#joylight writes

[joysjoy]

did y’all miss me ;)

(yes joylight is back, go read my new fic <3)

[sunshinejins]

“I want to ruin our friendship” with Georgebur, I like this ship!

hi anon! sorry for the wait, unfortunately apparently i need to sleep :// rude of my body tbh. but here's your lil fic! idk why i keep going above and beyond my self imposed word count limit for georgebur but i guess i just have to deal with it!

Romantic epiphanies aren’t supposed to happen while a Bo Burnham special from 2014 plays in the background of a hastily-planned dinner party of macaroni and cheese and Pepsi. They’re supposed to happen in the middle of a forest with stars sparkling or at a school dance with peach and sky blue lights glimmering over hair sprayed curls. George isn’t supposed to realize he’s in love with one of his closest friends while he’s minutes deep into a recreation of “Suck My Dick” in an Australian accent, but it seems that when it comes to Wilbur that anything is possible.

“Wilbur, seriously, stop!” George gasps out in between peals of laughter that sting the back of his throat. His friend looks back at him goofily, tongue peeking out from his teeth and cheeky grin. He looks alive, bright, filled with the things people talk about when they’re falling in love. George nearly hates how at ease he feels under the coffee gaze of Wilbur’s eyes.

“What, George? You don’t like my serenade?” Wilbur’s voice is teasing, it always is. They’re always stuck in moments like this together; flirting and poking into the soft spaces between each other’s ribs. They’re looking to get a rise out of each other past sugared giggles and fond gazes. It’s always a game they play: even when they’re alone.

“Save your serenades for the next girl you write songs about,” George says back, feeling the grit of the manufactured playfulness against his tongue, “And maybe don’t ask them to suck your dick in the meantime.”

“Oh I’d never ask them for that, Gog,” George feels like he could turn to flames under the heat of Wilbur’s gaze, the drag of his friend’s eyes up and down the folds of his hoodie, “That’s reserved for you.” And that’s normal for them. It is, despite every fibre in George’s body screaming that Wilbur’s just having fun. He’s so used to the playful flirting, the jabs about being boyfriend material, the way Wilbur’s face seems to soften when he steps in the room.

The ache in his chest once hidden by denial, the blueberry bruise made from soft words and even softer smiles, has started to smart.

“Imagine if one day you asked me to suck your dick and I just said yes?” George quips, ignoring the pull, the squeeze, the ache of his jokes. Wilbur raises an eyebrow, careful, controlled. Twists of curls fall into his gaze.

“Well would you?” George doesn’t know if they’re joking anymore.

“Well probably not on the first date. I’m a gentleman after all, Wil.” Wilbur snorts, leaning closer. Their knees touch on the couch and George tries his hardest not to hold his breath.

“Not that it matters though, really,” he continues, ignoring the way Wilbur’s eyes seem to smolder into his jawline, the curve of his throat, “because we don’t want to ruin the friendship.” Wilbur laughs, but it sounds choked, half in pain and half delirious. George lifts his gaze to find Wilbur staring, heart pasted to his sleeve, and starlight dripping from his gaze.

“George. George, George, George, George.” He slips his hand into George’s and he’s never realized exactly how well their palms fit together, “I want to ruin our friendship. So fucking badly.”

George spends a lot of time thinking. Most of the time, really. He’s closed off in more ways than one, and he spends large periods of time convincing himself not to wish for things he can’t have.

As Wilbur leans forward to catch George’s lips with his own, as the taste of vanilla and Pepsi and truly abysmal mac and cheese floods George’s tongue-- he thinks maybe this is one wish that he’s allowed to make after all.

[sunshinejins]

snf and ur fav trope (:<

hiiii anon! my favourite trope is kinda hard to pin down but i love the idea of nighttime flirting. it just hits so much different imo. hope you enjoy! i got a lil carried away :)

The world seems to tilt on its axis, stars spinning in dizzy circles across the sky as Sapnap tilts his head up. The air feels crisp with autumn and there’s crushed up bits of leaves in his hair, but as he feels his chest expand with each patient breath, he can’t help but feel at ease. He can hear Dream and Quackity in the background, voices carrying across the backyard despite their clear attempts at whispering, and Sapnap smiles as he hears a vague comment about holy shit if you actually think you’re better at Mario Party than me you need to shut-

“This spot taken?” Sapnap’s eyes shoot up, as he shifts against the rubbery bounce of the trampoline and turns toward the voice. George stands at the ladder to the trampoline, eyes soft with something only midnight can bring and smile shy against the sharp curve of his jaw. Sapnap swallows.

