#author isaac

[thatsbelievable]

[vvinirl]

‘ikera - 19 - she/her - i heart music - multifandom - black writer - choso’s #1 glazer - matt’s wife - bucky’s wife - dick grayson’s slut

my request are always open!

i write for black readers only 💓

~masterlist~

[mountainmagpie]

Begging HBO Max and the creators of Scavengers Reign to make an adaptation of the Southern Reach trilogy.

[peppymintdreams]

How he wakes his partner up.

How would your loving partner wake you up in the morning

Luca

Normally:

Luca gently caresses their shoulder or traces soft circles on their arm. His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, as he says, "Hey, time to wake up, love." If they grumble, he’ll kiss their temple and chuckle softly.

In Urgency:

Luca shakes their shoulder lightly but firmly, his voice sharp but still concerned. "Babe, wake up! We’re late!" If that doesn’t work, he pulls them up and attempt to pick them up (it fails miserably he accidentally dropped you on the floor).

To Be Sweet:

Luca kisses their face—forehead, neck, nose, cheeks—while murmuring, "Good morning, beautiful," between each kiss. He brings in a cup of coffee or tea if he’s really trying to spoil them, smiling as they stir awake.

To Be an Ass:

He leans in close and loudly whispers, "WAKE UP!" right into their ear. If that fails, he’ll start tickling them, or jump on the bed or yank the blanket off, smirking like the little menace he can be. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

Isaac

Normally: He gently rubs their back or shoulder while softly calling their name, his voice low and tender. If they’re a deep sleeper, he might kiss their forehead or whisper something sweet to coax them awake.

In Urgency: He shakes them lightly but firmly, his voice sharp and serious. There’s no time for softness—he’ll pull the blankets off if he has to, urging them to get moving with a clear sense of urgency in his tone.

To Be Sweet: He makes their favorite breakfast and brings it to them in bed. With a playful smile, Isaac quietly sits beside them on the bed, brushing their hair out of their face and admiring how peaceful they look. He presses soft kisses to their forehead and cheeks, murmuring how much he loves them and how beautiful they are. His voice is gentle and soothing as he tells them it’s time to wake up, but he doesn’t rush them, letting them take their time as he strokes their hair or holds their hand.

To Be an Ass: He pulls the blankets off in one swift motion and opens the curtains wide, letting the sunlight stream in. Then, with a smirk, he teases, “Rise and shine, lazy pickle!” He might even tickle their feet or read his cases obnoxiously to ensure they’re up.

Andrew

Normally:

Andrew sits on the edge of the bed, brushing a hand gently over your hair. His voice is soft, calm, and soothing as he says your name, coaxing you awake with a warm, "Time to get up, my love."

In urgency:

He shakes your shoulder firmly but not roughly, his voice low and serious as he says, "Darling, wake up—now. Something’s happened." There's no room for argument, but his concern is palpable.

To be sweet:

Andrew kisses your temple, trailing soft kisses down to your jaw while murmuring, "Good morning, beautiful. Wake up before I get too tempted to keep you in bed all day."

To be an ass:

Andrew yanks the blanket off you with zero remorse, smirking as he declares, "Rise and shine! You’re wasting precious daylight!"—then dodges whatever pillow you inevitably throw at him.

Elias

Normally:

Elias typically wakes his partner up by sitting on the edge of the bed, gently nudging their shoulder or brushing their hair away from their face. His voice is soft and low, as if he’s trying not to disturb the peace of the morning. “Hey, rise and shine. I made coffee.” It’s a casual but caring gesture, and he always waits for them to stir before getting up.

In Urgency:

If it’s an emergency, Elias skips all formalities. He pulls the blankets off without warning and claps his hands loudly. “Up! Now! We gotta go!” His tone is sharp, and his adrenaline makes him borderline frantic. If they don’t immediately react, he might scoop them up and start hauling them out of bed, muttering, “No time for sleeping, let’s move!”

