#Drabble reviews

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

bucky’s “gimme a minute, baby” in that skin-on-skin drabble has me in such a chokehold i’m actually struggling to breath right now and oops i just died. building on that, how do you think bucky kind of balances that control while also being the absolute man of service he is? hard to imagine him struggling for dominance—that man is NOT a sub—but he’s definitely walking a line between calling the shots and being on his fucking knees.

Bucky wants skin on skin…

I blame it on Bucky’s tunnel vision and tenacity. He can’t help but go after what he wants. He can’t help but lose his pride over it. Can’t help but have you…

The breath that rushes from him is ragged and desperate. Your fingers curl in his slightly sweat-matted tresses, tugging his face up so his glistening chin tilts upward and his glossy eyes meet yours from between your legs. He wants to speak, but he’s struggling for words. It seems strange to be able to bring him to this state - not submission, but utter desperation.

“What is it, Bucky?” you ask him and his eyes flutter when you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Baby,” he rasps.

“Hm?”

“Come on,” he sighs. “Let me just- Just…”

You smile at him and slightly shift your hips, his eyes drifting down to watch the movement and his throat bobbing as he swallows. This is torture for him and you can’t fathom someone wanting you so badly. You’re almost scared of what he will do to you when you allow him to lower his mouth back onto you.

In truth, you needed him to stop for a second. Your orgasm came toward you way too quickly. It was too much and your thighs had been shaking like crazy.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask him before your disbelief overrules the euphoric feeling you get when this man wants you like this.

His fingers curl in the sheets, the metal whirring with the movement. This is the kind of restraint you’ve seen from him in battle, when he wants to attack, but is waiting for orders. This is a soldier. A soldier waiting for the order to attack. To kill.

“Wanna lick you,” he mutters and his cheek falls to your inner thigh, pupils growing as his eyes dart between your glistening cunt and your flushed face. “Want to see you come.”

You shake your head and tilt it at him. “You weren’t trying to make me come.”

His mouth curves up at the corner. Bastard. He has his own agenda.

His brow drops as he straightens his position. His hands slowly curl from the sheets and slide to your thighs, squeezing the outside and sliding to your inner thighs.

Your confidence falters. And his smirk fully comes out when he knows you’ve caught on, his hands pressing down to open your thighs as far as they go.

“Let me have what I want, sweetheart,” he mumbles and presses lazy kisses over your thighs, visibly depriving himself of what he really wants - taunting himself. His voice is soft, but you know better than to think you have the power. You’re talking to a man starving.

Something in your belly twists at the thought and Bucky snickers at your pussy convulsing. His finger darts out and traces over your folds.

“Buck…”

“We want the same thing, don’t we?” he asks.

You nod, words lost.

“Good girl,” he says, lips fluttering against your clit with the words. You shudder. “You know I’d beg for it.”

Fuck, you do. He would. He has.

In defeat, you drop your head back between your shoulders with a long breath. You hear him laugh softly, feel his grip steady on your thighs.

Then you feel his mouth.

Oh no…

[orchidyoonkook]

NUH UH NUH UH 😭😭😭😭😭 dude that’s so amazing to hear 😭♥️♥️♥️. And the fact that you RE read it!??? **On my knees, bowing the lowest I possibly can at your feet**

I adore you Remmy. Thank you for this ♥️

I wish you would write a fic where: UTWT Yoongi and Reader were cuddling while it was raining outside. 🥰

(This is just for that post you shared - although I would be over the moon if you did do this. But you do whatever your heart desires!!)

You're the best and I hope you have a lovely week. 💕

Rainfall Brings Tomorrow | MYG

Pairing: UTWT Badboy! Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Genre // Rating: (T) | fluff, touch of angst, some self reflection

Summary: You leave tomorrow, and there's one thing you need to say goodbye too.

Warnings: none! I think. Reader just thinks a lot.

Word Count: 923

Release Date: October 19, 2023, 3:00PM

A/N: Well I wrote this from 2am to 6:14am. I didn't even see this ask until about 1:30am and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I hope it lives up to your expectations, dearest Anon.

A/N 1.5: This was written in 3 hours and then only edited twice. I think it's coherent but if there are mistakes, please forgive.

The soft patter of rainfall falls around you, filling your ears with earthsong. His soft breaths flow in a steady rhythm to its beat, and the patio umbrella you shoved into the ground is doing its job well, keeping your resting forms dry from the delicate cadence of an afternoon shower. 

Your pond vibrates in its own little symphony of ripples, ducks hidden away in their nests while it plays. The boughs and branches of your home away from home rustle in its light wind, their tune mixing in beautifully with the rest. 

It’s cold and overcast out, but his body keeps you warm, as yours keeps his. He sits in your usual spot, back against the years worn wooden truck, while you sit against his chest, both covered by his leather jacket, preserving the heat you two were just beginning to learn to share with one another. 

It’s the day before you leave.

The day before you say ‘fuck you and goodnight’ to everyone and everything in your town, hop on the back of a motorcycle and never look back. 

But you needed to have one last visit to the place that brought you and Yoongi together for the first time, plus all the times after. And you wanted him here with you when you did. 