“Nah, all yours.” Leaves crackle beneath George’s socked feet as he clambers to lay beside Sapnap. They’ve rarely used this trampoline for anything other than laying down, sleepovers, the occasional foam noodle battle when the pool gets too cold. Normally, Sapnap ends up out here with his headphones when he wants to stop thinking. Right now, as he watches George tilt his head towards the stars, his mind feels blissfully full.

They don’t talk, because they don’t need to. Sapnap knows George inside and out; knows the way he takes his tea when he’s forced to drink it and the extra sauces he buys from McDonalds. He knows how George likes to sit in silence sometimes, just knowing the other person’s there. He knows that there’s never been a person who looks more beautiful at midnight.

“Do you know how to find the Big Dipper?” George asks, head tilted towards Sapnap now, midnight cocoa eyes trained firmly on his lips. It’s so blatant, that Sapnap assumes he must be imagining it.

“Uh. No. Do you?” George snorts, pearly teeth bright under his smile.

“No. Just thought you would.”

“Why would I?” George shifts. More leaves crackle under their backs. Sapnap feels the press of a navy sock against the length of his calf.

“You’re smart like that.”

“You literally make a living off calling me an idiot.”

“Someone’s gotta pay the bills.” Sapnap’s the one snorting now, the one leaning into George’s space to tug him under his arm. He smells like Irish Spring, bright and sharp, and the pepperoni pizza they’d eaten a few hours earlier. Sapnap lets himself hope.

They fall silent again, because they’ve never had to talk to know what the other one wants. As Dream and Quackity’s voices fade away, overlapping with each other about Mario levels and bets with too much money on them, Sapnap leans forward first to kiss the moonlight off of George’s lips. George retaliates, kissing the smile off Sapnap’s mouth until he’s out of breath and hazey with the thought of George.

The world falls back into place. Sapnap’s hand tucked into George’s as they fall asleep beneath the stars.

[sunshinejins]

5+1 times with georgebur !!!!!!!!!!

NASA MY BELOVED DEAR HEART!!!!!! ofc you sent me an ask klshfslfd. this was originally going to be a full on fic but here, just for you i whipped something up <3

One: he’s falling and he knows he is. Wilbur’s never been one to protect his heart, let alone keep it safe, and he can feel it pushing against his ribcage in pulsing technicolour as he watches George set his camera up.

“I’ve never done an irl vlog before,” George says, eyes squinted at the camera. His hands are shaking a bit from the cold; Wilbur had offered for them to do something slightly warmer, to sit down in a pub and order fries to share so he can pretend it’s an accident when their fingers touch. George had shook his head, claiming the fans needed to see them out and about. He’d been right, naturally, but Wilbur still ached for the close contact.

“Me neither. Better make it a good one, Gogs.”

It’s a great vlog. Wilbur keeps his hands to himself. His heart aches in cerulean.

Two: George has always been the type of person that Wilbur can’t help but want to be around. He feels it in his chest: the tug towards the shorter man, the abject desire to be known m=by him. He puts in all his effort to make sure George knows he’s there, ready and willing. Sometimes it works, and sometimes he’s too oblivious for both of them.

“We never went on our cake date, George,” Wilbur says absently. George is slumped against his sofa, mostly asleep. They’re exhausted, the two of them, from the water course vlog, and George is dangerously close to a concussion. They’re full of shitty fast food burgers and three bottles of lemonade, but as Wilbur looks at George and his mess of dark curls, he thinks maybe this is what heaven looks like.

“D’you want to do it soon, then?” George mutters back, shifting so his cheek rests on Wilbur’s shoulder. The bloom of heat at his touch warms Wilbur down to his core. He resists the urge to touch, reach, feel.

“Yeah, next week?”

“Sure.”

They get red velvet and lemon cake. George blushes as deep burgundy as the pastry when Wilbur pays, and he tries not to dwell too much on it.

