#drag drabbles

[kkusuka]

how 141 ended up at the pentagon halloween party was unclear but they were there, on a balcony looming over the central courtyard watching you and your friends chat about things that are absolutely classified. but as the night winds down your groups dwindle and somehow soap found himself alone on the balcony as you stare into his soul.

and it's not like he hasn't been watching you all night, in your cute little sixties dress where if he stands at the right corner and you stand far enough away, he can see the curve of your ass and the tiny shorts that look more like panties as the night drags on. and watching you downing four cocktails then immediately shot gunning a beer was impressive and if he had any more time to spare in america he would ask you where you're planning to spend the night. maybe even ask you about your breakfast plans, or any plans at all that he could stick himself into to stay near you. or maybe just stick himself in you at all-

"you do demolitions, right?" your voice breaking him out of his new favorite fantasy was one possibility he thought up, but he was hoping it would be you asking him to pounce on you and not his job but he can work with this, "yeah, i can tell ye anyt'hing you wannae hear, bonnie."

and you just keep looking at him, so he takes it away. he heard you talking with your friends about information handling so he isn't worried about the heaps of classified information he's telling a random federal worker. "- and even ma good pal ghost, the quiet on wit the mask, cannae do it like i can. not tha 'm tryn' to brag, lass, unless yer into tha-"

"you should wear a helmet."

"wha?"

"like one of those green army helmets that cover the top of your head. like just incase you know?" and he's suddenly frozen, his bonnie lass worrying about him? so sweet, he knew that fate would eventually reward him for doing what he does- "i'm sorry this was really weird, just uh- keep going i guess? i'm so sorry. i'll stop bothering you."

he feels frozen watching you get up and head towards the door, assumingly to rejoin your friends to leave. and you almost make it, hand reaching for the handle before he jumps into action. hands grabbing your waist, dragging you back to him, a lot closer than he thought you'd let him be considering how tense you got. but god if he didn't love how your eyes stared up at him and how close your face was to his, just an inch closer and he'd be kissing you.

"nah, not strange at'all lass. helmet it is, and maybe, in case ye ever wannae check in on me, i could get yer phon-" and it would have been such a good moment, one of his best actually, if not for the bloke busting through the door, smiling to greet you, and then puking right at your feet, "ah, fer fucks sake-"

then you're being yanked away from him by two of your friends from before, babbling about how the uber is three minutes away.

"wait!" then you're right in front of him again and there is a pinky in his face and your eyes are back on his, "pinky-promise? for my sake?"

"yeah, pinky-promise fer yer sake, bonnie." and he leaves you with a promise, a kiss to your wrist, and no name to remember him by.

( 'yah lads just donnae get it. no one's ever looked a' me like tha, i'll wear the helmet to hell of they wannae me too'

'tha's great sergeant, now pick up your gun and lets go'

'nah captain 'ts not great, i've got a sweet lass worryn' 'bout me, this is better than great'

'you got a name from 'em soap, or are we gonna have to hear bonnie and lass for the rest of time'

'FUCK' )

and just a few months later, when he wakes up in one of the hospitals near the base with a doctor babbling to him about how the bullet was slowed down by his headgear and that if he had been shot from any closer he wouldn't be here- johnny knows that another visit to the pentagon to see his bonnie lass was in order.

(maybe dinner and a good fucking after- as a thank you, y'know?)

[caffieneaddictt18]

just a little thought: chubby!reader has sex with someone who has feelings for her, and of whom she has feelings for. Afterwards, she goes to get up and get her clothes on. She is sad and whatnot, but no one wants to care for a 'fat girl', and she is beating herself up about sleeping with someone she has feelings for because she knows she can't ever go to another person now. But then he reaches out, asking her why she's leaving.

“I figured you'd want me gone…” Leaving the implied hanging in the air. That she's chubby. People don't like chubby women. “I never want you to leave this bed. I want you to stay here with me so I can satisfy you over and over again. And after every time, I will take care of you. Every. Time.”

She is stunned into silence, and he helps her get undressed again, providing an aftercare that she has never experienced before. showing her that she is worth not just the sex, but also the love and care after.

[seumyo]

Idia never thought he’d be the type to have a muse. Inspiration wasn’t something he sought—it either struck at odd hours between gaming marathons or never came at all. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

You were effortlessly poetic, weaving words together like they were spun from moonlight and ink. You had a way of finding beauty in things he never noticed about himself, piecing together metaphors and prose that made him sound like something out of a fairytale.

A writer who’s ultimate weapon is a pen and paper.

You write like a poet who can never run out of words.

Effortlessly so.

The first time you showed him one of your poems, he had expected it to be about something grand and abstract—love, nature, time. Instead, it was about him.

It wasn’t grandiose or overly sentimental. It was simple. Soft. A quiet sort of admiration captured in careful lines—how his hair burned like foxfire in the dark, how his voice curled around words like an autumn breeze, how the glow of his screen reflected in his yellow eyes like constellations trapped in glass.

He had read it once, then twice, then a third time, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might short-circuit his entire nervous system.

God, it’s like reading a declaration of love from years ago.

“I-I… um… wow…” he had stammered, his fingers twitching at his sleeves. “You… wrote this?”

You simply laughed.

“Of course I did. Who else would I write about?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

So instead, he drew.

A few days after your conversation, that is.

Idia had always been good at art—sketching was second nature to him, a quiet hobby he indulged in when he needed to clear his head. But now, every idle doodle, every sketch in the margins of his notebooks, was of you.

The tilt of your head when you peered into his screen. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him. The delicate curve of your fingers as you held your pen, lost in thought.

He didn’t show you at first. It felt too raw, too personal. Like, if you saw it, you’d know just how much space you had carved into his thoughts, how easily you had settled into his world without even trying.

Maybe that was the point.

To show you how much you meant to him.

But then, one evening, as you sat together in his room—you’re lost in your writing, your boyfriend sketching absentmindedly—you caught a glimpse of his notebook and gasped.

