do that,” he pushed. “I’ll survive on my own.” He hoped his smile was along the lines of reassuring as another passerby shoved into his shoulder.
“Watch it, asshole,” Luke snapped, Ryan’s brows raising at the aggressive tone. It wasn’t often he was being defended against the careless pricks that roamed the city streets. Long fingers slipped between his, an action that felt far too intimate for a stranger. “I’m walkin’ you home. Where do you live?”
Hearing the determination in the accent, Ryan knew this guy wasn’t going to let him go on his own without a fight. He gave in with a sigh, adjusting his grip on the hand in his and nodding to his left. He spoke his address clearly, allowing himself to be tugged back into motion, walking down the path behind Luke.
He could tell the guy was tall, keeping Ryan close enough behind him so that no one would bump him while walking the other way. The walk was full of thought, but far quicker than it would have been without a guide.
When the people pressing around them became less and less, he was led off the path by Luke’s hand. “Thirty-eight?” the southerner double-checked, catching Ryan’s nod and pushing through the little gate. “This is you then.”
Ryan’s hand fell out of Luke’s, knowing the steps up to his house well enough. He nodded, digging his keys out from his jacket pocket. “Come in,” he said, finding the lock with his fingertips before getting the door open. “Let me get you a drink at least,” he offered, stepping into the air-conditioned hall of his home.
Kicking his shoes off, he walked onwards knowing Luke wasn’t far behind him. “I shouldn’t- I need to get to the airport before three,” he explained and Ryan found his watch with his fingertips, following the little hands to see the other man had half an hour to get to the station and catch a train.
“Can I do anything else to thank you?” he asked, turning to face him.
Luke hummed, the twist in the low sound letting Ryan know the other was wearing a small smile. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again,” he commented, not shy of his words as he left Ryan to accept or decline his proposal.
The blind brunette ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I might not be any use going for a movie, but I can call Uber Eats and order Chinese pretty fine. I have some pretty sweet records to listen to as well so…”
He flinched as fingertips brushed against his elbow. The sensation had goosebumps rising up to his shoulder and he didn’t pull away as they slipped down to curl between his fingers. “I’m not one to turn down a free meal,” Luke said, his smile still audible. “I can be here Friday night at six?”
Ryan smiled, feeling his cheeks warm up knowing Luke would be watching his face. He itched to be able to blink and see him, see his face, what he looked like, the colour of his eyes. “I’d like that,” he murmured, lost in thoughts of wonder about the mystery man in front of him.
“Well then.” The rough fingers slipped out of Ryan’s and the blind man wanted to be in contact with the other in some way, a reminder he was still there. He focused on the sound of his breathing for a moment, hearing slow footsteps move back down the hall towards the still open front door. “I’ll see you on Friday at six, Ryan…?”
“Matt. Ryan Matt,” he responded, pulling his lips into a smile and lifting a hand to wave. “Thanks again, Luke.”
The front door clicked shut. It was plain impossible for Ryan to get the thought of the smooth southern accent out of his head for the rest of that day.