Three: Tommy points it out first, because of course he does. He’s seventeen and he’s already far too good at reading people and what they’re thinking. Sometimes it’s convenient, like when he can rouse Niki from a particularly rough Ace Race or when Tubbo needs support on stream. Right now, it’s fucking annoying.

“So how long have you liked him, Wil?” He asks, all uncharacteristic softness and hesitation. Wilbur knows he’s being shy because he thinks this is something new, like Wilbur hasn’t spent the better part of a year tumbling head over heels for a man with a laugh that sounds like daisies. He would appreciate it, truly, if Tommy wasn’t so hell-bent on getting them together.

“I dunno, Tommy. A while.”

“Why haven’t you told him?” Wilbur scoffs.

“He’d never like me like that.”

“Are you sure?”

Maybe he’s not.

Four: They always call them dates, because why not? Friends can go on dates and make the other feel like there’s elephants in their stomach. Friends can swipe mayo off of each other’s lips and lean in too far when someone tells a particularly bad joke. Wilbur’s good at being friends.

He doesn’t want to be friends.

Five: When it comes out, it explodes into the air like a nuclear blast. It’s been nearly a year and a half of this, these feelings, this ever-burning and searing cornflower pain in the edges of his heart. Wilbur can’t keep it in anymore; he’s just a man.

He tells George that he’s in love with him in the middle of a McDonald’s at four in the morning.

Six: George kisses Wilbur at four oh two in the morning with Sprite on his lips and simmering want for more burning underneath his fingertips.

[sunshinejins]

"If we get arrested, it's your fault"

George is with Wilbur during his ghost hunting or whatever you have in mind :]

hi anon! this one threw me for a loop bc to be quite honest, i haven't actually seen wilbur's ghost hunting videos. so take this, and hopefully it's at least a little satisfying :)

“If we get arrested, it’s your fault,” George mutters as he slips under the rusted chain-link of the fence surrounding a most certainly haunted house in Wilbur’s neighborhood. Wilbur just smirks down at him, all bright-dimpled smiles and shining hazelnut eyes.

“What makes you think we’ll be arrested?” He asks as he tucks the fence back into its proper place. George wrinkles his nose as he dusts dirt from the knees of his sweats.

“Maybe the fact that we’re trespassing?” Wilbur laughs and George feels his lips quirk up at the infectious giggle. He’s still not used to it, not after the year and a half they’ve been good friends, nor after the three months that they’ve been balancing on this weird precipice of “not-just-friends-but-not-quite-dating” that he’s not sure he loves but can’t complain about because it means he can wake up some mornings to Wilbur’s messy curls and the sleep-drunk smile that makes George’s stomach feel warm.

Not that he’s told him this of course. Instead he shows his love by telling Wilbur he looks disheveled and basks in the joy of his laugh as Wilbur presses his lips to exposed collarbones and smirks.

Irrelevant now, considering he’s pretty sure Wilbur’s either going to get them sent to prison or he’s going to break his neck.

“Why are you climbing things?” George asks, disguising the slight terror in his tone with disgust as Wilbur hoists himself up the side of the dilapidated building. He probably won’t fall to his death, considering he’s holding the window ledge tightly, but George still doesn’t trust the lanky limbs of the man in front of him.

“How else am I meant to get in?” Wilbur shoots back, attention fully on the window ledge. George scoffs, walks to the front door and pushes it open with barely any effort. The two men lock eyes and it takes a solid ten seconds for Wilbur’s face to erupt in a blush and for him to shyly tilt his head down.

“Could you come help me off the ledge please?” George snorts and gives in, if only to feel the tense muscles under Wilbur’s sweater.

“Remind me why you took me ghost hunting again, Soot?” He mutters as Wilbur slides quickly to the ground, cheeky smile back in place.

“Just looking for an excuse to get you to jump into my arms, Gogy,” Wilbur’s eyes are sparkling and George fights the urge to kiss the stupid expression off his face.

“Well then get the ghost hunting gear. I’d like to see at least one ghost before we’re locked up.”

“We’re not going to get arrested!” Wilbur cries, but George is giggling too hard to pay him any mind anyways.

[sunshinejins]

“Did you just… wait, you love me?”

