#500 word drabbles

[rebelwrites]

The 100 word drabbles are still open, I currently only have 1 left to write.

All you need to do is send in three words and I shall turn them into a 100 fic ❤️

I have also decided to do something new as well, I’m trying to get more of a balance with my business and dipping my toes back in the writing pool so we will now be doing 500 word drabbles to challenge me a little bit more.

The concept is the same, send in 3 words and I shall turn it into a 500 word fic.

Please note when sending in requests please state if it is for the 100 or 500 words and who you would like it written for.

I will take requests for:

Charles Leclerc (F1)

Jax Teller (SOA)

Clay Spenser (Seal Team)

I may open it up to more people in the future

[motleyfam]

Dick forgets to eat sometimes.

Jason can’t fathom it—the entire concept is foreign to him. For as long as he can remember, food’s always been on his mind. If he wasn’t digging through dumpsters for it, he was squirreling away whole pieces of fruit and unopened granola bars the kids at school carelessly left on their trays, picking up gigs babysitting the neighbor brats for the complimentary PB&Js, sitting through two-hour fire & brimstone church sermons daydreaming about the fried chicken and potato salad that would come after. Jason’s gone hungry more times than he can count but never once has he simply forgotten to eat.

Bruce says it’s something with the way Dick’s brain is wired. It’s why he can’t sit still very long without his leg jittering, why he talks a mile a minute when he gets going on a topic, why his apartment always looks like a tornado went through it.

All Jason knows is that it’s five p.m. and he’s starving.

Except he isn’t—not really. He had a bowl of Cap’n Crunch in Dick’s kitchen just that morning, milk and all. Jason’s gone far longer on far less, so he doesn’t know why his stomach's complaining so much today, why his head feels achy and light, why that tiny biting pain in his middle won’t shut up. He’s been living at the Manor for four months now and he’s already gone soft.

They’re walking through Bludhaven Shopping Centre, Dick babbling on about the last obstacle of the indoor minigolf course they just finished. Jason tries to listen, but his heart is beating strangely fast and the only thought pulsing through his mind is food, food, food—

And then abruptly, he notices that Dick’s stopped walking. He’s looking at Jason, brow furrowed and lips moving as if asking a question, but Jason isn’t hearing anything because his hands are shaking and his breaths are coming out quick and gaspy and even though he’d been looking forward to hanging out with Dick for weeks now he suddenly wants nothing more than to be back in the Manor where the pantry’s always stocked and the fridge is full and he can breathe.

And then he blinks and he’s sitting at a sticky food court table, and Dick’s got a hand on his back, saying “in and out, nice and slow, that’s it” and Jason’s got tears welling up in his eyes which pisses him off because that’s stupid, he’s being stupid, only cats and babies cry because they missed lunch, and—

And then there’s a soft pretzel in a paper wrapper being nudged into his hand by a guilty-faced Dick with a murmur of “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking” and it makes Jason want to crawl into a hole and die because he can’t just be fucking normal about this.

But there’s honey mustard sauce to dip it in, and a Chipotle bowl soon after, and tomorrow he and Dick both eat all three meals.

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[lightseoul]

hi! please could you do number 7 with the mc having a ghost-related quirk??

decided to quickly write this one just in time for halloween! i hope y'all enjoy this little piece amidst the boop war we all find ourselves in right now lol. thank you for playing n have a nice day <3

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

7. "THE GHOSTS WOULD DISAGREE WITH YOU." (1.3k)

“you’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”

you don’t even look up from the churro you’re munching on, opting to ignore the ash-blonde sitting right next to your left.

“what,” he continues, and if you didn’t know any better, he’s starting to sound a little annoyed. “you’re not even gonna defend yourself?”

what you’re not about to do is tell him you’ve heard that taunt over and over again growing up, lest you end up seeming pitiful, which you aren’t.

so you merely shrug. “i don’t see the point. i know it’s not true.”

at that, you finally glance at the man, who’s looking nothing short of speechless under the dim light of the lounge that’s decked out with ‘spooky’ embellishments.

cute is the first thing that comes to mind.

he just fucking insulted you is the next.

still, you can’t help the smile that takes over your features. “you’re the weird one, anyway. why would you say that to your date?”

bakugou promptly breaks eye contact, choosing to stare at the human skeleton that’s conveniently parked at the corner of the room. you follow his line of vision, and you have to stop yourself from snorting at the sight.

the people manning this haunted house-themed attraction sure took budget decorating to the next level.

beside you, the pro-hero huffs. “i’m only saying that because this is your idea of a good first date,” he gestures vaguely to your surroundings, an incredulous expression on his face as he tosses you a pointed look. “a horror escape room? really?”

“what?” you say, trying to sound the slightest bit defensive for the sake of it. “it gives us plenty of excuses to get closer.”

whatever bakugou expected you to say in response, it surely wasn’t that.

the man only splutters, quickly diverting his gaze and plopping back against his seat with his muscled arms folded across his broad chest like a petulant child.

he then mutters something that you wouldn’t have caught for the life of you if it weren’t for the thing.

you grin.

“you wanted me to latch onto you for safety? you could’ve just said so.”

almost instantaneously, bakugou whips to stare at you, an absolutely horrified expression etched all over his face.

“what the fuck?”

you flash him the most innocent look you can muster. “what?”

he’s now glaring at you, but there’s no missing the redness that has crept up the high planes of his cheeks. he opens his mouth as if to say something but hesitates. he tries again, gaze fixated on you for a couple more seconds until he shakes his head in disbelief.

“…there’s no fucking way.”

you shrug again, but bakugou only stares at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “unless…”

and, in a blink of an eye you almost could’ve missed it if you weren’t staring at him yourself, you see profound realization dawn on his features.

you gulp despite yourself.

“you have a fucking quirk?”

the truth must have been written all over your exterior, because the man leans back in slow motion like the way one would when faced with a relatively shocking revelation.

you rub at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling too self-conscious. this was the part that always made you feel uncomfortable, no matter what the context.

but especially during a first date.

