#drabbles on tumblr

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Drabble 31

DISCLAIMER: It’s come to my attention that Ron Bashing is very upsetting to some readers. So , please do note that this post uses the Ron Weasley tag because he is a significant character in this particular story, also this is his POV . HOWEVER, please mind that this also includes a Ron bashing tag. If you are offended by Ron bashing, don’t bother.

I had to write this one, the inspiration hit and I’ll be in LA all day tomorrow visiting my sister. So here we go! Also, I’m adding to the next chapter on ao3, so it will be a minute before I post it.

Ron had mixed feelings about working the night shift on the beat. Before they were ordered to have a partner with them at all times, he’d been able to pop into Hermione’s or even Parvati’s while on patrol. Some nights, he was able to visit both witches.

He wasn’t proud of what he had done to Hermione. Parvati had been aware, from the beginning, that he had no intention of leaving Hermione. She was his til the end. And he was hers.

The thing with Parvati wasn’t serious and she had been okay with that. It was just a way to get that little bit extra he wasn’t getting with Hermione. He had assumed that she was content, if not happy, with their love life. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her that he needed more.

But, what if she had been severely disappointed. Maybe that was why she never complimented him, never praised him, never rolled off of him in a state of pure bliss.

With Hermione, it was always straight to work. She’d have to make tea, or clean her kitchen, or catch up on paperwork.

What if she wasn’t satisfied and that was why she kept busy after? What if she was seeking that little extra bit that Ron couldn’t give her from someone else.

What if that someone was Malfoy? He seemed to sordid type to get off on hitting his women or choking them. Hermione was not that kind of girl. She never asked Ron for anything naughty.

But Ron watched her, wondering. She avoided eye contact with him whenever they passed by one another. Ron would fantasize about grabbing her hand, pulling her into an office. Anyone’s office, it didn’t matter. Whichever one was nearby. And he’d go down on her and make her cry and shout out his name. She’d thank him for being so good to her, for making her cum so hard. Ask him to take her back. You know, shit like that. Something fantastical. Something erotic.

Ron would stop at the end of the hall and watch her.

With Malfoy, she’d look right into his creepy pale eyes and smile. She’d look at his bruised face, the dried blood on his lip that never seemed to go away and her eyes would fucking light up.

Hermione would look right into his face and see something in or past all of those sneers and scowls. She was blind to the monster lurking within.

Even worse now, she resembles him. The scowls and the sneers have migrated and taken residence on her beautiful round features, her eyes just as cold and pale as Malfoys.

She was scary, now. Other Aurora avoided her gestate, shivered when they thought she wasn’t looking. Whispered about her behind her back.

And now her and Harry were both looking at Ron like he was the monster. Ron was only human, and humans were animals. Fucking was just a natural need. It delivered the endorphins that were desperately needed after the war, after losing his brother.

Everyone did it. Every being did it. The birds and the bees and all that shit. It’s just that when Ron got off, he needed to be told what a good, sweet boy he was. That he was a hero., a savior. Someone worthy.

But sometimes, once upon a time, Hermione would look at him like he was. He missed it. Fuck, he missed her. It’s a terrible thing. That, even though Ron had fucked up and he still had Parvati, he didn’t want to give up Hermione. He loved her body as much as any others, probably more. No man enjoyed accepting the idea that he would no longer have it to himself. Maybe never again.

And Ron certainly didn’t accept the fact that Malfoy might be the new proud owner of that particular one.

“Hey, Weasley.”

Oh, right. The other reason he hated these shifts. Not only could he not drop by Hermione’s, he was permanently stuck with Anthony Goldstein. He wasn’t a terrible bloke. But he was shifty, a bit off. His movements were jerky, timid. He looked like somebody who didn’t belong on the force. He looked like someone who was thrown into it, forced to become an Auror and had never accepted that fact.

Ron pinched his lips together, and pulled his eyes from the corner building where Hermione lived. Her windows were dark. She probably wasn’t home.

He nodded to Goldstein in acknowledgment.

“Isn’t this the apothecary where Hermione and Malfoy got into that altercation?”

Goldstein was staring into window of the shop. The lights were dim, as if to still keep the potions advertised on display in the front window. Or perhaps the witch who ran the place was still inside, cleaning up.

Ron stepped up beside him. The wizard flinched and Ron couldn’t help the roll of his eyes. “Yeah,” He sighed. “That’s the one.”