“Is that me?”

Idia tensed, his fingers twitching as if to slam the book shut. But you had already leaned over, your gaze locked onto the pages, your eyes wide as you traced the lines of your own face on the paper.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

“This is amazing.”

He hunched his shoulders, his hair flickering between shades of pink and blue. “It’s not a big deal…”

“It is to me.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and Idia felt the warmth of your touch settle deep in his chest.

“You write about me,” he muttered, his voice quiet.

“I guess… this is how I write about you.”

You smiled, nodding. “Then I guess we’re even.”

His heart pounded, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Y-Yeah… even…”

But you weren’t done looking. You turned the pages slowly, taking in every sketch. Some were detailed, inked carefully with soft shading that made your features stand out, while others were simple pencil sketches, quick and loose. Some had little notes scribbled in the margins—things like Her smile was really pretty today or I think she’d like this outfit—and the further you flipped, the harder it became for Idia to breathe.

“You’ve been drawing me this whole time?” you asked.

Idia swallowed hard, feeling like his soul was about to eject from his body. “I-I mean… you’re… I like drawing you.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “No one’s ever drawn me before,” you admitted. “And definitely not like this. It’s like a commissioned self-portrait.”

He ducked his head against his desk. It’s all too much for him, and yet, he yearns for more.

“Well… no one’s ever written about me before either.”

You reached for your notebook and flipped to a page filled with fresh ink. “I wrote something new,” you told him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Idia hesitated, but he nodded.

You took a breath, then began reading.

Your voice was steady and soft, weaving words like magic.

You spoke of constellations hidden in the depths of golden eyes, of firelight that flickered and burned but never consumed. Of hands that danced over sketchbooks, creating entire worlds with nothing but ink and quiet devotion. Of a boy who lived in shadows and blue-tinted neon, who never realized he shone just as brightly as the screens he spent hid behind on.

By the time you finished, Idia was gripping his sketchbook so tightly his knuckles were almost turning white.

“…T-That’s—” His voice cracked, his throat dry. “That’s… about me?”

“Of course, Idia.”

His mind was racing, his chest aching with something he didn’t know how to name. He didn’t understand how you saw this side of him—a version of him that is raw—in ways he had never expected. And for once, instead of wanting to hide, he wanted to let you see more.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for his pencil and turned to a fresh page. “C-Can I draw you again?”

Your smile grew, and you leaned into his side, your fingers resting over his. “Only if you let me write about you again.”

Idia let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding.

“Deal.”

But somehow, he knew he would never stop drawing you. Even if time catches up to him and he could no longer hold a pencil. There will always be a way for him to draw his muse.

Just as he knew you would never stop writing about him.

Two halves of the same story—lines and words, ink and paper, art and poetry intertwined.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[superbat-love]

Clark: Bruce, if we ever have kids together, do you think he’d look like the both of us?

In the background, Hal spits out his coffee. Wally starts to laugh until Bruce gives him a dark look.

Clark: Come on Bruce, aren’t you even a little bit curious?

Bruce: Have you been exposed to silver kryptonite and didn’t tell me again?

Diana: [clapping both of them on the shoulder] I think he’d be a handsome blue-eyed warrior just like his dads!

Wally: No way, this league already has too many dark-haired and blue-eyed superheroes. He should be a redhead with bright green eyes!

Clark: Hmm, I don’t think he’d be a redhead. Green eyes though…Bruce, didn’t your great-grandmother have green eyes?

Bruce:

Hal: Or you’d have a girl, and she’d be as huge as the both of you and look like Miss Trunchbull from Matilda. No man would ever dare to date her.

Clark: [angrily stands up] You take that back, Hal Jordan! How dare you insult my daughter! She’ll always be the most beautiful girl in the world in my eyes!

Bruce: Calm down, Clark, we don’t have a biological daughter. But I’m sure if we were ever to miraculously have one, Clarice would be able to throw any man who insults her out the window.

[neeeooon]

Not a request, but Chapter 300 is complete angst fodder for Reo X Reader fics. I mean, your boyfriend declaring his feelings for someone else and on live TV no less. How heart-wrenching is that?

GODDD CAN YOU IMAGINE????

likeeeee you’re at home, supporting your boyfriend’s dream from afar. you called off of work just to watch his final match, the final results of the nel matches.

you meant to hit pause to run and grab some water, but when you come back, the screen is silent. your boyfriend’s face fills the screen, scrunched in pain and wet with tears of devastation.

what happened? you panic, heart leaping to your throat. he wasn’t eliminated, right? not reo… not when he did so well!

but then the camera pans to nagi, who sits on the floor with this blank look on his face. and you know.

you watch, heart cracking as reo argues with ego from the field. he’s screaming, crying, desperate to bring his treasure back from this. because this can’t be the end. not for reo. not for nagi. not for them.

and you know, as you watch nagi carry himself off the field, that things will never be the same between you again.

[twnkwlf-writes]

They sit in the centre of the orchestra—expensive seats for opening night. The boy is rapt by the overture, but grows inevitably restless, like all six-year-olds would, by the third aria. Harry watches from up in the mezzanine as Draco pulls Scorpius into his lap, rocking him softly to the opera singer’s bellowing vibrato. He’s asleep in Draco’s arms by the finale of the first act. He’s still asleep when Harry approaches them outside, under the marquee, a sea of gowns and tuxedos passing around them. “Potter,” Draco says, breathless and familiar, like it hasn’t been seven years. Like he hasn’t been caught in a world-ending lie. Like he isn’t holding the end of the world in his arms. “So, you’re back.” “I’m back.” Harry keeps his shaky hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring and staring at the black curls tucked against Draco’s pale neck. Sorrow sings through him with all the power of a chorus. “I thought he’d have your hair,” Harry says.

microfic prompt | day 2: black

[luckyartdrawer]

(Bitter) Sweet! Art & Drabble

For @divinit3a Café Lunch Rush prompt list! There's still plenty of time before the first prompt is due (Jan 12th), and there's 2 other prompts as well for the month! Definitely check it out lovelies! <3

Drabble name: Instability Of The Heart Contents: Sun x reader, Heavy Pinning, Bitter Sweetness Chosen Words: Clouds, Opals, Celebration, Star-crossed, Letting Go, Hope, Candle Word Count: 1,625

AO3 version now available!