This prompt with Georgebur please!! George saying this after Wilbur said or did something :eyes:

hi anon! full disclosure: this could be a whole ass fic and i cut it down a TON because i'm just doing little baby fics right now. but!! if you like it, i will certainly consider writing a full fic for ao3 if you ask :)

Parties, Wilbur has decided, are only as fun as the people he’s with. He remembers uni with disdain, memories clouded in too much vodka and hazed grey to be anything other than a nuisance. Parties like this, filled with a bunch of just-barely-turned-eighteen teenagers and a small handful of his bandmates and closest friends, however? They might just be the best parties of his life.

He winds around the party smoothly, topping up drinks and singing snatches of song lyrics as he recognizes them. Tommy’s jumping up and down, blonde curls wild with sweat and glee; Tubbo next to him looking equal parts exhausted and exhilarated. Jack and Niki have taken control of the aux cord, and Ash is rating their playlists with a practiced eye and a beer in his hand. Then, Wilbur’s eyes focus, and the smile that curves across his cheeks is nearly too embarrassing for him to process.

It’s hard to not smile though. Not when George is sitting on his kitchen island laughing as though Fundy’s just told the funniest joke in the world and his smile looks like it’s got bits of sunlight cast through it. Wilbur tries, in his defense, to school his expression before wandering over.

He’s unsuccessful.

“How many have you had, Wil, Jesus!” Fundy laughs, stepping aside so Wilbur can slot himself into the space between the two of them. The smile George gives him fizzes in his stomach like lemonade and it’s all Wilbur can do to keep from spilling his heart out onto the linoleum floor.

“Only one, actually! Just happy to be here,” Wilbur angles his smile towards George who simply giggles and takes a sip from his cup. He tries to ignore the way George’s eyebrows quirk up beneath his fringe and the way he holds the plastic solo cup like it’s made of glass. Fundy shakes his head.

“Whatever man! I’m gonna go find Niki.”

“Living room!” Wilbur calls towards his retreating back before turning back to George and feeling the distinct flip in his chest at the fond expression on his friend’s face.

“I’ve barely seen you tonight, Wil. Almost thought you were ignoring me,” George rolls his eyes dramatically and Wilbur laughs, chest heaving. George isn’t fully wrong; it’s hard to ignore the feelings of inloveinloveinlove that roll around in his chest like marbles when he’s had a bit to drink.

“Just been busy, Gogy. But I’ll always make time for you.” Wilbur simpers, playing up for the crowd of zero around them. George bursts into peals of laughter and the feeling in Wilbur’s stomach pulses again.

“Oh because you love me, right?” George teases. Wilbur freezes. He’s not sure how long he stands there, heart on his sleeve with Pitbull blaring in his ears before George’s face softens into something he’s never seen before.

“Wait… You love me?”

Wilbur’s never been a very good liar.

When he leans forward to catch George’s lips with his own, he feels like his heart has clattered to a stop in his chest. When George simply grins, sunlight and roses, and leans forward to kiss him again with a hand fisted firmly in his curls?

Well, Wilbur’s never quite felt so alive.

[sunshinejins]

here i stay, pray (just for better days)

“I get heavy sometimes,” Dream says softly, fingers trailing softly over George’s arm, “and when I’m heavy, it gets hard to get up.”

“Like mentally heavy?”

“It starts like that,” Dream nods slowly, “but it always gets worse.” George nods for him to continue, a silent promise that he won’t interrupt, and Dream inhales deeply.

***otherwise known as a hurt/comfort fic that came to life because the holidays were hard this year.  you can read it here on my ao3!

[sunshinejins]

early morning orange frutopia

The sun has barely begun to peek through the curtains when George’s eyes open. He squints against the slight brightness, furrowing his brows as he runs one hand over his eyes and the other over the spot in the bed next to him. The sheets are empty, cold, but still lightly scented in what he’s come to recognize as Dream’s cedar body wash. George can’t help but grunt. He hates mornings, but he hates mornings when he wakes up alone even more.

He’s about to scrounge for his phone to send Dream a very annoyed text message about having to wake up by himself on a Saturday morning, when the door to the room creaks and a sheepish Dream sneaks through the door.

“Oh shit,” he mutters as he takes in the rumpled mess of George’s hair and shirt and the way that he’s very much awake in their bed, “You weren’t supposed to be up yet.”

*** otherwise known as the simple and fluff-filled sequel to late night strawberry frutopia and my official goodbye and i love you to dteamblr and the fandom.  you can read it here <3