Goldstein looked up at and stared. Ron could feel his eyes assessing him. “You and Malfoy don’t get along, do you?”

Ron dug his hands into his pockets, thumbing the wand nestled inside and laughed. One short, derisive bark. “What makes you think that, Goldstein?” He frowned and shook his head, a little ashamed at the acidic tone of his voice. “Look, let’s just say that the day where every day of my life stops revolving around Malfoy, will be the best day of my life.”

Anthony was still staring at him. Ron was staring at the window, at the dim light of the back room, a shadow moving. Through his peripheral, Goldstein was nodding slowly. He might have been grinning, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Goldstein hated conflict, he was a bit of a coward

But then Goldstein moved for the door. “We should go in.”

Ron shook his head. “Nah, she’s closing up. Besides it wasn’t our crime scene.”

“I heard she hadsa love potion. It might help mend whatever went sour between you and Hermione.”

“No thanks, mate.” Ron chuckled nervously. “I’ve had one too many experiences with love potions.”

“But, this isn’t like Amortentia. This one helps to…alter the way you think.” Goldstein voice was less flinchy and more persuasive than he had ever heard him. It was unsettling.

“That’s Barmy.”

“The witch who brews it says it allows you to connect with your lover on some kind of mental or spiritual level.”

“I’m not slipping ‘Mione anything, Goldstein.”

“You wouldn’t have to.” He opened the door and said, as he stepped inside. “You take the potion. All you need is a strand of her hair to add to it.”

And then Goldstein was disappearing into the shop and into the dark shadows of the potion filled shelves. “What the — Goldstein!” Had the wizard lost his mind?

Stepping into the Apothecary sent a shudder down Ron’s spine. The hairs on his arms stood. Something was definitely off about this. But the witch didn’t seem to notice or care about the jingle of the bell on her door, and Goldstein was lost somewhere in the vast array of potions. Some of them glittered, some were glowing in the dark. Some were as dark as the sky outside.

None of them seemed ordinary. Most of them, Ron didn’t recognize.

But he crept along the shelving, the habit of staying quiet and undetected hard to break. He passed shelves labeled things like Elixirs for Life. Others with the words, Poisons to live by. But when Ron reached the shelf that was labeled, Love, Sex and other maladies, he knew he was in the middle of something shady.

Of course, none of that helped him to prepare for the figure that leapt out in front of him, or for the wand that was pointed directly at his temple before the voice whispered the incantation that would turn his brain into dough, softening into something that could be kneaded and molded into surrendering. Ron’s entire body locked up, his mind went quiet.

Nothing was the same. Nothing was known. His name, his desires, his job.

No, for Ron, everything had changed the second that voice had uttered the word to end it all, “Imperio.”

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Just thinking about how simon would definitely be the type of man to start cooking ribs, I mean like marinating those things and letting them slow cook for hours, only for him to slip out of the bed at nearly 3am.

You only noticed because his side of the bed got colder and then you woke up to your precious simon riley with a plate of ribs in his big hands, piled high for both of you as he sat down. you wouldn’t care about getting food on the bed this late, and he knew it. He liked cooking for you when on leave, liked providing.

“ribs.”

He mumbled, and you gave a sleepy nod before leaning against him, idly taking a rib and obliging him with a bite of the food. As it turns out, it was pretty damn good, and for another hour or so you both just sat there, silently eating ribs in bed.

Anyways, I’m marrying him. He’s mine.

[prettypinkprincessa]

Sukuna with a clingy reader.

You’re adorable. You’re sweet, cute, and all kinds of things, but he will never admit that.

Everywhere he goes you seem to follow along, like a second shadow.

“Where you going, kuna?” You’d ask while getting up and following him towards your shared bedroom door, looking up at his intimidating eyes with nothing but admiration.

“None of your business, stay here.” he’d demand, sternly. You huffed and looked away, an obvious pout written on your face.

“It’s not fair how you get to tell me what to do.”

He ignores you and walks out to the kitchen, and you follow right along even when he told you not to.

“You don’t listen do you brat?” He snarls.

“What do you need out here anyway?” You ask, completely disregarding his mean question.

“Food. I’m hungry.”

“Can we cook something together?!” You ask excitingly. Wide smile and cute eyes glistening. He can’t help but stare at you, admire everything about you.