“i never said i was quirkless…”

“yeah, no shit,” he retorts, not missing a single bit. “what is it, superior hearing or something?”

you shake your head slowly, “no, but it does make me privy to things that i don’t perceive with my own senses.”

bakugou’s eyebrows furrow in what you think is confusion. “what else?”

“uh—” you pause, eyes drifting down to your fiddling fingers, “—i can also levitate, be invisible, and permeate through things.”

when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you finally chance a glance at the man, and he’s looking honest-to-god gagged.

pro-hero dynamight is fucking gagged and it’s because of you.

before he can get a word in, though, you quickly follow it up with: “but they make me so nauseous that i can barely pull them off. they’re useless, really.”

when you’re met with nothing but silence, you continue.

“i know,” you chuckle, although it comes out awkward and stilted. “it’s weird. you’re right, after all. i was just messing with you.”

more silence.

not knowing what else to do or say, you take a huge bite of your pastry, although you’re far from hungry, stomach now churning in embarrassment.

you’re in the middle of chewing the remnants of your last bite when bakugou finally speaks up.

now, you’ve heard about how the #9 pro-hero, despite his aggression and temper and generally unpleasant personality, is exceptionally intelligent, perceptive, and intuitive, but you never really thought much about it.

not even when you found out a few hours earlier that the blind date your friends set you up with was your distant superior dynamight himself.

and while you always had a thing for capable men, you didn’t want to fall early and hard lest you hurt yourself in the process. so you merely pushed back against the prejudices and expectations you had of him, and decided to just observe the person who was actually in front of you for the rest of your date.

but when he says the next thing, everything you’ve heard about him suddenly makes sense.

“…so it’s a ghost quirk.”

you don’t even get the opportunity to choke on your churro or gape at him because bakugou shakes his head so fervently, before: “that’s such a fucking waste.”

“e-excuse me?”

at your query, he locks eyes with you. “you have a strong-ass quirk, yet you’re working in admin for us. you could be doing more.”

a thousand questions fight to escape your lips, but what manages to emerge victorious is: “how’d you know i’m working admin for ground riot?”

bakugou scowls at you, but again, there’s that scarlet on his cheeks. he doesn’t answer your question, though, instead going for: “that’s your fucking takeaway?”

you shrug, not knowing what else to say. “i know my quirk is strong. but i was always made to feel like i was weird and creepy for it growing up—and until now, actually, which is why i don’t really talk about it—so i just learned not to use it.”

“well, most of it,” you add, and bakugou cocks his head to the side in question.

you take a shaky inhale.

“…ghosts still choose to talk to me.”

“that how you pick up on things beyond your five senses?”

you try not to gawk at him and at how fast he put two and two together. “…yeah.”

neither of you says anything for a few moments before bakugou finally shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders back.

as he does so, he pipes up with: “well, i guess they’re not always accurate, though.”

you frown. although you rarely use your quirk, you still pride yourself in your capacity. “what do you mean?”

at that, bakugou turns to regard you, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “i did not want you to latch onto me.”

this time, you really can’t help it. you snort, and that grants you a glower from the pro-hero. you take it in stride, though, waving him off.

“sure, big guy.”

“don’t—” he sits up, “fucking—i’m serious—”

“yeah, but the ghosts—” he throws you a punch, which you dodge, “would disagree—” you dodge another, “ with you—” he barely misses you, “—though,” you finally finish.

and really, you don’t even need your trusty ghosts to know that—the blush that’s taken over the entirety of his face is all the proof you need.

[sirhamburrger]

jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell... lock? (a bllk x reader christmas miniseries!)

❅ status: complete! (i'm not going to push a fourth chapter but i'll get you another time yukki!) ❅ summary: a series of short crack drabbles on how the blue lock boys spend the christmas season with you! (or, me writing for my husband and some potential side chicks)(saving the best for last) ❅ relationships: r. shidou, r. itoshi, o. aiku, k. yukimiya x reader (separate) ❅ content warnings: mostly fluff, hurt/comfort in oliver's and rin's, crack, everything really

CHAPTERS:

one: all i want for christmas is some decently wrapped presents ❅ ryusei shidou is one aggressive person. no holiday activity is safe, not even giftwrapping. || link to song two: cookies burning on an oven fire ❅ oliver aiku is a master on the football pitch. in the kitchen, though? not so much. || link to song three: havin' deep and uncomfortable conversations around the christmas tree ❅ being unexpectedly vulnerable with you wasn't really on rin itoshi's christmas wishlist. || link to song

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

taglist: @anglefish3008, @standcom (closed, event completed)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[naivegh0ul]

LOOOVE how you write about riling up riley by being stoic but me personally, i dont think i could get through a minute being all lackluster because i WILL cry the second he stuffs me up. his size plus my sensitivity, i know he'd be heady with his triumph, being cocky and bullying himself balls deeper. GRAAAAH i need this man biblically,, was wondering how would you put it when he finally sees he's broken you in (again)

Oh my god he is such a bully when it comes to your sensitivity, always mocking you and teasing you about it. He knows you're just trying to rile him up when you act all nonchalant and unaffected when really you're struggling to control yourself.

I say again, he is a bully. Don't even try to play with him longer than five minutes. You're ignoring him for longer than he likes? Well, now you're being flipped onto your front and pushed into the couch cushions, face buried in the pillows as Ghost almost tears your clothes off. He's so mean about it, mocking you and manhandling you as you try your best to ignore him and seem like you're bored.

He's not nice when he's pent up, that much is obvious. He does not care if you cry or try to squirm away. He'll finger you ruthlessly, tutting when you make no noise and crooking his fingers to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Once he gets bored of fingering you (which takes a long, long time), he'll force you to pleasure him, knowing you can never keep your cool doing that. Just the sight of you on your knees before him has him smirking and his cock twitching. You're avoiding eye contact as you pick at your nails and act bored, huffing as if you're annoyed.