To Be Sweet:

On particularly soft mornings, Elias wakes his partner up by lying back down beside them, wrapping his arms around their waist, and pressing a kiss to the back of their neck or forehead. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I missed you.” He lingers, savoring the quiet moment.

To Be an Ass:

When he’s feeling mischievous, Elias goes full chaos mode. He cranks up obnoxious music on his phone or starts shaking the bed like a child having a sugar rush. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty!” If they don’t react, he might pull out a spray bottle and spritz them lightly with water, laughing when they jolt awake. “What? You said you wanted to hydrate more!”

Xanthus

Normally:

Xanthus prefers a subtle approach. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning down to brush his cool lips across their forehead. His voice is low and smooth, a gentle “It’s time to get up, darling,” paired with a light touch to their shoulder. If they stir but don’t fully wake, he might softly tease, “Don’t make me resort to more drastic measures.”

In Urgency:

There’s no time for pleasantries. He yanks the blankets off in one swift motion, his crimson eyes glowing with intensity. “Get up. Now,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. If they don’t immediately react, he’ll grab their hand or wrist and pull them upright without hesitation, his grip firm but not painful.

To Be Sweet:

Xanthus is uncharacteristically tender in moments like these. He lies beside them, his arms curling protectively around their body. His lips brush their ear as he murmurs softly, “Good morning, my love. It’s a beautiful day, and I couldn’t bear to start it without you.” He might stroke their hair or trail kisses along their neck until they wake, his voice laced with affection as he whispers, “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

To Be an Ass:

If he’s in a mood, Xanthus skips the gentle approaches entirely. He grabs them by the ankles and drags them halfway off the bed, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips as they wake with a startled yelp. “Rise and shine,” he drawls, feigning innocence. If they glare at him, he only chuckles darkly, “What? You weren’t getting up, so I helped.”

🍬

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[dinneratgrannys]

It’s a shame, I mean...writing a happy ending for the Evil Queen. Well, you...you’ve always been a favorite of mine. Very clear goals plus totally damaged personality with a self-destructive streak? A recipe for compelling.

[noahhawthorneauthor]

If you're looking to build your TBR, why not try these queer indie books by the hosts of our podcast?

Remember, you can read queer all year, not just for pride month. 🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈📚

Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms (All royalties for June are being donated)

Swords and Seers

Dear Bartleby

Fella Enchanted

The Forgotten Lyric

The Stray Spirit

Phantom and Rook

This Doesn't Mean Anything

Fiorenzo

A Rival Most Vial

Kit & Basie

Right Here, Write Queer Linktree

@nothwell @ashen-crest @tesscarletta @ninawolv3rina

[alwaysmicado]

Nathan Bateman - Fic Rec

A collection of my favorite Nathan Bateman fics. Have fun and please show these incredibly talented authors some love for their work! 🤍 (-> Feel free to send me your faves / your own fics to add!)

✨ @reallyrallyauthor ✨

🌟 Nathan Bateman Masterlist

The Shower Room

The Empty Room

Sympathy

Assembly Required

The Family Dog

Failure Tea

Nathan Bateman is an asshole

Blurb - Nailing It

✨ @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction ✨

🌟 Nathan Bateman Masterlist

Perfect Little Fuck Toy

Fever

Good Morning

Only A Fool Would Say That

Any Time

Ebo

Belated

Extremely Feminine S/O Headcanons

In Pain

Get Well Soon

How [pt. 1] How [pt. 2]

✨ @melodygatesauthor ✨

Fuckin' Stupid

How Romantic

Centerpiece

✨ @romana-after-dark ✨

Pushing Buttons

✨ @leoluved ✨

chase and pull

indulge me

old fashioned

✨ @youvebeenlivingfictional ✨

Kinktober Day 9 - Pegging

✨ @ivystoryweaver ✨

Perfect Fit [pt. 1]

Perfect Fit thots

[azure-clockwork]

How Does it Feel to Read Classic Sci-Fi?