“No. I’ll cook by myself.” He says, still squinting his eyes down at you because you’re just too cute.

A tiny pout appears on your face and your eyebrows furrow, looking up at him with those puppy eyes that he can never resist.

“Please?”

Fuck.

He’s lost it. He can’t believe that he’s letting someone as pathetic as yourself wrap him along your little finger.

He scoffs and looks away, an obvious tint of pink plastered on his cheeks.

“Fine, whatever. Grab the flour.”

You smile and hop over to get what he told you to, your cute ass bouncing under his huge shirt.

He can pretend to not love your clinginess all he wants, but he really can’t live without it.

[coffeetank]

Ideas to Show Secret Pining

"Why don't you join me?"

"I'll give you a ride, don't worry."

*does something they don't like* "What? I like it."

*immense staring at every chance they get*

*thinking of their crush while listening to songs*

"You said you liked it so I brought it for you."

*finds ways to spend more time with them*

*friendly bullying intensifies*

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there."

"Are you gonna be there?"

"How about we sneak off, just you and me?"

"Why don't I cook for them? What's their favourite dish again?"

*aggressive google searches about how to propose to your crush*

"I'll join those dance lessons, maybe then she'll notice me."

*hopeless around them*

*failed flirting attempts*

*increased compliments*

"My problem is that I like them a little too much for my sanity."

*gets jealous* "So, are you seeing them or something?"

"Are you okay?" // "Completely okay!" (definitely not okay)

*tries to sabotage their crush's date*

*gets into trouble so they can be scolded by their crush*

"I want you to come with me, please?"

-ashlee

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[urfriendlywriter]

20 "we are each other's safe place" romance prompts:

(feeling emo now that I'm officially back :') feel free to useee and tag me when yall write!!)

holding each other close in silence

yearning for just one hug after being separated for so so long... </3

"i can't seem to take neither my eyes, nor my mind off of you, [name]." :'')

noticing that bright smile of theirs after you compliment them. [my heart. omds]

them rushing into your embrace after a long day

"let me ask my partner." or,

"oh, my partner at home is waiting for me, i better get going :)"

being ur partner's mum's favorite, hehehe

^ "ma... how come they're getting head rubs from you often while i rarely do?"

sulking to get attention from them and they get cuteness aggression over you (> < my cuteness aggress. for mr. japan goes crazy guys!!)

being you comes easy with them ♡

being emotionally available to one another, and having each other and knowing you're not alone <3

when they're affirmative and expect affirmations from you <communication is the best trope>

cuddling and cozying up together, being all physical but not sexual ツ✰

them wrapping their hand around yours whenever walking together

when it's their smile, that's just enough to brighten your day :')

loving and living and actually looking forward to tomorrow with them,

^ "you make me want to be a better person."

"smile for me" or, "twirl for me" :))

searching for each other in a crowded rooms, finding each other everywhere (this is just love guys, top tier.)

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Drabble List #10

75 prompts to write drabbles or longer stories.

"Thank you, I really hate it."

"Can't figure out the right answer."

"Sit down and shut up."

"I'm definitely open to that."

"Why don't you answer your phone?"

"It's not a witchhunt."

"Is it suddenly getting colder?"

"That child is staring at you."

"Let's talk about some options."

"And then you just lost it?"

"Have you heard about this story?"

"It's going to be a great day today."

"Don't say another word."

"This is absolutely not my fault."

"What would happen if I'd kiss you right now?"

"It's always a risk, but think about the reward."

"There is a fine line between stupid and genius."

"I never really left."

"Answer me. Quickly."

"You hold no power here."

"We learn from our mistakes."

"Have you seen that the sun is coming out?"

"This sounds like an interogation."

"Should I call my lawyer?"

"I have always admired you."

"Who's at your house right now?"

"Call the number. Now."

"When are you getting paid?"

"It miraculously stopped working."

"I have absolutely no answers to your questions."

"You took us on a wild ride there."

"What did she look like?"

"That's a scam, ma'am."

"Let's see each other again in ten years."

"I will be waiting for you."

"Please, don't pick me."

"Not my friends, not my problem."

"It's not paranoia if they are really out to get you."

"You are such a hypocrite."

"Nobody asked me, but I will answer."

"How did you get your degree?"

"I'm not going to discuss this with you."