Ghost can see right through you, though. Knows it's all an act, that his pretty little thing could never get bored of him.

He'd make you unzip his jeans and unbuckle his belt, saying the most filthy things down to you. "Fuckin' slut. Gaggin' for it. Come on, open your mouth." You try to act bratty, seeming to come to the conclusion that seeming bored and ignoring Ghost is not the way to go, so maybe being bratty and uncooperative is better.

Ghost has been here before, you being bratty and refusing to do what he says. He's broken you in before, he'll do it again. He'd totally slap your face to get your attention, his big, calloused palm connecting with your cheek.

Yeah, he knows you love it when he slaps you. He knows you love it when he takes control and doesn't put up with your bullshit. And you know he's the type of guy who'll shove his cock down your throat. He doesn't care if your teeth drag along his sensitive shaft. He wants his cock in your throat and he wants it now.

He loves seeing you cry on his cock. He knows you're needy and desperate and the act of having his thick cock stretching your mouth, cutting off your airways is enough to make overwhelmed tears spill down your cheeks.

And if that's not bad enough, he'll pinch your nose shut and watch you panic, watch your eyes widen as you grip his thighs and try to pull away, throat contracting around his cockhead as you choke.

He wants you to be nice and pliant for him so he'll let you pull off and take a breath for a second before he's gripping your hair and stuffing his cock into your mouth, holding you there until you go limp and gently suckle on his cock, accepting the fact that fighting him won't do you any good.

[venture4treasure]

“Of course I dream of more”

Words: 952

Premise: Servant!Reader washes Noble!Venture hair. They have a conversation. 

Warnings: A bit of forbidden love and mutual pining, but otherwise nothing! 

“Lay down,” you instruct, gesturing at the cot – the edge of the bed frame is pressed against a tub of water. 

Venture does as you tell them, tilting their head back into the water. They try to look at you, but you’re a bit too far out of their peripheral vision. 

Pulling over a stool to sit down across from Venture, you dip your hand into the tub of water, it’s a pleasant warm temperature. You splash water onto dry locks of hair before reaching to brush back their bangs, submerging them. You’ve barely done anything and you can see dirt muddying the clear water.

“Thanks for making it warm,” Venture relaxes. 

“As opposed to… cold?” You raise a brow, “why would it be cold”. 

“Some of the other servants don’t bother with warm water,” Venture pouts, “I’m starting to think they hate me”. 

“I’m starting to think I might hate you,” you comment, brushing your hand through their hair and watching debris wash out, “how do you even get so much filth into your hair? Weren’t you supposed to be sword training today?” 

Venture laughs awkwardly. 

“Sloan…” you drawl. 

“Well… I may have been helping out in the mines instead today”. 

“The mines? Isn’t that below your station?” 

“They tell some of the best stories! Besides, father doesn’t need to know”. 

You sigh in disbelief, switching to massaging soap into their hair and head. Venture stops themselves from whatever they were planning to say to lean into your touch. You chase off the silence by humming fragments of a song you heard in passing – it’s not good singing but Venture doesn’t mind, they like to hear your voice. 

“So, do you ever think about doing something different from this?” Venture asks, waving their hand in the air.

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, don’t you ever want to try something different? A different line of work, like being a scholar! God, I wish father would’ve let me just study instead of trying to shape me up into some kind of perfect heir to the family – that’s what Mauga’s gonna be anyways!” Venture groans. 

You chuckle at their whining. 

“No, not really,” you answer, “I don’t think there’s anything else I can do to earn money. I am very lucky and grateful to be doing this in the first place”.

Venture goes quiet, their expression drops into a thoughtful one. They turn over the idea of needing money to live in their mind, it’s a concept so far detached from their day to day life, they don’t really understand it. There was always food if they were hungry, nice clothes for any occasion they could think of, and there was always a roof to go home to. Everything they needed was always there within arms reach.

“If you had the money, what would you do?” Venture wonders, both to you and themselves, “like, a lot of money”.

“I’d find a teacher to show me how to read and write,” you answer without hesitation, “and then… maybe I would travel to different kingdoms. I’d like to dance in those big ballrooms at least once. And… I’d probably find someone who treats me well to settle down with, in a nice and safe house close enough to the city market”. 

Venture glances up at you, taking in your face. Your eyes sparkle dreamily, a soft smile on your lips. Their heart aches at the sight combined with your words. 

You shake yourself out of the fantasy, “but my life now isn’t so bad either, it could be so much worse”. 

“What is your life right now?” 

“Right now, I work for your family, it pays enough to support me. One day, I’ll probably marry someone who’ll want kids, and I’ll try to raise them right…” you slightly cringe at your own reality, “protect them if I have to. I just hope I marry someone decent…” 

“You don’t plan to choose?” 

“I don’t really get a choice,” you shrug, “I have nothing to my name, I’ll probably just marry someone like me. Have kids so there’s someone to support me when I grow old. That’s how it usually goes”.

Venture doesn’t like your answers, they want to see you as happy as you were to share your dream. 

“Sit up a bit please,” you nudge them forward, and Venture pulls their hair from the dirty water so you can rinse out the soap. You comb their hair and lightly scratch their scalp as you clean away the soap. 

“Mann, that feels so nice”.

You make a noise of acknowledgement. 

Finally you’re done with their hair – you always forget how much of a pain it is when it gets dirt tangled in it. You wrap a towel over it so it doesn’t drip onto their clothes. 

“Okay, I’m done”, you announce, getting up to stretch. 

 Venture almost makes a noise of disappointment.

“Hey,” Venture calls out your name lightly, “would you like it if I taught you how to read and write?” 

You turn to face them, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “why?” 

They walk over to you, taking your hands into theirs. 

“Because I think you deserve to have a chance at happiness,” they smile, and there’s so much more they want to say, but they keep it to themselves. 

Your face heats up from the touch.

“Ah-” you stammer, “that would be nice, I’d really like that. Thank you”. 

