#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.

[nickfowlerrr]

https://www.tumblr.com/nickfowlerrr/760258643802406912 BEEFY BUCKY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE *gasping breath in* PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

change of pace

pairing: beefy!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. unprotected sex. a little bit of fluff. not edited!

words: 1.1k

notes: ask and ye shall receive 😌 lol when i reblogged that post you know he was all i was thinking about 🥴 lol thank you for sending this, e! 🫶🏻

thank you in advance for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. hope you enjoy this little drabble! 🩵

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his eyes squeezed shut while he’s breathing heavy, his hands clenching the back of the couch threatening to break the wooden frame of it. Bucky’s head is thrown back in pleasure as you slowly sink down on his throbbing cock.

He can’t see the way your lips part at the stretch of him, or how you stifle your own moan as you take him in, or the twinkle in your eyes at the sight of him already flushed and lost in the feeling of you straddling his lap, your hands on his chest as you sit on his cock.

His fingers flex as he grips the couch, doing his best to control himself and let you set the pace. Your hands glide up his chest to around his neck as you lift yourself off his lap, until just his tip is inside you, your fingers in his hair as he gulps a breath. You stay for a moment and wait until you see him relax for just a second before you sit back down, his thickness impaling you in the best way.

He whimpers the most beautiful moans you think you’ve ever heard as his eyes scrunch tighter, his lips in a pout as you slowly start to really ride his cock.

“Baby, please,” he begs softly, cheeks pink as he turns his face away from you. His eyes are still closed tight, he’s both too shy and too worked up to look at you right now.

“What’s the matter?” you ask breathily, your torturous movements not faltering as you lean closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest and your fingers curling in his hair as your soft lips ghost his ear before you lightly kiss his face, another pathetic moan slipping from the beefy man beneath you at the gentle kiss.

His bright blue eyes flutter open then as he turns his face toward you, pout still in place, his eyes much darker than they were a few minutes ago, but that gleam in them ever present.

You titter as your noses brush and you know exactly what he wants before he even says it.

You’re sinking lower on his dick as he finally speaks.

“Kiss me,” he pleads, not even trying to hide how desperately he wants to feel your lips on his. You don’t keep him waiting too long before you give in to his request. Your kiss is soft at first as you keep rolling your hips, the feeling of his tongue slipping into your mouth and his moans against your lips fueling your movements.

Slowly, Bucky lets his arms fall from their place along the back of the couch before he drags his hands up your thick thighs. You don’t stop him so he keeps going.

His heavy palms finding your ass, squeezing the ample flesh there as he follows your movements up and down his fat cock.

His touch dances up to your back and then his hands find their place settling on the curve of your waist meeting your hips. All the while, Bucky kisses you greedily while you let him, your own moans muffled by his mouth.

He squeezes your waist lightly and you don’t know what snaps or takes over you but suddenly you’re spurred on in your movements. It’s not slow rolls if your hips anymore, no. Now you’re bouncing up and down his thick cock as he chokes out a moan in surprise. His big hands are gripping you tight but he doesn’t dare deter you or want you to slow down. He just needs to feel you, needs to touch you and your soft fucking body that he won’t ever get enough of. The way you take him, the way you make him feel, it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. You’re indescribable. You’re incomparable. You’re fucking everything.

He doesn’t know how or why he’s suddenly so overcome with emotion but he feels his eyes sting as he watches you, mesmerized by you on top of him, your breasts bouncing with every raise of your hips, your mouth open as you breathe heavily, soft moans of pleasure spilling out of you.

It feels so good. Everything feels so good, he can’t stop himself. He cries meekly, the most pathetic noise leaving him as his balls squeeze tighter and tighter with your every bounce. His hands tight on your hips and he whimpers again, “Baby, fuck, ohhh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grits, puffing as he tries to hold himself back. You speed up your movements, feeling your walls squeeze even tighter around his thick length as you get closer too.

Bucky slips his hands from your waist to your heavy breasts, grabbing them and squeezing them in his big hands before he lets his lips and tongue slide all over them, kissing them, licking them, before he wraps his lips around one of your pert nipples, sucking and licking the sensitive bud as you whine and moan in the intense pleasure it sends through you. He’s moaning as he takes his pleasure in kind, showing the same dedication to your other breast as you move atop him.

He’s so close. So fucking close. He buries his face in your chest as he holds you close, whimpers and pleas spilling from him as you fuck him perfectly.