To say goodbye. To the one thing you would miss more than anything else.

Your willow tree. 

Yoongi’s arms circle your waist as you lean your head back against his shoulder. His touch still sends sparks anywhere it lands on your skin, and you hope that it never goes away. Hope it never dulls or fades. Because you’re learning way too fast that it’s becoming one of your favourite things, and you don’t even want to think of what you’d do if you lost it. 

A gentle kiss at your exposed neck, under your ear, lets you know he’s finished the page. But you still have a couple sentences to go as you hold The Mysterious Island open with a hand through the jacket sleeve for both of you to read.

You found it suiting, to truly bring this chapter in your lives a full three hundred and sixty degrees before closing it forever. And that’s what you need more than anything, you think. 

Closure. 

Because as much as you hate it here, and as much as you can’t wait to go, it’s all you’ve ever known. And while this change is good and needed and necessary, it’s also incredibly scary. 

You hate that a very small part of you doesn’t want to go, for the sake of familiarity. It’s safe here. You know what to expect. You know what will happen, when it will happen, what to do, where to go, who you’ll become. There’s a guideline written into your future by your past here. One you’ve never wanted to follow and always wanted to change.

But there are the absolutely terrifying ‘what if’s’ that comes with big change. What if you leave and it’s no better than where you were? What if you somehow mess all of it up? What if nothing goes to plan, everything goes to shit, and you’re forced to come back?

That’s your biggest nightmare, and it could very easily become your reality. 

But it’s not enough to change your mind. 

You’re going. Tomorrow morning, you’re leaving, come hell or high water or…maybe rain water if this keeps up. And you’re taking the man currently drawing you closer into him with you. 

He takes a quiet inhale of your hair, happily drowning in your scent. Yoongi’s still settling into the fact that the woman he’s holding is his. At least for now. The one that always caught his eye. The one that he never knew he could want so badly. The one who reads with him on a rainy afternoon in their shared space so she can say goodbye to the only thing that was kind to her, with him here to support her.

He’ll support you however you need, forever if he can.

His girl.

Pulling your legs up to rest the book on, you flip the page though your focus wavers, and you stare out into the shower blurred haze of your favourite place. 

This is the last time you’ll ever be here, so you take in every detail you can. The way the grass feels underneath you, the shape of the pond and the colour of its water. You commit the height of the tree and the ebb and flow of its leaves to memory as best you can. You take in the feeling of Yoongi behind you, remembering how he used to sit a foot away from you.

How every day, whether you realized it or not, he got just a little bit closer.

And before you can stop it, a silent tear slides down your face. You wipe it away but Yoongi catches it, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“You okay?” he asks. 

You are.

It’s just finally hitting you that your years of pain and loneliness and misery are ending. You’re finally taking control of your life like you’ve always planned, and better yet, you aren’t doing it alone. You have someone now. 

You can’t remember the last time you had that. 

“Yeah,” you say, lifting your chin to look at him. “I think I’m going to be just fine.”

Holding the book back up, you see you’ve reached the final chapter. And somehow you know, it’s the first chapter of your own.

A/N 2: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, Yoon <3

[vykio]

Aaron has just pulled his shirt over his head when he hears the stairs creak. He freezes, the shirt still stuck around his arms as something like apprehension burns its way through his body. He’s only still for a moment before he throws the shirt all the way off, chucking it blindly behind him. Whoever is climbing the stairs is doing so at a snail’s pace, but not carefully enough to avoid all the squeaky steps.

Aaron forgoes grabbing the snow globe on his desk to use as a weapon and crosses over to his bedroom door to jerk it open.

At the top of the stairs stands Kevin Day, somehow a bright spot in the completely dark hallway. He flashes a smile at Aaron that shows all his teeth, then slides his feet over the carpet in big strides to reach him.

“Hey,” Kevin says as he closes the door. He leans back against it and Aaron stares at Kevin’s goofy expression. He used to be more subdued—better at giving away his feelings with just the quirk of his mouth rather than the full motion of his cheeks. Now, Kevin looks far too happy to see him.

“Were you even trying to sneak up?” Aaron says, partly to distract Kevin and to redirect his thoughts to safer grounds.

It works. Kevin squints at him. “I was. I did,” he tells him, gesturing to himself, here, in Aaron’s room, a little triumphantly. “I was careful.”

“Sure…”

Kevin huffs at the suspicion on Aaron’s face and ignores it to rake his eyes over his torso. He looks more serious doing this, like mapping the constellation of freckles on Aaron’s body is very important business. Aaron flushes all over, hot everywhere he thinks Kevin’s eyes land. He is suddenly very aware that he’s without a shirt.

Kevin presses the pad of his thumb on Aaron’s hip and curls his fingers around him.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Aaron announces, barely concealing the shiver that wracks through him.

Kevin glances his thumb over Aaron’s stomach and says, “Alone?”

Aaron gives him a deeply unimpressed look. Kevin must know it because he breathes a laugh before he even looks up to see it. “I thought you were worried about waking up the house,” Aaron says.