"Great, who cares?"

"You just can't handle the truth."

"I'm curious about your motive."

"Respect is not given freely."

"Your pride will be your downfall."

"Just let it go, okay?"

"Why do you insist on it?"

"Seeing you like this, I fell even more in love with you."

"I don't want to hear another word coming out of your mouth!"

"I just know that everything will go well."

"This is very important for me."

"Wow, the weather is really... doing its thing."

"Don't even try to talk to me."

"I can and I will sue."

"Maybe this was a mistake."

"Do I make you nervous?"

"You never had the best ideas."

"Don't wait for me."

"Who would you call?"

"That's too wild for me."

"You can't even say it with a straight face."

"I told you not to touch that."

"Do I really have to answer that?"

"Takes one to know one.

"Let me make this right."

"When did you become an expert in this?"

"Nothing is as serious as it seems."

"How could this accidently happen?"

"It's not my birthday."

"Sounds like wishful thinking."

"Welcome to my personal hell."

"Do you even know who I am?"

"The devil knows I tried."

Drabble Masterlist

Have fun creating and writing!

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[zephyrchama]

It is said that at times when a choice has to be made, everyone has an angel and a devil on their shoulder. These beings will try to influence a person's morals for right or for wrong.

You thought it was an exaggeration or something that only happened in cartoons. Yet here you stand, in the middle of a market trying out new foods, with Lucifer over one shoulder and Simeon over the other. They're arguing about which treats you should buy. As calm, rational adults, they aren't raising their voices or coming to blows. They're not making a scene at all. But there's a certain fire in their eyes and a stubbornness not to back down, keeping the two of them competitively breathing down your neck until you've made a choice.

"This one is similar to what I made you last week." Simeon points to a high-quality product on the top shelf.

"It's expensive. For that price, you can get two of these." Lucifer points to another product on a lower shelf. "I know you'll like them."

"That's too much. We can't have you getting sick from overeating. How about this? It's fluffy and light." Simeon tries to put a snack in your hand.

Lucifer knocks the angel's arm aside and puts his own recommendation in your hand. "This is made with rare ingredients from across the Devildom. You won't get a chance to try it again."

Two iron grips take hold of your shoulders as Simeon and Lucifer smile at each other. Two irked and vaguely threatening smiles, void of actual positive emotion. You consider just buying a keychain instead.

[ghvst-ing]

The shake in his hands is almost imperceptible, but still there as he holds his phone in his large, calloused fingers.

After years of active service, countless years of handling a sniper rifle, you’d think he’d be completely still at all times. And he is, but the emotions bottling inside him prevents it.

He hits the record button on the camera app the second his seven year old steps onto the stage, dressed up in a costume for the character she was playing as.

He feels proud.

Watching her as she so confidently says her part aloud, shifting into her role easily with an elated smile tugging at her lips once she notices his presence in one of the many seats before her.

Simon, being the tank of a man that he is, stands out amongst the crowd, surrounded by the parents’ of the other kids that came to witness the performance.

All goes well, and as the play comes to an end, and the parents’ cheer while the children on stage take a bow, he stops the recording. It pauses when he zooms in on your little girl, his lips quirking up in a rugged smile underneath the black surgical mask he wore.

His gaze drops, fingers tapping away at the screen as he closes the app, opening another, and finding your contact at the top of the list of the limited people he had saved.

He barely manages to send the messages before his daughter runs up to him from the stage, along with the other kids that rushed to their own parents, and clung onto his thigh, staring up at him expectingly with a face that resembled yours closely.

Attachment sent

Look at our little girl love Sent 16:48

He stuffs his phone into his pocket, brown eyes crinkling in the corners before he lifts her up into his arms, and she squeals in happiness.

It was for moments like these that he continued fighting.

Wish you were still here we both miss you Sent 16:49

[shushmal]

Steve walks into his house—HIS house, he would emphasize—to find his two favorite people wrestling on his couch.

For a second, the bottom drops out of his stomach. It's knee-jerk, even though he knows better. But they are very wrapped around each other, twisting and writhing, and it's pretty easy to get the wrong idea. Until he looks closer and realizes the wrestling is a lot more... violent, than sexy.

He watches, shocked into silence and stillness, as Eddie chomps down on Robin's upper arm. Robin screeches and yanks Eddie's hair. Steve feels un-easy in a different way now, like maybe this is devolving into an actual physical altercation instead of some friendly tussling. He winces when Robin gives Eddie a rather vicious purple nurple.