Venture glows at your reaction, smiling wide. 

“Okay, now help me dry my hair, pleaseee,” they beg. 

“You can do that yourself”.

“I’m going to shake”.

“Do not threaten me,” you shoot back.

Venture holds your stare with determination in their eyes and you falter. 

“Okay, fine!” 

Author’s Note: I realized afterward that this setup doesn’t make sense at all and there’s so many logical issues with the concept but I really wanted to write it anyways. Spare me :( 

Mauga is Venture’s older brother in this. 

I just wanted an excuse to write about Venture’s hair. It’s so fluffy and needs to be appreciated. And they most definitely would shake to dry themselves and splash water everywhere. 

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

CONGRATS ON HUNDRED DOVE!! you sent me a risqué ask for 100 so now i do it back to ye-

"caught in the rain" with leona :D or ruggie, if someone got to him first! ehehehehehehhehehehe you can see stuff 😳👀 for free ✨✨✨

btw your ask is sending me so hard but i'm already typing out so much for leona so your ask is gonna be the last one for the event lol

Caught in the Rain; Leona Kingscholar

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader needs to get bonked with a stick (/j)

Content Warning; Swearing

Word Count; 700+

AN; Don't expose my ass on my own blog, Soru /j. (just trying to feed your own simping along with the simps) But I hope you enjoy what I wrote for Leona and this prompt! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The sky lay heavy with dark clouds, the smell of rain thick in the air, yet not a single drop had yet to strike the ground. The air was dense with humidity, warm from the harsh sun’s rays from earlier in the day. But yet, you found yourself outside, trying to find Leona.

He had invited you to spend your summer break as his guest in the palace. Well, less so 'invited', more so demanded.

“Do you have anywhere else to be, herbivore? I thought as much. Come on, you’re staying with me.”

You still don’t really know why, but you weren’t going to throw away the chance of staying someplace beyond nice for the summer… plus Leona wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. Yes, he puts on an act of not caring, and being abrasive, but you knew that he cared, that he worried. Also, the two of you had been having this back-and-forth banter for months; blurring the lines of just friends bickering and something... more. But neither of you had made a move. It just hung in the air between you, nearly as suffocating as the humidity now; potent with the possibility of a massive storm.

Back to the present though. You were on the outskirts of the palace, looking for wherever Leona had decided to take a nap for this afternoon.

“Leona,” you called, but all you heard in return was the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Where is that overgrown house cat? I swear if I get caught in a downpour because of him… “LEONA!”

The first drops of rain began to fall, gentle and sparse. But you knew full well that in a few minutes' time they would be falling hard and fast.

“LEONA KINGSCHOLAR?!” You shouted at the top of your lungs.

You heard an annoyed huff of air off to your left, and looking up you saw none other than Leona lounging in the low-hanging branches of a tree.

“Ya don’t need to yell, ya know,” he sighed, landing softly on the ground. He looked up to the sky and frowned before setting a slow pace back to the palace. “Are you coming or what, herbivore?”

You followed after him, catching up so the both of you were going at a comfortable pace. Thunder was still rumbling, and the rain was slowly picking up, but there was no rush. Well, there wasn’t any rush until there was a flash of lightning and it seemed like the entire sky’s worth of water came down all at once on the both of you.

“Shit,” Leona hissed and guided the both of you to the relative cover of a tree to wait out the worst of the monsoon. “Just our luc-” He stopped talking when he looked at you though.

You were spitting out some stray rainwater that had managed to get into your mouth. But once the intruding water was gone you looked over to him but you felt your eyes lock on his torso; the white shirt that he was wearing was now completely see-through and you could see everything. Stop staring! Damn though- STOP STARING! But your eyes refused to move.

Leona noticed this, and he also took in your drenched appearance but was more subtle with it. “Tch,” he tapped you on the nose, breaking you of your staring stupor. “My eyes are up here,” his voice was teasing though, light.

You snapped out of it, catching his mirthful eyes. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper. You felt your face grow warm at the slip of your tongue, but it was true. Even before you openly ogled at him, you always thought that, but never said it to his face.

Leona chuffed, but he didn’t say anything; neither denying or accepting your statement. “You aren’t half bad yourself,” he said softly.

The two of you sat underneath the tree, still in your soaked clothes, watching the rain fall together in a comfortable quiet. And while the first golden rays of sunlight may have been stunning, the both of you thought it was nothing when compared to the captor of your hearts; each other.

After all, you still had the rest of the summer to build on this new development.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Personally, I'm excited for the moment Elain discovers that Lucien sleeps naked

[lighthouseshepard]

ahhh been too afraid to pm you but hi from a silent mutual!!

writing prompt: john and yorick chat while arthur sleeps :))

HI HELLO!! im also always too afraid to pm everyone! thank you so much for sending this in and so sorry it took me a while! been a very busy few days (:

"Is he fully asleep, my king?"

John groans in annoyance among the relative darkness he'd been sulking within. Ever since Arthur's eyes shut once he fell into an exhausted, heavy slumber nearly thirty minutes prior, he'd been reluctant to try and exercise what little muscle control he possessed to squint them open again. Manipulating those muscles usually woke him regardless of how careful he was, leaving him with a splitting headache neither of them could explain. And at the moment, John couldn't bring himself to disturb the hard won sleep, as fitful as it was.

Yes, he's asleep, he hisses impatiently. Yorick's voice came from somewhere to their left, still attached by the chain threaded around their waist. Arthur's right arm twitches, fingers scrabbling for some imaginary thing, before falling still.

"Excellent," says the skull. "Our master requires much rest after that entire ordeal."

Our master? John snorts. The subtle stirrings of a cool night's breeze brush against the skin of his left hand, welcome after the wet, stale air of the cave. He's your master, not mine. 

"He is master to both of us!" Yorick exclaims, far too loudly. "Just as you are a king to him and myself. An inseparable pair, the dies irae, intertwined inexorably, dominion over one another and all else."