“Please let me cum, baby, please,” he grips your hips again. Eyes squeezed shut, he’s almost pained from how badly he wants to just let go. To fill you up and keep you leaking him for the rest of the day. His balls twitch at the thought and he cries out again.

You reach a hand down behind you and gently squeeze him and he almost doesn’t even hear your permission to cum inside you as he shoots his load despite himself the very second he felt your touch. Groans and debauched whimpers leaving him as he holds you down on his lap, finally letting himself move as he bucks up into you.

You have to hold onto him as he fucks into you. Your own moans and whimpers mingling with his as he brings you to your own orgasm without even really trying, your silky walls tightening around his cock and milking him as he rides out your shared high.

His head is on your chest as he keeps you in place on his thick lap, heavy breaths and sighs leaving you both as you hold his head to you, your fingers playing in his hair.

“I love you,” he breathes against you, his eyes closed in bliss as you pet him. You smile down at him, and he doesn’t see it, but he feels it when you place a kiss on head and hold him closer. His arms tighten around you before he carefully turns you both so you’re laying down on the couch now, him on top of you, head still on your chest as you murmur back with that same soft smile,

“I love you, too.”

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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

[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.

[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.

[theladyofdeath]

500 words or less prompt: Elide walks in on Lorcan taking a bubble bath. There are candles.

A/N: There's something about fluff in a bathtub that just...gets to me. I hope you enjoy!

It was dark when Elide got home.

She had promised to be home hours ago but had to stay late at the bar. Her replacement had been running behind, their car battery dying, which led to Elide's early night off becoming just the same as every other night.

She came into the kitchen through the garage, seeing a cleaned plate on the counter. After looking in the fridge, she saw that Lorcan had made her a plate and set it in there after it was clear she wasn't coming home any time soon.

"Lor?"

He didn't answer.

The house was dark and silent, but his truck was in the garage so she knew he was home. After slipping off her shoes and hanging her keys on the hook, Elide made her way through the house. A candle was burning in the living room, and the t.v. was on but paused, halfway through a movie that Lorcan had apparently been watching.

"Lor?" she called again, in a sing-song voice. There was still no response as she began making her way upstairs. The house was old, each step creaking as she walked up the stairs. They'd gotten it cheap, as a fixer upper, and it was now the epitome of comfy and cozy.

As she made her way down the hallway, the softest of relaxing music filled the space.

Suddenly, Elide knew exactly where she would find him.

Through the master bedroom, Elide gently pushed open the door to the master bathroom and chuckled at the sight of Lorcan. His massive frame was submerged beneath a heap of bubbles in the tub. It smelled like lavender and vanilla; candles were strewn all around the bathroom. Soft, Celtic music played. Lorcan's eyes were shut.

Seeming to sense her presence, he said, "It's been a long day."

"People piss you off?"

"People always piss me off."

"Do I need to kick someone's ass?" Elide offered, still keeping her voice quiet.

Lorcan chuckled as he opened his eyes and looked at his wife. "I'll never say no to that. You're late."

She frowned. "I know. My replacement ran late. I saw my dinner in the fridge. Thank you."

He nodded, his eyes soft. He was clearly exhausted. "If you can wait to eat..." He gestured for her to join him.

Elide suppressed her grin. Lorcan was not a small man, but in contrast, Elide was a small woman. Even if he took up eighty percent of the tub, Elide only took up the other twenty.

"I don't know," she teased. "I'm pretty hungry."

Lorcan snorted as his eyes closed, once more. "I promise it'll be worth it."

Elide couldn't deny that. She stripped off her clothes and meandered into the tub, sitting idly on Lorcan's lap. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his chin on top of her head as the music played around them.

There was nothing sexual about it, only comfort. He rubbed her back gently, his fingers dancing across her skin smoothly, and just as Elide closed her eyes and began to drift into a state of utter calmness, Lorcan chuckled.

She opened her eyes and glanced up at him. "What?"

"I just imagined you kicking the ass of the sixty-year-old woman that made me want to quit my job today," he said, quietly. "It was satisfying."

Elide laughed quietly as she snuggled up against him, breathing him in. "Your twisted mind would find joy in that."

"If my mind is twisted, yours is just as bad."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elide said, fingers trailing down his chest. "I'm nothing but pure and innocent."