He takes a take back when Kevin takes a step forward to lean off the door. He keeps his eyes level with Aaron’s as he takes off his own shirt and discards it. “You’ll just have to be quiet, then, won’t you?”

They both know Aaron is not the one they need to monitor.

[enjoythesilentworld]

I can’t believe I almost missed the chance to ask you to write smth. That’s what I get for having a busy tumblr dash. Anyway. “Join me” as a prompt pls? 💜

hello my darling Lia. you know i'd write anything you asked me to. for today, here's a (not) little ficlet in which Simon neglects to read the fine print and somehow it actually turns out really well for him.

💜enjoy xx

Alone in a foreign country, Simon must find a stranger to join him on the romantic couples food tour he’s accidentally booked. (a 2.3k strangers to lovers, fake dating, speed-run of an AU) if you see this again for day 2 of simon's month dont worry bout it

Simon curses under his breath as the confirmation email comes in.

So, he’d booked the food tour a little quickly, possibly without reading all the fine print. He can’t even blame a language barrier because he’s in Spain and, thanks to his mamá, his Spanish is really better than his English.

The solo-travel thing had been a bit of a last-minute decision. Spurred by the post university graduation crisis of, ‘Oh Fuck What Am I Doing With My Life?’ whichled twenty-somethings around the globe to grab a backpack and buy a one-way plane ticket. Simon’s decision was also encouraged by the fact that he’d woken up one day and realized he was in a toxic relationship, quickly packing his bags and saying Hejdå to a two-year relationship. He’s only about three weeks into the whole self-discovery shtick, but it seems to be going well so far. He enjoys the independence of it all. Not that he’s not independent at home — in fact, he’s been a little bit too much of an adult since he was 10 — but more so that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. Simon goes to museums when he wants to, stays for as little or as much time as he wants. He eats when he wants, goes to shows he likes, and doesn’t spend every second of every day worrying about everyone else. (Of course, he’s called his mama and sister nearly every day since he left, but he’s working on it.) He also, apparently, incorrectly books guided food tours that are actually romantic couples excursions. 

Glancing around the nearly empty breakfast room at his hostel, he chews on his options. One is to show up to this tour alone and look like a dumb tourist. Two is to find someone willing to go on it with him.

There’s a pair of British girls in the corner, giggling over their plates of breakfast. Simon recognizes them from the stand-up comedy show the hostel had organized the night before; they’d been attached at the hip the whole night. Slim chance of separating them. Crowding around the cereal bar is a group of American guys who all look like fraternity brothers. If Simon remembers correctly, he’d overheard some vile words from them in the bar last night, and so he’s is not too keen on participating in any sort of tour with any of them, romantic or not.

The only other person in the room is sitting a few seats down at the communal table: a very good-looking man with light auburn hair and high cheek bones. His long fingers, nails painted a deep purple, hold up a book with one hand and gingerly lift a coffee cup to his lips with the other. He’s dressed quite casually, in an un-done button up over a tank-top and baggy trousers, but somehow makes it look refined. Simon noticed him yesterday afternoon in the hostel café, noticed the way the man’s eyes tracked Simon from across the room.

His pretty brown eyes are no longer locked on the pages of the book, but have found Simon again and caught him staring. Simon forces himself to hold his ground and smiles, glancing down at the book title. It’s by a Swedish author, he realizes, and a gay Swedish author at that.

Gesturing with his head, Simon asks, “Is it good?”

The pretty man places his coffee cup down clumsily. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I’ve read it a million times,” he says, closing the book. “I’m Wille.” 

The light blush on his cheeks is endearing.

“Simon.”

Wille smiles softly and nods, “Trevligt.”

He’s polite and looks suspiciously rich to be in this hostel, but his eyes are kind and has a rainbow pin on his tote bag so, before Wille can say anything else, Simon slides one chair closer.

“Are you doing anything today, Wille?”

Wille moves to the chair across from Simon. “Nope.”

Simon props his head on both his hands and gazes at this beautiful stranger, wondering why he didn’t speak to him the day before. “Would you like to join me on a romantic food tour around Barcelona?”

Wille quirks an eyebrow, then mirrors Simon’s position. “I would love to.”

The tour doesn’t begin for a few hours, so they sit and chat while the breakfast room fills up around them. Wille laughs when Simon explains how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and the sound sets little sparks bursting in Simon’s chest. What luck he’s had this morning.

Simon learns that Wille is also at the beginning of a self-discovery trip, running away from a family legacy and a desk job he desperately did not want. He also learns that Wille is incredibly funny and quite flirty, though whenever Simon starts flirting back he becomes incredibly flustered. His stare, though, is the thing that gets Simon the most. Wille looks at him so intently, gaze flitting between Simon’s eyes and his mouth, listening to every word and seemingly staring directly into Simon’s soul. It would be troubling if he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful.

The conversation flows so easily between them that Simon, so wrapped up in Wille’s laugh and crooked teeth, almost forgets they have somewhere to be.

They walk quickly through the streets of Barcelona together, heading towards the café at which they’re meant to meet the rest of their tour group. Wille’s fingers brush against Simon’s a few times, though his voice never falters, so Simon isn’t sure if it’s just him that feels the jolt of electricity each time.