Ch 2. Moon, Ch 3. Eclipse

(Close Ups are also at the bottom <3)

It’s been a whole year…

Unsure how to approach the festivities now, Sun decided to find a quiet spot instead, spending all morning setting things up to participate in his own way. He couldn't not join in, but it just wouldn't be right to go back into the thick of it either.

The not-too-far-off town square, only a mile below his expanse of cloud, is alive in the lieu of celebration. The live orchestra plays the same casual songs, their passion dying the expanse of clouds they rest upon pink with their infectious energy, and the music drifts up clear as day to his ears despite the distance. The community brightens at each strum of a chord, chatter so lively that they create lyrics to their own song. They all are so alight that even once the sun sets, not even a single candle will be necessary to keep the festival bathed in a warm glow.

Sun sighed as he looked towards his namesake, feeling both relief and dread seeing it only moved a little since he last checked, located slightly past the center of the sky above him. Any moment now the square should clear its center and engage in its Hearthwarming Dance.

A spark crackles in his chest, sending longing pangs to his heart and head. It swirls through the burning magma and dips through every ligament, the tips of his fingers and toes buzzing with the itch to do something.

He turns to his partner, waiting for the first note of the new song to swell before grabbing their soft hand and whispering,

“May I have this dance?”

Without his usual banter, Sun embraces them and sways to the familiar beat without hesitation.

Upon closing his eyes, he is suddenly not dancing on a patchy field of clouds, but rather upon a lively opal plaza shimmering in the warm sunlight; the polished stone reflecting all those lovely pink clouds to create a mosaic, speckled with a rainbow of beautiful color.

Yet, the way you shined changed everything. It had completely ruined his view of beauty.

Your smile glistened through the sheer cloud of stardust that orbits around your form. Your eyes were as hypnotic as the ring of light you absorb, blindingly white before turning into a pitch black that's impossible for him to comprehend. He could barely even remember what you wore that day, too busy memorizing your face.

You were a star that had gone supernova, a rarity unseen for the last 3 centuries, let alone for a star of your kind.

Even the thought of your imagery causes him to inhale sharply. He clutches at his partner tightly, mindless of the give as he steps around in a traditional dance.

You were so scared when the change happened all those months ago...

Sun had found you holed up in your dark room, begging him to not look at you. He had initially come over to barge down your door for being an hour late to meet him, only to find your home was unlocked. It wasn't too unusual, so he welcomed himself inside, used to doing so after years of friendship.

His bitterness over how you kept him waiting for so long evaporated at finding your tearful state, almost unrecognizable if it weren't for your usual wear and voice.

He's still ashamed to say that he was enraptured by you despite the state you were in.

You were a glimmering dwarf star before, enchanting enough as is, and yet somehow you turned into something even more bewitching, compounding his years of desire into something even stronger. It felt right. Not to see you sad, but to see you in that form. Everything about it felt like you. The pull was indescribable in every step he took, the very essence of you invading his senses.

As soon as he recounts reassuring you, drying your tears, and pulling you into a hug; he snaps back to having you in his arms in the light of day, grasping his right hand and prancing with ease across the square, expertly avoiding other participants.

The magnetic pull is intense, the need to somehow get closer and closer was nearly impossible to ignore. He wanted to run away from such a force, yet he only clutched your hand tighter as he spun you, pulling your back into his chest and locking you there for a beat too long.

He was so afraid that you could read his every move, regardless of knowing your sheer obliviousness to his desires.

You always playfully indulged his yearly insistence of being your dance partner, yet nothing had come of it from either side. But this time, his gaze was constantly locked with yours, unable to break contact. His possessive grip had ensnared you, barely leaving even an inch between you. He couldn't help but pause, disregarding the mass of bodies moving around him, wanting to hold you forever.

How could it not be obvious?

Regardless, he knew it was inevitable he'd spill out his soul to you soon, barely able to restrain his lips from colliding into yours at that very moment.

He hoped, he prayed, he begged like a mantra to the celestial mother that you'd feel the same. That this magnetism isn't so one sided. That restraint would one day be unnecessary and he'd finally be able to drink in the flavor of your kiss.

Only mere seconds had passed when he released you from his hold, continuing the dance as if nothing happened. Perhaps to you, nothing did happen.

Would that explain what had happened?

He spent that whole day with you, following you to vendors with traditional carbon foods and indulging in your proximity as you'd graze hands and bump shoulders on occasion, finally left comfortably alone as the town's people were accustomed to your new appearance by then.

He was more than happy to scoop you up the moment you said you were getting tired and overwhelmed. You insisted that you didn't want the fun to end, but he could tell by the sound of your voice that you at least needed a change of pace.

The sun was setting when he leapt up stray puffs of clouds to the field above the plaza. He pranced in circles, leaping gaps to the dying beats of music, and teasing about dropping you through them when you didn't believe he could cross. Your rivers of laughter only fueled his audacity, as he never wanted to hear them end. Inevitably, his foot barely slipped off the edge of one of his more daring jumps, causing the two of you to fall forward and collide with the cloud beneath you.

Despite the grunt the two of you made at the impact, you were quick to laugh at Sun’s failure, teasing him about his cockiness biting him in the behind.

But Sun couldn't ignore the press of his body on top of yours, the echoing melody of your voice ensnaring his throat, refusing to allow him to even draw breath, let alone words. His mind fogged over, the only reprieve to his pinning troubles all pointed towards you, and he desperately needed that relief.

Your lips were more delicious than he could have ever dreamed of, your endearing expression was wide eyed and glowing.