Jesus fucking Christ, John mutters, wishing he could wince. What does that even mean?

“Exactly as I said. Would you like me to repeat it?”

No, no. Can you quiet down? You're going to wake him.

“Certainly, my king.” His reply drops to a tone only slightly less loud than before. 

 And stop calling me that, he adds irritably. I'm not a king.

"You were once a king," Yorick states matter of fact, jaw clacking solidly as he speaks, a peculiarly troubling imitation of human life. "I do not see the issue with proclaiming this."

Once, he emphasizes. I'm not... I'm not that being any longer. I don't claim to be any kind of ruler anymore.

"Fair enough! What shall I call you if not a ruler, then?" 

John, he grinds out, the last droplet of water among the barren desert of his patience threatening to dissolve. John is fine.

"Alright," Yorick says, sounding pleased. "King John, how may I serve you?"

John heaves a haggard sigh. Unbelievable, he groans, and attempts to turn his attention away for a brief, blissful second to collect what surely remained of his sanity.

The thing that called itself vanguard spoke incessantly. Within the caves, climbing out into rain-damp earth and sky, walking to find shelter for nightfall in the hopes of catching at least a few hours sleep - it had not stopped talking the entire way. John had half a mind to untangle Yorick from Arthur's belt when he wasn't paying attention and throw him as far as his eyes could see. He'd never liked the thought of the vanguard anyway, had never wanted Arthur to take the head, keep the tooth. Something about a creature which existed simultaneously in the Dreamlands, the Dark World and their own reality never sat well with him. 

A hypocritical perspective, possibly, considering. Yet that similarity alone made him nervous, straddling a razor's cautious edge. He knew what he was capable of. Yorick remained a mystery.

They'd found an oak tree, its canopy stretching out far enough to provide cover from the last stray rain clouds rolling by, so long as Arthur kept curled at its trunk. He had fallen under almost immediately. One or two words exchanged between him and that damned skull, and he was out, John's name half formed on his lips in what sounded like the start of a question. It would likely be forgotten upon waking. Already Yorick was taking time meant for him.

Regardless, John knew him to be valuable, an asset they couldn't afford to get rid of. Certainly not now, with nothing to their names except the clothes Arthur wore and the bag he carried, no money, no food. If Yorick could be a wealth of information like he claimed, they'd have to put up with him a while longer. 

And then John could toss him into a lake.

In the stretch of thankful silence, Yorick apparently finally listening to his demands, he reaches over and inspects what remained of the wound. Dried blood coated Arthur's wrinkled shirt close to his heart, stiffening the fabric. Laying his palm flat and hesitantly across his chest, John takes solace in the flighty pulse tangibly felt there. Not too long ago there was none at all.

Arthur murmurs something wordless under his touch. John retracts his hand quickly, mildly guilty at having potentially disturbed him.

“You dislike when he sleeps,” Yorick says. Despite his position by Arthur's hip, rolled sideways where he'd come to rest as they laid down on dry grass, his voice still seemed to come from somewhere else around them. 

John waits a second for more to follow. Nothing comes - it's a statement, not an inquiry.

I don't dislike him sleeping, he huffs. He has to rest, obviously.

“Yet it troubles you regardless? The absence of him.”

I don't, John sputters out, struggling to keep his voice level. I'm not… lonely if that's what you're suggesting. Will you just shut up already? We're both going to wake him up at this rate.

“Our master is blind to the world in multiple senses of the word,” says Yorick. “Deep within a dream. He will not wake for some time.”

How do you know he's dreaming? he asks, perplexed. You can't… see into his mind, or-

“I know a great many things.” Another beat of silence, decorated by the cricket song in the surrounding brush shielding them from view. Again John waits for an explanation, growling agitatedly when none is forthcoming.

Such as? he prompts. What is he dreaming about? 

“I do not know the specifics,” clacks Yorick. “Yet I'm aware of the turmoil of his thoughts. There is a string of piano keys tied like wire around his ankles, a bathtub overflowing, a yellow sun-”

Okay, I get the specifics! John mutters. So a nightmare, clearly.

“Precisely! Excellent conclusion, King John.”

He was starting to immediately regret accidentally adding John to that title. Is there a way we can help him, then?

As if on cue, subconsciously aware he was being discussed, Arthur lets out a low, pained breath of air. Instinctively John’s hand jolts to attention, fingers delicately skimming the wound like he would find answers or assistance there. His legs were twitching, again his arm reaching and then recoiling from something John couldn’t see or understand. 

Nightmares were the only times he felt useful, whenever Arthur slept. Lingering in the corners of his mind, stuck between drifting into his own thoughts and keeping an active listen for anything that might hurt them while he was out - it wore him down in ways be couldn't explain. Yorick was right, even though John would rather revisit the Dark World than admit it. He did hate when Arthur had to sleep for the emptiness it left him with. Being able to wake him from a bad dream as soon as he caught the signs left him aware of a strange, disjointed sense of selfish pleasure. Even if it came at the risk of Arthur’s unhappiness, helping him out of a nightmare was one thing he could do consistently right.

“He will not wake until the nightmare is complete,” Yorick says nonchalantly. “He is too deep.”

Which will take how long?

“I know a great many things,” he says for the second time. “Yet this, I do not.”

Another whimper, softer than the last. John taps the side of his head, tugs at his shirt collar, goes so far as to flick his nose multiple times in a row, as hard as he could manage. Nothing caused him to stir. He could slap him, sure, but in this state he might break apart altogether.

Great. John heaves a sigh. So we just have to listen to this, then? Until he’s, what, done dreaming?

“That is correct. We could always pass the time discussing, my King.”

Discussing what? He snorts. The maggots we just crawled through? No thanks.

“Or,” Yorick adds, “you could always return your hand to his chest.”

What? 

“Your hand,” he repeats, jaw clicking knowingly. “It is the one thing which calms the dreams. I’ve witnessed it many times before.”