“You said this is a romantic food tour?” Wille asks, reaching out to pull Simon out of the way of a passing cart.

The city is bustling with life around them, the sun shining hot between the buildings, people hanging off balconies, chatting with neighbors or stringing up laundry to dry. It’s absolutely beautiful, and somehow it seems a bit more colorful than it had the day before.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to be obvious that you and I just met?” he says, letting Simon go ahead of him to squeeze through the crowd, staying close, with a hand hovering over Simon’s lower back.

“Well,” Simon muses, “we could make it a bit of a game. If you’re down.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Wille’s eyes light up with mischief. “I’m down. What kind of game?”

Simon chuckles and shrugs, checking his phone to make sure they’re still headed in the right direction. “We could pretend to be a couple. You know, really put on a show.”

“That sounds very, very fun, Simon.”

For the last ten or so minutes of their walk, they establish some basic rules. They’ll hold hands and gaze lovingly in each other’s eyes and ramble to anyone who asks about their beautiful love story. The goal is to one-up every other couple there by acting sickeningly in love. By the time they make it to the café, only a few minutes late, they’re holding onto each other and cackling at the increasingly ridiculous ‘meet-cute’ ideas they’ve come up with.

There are three other couples in the tour: one looks like a very young newly-wed couple, another is a pair of middle-aged ladies, and the third is a pretentious-looking, older couple who already look fed up with everyone else. As the tour-guide starts on their spiel, Wille wraps a tender arm around Simon, pulling him close and whispering jokes into his ear, somehow making them look more like a couple than even the newly-weds.

They sit down to start, and Wille lets Simon order for them off the selected menu. They feed each other bites of tomato toast and gently wipe crumbs from each other’s cheeks, all the while giggling to each other and only half-listening to the explanations of the food. It also seems they’ve unintentionally started a competition with the other young couple of who-can-look-more-in-love. When Wille hands Simon a napkin before he can even ask to wipe up his splashed juice, the man of the other couple tries to lovingly whisper something in his wife’s ear but gets brushed off as she’s too busy listening intently to the tour guide. When Simon holds out a forkful of potato omelette for Wille, the man tries to do the same, but his wife shakes her head, smiling, and fondly pats his cheek then turns back to her own plate.

As they move through the next few stops — a restaurant, a food cart, and an open-air market — he and Wille fall even further into their ‘game’. There’s plenty of very intentional touches and exchanged loving glances, but Wille also asks Simon about himself. About his family and his dreams and where he’s going next. Simon learns even more about Wille’s obsession with frogs and his love for lakes and his passion for writing. The rest of the tour group fades away, and things between them start to feel a little less like a game and a little more real. The prolonged eye contact becomes less playful and more loaded. The lingering touches become less out of competition and more out of some deep urge. Simon’s eyes flick more often down to Wille’s lips, watching him lick cream off his fingers or clean gazpacho off his spoon.

Maybe it’s the wine, but as they head to their last stop of the day, hand in hand, trailing behind the group, Simon finds himself hoping Wille isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’d made a few friends over the past few weeks, but it always seemed to work out that when he was having a great time, the person would be leaving the very next day, heading off to some new country or heading back home.

Wille grins over at him and points out a pretty sculpture, mumbling something smart about the artist and looking absolutely ethereal in the light of the early evening with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it isn’t just the wine.

Their final destination is small tapas place on the beach. Simon and Wille have given up any pretense of listening to the tour guide or of playing their little game. Instead, they sit close at their table and chat about their favorite memories growing up and tell embarrassing stories. Simon, as he’s done at every place, translates every bit of Spanish on the menu and giggles helplessly as he corrects Wille’s pronunciation. They share a plate of pulpo and split a liter of sangria and it’s one of the most perfect days Simon’s ever experienced.

“I’m really glad I misread that website,” Simon says, fiddling with his fingers. When he glances up, he finds Wille grinning at him. He takes Simon’s hand.

“Me too.”

After the tour concludes and their guide bids they all farewell, their group mostly scatters. But, Wille and Simon stay at their table, finishing off their pitcher and becoming increasingly rowdy with their jokes. After a few annoyed looks from their waiter, they collect their things and stumble down to the beach. Simon jumps onto Wille’s back, laughing loudly and savoring the feeling of Wille’s strong hands wrapped securely around his legs. Wille wades out into the shallow water of the beach, and Simon yelps when he pretends to nearly drop them both into the cool water.

Eventually, Wille lets him down but takes his hand instead, and they walk down the sand, talking about the food tour and realizing that they maybe didn’t pay attention at all.

There’s a warm buzz in Simon’s body, making him giddy and calm all at once. When they make it to a small concrete pier, Wille pulls him out to the edge of it and they stand, arms wrapped around each other, staring out at the Mediterranean.

Simon sigh happily. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Very,” Wille says breathlessly, and Simon looks up to see Wille staring down at him. He smacks Wille’s chest playfully.

“You’re an idiot, Wille.”

Wille laughs, “I’m being serious!”

“Sure,” Simon hums, turning back to the water, biting back a smile.