Lorcan took her fingers and made them still before bringing them to his mouth and kissing each fingertip softly, teasingly. His tone set her on fire when he said, "You are not pure or innocent."

Elide grinned, refusing to correct him, because they both knew it was true. Their hands wandered one another until simple touches became unbearable. They made love to one another until the water ran cold, and it was nearly midnight before Elide got around to her dinner.

But she didn't mind.

[minhxiao]

a drabble for prompt #25: a kiss on the forehead xiao/aether | rating: G | words: 719

Aether stirs the pot of black back perch stew, crushing in a few stems of violetgrass. 

“... and Brother Bosacius had drawn some marks along my face in black ink in a moment when I wasn’t aware…”

It’s a blissfully idle afternoon in his kitchen in the Serenitea Pot and Xiao is telling him a story of his time with his old comrades. Undisturbed sunlight spills in through the windows of his abode. Aether loves how Xiao’s voice always dips into something gentler when he talks about the other Yakshas, his brows soft and reminiscent as he casts his gaze into a long forgotten memory. He was much more uninhibited with his words, when they were alone like this.

“... I had only noticed some time after, when I happened to catch my reflection in the river― all to say, Brother Bosacius was truly… never a boring character…” 

Aether turns to look at him, stifling an amused smile as he tries to imagine someone daring to play such a childish prank on someone like Xiao. His eyes rove over his face, catching absentmindedly on the mark at the center of Xiao’s forehead. 

And perhaps it’s the story Xiao’s just willingly shared, or the unguarded look on his face, but Aether is suddenly filled with the urge to catch him unaware. Xiao is endlessly amusing to tease― Aether has a feeling he would’ve gotten along quite well with Bosacius. 

So he leans in when Xiao is mid-sentence and kisses him right at the mark above his brow. He lingers there for a few seconds, intentional and slow.

Xiao makes a quiet, astonished sound as he freezes. Then, the most remarkable thing happens. His body briefly glows with threads of dark Anemo before his wings manifest in a soft flutter of feathers behind him. A kind, startled wind stirs a small draft in the kitchen. 

Aether leans back slightly, blinking in surprise. That’s new. 

Xiao’s mouth is slightly parted, clearly caught off guard as his wings curl inward behind him.

His surprised expression fills Aether with such fondness that he tugs the adeptus closer by the waist, the stew already forgotten. 

“Did…” Xiao quickly attempts to recover, but Aether can tell by his distracted gaze that his mind is now clearly drawn to the present. “Was my story not interesting enough for you?” 

“On the contrary, I found the story quite endearing,” Aether pulls him close, taking a moment to admire the beauty that is Xiao’s face, “So… what exactly did he draw on your face?” 

“I, uh…” Xiao’s eyes stir as he looks up at him, flicking down once to Aether’s lips before shying away. “I can’t… seem to recall…” 

“Mm, I see,” Aether’s hands rise to wrap around the nape of Xiao’s neck. Then, he dips his mouth to graze his lips along Xiao’s temple before finding the pale purple mark on his forehead once more. “Was it here?” 

Xiao inhales softly, reaching to wrap a steady hand around Aether’s scarf. His eyes slip shut as his wings almost instinctively seem to flap once. This time, the excited draft nearly knocks the placemats off of his kitchen table. 

“Perhaps,” Xiao breathes as he almost imperceptibly tilts his face forward, as if wordlessly asking for more. 

“Still can’t remember?” Aether’s eyes brighten, his lips hovering over Xiao’s forehead. He stores this newfound knowledge carefully into his mind with a private smile. So he likes it when I kiss this mark…

“I… '' Xiao falls silent as Aether kisses him there again, and then down his temple, across his cheekbones. He explores the contours of Xiao’s skin with his lips until the adeptus’ face is pleasantly warm beneath his hands. He kisses him everywhere except his lips and bites back a smug smile when he feels Xiao’s wings flickering restlessly behind him.

Xiao tugs Aether closer by the scarf, his eyes molten. His voice is barely audible. “It… may have been lower.” 

“Lower?” Aether raises an innocent brow. “Where?”

Xiao pulls him down against his mouth with an impatient sigh. 

Aether’s not sure how long he stands in his kitchen, kissing him lazily against the counter, but he’s sure that he wouldn’t mind doing it forever― it’s only the sound of his perch stew boiling over on the stove that eventually pulls them apart.