Glowing so much that he actually had to close his eyes for a moment to recuperate, despite how much he wanted to savor your appearance.

And then with a fluttering blink, he's back in the present, kneeling down in the same position over some sad facimally of you. The cloud he molded this morning was mangled already from his delusions, but due to his fall it had melded into the cloud below it, its pink color feeling more taunting than sweet.

Sun looked down at his hand to find a tiny piece of said cloud still in it, a tear welling up in his eye.

It was too fitting.

In that original moment, it was as if you dissolved right in his arms after that kiss, but he refuses to believe anything bad happened. He searched your home, your favorite places, and even contacted your friends and family. No one knew where you were.

Some believed you to be dead after he finally admitted what happened between the two of you.

He vehemently denied that possibility, despite the plausibility. You were barely older than he was, still spry with centuries of life ahead of you. You couldn't just die from a kiss…

The only spark of hope he was given was when he questioned one of the elder Neutron stars, one of whom recalled personally knowing a singular supernova; one who had been taken suddenly to a world beyond the sky to contain their unstable make up. They had returned only once to explain their departure, before saying goodbye for their next one shortly after.

Sun brought the small puff of cloud to his lips – it should have been your hand.

He couldn't repress the tear that escaped him.

It's been a year since your disappearance. He still hasn't given up on his star-crossed lover, if he may even call you that. Your sudden departure left him wanting, stagnant, unsure of so many things.

If you reciprocated, wouldn't you have come back to him by now..?

Overtime, many have caught onto his depressed demeanor and advised him that it's best to learn to let go.

Preaching that waiting is fruitless.

Denouncing the Neutron’s tall tale of some magical plain snatching you away.

Scolding Sun for ruining his life over some runaway star.

However, he cannot help it; you own all the hope he has left. As he is unfortunately, completely, woefully in love with you.

Close Ups!

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.) Thanks to my new author discord community for voting on this one! 🩵

In which Tyrus walks in on Astarion's 'alone time.'

~

Even though they’d cleared the tunnel under the river, secured the fishing hut and passage to sneak into the House of Healing, and had a half-reliable map of the Gauntlet of Shar, the war council had delayed an infiltration for almost a tenday merely arguing over who would go.

With the colder weather creeping in and battles stagnating into standoffs, Tyrus supposed they foolishly thought they had time.

Morfred wanted a larger group to ensure they had enough support. Jaheira said no more than three highly-skilled individuals, to give them better chances at stealth. Ganyl simply wanted to go, even though his entire enclave was against risking their leader, and it took two meetings just to talk him down. Halfred didn’t think the quiet assassination plan of Ketheric Thorm was a good idea in the first place. They all worried that Ketheric’s brother, Malus Thorm, could be too tight-lipped or ignorant of the Gauntlet’s secret entrance to be worth the risk of fighting first.

Astarion had given up on attendance for the last two meetings. But as designated ‘Leader of the Vampires,’ however underqualified Tyrus felt he was for such a role, he felt obligated to attend. Just so he’d have updates to give Astarion and the spawn army below, really. He and Astarion had come up with the idea of a quiet assassination to avoid further bloodshed, so they were already guaranteed a spot in the party if and when it was approved. Halsin was a tentative third in Ganyl’s place, though Jaheira wanted it to be herself who struck Ketheric’s killing blow.

Now Tyrus felt close to giving up himself. He left the meeting before its scheduled end when Jaheira and Halfred started a shouting match about the risks of trying Ketheric's son at the Waning Moon Tavern instead, and Messaged Ganyl to send word if a decision had finally been made. Then he crossed the road past the armory, over the short bridge and around the small, cheery fountain in front of their temporary abode of late, the Last Light Inn.

Tyrus let out a plaintive sigh of relief the moment he was through the doors and could shrug off the sapping weight of the Cloak of Dragomir, avoiding the occasional beam of sunlight until he reached the stairs and could head down to the basement floor. Most of the rooms were used for storage—but at the end, built around the low docks the inn now used to receive war supplies from the east, were a couple of suites that looked directly out over the Chionthar.

He hadn’t expected to find Astarion in their suite, really. His partner liked to socialize a lot more than Tyrus ever did. In their short time here, he’d already been chatting with some soldiers at the inn’s bar, meeting more often with Halsin, and playing enough lanceboard he now could beat Tyrus if he focused hard enough. Astarion was used to crowds, to strangers, while Tyrus still found himself seeking the safety of four walls and a single locked door.

As he reached the door, however, Tyrus thought that safety must have been an illusion as his ears picked up Astarion’s voice, loud and seemingly in distress.

“Ah!—ah, gods—Tyrus!”

Tyrus wrenched the door open in a panic, hurrying inside—

—and was confronted with the sight of Astarion in a bath, pale face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, steamy water sloshing around the fast pace of his wrist under the water as he tugged at his pink, erect cock.

Tyrus stared. Even as Astarion’s eyes wrenched open bleary and wide, his hand freezing in the water, Tyrus couldn’t stop looking. He’d seen Astarion’s cock before so many times—but in his defense, it’d been months. Only feeling the shape of it in Astarion’s trousers when their kissing progressed further, only seeing Astarion’s bare body offhandedly as they dressed. Now Tyrus could also admire how much more lively Astarion’s skin looked despite still being pale, how his half-submerged, muscled middle had softened into looking less malnourished and dehydrated thanks to a healthy diet.

After another second, Astarion relaxed a bit. He waved toward Tyrus with the hand that had a moment before held a death-grip on the wooden tub’s edge, smirking as he huffed, “Could you close that, love?”

Tyrus’s momentary shock at the man’s beauty faded, then, in time for his rational brain to kick in. “I can come back later—?” he started to offer.

“No—no, I . . .” Astarion interjected, only to hesitate. His eyes trailed away for a moment, uncertainty lining his face. 

Tyrus retreated back to the door. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he spoke in earnest, and smiled at Astarion when the other vampire tentatively met his gaze again. “Truly—I’d much rather you enjoy yourself, like you’ve been wanting to.”