“Hey.” He turns back again and Wille’s face has sobered, and he’s now gazing down at Simon with that same intense stare. “You are beautiful, Simon. You’re also funny and kind and— I had a really, really great time today.”

He squirms slightly at the force of the words, the conviction in Wille’s tone, but can’t help but let his eyes flicker down to Wille’s lips. He’s so close and looks so pretty in the cool lighting of the twilight evening and Simon’s never thought it could be possible to fall for someone like this, this hard, in one day.

“Me, too,” Simon whispers. Then, “Wille?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

Wille nods, gasping, “Yes,” before Simon can even finish his sentence and then they’re both rushing forward.

Finally, after thinking about it nearly all day, Wille’s lips connect with his. He tastes like fruity wine and olives and something so Wille, and Simon melts into his arms, coming up onto his tiptoes to press further into him. Wille’s hair is soft under his fingertips and though they’ve basically been touching all day, this is different and overwhelming and everything.

When they break apart, giggling into each other, the lights have come on along the paved pathway by the beach.

“Maybe we should head back?” Wille suggests, looking just as much like he doesn’t want to head back as Simon feels. But, it’s getting late and he’s also starting to feel tired from all the wine and walking, so Simon nods and takes Wille’s hand again.

They trail slowly back through the streets, pausing occasionally to exchange a quick kiss, or to slip into an alcove and exchange a slightly longer one. By the time they make it back to their building, Simon’s limbs feel syrupy with sleep and his chest feels warm with the events of the day.

Two steps up the stairs to the front door of the hostel, Simon stops and turns.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks, looking down at Wille.

Wille smiles. “Wherever you are.”

[kindlingkeen]

I love your writing so much <33 your jason is the only jason ever actually.. the scenarios, the way the various characters come through through even just a few pieces of dialogue, the prose, it’s so chefs kiss!

🥹☺️ I’m getting so much anon love lately, it’s legit bolstering my mental health. Thanks so much friend, I’m so glad you love my Jason, he’s a keeper. 🥰

Apparently I’m starting a tradition of giving out snippets as a thank you in response to confidence-building asks. So, have a blurb from Incident Review, a one shot from the Asymmetrical Warfare ‘verse that’s set after Survival Instincts (hopefully coming to an AO3 near you soon).

“Tim isn’t the only Robin I taught that move to,” Dick murmurs quietly. 

Babs’ sharp inhale punctures the heavy silence. “Dick…”

Dick keeps his gaze trained on the head of the table. He can almost see the invisible weight of the cape and cowl settling over Bruce’s silhouette as the man’s shoulders shift back, the muscles rippling underneath the worn cotton of his t-shirt. He won��t meet Dick’s eyes.

“Is it possible—” he tries.

“Enough.” Batman’s growl grates out of Bruce’s mouth. “That’s enough, Dick.”

[v1nuswrites]

Overall aesthetic x જ⁀➴⁠ ⁠♡

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-------

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-------

A/N:

Quick reminder that i'm still here lol! I know I haven't uploaded a new chapter in a while, sadly i've been busy with some tests, however, Chapter 4 will be out tomorrow (should everything go okay!)

Have a great rest of your day :)

[bella-caecilia]

This year is just so busy for me that I barely managed to write anything and this feels very weird. Writing and sharing fanfiction has been so integral to my life in the past that I profoundly feel how it's missing now. And I saw it coming that I wouldn't be able to hold up my standards for writing. As my responsibilities in real life are increasing it's only logical that there would be less time to do things for myself. And even though it was a conscious choice I made, it still hurts and I want to go back to where being a writer was more of my identity.

[eulalized]

“would you watch ghibli films with me?”

a simple question, maybe a bit silly, but you’d like it if kazuha can answer it. you like that he answers your questions (or at least tries to), you know he has the patience. you think that with a scarred heart, kazuha couldn’t answer this burden of a question—yet he’s always proved that thought wrong.

“i would love to watch ghibli films with you.”

and you think now, time and time again: kazuha always knows what to say. you, aghast—or is it more of an awe?—are left with the replaying of memories for what you have done to deserve him: still, you see none. he is not just flowery words; he’s given you the reality you always wanted, because he knows that you are something more (and you deserve that much).

“you would?”

“always.” 

if it was not prominent before, i should hope it is now, kazuha thinks. he wants to stay, with you and all that you are. he wants you to know that, through and through, he would never grow tired of you or the things he’d do for you. he would sing the melodies of deities, he would recite the words endlessly in his mind and out, he would paint for you all gems of the world—and of course, it would start with you.

“and if we finish them all, we can watch them again and again, as long you like.”

you ask, “are you sure?”

(you aren’t sure of the question. is it more of the intention of are you sure? are you sure you love me this way, that you would forever? because maybe forever isn’t a long time, maybe kazuha couldn’t keep up with forever.)

“of course. i would watch anything with you,” he reassures—he always does.

kazuha says, “if you want to watch another movie, we can watch it. if you want to watch the stars instead, then we can gaze upon them.”

if his love was not yet prominent enough, what could he do? kazuha would love you better, he’d write it in the skies—he’d align all clouds to reflect the meaning of you. he’d chant of your soul and beauty, in poems and in songs, to adorn all thorns of withered petals so that you may know how much he loves you.