Orson Scott Card: Two of the most interesting books you’ll ever read if you’re willing to look past a handful of things. And then you find the planet of Chinese people who worship having debilitating OCD. And the Mormonism. And the fact that the author is wildly homophobic and ought to read his own books.

Robert Heinlein (or at least the Wikipedia Summaries): I guess that’s a neat concept—oh, it’s a sex thing. Um. Gotcha.

Ray Bradbury: Man, I gotta read this thing for class huh. Well here’s hoping it’s good! *three hours later* oh. that’s why he’s famous. this will stick with me forever and I will never look at the phrase ‘soft rain’ the same again. christ. And then repeat 3x.

Isaac Asimov: Wow, this is such an interesting concept! I wonder how the exploration of it will influence the plot! Wait, hey, are you going to add any characters? Any of em? No like, with character traits other than ‘robot psychologist’ and ‘autistic’ and ‘woman’? None of em? No, ‘detective’ isn’t a character trait. Those are all just facts. Aaaand now I’m bored.

Ursula K. Le Guin: Hah, get a load of this guy! He’s never heard of nonbinary people before. Lol, what a riot; how dumb do you have to be to comprehend that these people aren’t men *or* women actually? Oh, wait, what’s happening. Oh shit, it was about society and love and learning to understand each other? And now I’m crying? And perhaps a better human being for it??

Andy Weir: Alright, this guy’s a really good writer. Funny, creative, knows so much engineering stuff…ooh, a new book! …I guess he can’t write women. Well, he wouldn’t be the first sci-fi writer…ooh another new book! And it’s more engineering problem solving and—wow. It’s not just women he can’t write. Please stop letting your characters talk to each other.

Lois Lowry: Oh, I remember this being fun when I was a kid! Wouldn’t it be fucked up to not see color? …upon reread, it would be fucked up to have your humanity stripped away, replaced with a tepid, beige ‘happiness’ for all time. Yeah.

Tamsyn Muir (let me have this ok): Haha, “lesbian necromancers in space” sounds fun. Lemme read this. Oh wow, yeah, this is right up my alley. OH GOD WHAT. NO. FUCK. OH SHIT WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING AND WHY IS IT REFERENCING THE BOOK OF RUTH AND HOMESTUCK BACK TO BACK!!! AHHHHHHHHH!! Now give me more please.

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

“i’m never more at peace than i am in your arms.” with Steven Grant

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader

Word Count: 887

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests!

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint, poorly-edited

The service had been a lovely one. The reception even lovelier. 

The reception is even lovelier. 

Having stepped outside of the venue and into the cooled heat of the summer night for a moment’s rest from the festivities, you feel as if it was all a memory, a misfiring of neurons that made you believe that the day had truly happened. 

You’re tired, tuckered out. The type that only comes from not eating enough and feeling too much. 

Your bones ache, there’s a film of something stuck to your skin and inside your lungs. You’ve spent too much of the day outside, with too many people you’d spend at most an hour with. 

A grating static is littered like chalk dust inside your mind. The more you try to wipe it away the worse it gets. 

A rumble of laughter flows out from the open window, and it goes straight to your head in the worst of ways. 

It’s a horrid combination of too many things that, each one in moderation, would be alright to handle but put together like this are too much at once. 

You’re oversaturated. 

There’s an increase and decrease in noise as the door opens and closes, the bit of a drag on the second step that lets you know that everything is going to be alright, that you no longer need to struggle to keep the cracking mask on. 

“Hiya love,” his voice is warm, like the sun. “Everything alright? Lost each other in there, didn’t we? For a bit.” His arm comes to curl around your waist, he pulls you close to him. 

Everything is alright now. 

Guilt crawls up your throat at the poorly-hidden worry in his voice, “Sorry about that.” He’s wearing the cologne you got him for Valentine’s three years ago. He’s on his second bottle now. “Didn’t mean to run off.” 