“Not quite like how I’ve wanted to,” Astarion scoffed, though a moment later the lines on his face faded. “No, stay here, darling. If you’d like to. I’m only imagining you here anyhow.”

“That’s quite different,” Tyrus pointed out, though he went ahead and shut the door, locking it for good measure before turning back to Astarion.

“Is it? I was just thinking of you interrupting me like this,” Astarion smirked, gesturing at himself. The hand in the water wandered back between his legs and began to lightly stroke as he sighed, “Though in my head I skipped the part where a whole conversation would be necessary for you to join. Bring a stool?” he nodded at the floor just next to the tub.

Tyrus didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed a small cushioned one in front of the sheet-covered mirror and placed it so he could sit just next to the tub’s head. His stomach swooped at being this close to Astarion—at watching him stroke himself again, bare and exposed save for the flimsy distortion of the sudsy water.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to help, or at least kiss Astarion. But he wouldn’t dare do a thing without checking, given how impossible it’d been for Astarion to be sexually intimate since Cazador’s death.

And Astarion was such a pretty sight just to watch, with his eyes shutting again and dark lashes on display, pink lips slightly parted. Meanwhile, his small breaths and huffs of pleasure as he built back into a rhythm sounded sweeter to Tyrus’s ears than any melody. Even the smell of him was delightful. That smoky, musky perfume he always had a slight hint of at the palace was now much more refined and strong thanks to their shopping in the city. It was already a feast for the senses, if not all of them.

But when Astarion’s other hand extended just a bit past the tub, palm up, Tyrus was quick to take it and enjoy a sense of touch as well. Astarion hummed and pulled their clasped hands down into the water, flattening Tyrus’s palm to rub against his inner thigh. Tyrus gratefully mimicked the movement, and next let Astarion’s hand overtop his guide him to gently handle Astarion’s ball sack, eventually taking over to stroke his erection in tight, quick motions Tyrus still remembered the rhythm of well. 

Astarion’s hand stayed cupped around his throughout it all, continually guiding and keeping control even as he sighed, “Tyrus . . . uh, I’ve missed these hands . . .”

“Would you like it if I did anything else?” Tyrus murmured, after another minute of nothing but stroking and listening to Astarion’s heavy breathing.

Astarion’s eyes shot open, head lifting to regard Tyrus with a furrowed brow. His hand slowed Tyrus’s to a stop. “Such as?”

Tyrus bit back the assertion of Anything, anything at all. Giving actual ideas would probably be more helpful, if Astarion didn’t have his own. “Kiss you. Your lips, your neck,” Tyrus started with. “Or . . . here,” smiling as his thumb idly swiped over the head of Astarion’s cock and his partner visibly shuddered in response. Letting his voice go a bit lower, as he pointed out, “I don’t need to breathe, after all.”

“Fuck,” Astarion swore, then gave a short, barking laugh. “This is what four months of celibacy has done to my sweet, virtuous partner? I didn’t think you even liked that sort of activity, darling.”

“I haven’t ever tried it, technically. At least not of my own accord, so,” Tyrus shrugged. 

The air went somber ever-so-slightly at his words. 

"Shall I?" Tyrus asked in hopes of dispelling it.

“Not this time, my love,” Astarion sighed, starting to move Tyrus’s hand again around him. “But . . . yes—kiss me, please. I think I just need a little bit more of something—”

Tyrus wasted no further time. They’d kissed goodbye only hours ago when he left for the council meeting, but it’d been more than a tenday since Astarion had kissed him like this. One of their first nights in this inn, in fact, before he’d grabbed one of Tyrus’s wandering hands by the wrist and ended things rather abruptly. But whatever else Tyrus did or did not feel in the mood for otherwise, he never got tired of kisses—Astarion’s free hand cupping his jaw close, lips so passionately pressing and sliding against Tyrus’s, tongue darting out to taste and in return welcoming him in.

His instinct was to bury his free hand in Astarion’s curls, but Tyrus gripped the tub’s edge instead. He didn’t want to risk the wrong touch ending this lovely, easy moment. Not when Astarion was so clearly enjoying his other hand’s touch at the moment, hips bucking up and splashing the water a bit more.

Sometime later, a small moan escaped Tyrus when Astarion slid his hand back to tightly cup the nape of his neck, angling Tyrus’s head for an even deeper, all-consuming kiss. Astarion’s hand tightened a bit further around Tyrus’s in the water, so he sped up his movements even more—and groaned with Astarion as the other elf wrenched free of their kiss and threw his head back, shouting “Tyrus!” shakily, his cock pulsing in Tyrus's grip, his spend streaking in the water as the press of his bent legs made the wooden tub slightly creak in protest.

Tyrus kissed down Astarion’s neck and bobbing adam’s apple, slowing his strokes with the guidance of Astarion’s hand as Astarion breathed harshly through the aftershocks. When at last Astarion released his grip on Tyrus in the water, head resting against the tub again, Tyrus went back to gently stroking his smooth inner thigh. He rested his forehead against the other man’s clavicle, listening to them both breathe for a moment before whispering, “Alright?”

Astarion huffed—and then he began laughing. A soft, lighthearted, warm sound Tyrus couldn’t help but smile at, and hoped never to forget as Astarion’s chest lightly shook underneath him. Then Astarion’s wet arm emerged from the water and wrapped around Tyrus, pulling him in just a bit closer despite the awkwardness of the tub between them.

“Oh, besides a sore wrist of late,” he chortled, laying his cheek against Tyrus’s head when his giggling finally stopped. “I did start to find some enjoyment, even managed an orgasm the last two times, though. And this? Hmm . . . this is nice.”

Tyrus smiled wider against his chest. Of course, after another minute his back twinged and he regretfully had to pull from Astarion’s embrace—but was grateful his partner quickly dried off and joined him on the bed, despite the fact only Tyrus still needed a trance.