"FUCK, I give, I give," Eddie screams, limbs releasing her to curl protectively around himself.

Robin bounces up cackling, rumpled and sweaty. Her victory grin is vicious when she turns to Steve.

"Hear that Harrington? Your ass is mine tonight!"

Steve stares at her in fear. "What?"

"I get cuddle privileges tonight," she declares, still a little breathless. "And Eddie gets to sleep on the couch."

Behind her, Eddie looms before he jumps on her back, dragging her back down with a war cry. Steve watches them for a moment as the curse at each other for cheating, before going upstairs and locking himself in his room.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Feelings Thawed

Character; Cater Diamond

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, pining, ice skating (to various degrees of success)

Word Count; 650+

Author's Note; This is a present/thank you to my mutual @i-like-forgs. I hope you enjoy this ice skating scene with Cater, and that you get to skate soon!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The brisk wind bit at your nose, and you pulled up your scarf, trying to keep away the offending wind. Around you it was a winter wonderland, all made possible in the temperate conditions thanks to Cater, who was filming you skating around on the frozen pond’s surface.

“You know,” you hollered, making sure that you caught his attention, “you should join me! It’s fun!” You came to a stop by the pond’s edge, where Cater was standing with a large thermos.

Cater just shot you a wink, handing you the thermos. “This is for you though, silly!” 

He was deflecting, you could tell; behind that bright and cheery smile that he always seemed to wear around others, you knew when there was something off with Cater. You accepted the thermos though, and took a sip of the spicy apple cider, still piping hot.

You gave him a look and pulled lightly on his coat sleeve. “Yes, but it’s more fun with others, come on Cater!” You stepped back onto the ice, and slowly skated near him, waiting with an eager smile.

He looked at you, and then back at the ice, but he stayed standing in the light snow, shooting you that smile. “But I can’t take photos if I’m out there with you!” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Liar. “Cater,” you looped back around and stepped onto the bank, balancing on your skates, “do you not know how to skate?”

Cater’s smile turned sheepish, and his ‘ahahaha, looks like my gig is up’ chuckle made its appearance. He had been found out. “Never got the chance to,” he hid his face slightly in his scarf, either to keep the cold at bay or to hide that his cheeks were turning pink. “So I’d just slow ya down.”

You took his hand into yours, “Well, I could teach you if you wanted. Just a warning though, you’re gonna fall on your butt a lot, might get a few bruises.”

Cater looked down at your entwined hands. Mittens and gloves separated your skin from touching one another, but Cater could swear that he could feel the sensation nonetheless through the layers of fabric.

“You would? Even if I pull you down with me?” 

The last question wasn’t just about the ice skating; Cater didn’t want to force you to do anything that you didn’t want to… and that included being his friend. His heart seemed to whisper stronger emotions though, but he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

You walked him out to the ice, and the both of you swiftly fell down on the ice, hard. But you just laughed and got right back up again, “Well, we did just fall. There isn’t anything scary about falling down; yes it stings and might leave a gnarly bruise, but in order to move forward we have to fall and get back up. So yes, is what I guess I’m saying.”

Cater looked up at you, the sun illuminating you and the snow glittered behind you. You were holding your hand out again, waiting for him. And Cater took your hand. 

It took him a while to get the hang of it, and he fell down quite a bit, but every time he fell down you helped him back up. And by the time that the sun was setting in the west, the both of you were cold, and both were going to wake up tomorrow with some bruises. It was fun though, which is all that mattered… but that whisper in Cater’s heart was by now singing, and maybe he would listen to it, but for now, he was happy with how the way things were, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, especially with how much you had smiled today. Your smile and knowing that you had fun with him was enough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tags; @eynnwwyjth, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[elliebyrrdwrites]

An unrelated Drabble

Forgive me.

Just like snot pressed into the nice clean fabric of a New dress, I don’t belong here. Everyone else is smiling and snarling at one another. But you see, this isn’t what you think. There isn’t something wrong with us, it’s the sky, the air around us.

When the horizon gets all hazy like this, where the ocean disappears into a memory and the air thickens with heat, I know what waits for me. What kind of day I’m doing to have.