You didn’t even have eyes, then, John says sardonically. What could you possibly have witnessed?

“I have no physical eyes now, but I can see you and the master. I was aware then, and in a way, I am aware now.”

In the shrouding blackness of Arthur’s slumber, John imagines the two points of white light where the prince’s eyes once rested staring sideways up at them, awash in tendrils of green smoke. Was this how Arthur felt all the time, kept in the dark, left to wonder how everyone was looking at him? 

Carefully, he puts his hand back in the center of Arthur’s chest. Fingers splay out, one wooden pinky, the rest a thin collection of bruises and scars and broken, chipped nails. That fidgety pulse returns, a bird’s caught wing under his palm. The rhythm remains so for nearly a minute, stuttering and jumping to some melody John couldn’t follow along, and he’s about ready to give it up for nonsensical, stupid advice before he hears Arthur sigh.

It’s not the same troubled exhale as before. This one comes calmer, more even-keeled. As he focuses on his heartbeat he notices it begins to slow, calming bit by bit into a steady, softer pattern. Arthur’s movements drift to a halt. He shifts among the roots, mumbling something too quiet to comprehend, and eventually falls silent.

“He sleeps much like the dead in appearance,” Yorick states thoughtfully. “I believe the dream has come to a close, for now.”

Good, remarks John, at a loss for anything else to say. He wasn’t going to tell Yorick thank you; but it was tempting. The gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s breathing is a placid current, subtler than the new rain beginning to break through the clouds overhead in the night. He could plainly picture him, sprawled out uncomfortably, breeze touseling sweat damp hair, a downward curve in a mouth which always seemed to be frowning lately. Protected just enough beneath the oak, protected enough beneath John’s palm.

Well, at least one of us is content.

“I am much content, King John.”

That makes a total of two. Can you please shut the hell up now? 

“If that is what you wish," the skull says amicably. "Then I will."

It is, John bites. Just thirty minutes of fucking silence. Please.

Yorick says nothing. Relief settles over him as the break distends. Minutes pass until he finally accepts his desire had been properly observed. Crickets sing around them once more.

Sleep well, he whispers, hand firmly over heart. Perhaps we can wait a little longer to get rid of him.

[elliesmissingfingerss]

cowboy hat — e.w. drabble

pure fluff. literally just fluff. wc: 474

ellie picked up a lot of mannerisms from joel over the years. she adopted a slight southern twang to some of her words and her word choice would get progressively more southern as she spent more and more time with him.

people started making jokes about it, since she grew up in fedra school and had absolutely no reason to have any southern accent whatsoever. she loved it, though. it was proof to her that joel was so deeply ingrained into her life that it was affecting her behaviors and mannerisms.

it made her feel all the more his, and him all the more hers. they were a family, truly.

imagine ellie and joel on patrol one day, walking through some old abandoned building when ellie finds a cowboy hat.

she'd pick it up and try to get joel to put it on, cracking jokes about his "cowboy heritage." when joel continued to refuse, ellie shrugged and plopped the hat onto her head.

she realized quickly that she didn't hate it. it kept the sun out of her eyes, for the most part, and joel would watch her with a soft smile, clearly amused by her antics and not even bothering to hide it.

so she kept it.

she'd put it on and inspect herself in the mirror sometimes, allowing herself to fall into a fantasy in which she was joel's actual daughter.

growing up in texas with him, all warm smiles and stupid jokes in place of his furrowed brows and reprimands about her safety.

a life without infected.

she'd end up keeping it hanging from her bedpost. she liked it there—on display. it made her happy to see it and think of her little fantasy.

you'd be hanging out in ellie's room one day, smoking one of the joints she had found on patrol and fooling around. you'd spot the cowboy hat hanging from her bedpost and smile to yourself, an idea instantly forming.

you'd snag the cowboy hat quickly and put it on, about to start making jokes about her having a cowboy hat when her face changed.

she'd raise a single eyebrow in a way that was always so reminiscent of joel, it was one of the first mannerisms that she'd picked up from joel.

ellie would lean in real close, her nose bumping yours as she whispered, "you know... there's a rule about cowboy hats."

you wouldn't respond, too focused on the way her eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips. your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

she'd flick the underside of the hat gently before her hand would trail down to grip your chin between her forefinger and thumb. "wear the hat...ride the cowboy," she'd murmur before connecting your lips and pulling you up to straddle her lap.

[fridayiaminlove]

Just need sleep, together if possible

Pairing: Bucky x reader (can be platonic or not) (descriptions of the reader: has a foot, a hand and is able to speak)

Summary: Bucky wants sleep and his body needs it. He doesn't want to be alone though.

Warnings: warmth, sleeping with someone on the same bed (non sexually), slight insecurity on Bucky's side

Word count: 350- 400 ish?

----------_----------_-----------_----------_---

You heard the click of the door opening and immediately knew who was there. Keeping your eyes shut and breathing even, you wait, wait for his next move.

You meant it when you told Bucky he can come to your room to sleep, to talk or just for silent company whenever he wants.

His brooding closed off personality is a great front but you know he doesn't like his cold, dark room, doesn't like sleeping on the floor or his bed and after the first time he slept in your room because of a nightmare, you told him he's always welcomed. Since then you always leave space on one side of the bed . No one likes being lonely

You also know if you woke up and told him to come in he'd just be embarassed and make some excuse to go back, so you remain there, still as possible.

_---------------------_

Bucky was overthinking this he knew that. He knew you were serious about him sleeping in your room, still ofcourse he felt like an invader.

But god he wanted to sleep, his floor is rock and his bed a marshmallow, his mind doesn't allow him to sleep on either of those.

You though, are very comfortable- your bed he means. It's warm, he likes it- he likes you, And right now he likes sleep.

He creeps inside, slowly closing the door behind him, trying not to wake your sleeping form, facing away from him. He lies down in the empty space beside you, you always seem to sleep in a corner.