Once they'd both changed and his lover was spooning him snugly from behind, Tyrus thought to ask, “Have there been other things you like to imagine? Any specifics that I should take into account?”

The entire line of Astarion’s body froze up behind him. “I . . . I wouldn’t say there’s much I’m sure about acting on, darling,” he said in a slow, careful voice. “It’s been hard enough just to imagine sex without the thought of a customer, or him, intruding. Once that’s less an issue, I—I should be back to normal.”

“Normal,” Tyrus huffed, shaking his head and hugging Astarion’s arm a little closer to his chest. Being around relatively ‘normal’ people of late had taught Tyrus just how far off he and anyone else from the spawn colony were likely ever to be from such an ideal. “But hand jobs with you guiding me, would you say that goes on the safe list?” he stipulated.

Astarion was quiet for a moment. Then he kissed the tip of Tyrus’s ear, repeating, “The safe list, what a sad state of affairs—but yes, I’d call that a success. We’ll have to see about your mouth. And perhaps, if you’re up for it, I think I'd enjoy some unconventional stimulation, just skin-to-skin.” A beat of silence, then Astarion’s voice came out so soft and uncertain, almost afraid, as he admitted, “I . . . I’d still like a break from anything so performative as full intercourse, if that’s alright . . . and, if you can forgive it, I may still just need time, before I can offer attentive service to you, love . . .”

Tyrus twisted under Astarion’s arm so he could face him—but only to wrap his arms tightly around him, tucking his chin into the crook of Astarion’s neck. Declaring, gently but firmly, “There’s nothing to forgive, and no service to worry about. You have always been so giving, love." Even more softly, he coaxed, "Now, let’s take care of you for a while?”

Tyrus felt his partner’s body shudder in his arms. Then, increment by increment, Astarion melted into the embrace.

“Gods, I do love you,” he whispered in answer.

[rabotimagines]

I'd Say Dragstrip! From RiD2015 because that's the version i'm most familiar with.

Bot seems very confident and always has something to say, but someone should shut him up once in a while with a good time

Funny cause I know next to nothing about RID Dragstrip, I do know G1 Dragstrip tho! And glancing at RID Dragstrip he seems a bit more of a slagger than his G1 counterpart.

BUT I do know with how Dragstrip is competitive to his core and I fully believe would be one of the mechs to try for competitive interfacing and love it. Whether it's trying to satisfy you more than him or even fighting for who tops. I could easily see being stuck in a 69 Competitive blow job with Dragstrip. Whoever overloads first looses-! Winner gets to use the others mouth like a glory hole! Dragstrip would be so so bitter about overloading first. But you can just shove your spike down his intake and frag those thoughts right out of him.

[mae-lou-ron]

[fbfh]

please please please, i can NEVER find any good Magnus Chase smut, you’re the only ones who’s really even dabbled in it and it was amazing so please feed me in the world with little to no good Magnus chase smut 😭

as with ALL nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+

OOOOOH BITCH YES. again I don't do a ton of Magnus cause I don't wanna mischaracterize him but yall are so sweet with your feedback so lemme throw this out there for your consideration. (also all feedback on characterization is welcome jus pls be specific lol)

Magnus fucks you like it feeds him. He fucks you like he's relieved and hungry and even though his fat cock is stuffed inside you hitting every spot that makes your head spin, it's like you're the one that fills him up. Magnus really wants to be the type of guy who holds onto you, who caresses your face and touches you all cute and soft and lovey dovey but GOD he devolves so quickly. He's gripping the sheets, he's shaking and grunting and panting, he's swearing up a storm that would make a sailor blush because you feel so goddamn good, you're so safe and soft and familiar. You feel like home. And tragically for your ability to walk the next day, he is fucking INSATIABLE. he's gonna be using his mouth and hands all over you until you practically have rug burn from his stubble tickling your thighs. hand cramps??? who's that???? this bitch will practically rewire his brain to stop sending cramp signals if it means he gets to touch you a little longer. once he's finally finally finally done (which again will take quite a WHILE) he flops on top of you completely spent. he lets out the biggest, rumbliest sigh and falls asleep on top of you like a bear in hibernation. Magnus is your personal weighted blanket, and will make you forget that sex toys even exist. Magnus fucks you so good, so much that you will literally forget how to get yourself off without him. it's a real problem when he's away killing monsters and saving the world and running from the cops, but he just finds it so fucking adorable. he sends kisses and promises to make it up to you as soon as he's back.

[brotherwtf]

So I read @stereobone wartime drag au (losing my mind, by the way) and it got me thinking about a modern mota au where Gale is a drag queen at the club where John is a go-go dancer

A little drabble below the cut

John really needed a job. At this point, he was willing to do anything for some money, but he never suspected that Curt would come to him with a go-go dancing position at a nearby club. John was hesitant at first; he didn't know much about the club scene or dancing in general. Curt reassured him, though, that the dancers and the "girls" would help him feel more comfortable and make him feel at home.

John's first couple of days dancing were not... uncomfortable, but were enjoyable and fun at the end of the night. The tips, and the drinks, were flowing and John would feel emboldened more and more at the end of each night. The other go-go dancers, Douglass, Hambone, and Demarco, quickly accepted John as a dancer and started cracking jokes with him. Everyone, including Curt, kept mentioning "the girls" when talking to John about advice, but every time he just laughs along like he understands. There were no female go-go dancers at this club, at least that John knew about, so he just pretended to know what was going on when the other dancers mentioned them.

One night, the club was buzzing more than usual, and the dancers were kicked out of the large dressing room they usually occupied. John started to fuss, complaining that his pre-show ritual was ruined (AKA drinking four shots and flirting with anyone with a pulse) and that he wouldn't get as many tips as usual. Douglass overhears his whining and laughs out loud.

"Don't expect that many tips tonight. It's all going towards the girls,"

John finally snaps, frustrated that he still doesn't understand these mysterious "girls" everyone was talking about.