“Well you didn’t go very far,” Steven shrugs. The movement against your own body is a redemption in itself. There’s a purr of laughter around his voice, “If anything I’d say it was a piss-poor attempt at running off.” 

You smile and laugh, breathing coming to you a little bit easier now that his body is warming yours up, now that it’s just the two of you again. “Didn’t take you long to find me.” 

He shrugs again. You suppose there isn’t an answer to that anyways, the pull between you and Steven inexplicable, though entirely tangible to the both of you. 

“You feelin’ alright, though, dearie? Somethin’ on your mind?” His free hand presses against your forehead, the side of your face. There’s a dimple between his eyebrows. 

You turn and look up at him, pressing the length of your body into his side. Even the rub of the fabric of his pants against your skin is enough, the truth of his own skin underneath shining through it all like seaglass. 

You know for a fact there’s a dopey grin on your face. Your arms come to circle around his neck like Saturn’s rings, your fingers come to play with the ends of his hair, “Just you.” 

“You wanna go home? Really, I wouldn’t mind, the band was gettin’ a bit on my nerves if I’m being honest,” he turns away for a moment, his voice dropping to a grumbling tone like it always does when he complains. “Don’t know what kinda stick that trumpeter's got up his arse but he’d be doing us all a good favour if he took it out and threw it far, far-.” 

“Steven,” your voice isn’t harsh, a gentle callback to the moment between you two that existed free of any trumpets. “I’m alright now,” you cup his cheek, gaze into the coffee cups of his eyes. He’s more concerned than you initially took it for, his light-hearted teasing a paper-thin veil. “Just needed a breather.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna go? It’ll be much nicer at home, Gus’ll be there n’all.” 

Steven loves live music, despite his complaints. He’s notorious for being the life of the dance floor whenever you two go out, and his eyes are still twinkling, the need to dance still present in his soul like a blossoming tulip. 

“I'm never more at peace than when I’m in your arms…when I’m with you,” you smile, trace the ridges and grooves of his nose, press your thumb into the prominent pockmark on his left cheek, right above his mouth. “Thanks for coming and finding me.” 

“‘Course honey, ‘course,” he swallows, tightens his grip on you a little. “You really wanna stay?” 

You nod, “I think I’ve got an hour or two left in me.”

He doesn’t stray from your side once after that, sweat dampening his forehead as he spins and spins to the music he seemingly hated. In something beyond your soul, his presence is steady and quiet like a rusted anchor.  

Steven’s hand is warm and soothing in yours, his voice hoarse and scratched an hour later, after you’ve said your goodbyes and are heading out. 

Your feet ache a little. For some reason, the nails of your hands are throbbing. Your soul is calm, soothed. 

As always, all you really needed was Steven. 

And Steven always came to you.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here, requests here.

[nothwell]

A fresh episode of Right Here Write Queer is out wherever you catch your podcasts!

A character is hurt. A character is comforted. It’s all about vulnerability on today’s episode where we explore one of our favorite tropes: hurt/comfort! (Called “whump” in some circles.) From the cathartic reader experience of seeing beloved characters looked after and cared for to the versatility of a writing tool that enables characters to open up, form new bonds, and show sides of themselves they may have otherwise kept hidden. Plus, our best recommendations for media that does hurt/comfort so right.