(he’ll keep up with you. he’ll do it for you.)

[jacksprostate]

hey i was thinking about uploading a bunch of my snippets to ao3 for storage/ease of access since tumblr sucks. figured i'd ask yall your preferences before i spam the shit out of you

[ballerinapriincess]

🌸 Flower Inventory, p. 3 ;

A FusionFall!DeeDark drabble written in Mandark's perspective, first drafted in February 17th, 2022

Special thanks to @silyabeeodess for the clean Burger Frenzy logo!

Three days, four days, but you’ve only been there two. The coldness of the lab gets to you.

I was a prisoner to my duty; I served its sentence. Still no result was satisfying, no effort was fruitful, for there was a fog in my brain I could not see through, and a faint headache in my brow I could not ignore.

Then like the bristling rain after a heatwave, in came my Angel like a vision. Radiant and beautiful as always; a soothing bliss to these sore eyes.

Her presence only meant one thing: It was lunch time, and I hadn’t eaten all day.

“Hello~!” She dragged her speech playfully, but ever so concise.

She carried with her a paper bag and a drink carrier. How she managed to bounce her step so gracefully without spilling them was beyond me; it was a perk of her charm, a fruit of her ballet training.

“Good afternoon”, I hummed to myself, unable to reply by word.

She put the food on the nearest surface and helped herself to a drink of her fruit punch soda. It was now that I distinguished the smell of the food she had brought: the smell of Burger Frenzy fries and a burger, and a third item I was too tired to identify, but soon awoke the hunger I had been ignoring.

While I wasn’t a fan of fast foods, sometimes the body cannot deny it. When you’ve been at the lab for days on end, and the coldness of the room starts to make you sick, you suddenly find yourself craving the greasy taste of a burger; anything that could make your body sweat in the midst of it all, something for your body to digest over the hours.

How she knew she could make it work is beyond me, all I know is she changed my mind. It’s yet another testament to her magic, possibly due to her experience with her brother.

She fixed her straw and fixed her eyes at me. She looked at me with mild concern.

“Wow, you really need a break.”

She put her cold drink down and leaned closer. She held my face and said “Look at you, you look so red”. The sting of the cold wet fingers made me flinch, prompting a soft “Sorry!” from her as she retrieved to dry them.

She gently brushed the hair off my brow with the long side of her hand, in a swift, soothing motion.

I tugged her hand right back and placed it on my brow, to fully enjoy the sensation.

“Thank you for the food,” I managed to say. “I can feel my creative juices at work again”.

✿ [ Original Draft: ]

[purpleshadow-star]

Au where, when someone is ready to die, they don’t feel any pain. The more ready someone is to die, the less pain they feel.

tws: lots of talk about death and dying (not technically suicide ideation but could theoretically be read as such), mentions of Neil's torture in the Nest (very vague and brief) and by Lola (not really vague but not explicit either, if that makes sense)

Neil Josten is ready to die.

It’s not that he necessarily wants to die, but he knows it’s coming, and he’s made peace with that. He’s ready for it.

He’s not worried about his impending death. He’s known that he was never going to make it to the end of the year ever since he first signed the papers to become a Fox and put himself in the spotlight, so he knows that, no matter what, at least he’ll have a painless death.

Sure, his experience in the Nest ends up being more painful than Neil wants it to be, but it isn't all that surprising. He might be ready to die, but he’s not ready to die there. Not by Riko’s hand. He refuses. So, there’s pain. But that’s a different circumstance. Someone else is depending on him to live. Neil doesn’t want to think about what could happen to Andrew if Neil doesn’t keep Riko’s attention on him. So, it’s different. He needed to live to ensure Andrew would be okay.

In the end, it doesn’t matter anyway

Once Neil starts getting the countdown, though? Well, he knew he wasn’t making it to the end of the school year, but now he knows exactly how much longer he has. When the day rolls around, Neil is more than ready. He’s been waiting for this moment for months, almost an entire year, really. Sure, it sucks that Neil won’t be able to play the game he loves with his team anymore, and sure, it’s a shock to see Romeo and Jackson and Lola waiting for him, but that doesn’t change the fact that Neil is ready for them. He’s glad that he’ll get to take away this last bit of satisfaction from Lola. She won’t see him flinch. She won’t hear a peep of pain from him when she inevitably tortures him because he’s been preparing for this day for what feels like his whole life.

He’s prepared to die.

So imagine Neil’s shock when he acutely feels the sting of metal that is Lola’s first cut. He’s so surprised that he fails to hold back an audible noise of pain. Only a not so long buried instinct from when his mother was still alive keeps his next reactions in, but his slip-up doesn’t go unnoticed. Lola is behind him, slicing him up, taunting him. Look who’s not so ready to die after all. I’m almost disappointed by how easy it was to get a reaction from you. I was hoping for a little more of a challenge. Tell me, Junior, what do you have to live for? What is making you want to live? Why aren’t you ready to die?