"Who are 'the girls'! Jesus, all I hear about is how amazing they are and I don't fucking know who they are!"

The dancers in the dressing room look at John almost incredulously. Hambone is the first to break and burst out laughing.

"Come on, Bucky. It ain't that serious. There's a big drag show every Saturday, and we call them 'the girls'. You'll meet them tonight,"

John shifts in his chair and shrugs his shoulders dejectedly. He's ashamed he didn't suspect that drag queens would frequent a gay club; he's seen some patrons in drag before. He just never suspected that the spotlight would be off of him.

----

John danced like he normally did that night, not wanting to let "the girls" distract him. He didn't really know what to expect when it came to the drag show; he had never been a part of the club scene before he was thrown into it as a dancer. After the first number of flipping and splitting to high energy songs, John found he was able to tune it out easily enough. After the fourth girl threw herself off the stage into the crowd, John rolled his eyes and kept up with his routine.

During the break after a particularly violent lip sync, John is too busy grabbing the tips by his feet that he barely notices the lights dimming on the stage. He notices when he stands up to start his routine again that the music has slowed to something sultry and sensual. It grabs his attention and he turns towards the stage. The other dancers in the club have stopped dancing, and John notices that they're all turned to the stage, also entranced by the sudden change in energy.

The red curtains are closed and a long, pale, leg shoots between the fold and a slender, nailed hand delicately traces the length of it. The music crescendos and the curtain is thrown open by a queen that John is almost immediately entranced by. They have long, slender legs, that they peek out from behind a silk white robe. Their makeup is demure, but John can still call it sexy, with bright blue eyes that pierce through the crowd. It didn't look like they were wearing a wig; their soft blonde curls gently falling over their forehead.

John cannot take his eyes off of the performer and ignores the shiny grin that Hambone throws him from his dancing podium.

The music is sexy and makes something stir deep in John's stomach. The queen's piercing eyes roam the crowd and land on John, winking and keeping their gaze trained on John's face. The music slows and they throw the silk robe they're wearing towards John and it lands at his feet. He takes it in his hands and the queen keeps their eyes trained on him as they walk down the stage stairs towards John. The robe reveals a stoned bodice that show off the queen's legs and arms. They're obviously feminine, but have the strength and masculinity that intrigues John.

The queen stops in front of John's dancing podium, extending a slender hand towards him in an invitation to pull them up. John obliges, bringing the slender queen up to the narrow podium and pulling them against his chest. The queen gracefully pulls a bill from John's back pocket and places it between his teeth. They take John's hands and place it on the back of their bodice.

"Why don't you take it off of me, honey?" They ask, voice uncharacteristically low and husky.

John almost gasps, taking the dainty zipper in his hands and pulling it downward. The bodice falls to the floor, and reveals a thin, slender body with a white panty hugging their slim waist. The queen leans in towards John's face and he holds his breath, thinking that they're going to kiss him. They demurely grab the bill in between John's teeth with their own front teeth, taking it into their mouth. A similar feeling stirs in his stomach as the music finally slows to stop and the queen turns to the audience and poses against John like he's part of the scenery.

The audience cheers raucously as the host comes back on the stage and announces the next performer. The queen looks back at them almost nervously, which makes John's stomach turn. After the whole performance, it appears the queen only has the sultry behavior while the music is playing.

John bends down and hands the white robe back to them.

"What's your name, doll?" John asks, purposely grazing his hand against the queen's.

They flush, uncharacteristically, and throw the robe over their shoulders.

"Gale," They say simply.

John chuckles, helping Gale down from the podium.

"Well, Gale, that isn't quite the name for someone as beautiful as you, is it?" He says.

Gale glares at him playfully and still hasn't let go of John's hand.

"Well why don't we go back to my dressing room and talk about names there, huh?" Gale says, the familiar flirtatious tone back in his voice.

He turns and looks over his shoulder, gesturing his head towards a door that exits the club, and John follows him like an infatuated puppy.

[sexynetra]

Ohhh can I have 8. please with Arrilana 😊😊

Wow what a great opening to tell you all that I’ve been working on an Arrilana secret dating au 😉 anyways this little Drabble is from that same universe :)

read on ao3!