Luna Daye (she/her) is the author of The Thoraius Saga and the Fated Fae series. You can connect with her at her website: www.lunadaye.com

Noah Hawthorne @noahhawthorneauthor (he/they), also writing as Aelina Isaacs, is the author of the Adventures in Levena series (beginning with Phantom and Rook) and the stand alone novel The Rebel Foxes. You can connect with him at their website: neshamapublishing.com

Sarah Wallace (they/she) is the author of the Meddle & Mend series (beginning with Letters to Half Moon Street) and co-author of the Fae & Human Relations series (beginning with Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms). You can connect with them at their website: sarahwallacewriter.com

S. O. Callahan (she/her) is the author of the Fella Enchanted duology and co-author of the Fae & Human Relations series (beginning with Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms). You can connect with her on Instagram: @s.o.callahan

Sebastian Nothwell (he/him) is the author of Oak King Holly King, Mr Warren’s Profession, and Fiorenzo. You can connect with him at his website: sebastiannothwell.com

[melodygatesauthor]

Please no spoilers for the film or the books, but I just have to say I’ve been reading the Southern Reach novel series which is what the movie Annihilation is based on and it very quickly has become a favorite trilogy of mine. I don’t read as often as I’d like (mostly because I’m very busy) but this series has fucking CAPTIVATED me.

Not only is it incredibly well written with great prose and an interesting narrative, but the big brain way that Jeff Vandermeer has strung this series together so far is brilliant. Not only do we have the suspense, which was always present in the first novel, but the way the second novel is set up leaves the reader feeling like they’re in on a secret that not everyone in the book knows and it just keeps you on your toes.

It’s so unique and interesting and I can’t put it down. I’ll also mention that it’s a fairly easy read with a reasonably challenging vocabulary and you can probably finish the series within a few days if you read straight through. I can’t recommend it enough, even if you’ve already watched the movie.

[qsmpficsarchive]

The Crow and the Mailman by Isaac_031

Ongoing | Not Rated | 10,760

Getting Together | Fantasy? | Crow

Philza is a beautiful man loved by everyone in the region, but he wants to find someone who will truly love him. One day, he sets a chalenge: the one who can get the golden key from his pet crow and open the door to his house, he will marry.

Certain mailman has already befriended the crow.

——————-

Loving this so far!! Crowza is ready to find love :)

[kid-blinks-eyepatch]

Sprace

Sprace + Stars ⭐️ 

Sum: spot has a momentary breakdown and Race tries to calm him down.

A/N: I wrote this YEARS ago i apologize for the poor quality 🥲🫶

          Spot Colon was standing looking over the water. The moon was visible over it, a pale white ball against the dark blue sky. He was tired, so, so tired. Of everything and everyone. He heard footsteps behind him and whirled, coming face to chest with racetrack. He let out a breath and looked up at his face. Race looked pensive, staring down at the king of Brooklyn. 

     “Whaddya doin here Racer?” Spot asked  

      “I came ta see ya” the Italian replied. Spot narrowed his eyes. 

      “I did” race said, spot just turned back around. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he moved his own to cover it. Race rested his head on spot’s and inhaled the smell of his boyfriend. He wrapped his free hand around spot’s waist and pulled him close to him. Spot, surprisingly, didn’t protest, in fact he leaned against race. Race’s eyes widened in shock at this, but he remained silent and still.

       “R-racer I’m so tired of alla dis” spot said after a while “dis sneakin, I know we gotta but still, da-“ his voice  broke off. He cleared his throat. Race removed his hand from spots grasp to wrap it around his torso, holding him close.

     “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay spotty” race whispered to him, race sat down, pulling spot with him, the Brooklyn newsie squeaked in protest, but eventually settled between races outstretched legs. Race leaned against the post and hugged spot close to him. 

       “Racer, I’m so done with all dis” Spot whimpered. Race rubbed his arms. Spot let out a choked sob and buried his face in the taller boys chest, race hugged him tightly as he shook with sobs. Spot wrapped his strong arms around race tightly. Spot  wasn’t  even sobbing, it was more of choked inhales and exhales. Race held him as he cried. Spot pressed himself as close as possible to race. 

      “Hey spot, anyone ever told ya constellations before?” Race asked, rubbing spots back. Spot tried to respond but couldn’t get enough breath to muster a word. He just shook his head against race’s chest. Race slowly removed one of his arms fronm the embrace to point At the stars.