Neil barely hears her. He’s too busy asking himself all the same questions. Just a few months ago, he took an exy ball to the stomach and barely felt a thing. What changed?

Unbidden, his mind wanders to Andrew. Andrew and keys and the Monsters and the Upperclassmen and Wymack and Abby. The Foxes. His team. His friends. He realizes that, at some point in the past few months, they’ve managed to get past the walls he put up. They’ve rooted themselves deep in his chest, and they’re not letting go.

They are the reason he’s not ready for death anymore. The thought of leaving them hurts. He knows it’s necessary. He knows he needs to let them go, or else he would only end up bringing more monsters to their doorstep, but he’s now realizing that he’s not ready to let them go. Have to and ready to are two completely different things, he realizes as his voice is violently ripped from his throat through the burn of a cigarette lighter on his face. He’s feeling this pain because he’s not ready to let go of his new family yet. He’s not ready to leave them. He’s realizing now that he might never be ready.

A few hours ago, Neil was sure he was ready to die. He walked to his death with open arms, ready to embrace a painless, inevitable release. But now, in the midst of unexpected pain and agony, Neil changes his mind. He thinks he wants to keep feeling this pain. He doesn’t want the painless release of death anymore. He wants to fight back. He wants to keep living. He wants to make it back to his team. He wants to make it back to his friends. He wants to make it back to Andrew. He wants to make it back home.

Neil makes up his mind. Even if it means distancing himself from the person he’s lied into existence over the past few months, even if it means becoming the person he’s been running away from for almost nine years now, he’ll do whatever it takes to make it back to his family.

Nathaniel Wesninski isn’t ready to die.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Smutty thought that we need to be a reality 🥵:

Rough, intimate and slow missionary where Bucky has every inch of his body pressed to hers and her hands pinned on either side.

Like he can't get enough of the skin-on-skin contact and his lips can't seem to settle on a place to kiss so her entire neck and chest is marked up.

The craving! The NEED!

Ya' know? 🫠🥵

Oh, yes!

The unexpected thing for you was mostly that this was your and Bucky’s first time together, too. The tension had been unbearable for months. You’d had his lips so close, so often, you had convinced yourself you already knew what they felt like. The way everything else blurred when you and him would lock eyes. The way the barest of his touches would make your spine lock up, then melt… You were absolutely certain that your first collision would be fatal and cruel and messy and passionate-

And it had been. The kiss was devastating and your body was keeping up with him while your heart stumbled and stuttered. Finally. Oh God, finally. It seemed Bucky’s relieved groan was echoing your sentiments exactly. His hands were so large on you, like their warmth stretched beyond his skin. He enveloped you with so much more than just his body and your core had burned with need.

You barely noticed the needy whines that glided from your lips onto his. He just chuckled gently and shushed you sweetly. Patience, he seemed to say. You just wanted his hands everywhere, wanted his mouth to wander further.

Down, preferably.

However, Bucky had other plans. You had been so ready for him to rip your clothes off and then proceed to rip you to shreds. The gentleness and passion he displayed was disorienting. Like any movement would give you too much space to get away from him and he simply couldn’t risk it. Not now that he finally had you. Not ever again.

So when your bodies had finally reached the bed, your ankles locked around his hips and pulled him up against you to show him exactly how badly you weren’t planning on letting this go unfinished. Letting him go unfinished.

You barely needed foreplay. As much as Bucky would have absolutely fucking loved to play around with you, warm you up - he quickly found out you didn’t need much more warming up after all of those months of build-up. In fact, one more desperate sound out of you and he wouldn’t have stood a chance. “Next time,” he promised. “I’ll take my sweet time with you next time.”

You had made a non-committing noise and dismissed the promise because you just needed him, but he paused and looked down at you.

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he swore. “No needy sound is going to keep me from turning you inside out.” He followed that promise with a playful swipe of his fingers through your soaking core. “But now, I just want to feel you everywhere. I’ll have you on just my tongue another time,” he says with a smirk and pulls his fingers to his mouth, having a luxurious taste before pressing a long kiss to your mouth.

And before you could call his bluff, he nudged the head of his cock against your entrance and the words died on your tongue.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

His forehead had dropped to yours, jaw clenched unbearably tight. “Gimme a minute, baby.”

Those fucking pet names-

“Come on, Buck,” you tried again. “Please. I need you inside of me. I want to feel you. Please.” Every word had sounded softer as they faded into pleasure. And as your words disappeared, Bucky pushed in. And in. And in.

Both your mouths had dropped open and no sound had come out. Even your breaths had stalled, chests pushed together. It took everything in Bucky not to close his eyes. But the flush in your cheeks and the sight of your puffy lips parted in pleasure kept him locked in and alert.

His arms locked around your head as he pressed soft kisses to random areas of your beautiful face, his breath hitching as you fluttered around his cock violently to adjust to him. He hoped you did that every time. He hoped your cunt was this welcoming to him every time he fucked into you. This warm, this wet, this sweet, this heavenly. He’d make sure of it.