'What now' his mind wonders staring at the ceiling uncomfortably still. 'God this is a bad idea'

He starts to get up. You turn. He stares. You don't.

Lifting your body slightly, you pull the sheets over him ultimately stopping him from going back. Bucky studies you, so close to his vibranium arm now.

Before lying back down you raise the sheets with your foot and throw them over his feet.

Safe.

He watches you lie back down and close your hand around his, pressing your forehead to his bicep "I am here okay, whenever" you whisper before moving back to your side.

Warmth. The sheets are warm.

Comfort. His shoulders drop

Relief. He's glad he came.

------------------el

A/n: just a short blurb I wrote at 2am. Constructive criticism is needed. Help. All mistakes are mine.

[spurious]

"I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?"

You know what to do

(this came from that list of "drunken love confession" dialogue starters)

When Rodney's returned to the team after the Revered Scientists' Gathering (title case implied in the way every single person on the planet had spoken about it), he's flushed, pink tinging his nose, his cheeks, and the tips of his ears. He's smiling sloppily, listing slightly to one side as he walks on unsteady feet.

"Teyla," John says, in what he thinks is a pretty calm tone, actually, "did you know they were going to get him drunk?"

Teyla, who'd been smiling fondly at the sight of Rodney picking his way across the gravel path to where she, John, and Ronon are standing, schools her face into something more serious when she sees John's expression.

"Well, I have only heard rumors of what occurs at the Gathering," Teyla hedges, "but I do remember something about ceremonial libations…"

"He's gonna fall on his face," Ronon says, in a low grumble, before loping over to take Rodney by the arm, leading him back to them.

"Ronon! Hi!" Rodney's voice is loud, untempered by social mores or sobriety, and he looks up at Ronon with something akin to delight, which makes John smile, despite the fact that he'd resolved to be annoyed about this turn of events.

Ronon manages to wrangle Rodney over and into the back of the jumper, at which point he wriggles free and greets Teyla with similar exuberance. She takes it in stride, then gently guides him to sit down in the copilot's chair. Rodney tumbles down onto the seat, half-leaning on the arm and staring at John with the seriousness of the extremely intoxicated.

"Looks like you got into some hardcore science there, buddy," John teases, but Rodney just responds with a soft little smile.

"Oh, we did, we actually—" he shakes his head, which seems to make him a bit dizzy, and then blinks. "I'll tell you later, I'm—" He tilts his head to the side, the rest of his body following along, and squints at John. "God, I love your stupid face. It's so—it's so, I…I like it."

John freezes in place, and he thinks he hears Ronon snickering somewhere behind him. Rodney's still staring at him, blown-open and sincere, like he hasn't just insulted John while also making a declaration of—well, something.

Rodney seems to marshal his motor skills, half-leaning and half-listing toward John, his hand outstretched. "Can I…can I touch it?"

"Uh," John says, not breathing, his eyes locked on Rodney's approaching hand. "Sure."

Rodney's fingers press clumsily against John's jaw, and then his palm is cupping John's cheek as he smiles, even more lopsided than usual. "So stupid," he murmurs, feeling out John's cheekbone, nearly poking him in the eye. His thumb brushes over John's bottom lip and he tries not to shift, to give anything away.

"Rodney," John manages after what feels like an eternity, his voice strangled, "I'll let you touch my stupid face all you want once I've flown us back home, alright?"

Rodney's hand stills, his fingers hot across John's face, as he seems to give the proposition serious thought, before finally nodding, leaning back into a loose, drunken splay in his chair.

"Yes," he says, still failing to modulate his volume, "that's a good idea, I didn't want to kiss you in front of Ronon and Teyla, you know."

That time John definitely hears Ronon snickering, but he ignores it, firing up the jumper and focusing on making it home before Rodney says anything else about what he wants to do with John's face.

[atefingersdagger]

I'm Bound to You, You're Bound to Me

500 word Clato drabble (as a challenge to myself)

“I’m bound to you, you’re bound to me.”

Clove whispers underneath him, breath hitting his cheek like a hot steam that rises. She’s vulnerable, a rope in her hands as she lies on the ground. It has its many uses, such as tying wrists up above her head if he asked.

Daylight cascades through the flowing leaves, leaving more shadows than his form that covers her. Cato keeps himself steady on his thick arms, palms against the pine and dirt on her sides. His stare is intense, but she doesn’t falter because she knows he’s truly no threat to her.

For all the other tributes, yes, he is. On the other hand, she’s impervious to his violence. Untouched by the harsh or the sharp. And she got him wrapped around her finger within a mere few weeks.

“Are you saying you’re mine?” Cato’s cockiness is as hardened as his..

“I am. But it goes both ways.” Clove runs her free fingers over the cut on his arm, the swollen skin around the abrasion and the scab of dried blood that shows it's healing. They treated it this morning, his jacket still wrapped around his waist despite the chilly breeze. “Like a knife might slash.”

Cato raises his blonde brow when she puts the bundled up rope on her chest. They found it after losing the rest of their supplies, one of the only things not burning in the explosion. Although there’s no obvious need for it, they took it anyway.

“What do you want to do with that?”

“Tie me up.”

He laughs softly. “In the middle of the arena? On camera?”

“Just adds to the fun.”

“You’re a real freak, you know that?”

He takes it, pushing himself up and then pulling her with him to stand. Clove is pressed to a tree quickly, unbothered by their surroundings and how infinitely stupid this might be. Before she knows it, she’s only in her shirt while her hands are knotted to a strong, low hanging branch.

She’s still got her feet on the ground when Cato kneels, pressing his lips to her stomach. Then, her legs are over his shoulders and it’s easy to keep them there. Hickies are forming quickly where his mouth goes on her skin.

Clove thinks she might be able to snap his neck with her thighs if she squeezed tightly enough, but that’s the last thing she wants to do as he’s tasting her. His large hands hold her hip, keeping her from squirming around too much, and she couldn’t have underestimated how fucking hot this is. A whine rips out from her throat to sing some praises while her arms strain from holding her weight.