      “Well that’s Cassiopeia, da queen who insulted da gods, and off ta the side dere’s andromeda, her daughter. If ya move a bit that way there’s da dippah, follow dat and ya gots the bea-“ race didn’t get to finish as spot spoke up

     “Thanks” he mumbled, looking up. Race grinned at him.  Spot blinked several times in an attempt to vanquish the tears. 

       “C’mon spotty, it’s  alright” race said, Kissing his forehead gently. He wiped off spots face, removing traces of tears in his cheeks and such. Spot turned to face the water again, leaning his head against race’s chest, he had to slouch a bit to do so but he did. Race pointed and spot followed his finger with his eyes.

        “There’s da bear, ovah there ya gots Orion the huntah” race traced stars with his finger. Spot smiled to himself as he leaned ��against race. 

He twisted to kiss race’s lips, stopping the chatterbox mid sentence. 

“Mmm” race said, humming happily. Spot laughed slightly.

“Ya knows, i bets if we waited a few years we could get outta here” Race muttered. 

“Mhm” spot affirmed, pulling Race down. Race squawked

I got the idea from this art! (not mine!!)

[soft-girl-musings]

I'm sorry but reader insert stories as a tall gal can be so funny

fic: (Character) towers over you, their eyes boring down into yours

me, 5'10", already having pictured myself looking down: huh

[peppymintdreams]

Asking for food

Pookie is hungry and who better than to ask your partner for food, basically how he’d ask you for food

Luca

Luca’s stomach growled audibly as he slouched against the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. His eyes darted to the kitchen, then to you, sitting at the table with a bowl of chips you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying.

He sighed dramatically, loud enough to catch your attention. “Babe,” he started, his tone pitiful. “I’m literally wasting away here. Starving. Dying.”

You raised a brow, popping another chip into your mouth. “Is that so?”

He nodded solemnly, standing and dragging himself over to you like a bunny on it’s last breath. “You wouldn’t let your husband—your pookie—perish, would you?”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed the bowl toward him, but he shook his head, lips twitching into a playful smirk. “Nuh uh, I want real food. Your food. You make everything taste better.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at his antics. “Fine, what do you want, pookie?”

He perked up immediately, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Surprise me. I trust you.” His grin widened as he sat back, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re the best.”

Isaac

The house was steeped in a calm stillness, the kind that only settled after the evening’s busyness faded away. Pickle was curled up on the couch, engrossed in their book, when the faint sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears. They didn’t look up, assuming Isaac was passing by—until the warmth of his presence loomed directly behind them.

“Pickle,” his deep voice broke the quiet, tinged with the faintest edge of teasing restraint, “I’m hungry.”

Pickle blinked, glancing up over their shoulder. His sharp features were as composed as ever, but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes—playful, but still carrying that weighty Isaac intensity.

“You’re a grown man,” they replied dryly, closing their book with a soft thud. “You can make yourself something.”

Isaac moved with purpose, settling beside them on the couch, leaning close but not touching. “I could,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a rich murmur, “but it wouldn’t be the same.” His gaze dipped to theirs, his eyes softened with a quiet affection that always left them disarmed. “You’re better at it. Everything tastes better when it comes from your hands.”

Pickle felt heat rise to their cheeks. “That’s just because I don’t burn toast,” they retorted, trying to maintain composure.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing against their ear as he spoke, low and deliberate. “It’s because it’s from you. Don’t you know by now? You could hand me a burnt brick, and I’d still swear it’s the finest cuisine if you made it.”

They huffed, half-flustered, half-amused. “Flattery isn’t going to get you out of making your own food, Isaac.”

A rare, faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Who said I’m trying to get out of anything? I just like when you spoil me.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear, his hand lingering against their jaw. “Humor me, my love. Something small. Just enough to hold me over, and I’ll reward you passionately with the most intimate night”

Pickle sighed, setting their book aside. “Fine. But you’re at least staying with me while I do it.”

Isaac rose gracefully, extending his hand to help them up. “Always.”