8. In secrecy

~~~~~~

“Suzie invited us out for drinks tonight, you in?”

Lana raised a brow, looking up from her laptop. “Neither of us are 21 yet, in case you forgot.”

“That’s literally never stopped us before.” Jewels bounced over, draping herself over the side of Lana’s bed and looking up at her with wide hopeful eyes. “Please? This is the first time Suzie asked me out for drinks — I need you there to be my wingwoman.”

Lana pursed her lips, closing her laptop and turning her attention fully towards her roommate. “Why don’t you ask Kori or Lydia?”

“Because there’s no way in hell a bouncer will buy that Lydia is 21, and Kori will spill the beans about my crush as soon as she gets half a drink in her. Plus you’re my best friend,” Jewels whined, lips set in an adorable pout.

“I’d love to—“ she started to say and Jewels perked up instantly. “But I can’t.”

She felt a bit like a monster as she watched Jewels’ face fall. “It’s Arri’s birthday, I promised I’d spend the night with her,” she jumped into an explanation quickly.

Jewels bit her lip, brow furrowing. “Well, she and Suzie get along fine, right? Why don’t we just invite her?”

“Invite who?” Came a smooth voice from the doorway.

Lana’s heart fluttered as she caught sight of her girlfriend, leaning against the doorframe, smiling at Lana as if there was nobody else in the world. If Jewels wasn’t there, Lana would already have Arrietty in her arms, those perfect lips captured in her own. But Jewels was there, so she just smiled back.

Jewels popped up immediately, a glint in her eyes. “Arrietty, you like Suzie, right?”

Arrietty tilted her head to the side, a few strands of dark hair falling out of her loose braid. “She’s fine. We don’t talk all that much.”

“Okay, great. perfect,” Jewels barreled forward, entirely ignoring Arrietty’s response. “She invited us out for drinks tonight. You should come! I’ll buy you a birthday drink. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Lana and I have dinner plans,” she said smoothly, walking over to the bed. Lana’s heart raced and her hand twitched with the urge to touch, to pull her girlfriend onto the shitty twin mattress and kiss every inch of tanned skin she could reach.

Jewels, however, didn’t seem to notice anything. “After, then?”

Lana had to hand it to her, she was nothing if not persistent. She looked at her girlfriend, raising her brows in a silent question.

“My roommate isn’t home tonight,” Arri murmured, so soft that Lana wondered for a second if she had imagined it.

Shifting imperceptibly closer, Lana let her hand ‘accidentally’ brush against Arrietty’s. “Sorry, Jewels. I’ll make it up to you next time,” Lana breathed, letting herself drown in the depths of Arrietty’s heated gaze.

Jewels said something in response — Lana was pretty sure she did at least — but she didn’t hear a word of it. Not when Arrietty was staring at her like that, making her entire body prickle with anticipation.

Suddenly, there were soft lips against hers, a familiar tongue gently teasing her lips apart. Lana’s eyes fluttered shut, hand coming up to cup her cheek as she kissed back — until a sudden bolt of fear shot down her spine.

Scrambling away as quickly as she could, her head whipped around wildly to find Jewels, already trying to come up with some sort of excuse, some lie to save face.

“Wow. Even on my birthday, I don’t get to kiss my girlfriend? I’m wounded.” Arrietty sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around Lana’s waist to pull her onto her lap.

Lana tried to calm her racing heart. “What about Jewels? What if she saw us—“ she swallowed thickly.

Rolling her eyes, Arrietty tilted her head up to peck Lana’s lips once more. “She left, baby. She’s off to try and convince Sam to go to the bar with her. It’s just us now.”

Looking over to the door and then back to Arrietty, she let herself be shifted onto her lap properly, arms snaking around her neck. “She could come back any minute…”

It was a half-assed protest and Arrietty knew it, leaning in to place a warm kiss on the tender flesh where Lana’s throat met her jaw. “That still gives us a minute or two to do whatever we please,” she breathed out against the soft skin, an electric current running through her body at the sensation. If she wasn’t careful, she could lose herself in this, let herself spend the rest of the night getting taken apart by Arrietty’s devilish mouth, Jewels be damned.

Moving carefully, she tucked two fingers underneath Arrietty’s chin, tilting her head up. Staring down into her dark twinkling eyes, the love she was suddenly hit with felt overwhelming – a semi-truck ramming into her at full speed. It was moments like this where she thought maybe she could let the world know about them; she wanted to be able to shout from the rooftops that Arrietty was hers and nobody else's.

Leaning in, she connected their lips gently, warmth blooming like a flower in her chest as they kissed, bodies melting together to become one.

The familiar click of the door being unlocked filled Lana’s ears like a gunshot. Shoving Arrietty away, Lana scrambled for purchase, praying she didn’t look too disheveled.

Someday. Someday she would tell Jewels; she would tell everyone.

Just not today.

[rarepairjokers]

okay after that absolutely adorable video of them hugging i need to ask: can we get some fluffy nacejure? 👉👈 i was thinking about maybe jure surprising nace by cooking some nice, gluten-free for him, but anything is fine tbh 🥰

i just love them so so much but they're super underrated so there's barely any fics with them :(

That video was absolutely one of the cutest instances of Nace/Jure ever! Which is also why I couldn’t control myself so here’s a triple drabble🤭

(sfw text)

Waking up alone wasn’t strange for Nace these days. Jure was a hands-on guy, often working on the camp to better the things he’d built and make the stay more comfortable for his chosen guest. Which was awfully sweet of him.

Nace wasn’t used to the camping life so Jure had vowed to make his boyfriend appreciate all its ‘wonders’.

They’d hiked through mountains, held hands as they’d crossed lakes and rocky trails. Had slept under the stars and roasted meat on an open fire.

And frankly, Nace still wasn’t used to it. He was a modern guy, needing modern accommodations.

Jure tried his best, he really did. He’d built fires, he’d set up camp, he’d even made Nace an outdoor shower. All Nace had to do was bring back fish for Jure to cook, and - when he felt generous - let Jure enjoy the view as he showered.

Maybe camping wasn’t for him.

There was a rustle outside, making him alert. Clanging of kitchen utensils. Opening the camper van’s door, he immediately spotted Jure holding a pan with one hand and a bowl with the other.

“Hi! Slept well? I suddenly remembered I packed this gluten-free pancake mix. Want some?”

Nace laughed and nodded, walking up to Jure and placing both arms around his waist. He rested his chin on Jure’s shoulder and watched him cook in silence, offering kisses here and there for support after Jure bemoaned not getting a good morning kiss earlier.

They ate to the sounds of water trickling nearby and birds chirping their early morning songs.

Maybe Nace could learn to get used to this kind of camping after all.

“So next year you’ll join our motorcycle vacation?” Jure asked hopefully after finishing his share. “You can ride on the backseat of mine.”

“Absolutely not!”

[hereissomething]

got to the part in ffx where u fight yunalesca and see everything auron braska and jecht went thru. damn, i think i know where my love of doomed yaoi blossomed from. it was this damn game from 22 yrs ago

[rush-the-stars]

cielo i’m feeling SICK over megumi tonight…,like ohhhh my GOD

reactive dog megumi will always make me feel insane……..i think i had a wip of him getting into a fight and beating the shit out of someone for basically looking at you and he picked his head up, mouth all bloody from the fight and looked at you with this wild look in his eyes…,.

there is something about a man who is like….seemingly quiet and standoffish….suddenly snap. and snap so suddenly and so hard. he just reminds me of those rescue dogs that give almost 0 warning before suddenly lashing out—really special and hard cases you know. poor boy.

he has like..,.maybe 2 tells that you come to learn…,and if you don’t catch them and remove him fast..,..there will be blood