The bark of the branch is rough on her palms, Clove scratches and grips at it when she tries to find something to take her pleasure out on. He could leave her hanging here, but by his tongue, she knows he won’t. Cato is far too bound to her.

[tantumuna]

sometimes i wish i could draw lol. like i wanna make Syril & Astarion content but i feel like. BAD, i guess, for writing short fics (like less than 1k), doesn't feel like a real story so it feels bad to post it like i'm wasting everyone's time. but everyone appreciates fun sketches. i just can't draw

[codenamesazanka]

Happy Valentine's Day! An idea for a drabble... how about Spinner trying (and failing) to make a romantic dinner for Shigaraki?

Thank you so very much! Sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy!

Set in some magical AU where Shigaraki delayed the surgery and is still at Gunga Villa during Valentine's Day. 500 words!

.♡.

"What did Dabi do this time?" Tomura asked. The majority of the fire had been put out, leaving only straggler flames for water-quirked army grunts to smother. "And why target my suite?"

The accused scoffed, very offended. "So just cuz it's fire, it's me? It wasn't. I'm hurt by your lack of trust, Leader."

Tomura ignored the sarcasm. "Then what happened?" He asked, to anyone who wanted to answer. His League, his lieutenants, the gathering crowd. 

"It was Spinner!" Twice exclaimed, pointing aggressively with both hands. "I would never snitch!" 

ReDestro appeared by Tomura's side, looking apologetic. "It was Spinner. He told us. An accident..." 

A few meters away, Spinner was slumped on the ground, a shameful little ball, head in his arms. Compress seemed to be offering support as Trumpet and Skeptic loomed, the latter shrieking. Skeptic was rarely not shrieking at the League, finding fault in everything they did, so it wasn't something Spinner couldn't handle, but Tomura still walked over. 

ReDestro hurried after him, filling in the details. Very useful guy. "He said he was trying to make dinner."

Tomura nudged Spinner with his foot. "You were trying to cook?" 

"He was trying to light candles." Compress said. 

"Candles." Trumpet repeated the word without a single inflection in tone. 

"I can light candles just fine!" Spinner snapped, lifting his head. "...It got tipped over when I wasn't paying attention." 

None of it was connecting in Tomura's mind. "You were trying to cook using candles?"

"It was a surprise dinner!" Spinner burst out. "I was—trying to do something… real. Real food. Wine. And… candlelight." 

Toga gasped, hands flying to her cheeks. ReDestro did the same, without the gasp and with only one hand. Everyone else stared.

Spinner glared daggers at Tomura's shoes. "It's Valentine's day," he said, voice tight. He looked up slightly, speaking to Tomura's knees. "You don't like sweets, so..."

Dabi said, "You're the one giving him the gift?" 

"That's so cute!!" Toga jumped in place. "Traditional, too, like in America!" 

"It was I who suggested it," Compress said.

"If you had asked, we would've been happy to help," ReDestro said gently. Then coughed in warning when Trumpet muttered, "We could've done it properly and successfully." 

"We should get courtesy dinners!" Twice gestured at himself and everyone. "Store-brought is okay." 

Tomura reached down to tug at Spinner's scarf. Spinner had gone back to hiding his face. "It's fine. Just stop moping." 

"It's not fine!" Skeptic bellowed. "We lose money everyday—"

"Forgive it this once, Skeptic," ReDestro said. "It is Valentine's day." 

"Once, ReDestro? It’s again and again—"

As Spinner got to his feet, Tomura told him, "I'm not hungry anyways. Let's skip dinner and go." 

Spinner finally looked at him, an exhausted, sheepish glance. "Shigaraki. I'm..." 

"Your room." Tomura took off The Hand. It was hard to resist a grin, but he did. He had to make Spinner take responsibility, after all. "You destroyed my room, so I guess I'll have to stay with you tonight..." 

.♡.

Notes below the cut:

Valentine's Day Background: In Japan, Valentine's Day is seen as a romantic holiday, but it's mostly women giving chocolates to men (Men return the favor on White Day, March 14). Women gives different types of chocolate depending on the kind of relationship they have with the recipient; two types in particular are honmei-choco ('true feelings chocolate'), given to their significant other, and giri-choco ('obligation/courtesy chocolate'), given to friends and acquaintances. So, here, Spinner was trying to give his version of honmei-choco to Shigaraki - homemade too! Twice's "courtesy dinners" is a joke he's making. Dabi's just being a bit of an ass/teasing Spinner about the role he's taken. Toga thinks Spinner going back-to-its-roots traditional is very romantic - though it was Compress who first explained this to Spinner, probably because he felt sorry for Spinner, who was being a mess about the upcoming holiday.

By 'real food', Spinner means something that isn't cup ramen. He was actually making Japanese curry, which is absolutely not romantic, but was something he thought he could make without messing up. Yeah, he was trying to pair that with wine and candlelight. Yeah.

Shigaraki not liking sweets: Something I'm deciding for the purpose of this fic! No idea if it's canon or not. Most of Shigaraki's food tastes come from the Smash! comics, where he drinks barley tea and ginger ale. He liked Kurogiri's beef stew in the mobile game. In manga canon, he eats CalorieMate and maybe drinks alcohol. As a child, though, his favorite food was Ohagi - a traditional red-bean paste sweet. But I don't think Ohaji is sweet-sweet like candy? Drawing mostly from my experience as a kid, when I much preferred a chocolate bar to sweet red bean traditional fare. So I thought maybe, yeah, I can say Shigaraki has grown up and doesn't like sweets. Liking sweets is something associated with kids. That's true anywhere, but it's reoccurring in manga/anime as a shorthand for 'this guy hasn't grown up'. I thought it would be fun to have Shigaraki, a 'manchild', actually not liking sweets.

Later, even after the PLF got a new room prepared for Shigaraki, he barely sets a foot in it, preferring to continue spending his nights with Spinner instead.