In the kitchen, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Pickle worked. Though he maintained his usual composed demeanor, there was an undeniable warmth in the way his eyes followed their every move.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “there’s something… grounding about this.”

Pickle raised an eyebrow as they sliced some bread. “Grounding?”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Watching you take care of me like this. It’s not just about the food. It’s…” He trailed off, his hand brushing lightly against their arm. “It reminds me how lucky I am to have you. That even in the small moments, you give me more than I deserve.”

Pickle turned to face him, the teasing retort dying on their lips at the sincerity in his voice.

“Isaac…”

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to their forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured against their skin, before pulling back and quirking a brow. “Now, what’s the verdict? Am I saved from my hunger, or should I start preparing my last words?”

Pickle rolled their eyes but couldn’t suppress their smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yours,” he said simply, his tone teasing yet full of quiet conviction.

They placed the plate of sandwiches on the counter, shaking their head. “Here. You’re welcome.”

He picked up a sandwich, taking a deliberate bite. “Perfect,” he declared after a moment, his voice calm but full of approval. “Just like you.”

Andrew

Andrew stood in the kitchen doorway, his silhouette backlit by the faint glow of the stove clock. His hair was slightly tousled from sleep, and he wore his usual tired-yet-determined expression, the kind that always managed to make Darling both exasperated and fond.

Darling, who had just settled onto the couch with a book, glanced up when they noticed him hovering. “What’s up?”

“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice carrying the slightest edge of a pout.

They raised an eyebrow. “And what am I supposed to do about it?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, looking every bit the picture of a man who thought his partner could solve all his problems. “You could make me something.”

Darling snorted, setting their book down. “Oh, so I’m your personal chef now?”

“Better you than me,” he replied smoothly. “I’d probably mess it up.”

“Andrew.”

“What? I’m admitting my weaknesses here.”

Darling rolled their eyes but stood up anyway, stretching as they walked past him into the kitchen. “Alright, what are we making, Your Majesty?”

“Something warm,” he said, following closely behind. “And quick. No ten-course meals tonight, please.”

“Would you like some Chardonnay and caviar too your highest?! damn! Demanding, aren’t we?” Darling teased, opening the fridge.

“You love me for it,” he replied, his voice light but with a flicker of sincerity that made Darling pause for a second.

They didn’t respond right away, instead pulling out some eggs and cheese. “How about a simple omelet? You can’t complain about that.”

Andrew leaned on the counter, watching them move with practiced ease. “Perfect. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Uh-huh. You owe me.”

“I’ll wash the dishes,” he offered, though they both knew it was an empty promise.

Darling shot him a look but didn’t argue. Within minutes, the smell of sizzling eggs filled the air, and Andrew’s stomach gave a low, traitorous growl.

“You’re worse than a kid when you’re hungry” Darling said with a laugh as they plated the omelet and handed it to him.

He didn’t respond, too busy taking the first bite. His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he let out a low, contented hum.

“Good?” Darling asked, amused.

Andrew nodded, already halfway through the plate. “You’re a genius. Remind me to never let you go.”

Darling shook their head, smiling despite themselves. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love with you,” he quipped around a mouthful of food, earning himself a swat on the arm.

But as he polished off the plate and set it in the sink, Andrew caught their wrist gently, pulling them in for a quick, grateful kiss on the temple. “Thanks, Darling.”

“You’re welcome,” they muttered, smiling their face warming.

they both headed back to bed, the dishes forgotten, the warmth of their quiet midnight moment lingered between them.

Elias

The clock on the wall blinked 12:47 AM in bright red numbers. The safe house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night. But in the small shared bedroom, Elias was anything but still.

He groaned, turning onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His stomach let out a loud, insistent growl.

"Ugh," he muttered to himself, throwing an arm over his face.

Next to him, Barista stirred, mumbling something incoherent before falling silent again.