It’s days like this that make me remember that I’m just a prisoner. Just like you and him and that one guy from next door who used to peek through the hedges while your wife took a shower. And slowly, we’re being poisoned and forced to shift from bright and happy to dark and angry. Just like the erratic weather of the tropics. We’re subjected to these toxins that force us to feel such extremes because without the fluctuations in emotions, we can’t clash. Without clashing, there’s no conflict. Without conflict, there are no wars. Without wars, there is no death.

There’s death, but not the meaningful kind that illicits more erratic behavior that perpetuates more wars. More fighting.

And so we need the deaths.

Because the death weeds out the unnecessary, the weak, the sacrifices!

And we’re too many.

Too many Prisoners and not enough cells. Overflowing cells with rotten breath and soiled sheets. There’s not enough soap and not enough staff to keep everything clean and free of bacteria.

Bacteria is good, in small amounts but we’re bacteria too and there’s too many of us and we’re spawning at such a rapid rate that the warden considers pouring bleach into the water system.

But I’ve been collecting rain water and I’m only a victim to the haze and not the bowel cleaning water. The other inmates are puking and shitting their guts out. They’re shitting so much, their soul leaves their bodies before their last breath does.

But not me. I’m standing amongst the bodies of the dead and my sentence is almost up. Soon I’ll be out of this hell and into the next. Soon, I’ll be free and part of the other poisoned masses.

Soon I’ll get my revenge.

[2-dsimp]

Since the Monster Boys have smutty requests open, I have a request! I love Temothy the Bull so much, he puts up such a well-meaning front while he's secretly being sneaky for their attention <3

This may be a lot, but Can I request Temothy having his Beloved Boss mute and blackout their video during a conference call, breeding them while they have to desperately try to pay attention to... this meeting? Is it really more important than their pathetic assistant deliriously muttering how he's going to give his beloved boss all of his calves? Dunno... It's really hard to think when he knows all their weak spots to scrape at.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

F͎e͎a͎t͎u͎r͎i͎n͎g͎ y͎o͎u͎r͎ y͎a͎n͎d͎e͎r͎e͎ A͎s͎s͎i͎s͎t͎a͎n͎t͎ a͎n͎d͎ h͎i͎s͎ b͎a͎b͎y͎ F͎e͎v͎e͎r͎ a͎t͎ w͎o͎r͎k͎

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

Cw: MDNI NSFW 🔞 Temothy getting his calves one way or another… After being overlooked for too long by you his darling boss.

[prettypinkprincessa]

Rafe with a shy reader!!

You are too pure for this world. Is what he thought when he first laid eyes on you. Cute big doe eyes, soft cardigans, and the little tiny sketch book you carried everywhere with you. You were adorable.

“Hey, kid.” He spoke out. You jumped slightly at his sudden outburst and smiled, waving at him as he sat down infront of you.

“Do you talk?” he asked. Your eyes widened and your lips fell into a pout. You weren’t quite fond of your own voice. It was quiet and small and everytime you spoke someone asked you to speak up. It got to the point where you just stopped talking in general.

You nodded your head slowly and looked away. Avoiding his heavy gaze. He caught on pretty quick.

“Whats your name?” He asked slyly. Knowing that you’d have to talk.

You looked up slowly from your sketchbook and sighed.

“Y/n..” you spoke softly. Giving him your name then going straight back to drawing. He was shocked to say the least. Taken aback by your voice. It was so soft and sweet, he wondered why you never spoke. And ever since then he’s made your life hell by making sure you speak everytime he sees you.

💗 he would purposely trip you (and catch you) or scare you just to hear your cute little whimpers and screams. He found every little noise you made adorable.

💗he would invite you over for sleepovers at his house just to listen to the cute little noises you make in your sleep. (Yes, kinda stalker-ish but he’s head over heels for you)

💗 he would act overly interested in stories you tell so you wouldn’t get self conscious and go all quiet on him. He’s grown used to your shyness and knows how to bring you out of your shell.

💗 every time you want something he makes you use your words.

“rafey?” You say while pointing to his hand.

He looks down and sighs lovingly.

“Hm? Use your words baby.”

You whine lightly, “can I hold your hand?” You whisper, as if you were telling him some deep secret.

He chuckles softly and smiles, “of course, baby.”

💞 not proof read so sorry for any mistakes!!

[coffeetank]

Dialogues to Kick-start your Chapter/Writer's Block

"Excuse me?"