The weight of him between your hips was enough to nearly make you come. His firm thighs pressed to the back of yours, his arms around your head, his gleaming skin wrapping you in his scent, the pudgy and firm muscles of his chest and abdomen pressed against your soft flesh, the image of his flexing glutes as he rolls his cock into your deepest wall- Ah yes. All of that.

Bucky loved a lot of things, but he barely loves anything more than having you the way he had you that first time.

When he finally, finally had you.

[filet-o-feelings]

Patrick is so thankful to have a desk to sit behind and lean on because the more David attempts to explain his business plan the more Patrick’s head spins.

The idea has potential and it sounds like David knows what he wants, he’s just having trouble articulating it.

Or maybe Patrick is having trouble listening because he’s never been so instantly attracted to anyone in his life. He wants to keep David talking, but he also needs to take some time and consider what this all means.

He hands his business card over and hopes that David will use it.

@schittscreekdrabbleblog

[appalachianapologies]

Ok SO I've got some fishes I would like to share from the aquarium we went to a couple weeks ago. First here is my very very favorite fish. I have no idea what it was, but if I was naming it, it would be "patchwork quilt fish" because it looks like somebody just jammed 3 fish together. (Also here's a clownfish.)

And then there's THIS nightmare horror from the deep which apepared to have one red mouth and like 6 white eyes. I couldn't get a very good picture of this monster but trust me, it looks like it's about to start sucking out your blood while hypnotizing you with its 6 white eyes.

I have a request for a MacGyverism (maybe gone wrong? in a whumpy way? or maybe just a fact?) related to your chemistry homework. (Ok I literally have no idea what type of chemistry you're studying maybe this is impossilble in which case just.... whatever Mac thing strikes you.)

that fish just went thrifting and is showing off its outfit!! and ofc The Horrors™️

prompts

“Shit, shit-”

“Hoss-”

“Uh-” Mac shakes his head, having momentarily forgotten that he had his earpiece in. “How much time can you buy me?”

“I got three bullets and six assholes. Probably not as much as you need.”

“Can you at least keep them occupied?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jack mutters back. “What’s goin’ on?”

Mac swallows, glad that Jack can’t see what he’s seeing. “The casing is starting to erode.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that whatever container Moore was keeping the virus in, he chose the wrong one.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Temporarily, sure.”

“Good enough for me.”

Mac gives a nod to himself. He needs chemicals, and very specific ones. If the container starts leaking, which it inevitably will, he needs it to leak into an acid. The only problem is that he won’t be able to keep the solution acidic for long enough. At best, it’ll take a hazmat team hours to arrive. 

Mac exhales, eyes running up and down the shelves of cleaning supplies. Too many of them are bases, but finally, his eyes settle on the vinegar.

Unfortunately, that’s only half the battle. Before he can use it for any type of temporary containment, he needs to create its conjugate base to keep the solution at the same pH.

“Water,” Mac mumbles.

“What’s that?”

“New plan. Let the rest of the guards do whatever they want. I need you to find me some water bottles.” Mac looks back down at the canister, now blistering and looking more than ready to burst. “And Jack?”

“Yep?”

“Do it fast.”

[sasster]

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

One time when I was little, I mean real fucking little, my mom was having over these important guests from Albion. Some fucking bigwigs, who cares about the specifics. The point is, normally my mom, she never stepped foot in the kitchen. She hired people to handle that shit. But she didn't trust anyone else to handle this one recipe. Family specialty on her side or something. Devil's Food Cake.

Now, I was so excited. My mom? Never baked me a cake in my life, not even for my birthday. I was psyched out of my tiny little fucking mind. I tried watching her bake it in the kitchen, but the maid, (don't remember her name, they changed out every six months), she'd always shoo me away, tell me not to bother Ms. Hedgehog. When that thing came out of the oven, MAN, I had never smelled anything so good in my entire life. I'd had, yknow, chocolate bars and stuff, but this was a whole 'nother world man.

I was trying to get in that kitchen while it was cooling, no dice. Same thing when she was icing it, the maid or a server would always run interception. Fucking pricks. But they couldn't keep that up forever. Eventually they had to switch to focusing on the guests, boozin' 'em up real nice and all that. So they're convinced I'm upstairs in my room, and of course I do what any fucking kid would do in that situation. I sneak down and I try and grab a slice. I get this big kitchen knife and I carve out a hunk of cake. Just completely sloppy, like some psycho chopping up a body. So I got my slice and I dig in and holy shit. Greatest thing I had ever tasted up to that point. Probably one of the top things I've ever tasted, though of course being a kid and all, your brain's all stupid, might've just been a regular fucking cake. But god damn I can taste it just thinking about it. And then I'm about to have that second bite when my mom walks in. Ol' Bernie, she looks at my stupid little chocolate smeared face, she looks at that butchered cake, she flips the fuck out. Starts laying into me. Says I'm a monster, a savage little animal. Even asks why my dad ever said they should have a kid. She gets so pissed she tells the maid to lock me in my room for the night. Man I fucking bawled my eyes out over that. Don't think my mom talked to me again for... weeks? Definitely a month. Or two. You know, actually, thinking back on it. I'm not sure I can remember anything she ever said to me before that.

Good cake, though.