Elias peeked over at them, an idea already forming. He reached out, gently poking their shoulder.

"Hey," he whispered. No response.

He poked again. "Babe."

Barista groaned, their voice muffled by the pillow. "Elias, it’s the middle of the night."

"I’m hungry," he replied, as if that explained everything.

They cracked one eye open to glare at him. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Make me something?" he asked, his tone so casual it was almost cheeky.

Barista sat up slightly, their hair a mess, their face half-buried in the blanket. They gave him a look—one part disbelief, one part exhaustion. "You woke me up for food?"

"Hey, I’m starving!" he protested, sitting up as well. "And you’re good at making stuff."

"Have you tried... the kitchen?" they deadpanned, flopping back down onto the pillow.

"Okay, yeah, but it tastes better when you do it," Elias admitted, his voice dropping into something close to a pout. He leaned closer, resting his chin on their shoulder. "C’mon, please? Just a snack. I’ll love you forever."

"You already do," they mumbled, but they were smiling now, despite themselves.

"Yeah, but this will solidify it," he teased, pressing a kiss to their cheek.

Barista sighed dramatically but swung their legs out of bed anyway. "You owe me."

"I’ll do the dishes," Elias promised, grinning as he followed them out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he was happily munching on a grilled cheese, sitting at the kitchen table while Barista leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him.

"You know," they said, smirking, "I could’ve just told you to make it yourself."

"But you didn’t," he replied through a mouthful of food.

They rolled their eyes but couldn’t hide their smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Elias grinned, holding up half the sandwich. "Want a bite?"

Barista snorted. "No thanks. I’ll just savor the memory of you begging for food instead."

Xanthus

The house was silent save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floors. You were curled up on the couch, engrossed in your book, when you felt it—a presence behind you. Familiar. Still, you glanced back with a raised eyebrow, finding Xanthus standing there, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that immediately made your stomach flutter.

“What’s up?” you asked, closing the book and setting it aside.

He didn’t answer immediately, taking a slow step closer, his dark eyes tracing over you with an almost predatory gleam. “I’m hungry,” he said finally, his voice soft but weighted.

“Kitchen’s that way,” you teased, pointing toward the other room with a smirk.

Xanthus didn’t smile. Instead, he crouched down beside you, resting one elbow on the arm of the couch, his face mere inches from yours. “You know I wasn’t talking about food.”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips brushed along the curve of your neck, a deliberate, feather-light touch that made your skin tingle. His gaze followed the movement, dark lashes casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly to give him better access.

Xanthus chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling. “You make it far too easy,” he said, but there was something almost reverent in his tone, like he was holding himself back.

His lips brushed over your pulse, a soft kiss that made your heart race. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his fangs grazing your skin.

You didn’t. Instead, you reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if to say, I trust you.

And that was all the permission he needed.

🍬

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[leyllethecreator]

Writing Tip #2: Sometimes you've just gotta be like Nike

The best cure for writers' block I've found is to keep writing even when you have no inspiration. Push through the garbage, and you'll often find that ideas start coming to you, but if you insist you're uninspired, you will be. This is part of the reason why it's so great to write to prompts. Game-fying the struggle gets you out of your head a bit.

Go for a walk and tell yourself you have to pick one random thing to write about. Open the dictionary, select a word off the page you opened to and try to do something with that. As Isaac Asimov said, sometimes doing something mindless like watching a movie helps.

Basically the more stimuli you surround yourself with, the more likely you are to find inspiration. You can generate that stimuli yourself just by yeeting words onto a page - you 100% can inspire yourself.

And remember that nobody ever said you have to keep the draft. If it's garbage, it's not like you suddenly destroyed your story idea for good - it's been poisoned by one bad draft and is dying of failure-itis.

I'm creating new prompts every week you can check out every Saturday if you're looking for inspo. I also highly suggest watching a show you like or a new show, listening to music or "the dictionary method" if you're ever feeling stumped.