"Why?"

"Where?"

"How?"

"When?"

"What?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Hell no."

"Hell yes!"

"Fuck off!"

"Fuck me!"

"In what world!"

"Which time?"

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think so."

"Not really,"

"Maybe, if you think about it—"

"What the fuck."

"Okay, catch this (insert ridiculous proposition)"

"So, I'll meet you at 6?"

"For the millionth fucking time—"

"Ya think?"

"This is it, then?"

"Come to my place. Now."

"She's called you. Right now."

"Oh, we're so screwed!"

"Hey."

"Don't do that."

"You've lost it. Completely lost it."

"What were you thinking?"

"I am confident that you belong in an asylum."

"I think you should get some help."

"Shove it up your ass!"

"Piss on it."

"I have a list and you're the top 5."

"I'd never do that."

"I'd definitely do that."

"It does sound like something I'll say, but I didn't say it. I swear!"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is?"

(as a response to the above dialogue ^) "Not harder than me for sure." / "It's not hard. Or else you wouldn't be doing it at all."

"Maybe I just need a little alcohol."

"Smells like jealousy to me."

"Lord, please."

- ashlee

[ervotica]

you’re an angel, i’m a dog — a.donaldson

pairing; older!art donaldson x fem!reader

warnings; roughly written, badly edited, not beta’d (because when is it ever?), allusions to smut, implied age gap (reader is early 20s, art is early 30s), slight tashi x fem!reader if you squint, infidelity (but tashi is kinda cool with it), just some thoughts about older!art and his pretty girl

a/n; this concept has been eating at me for daysss so i had to write it at least roughly! should we make this a series? (maybe get patrick involved?🫢) let me know what you think! ART & CHALLENGERS (poly!art & patrick) REQUESTS ARE OPEN! any questions / conversation starters about this particular au are highly appreciated and encouraged!! please come to my inbox 📥 <3

older!art is fucking obsessed with you— you, who comes to every one of his matches, who sits next to his wife in those adorable little tennis skirts you sport just for him, who whoops and cheers from the stands whether he wins or loses.

you’re forbidden fruit. so, naturally, he adores you.

tashi knows, because of course she does. she never pries, never so much as spares you a second glance when he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck and huffs hot air against the shell of your ear. she doesn’t care — you’ve made art better at tennis.

his confidence has skyrocketed since having a pretty thing like you cheering him on, his biggest and most enthusiastic supporter. he plays better, he second guesses himself less, he’s more relaxed.

you’re what’s been missing. the last piece of the puzzle.

an obedient little thing, glued to his side, wagging like a dog at his every command.

he fucking loves it. loves having someone relying on him for love and validation. loves the way you preen under his fervent gaze and flutter your lashes at the slightest touch.

when tashi asks you to join art’s team officially, you almost keel over.

“look, i don’t care that he’s fucking you… or that he’s in love with you. he has a shot at the us open this year, and he needs you by his side to do it.” she says. you’re quick to agree, ever obedient and desperate to please.

“he’s in love with me?”

she scoffs. “you’ve seen the way he looks at you. he almost creams his pants every time you’re in the same room as him.” she tilts your chin upwards with a crooked finger, giving your cheek an affectionate - albeit condescending - pat.

“you two can have your fun— but he has to win this year.”

art’s perched against the doorframe when you turn, corded forearms crossed over his chest. you scrunch your nose, pushing back a smile that crinkles at your eyes despite your efforts.

fucking smitten.

tashi rolls her eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and she nudges you towards him.

“go on.”

he opens his arms in greeting and you’re quick to fall into them, your fingers knotting in the shorn hair at his nape. his chest expands beneath your own as he takes a long breath, and he presses his nose to your pulse point, shuddering.

“love you.” he murmurs into your skin.

“love you more.”

he could cry; he doesn’t remember the last time someone told him they loved him and meant it. you’re obsessed with him, almost as much as he is with you.

at his next match, you carry his rackets and send him off with a good luck kiss that has him breathless, grinning as you roll his wad of gum between your teeth that you sucked right from his waiting mouth.

he wins.

how could he not with his pretty girl watching?

and that night, he rewards you with a thorough fucking, whispered love confessions against your lips, and a breathy moan as he cums that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

so, yeah. maybe this life isn’t so bad, after all.