#just a little stream of consciousness drabble

[silverslipstream]

video games

I love it when people are rigidly fixated on and are primarily known for playing one type of game, and when they try other games from other genres it blows their mind. I was the guy who played pretty much nothing but racing games, Kerbal Space Program and a little bit of Minecraft (because everyone loves a bit of Minecraft) until I played Halo 3 and that shit was awesome. It made my friend so happy as well, because he was a huge Halo nerd and now he could infodump all about his favourite games to me.

I've been playing SOMA with a friend recently, going in totally blind, and it has genuinely been one of the most rewarding gaming experiences I've ever had. Being unused to most first-person horror/puzzle games, there are often times where I don't know what the hell I'm doing and I have to use pattern recognition and intuition to find out what I'm meant to do. It also means I can relate a lot more to the character of Simon - unlike a seasoned player, I'm just as confused as the character I'm meant to be playing as, and this combination has genuinely elicited so much awe and wonder from me.

I think my next foray into the non-racing genre will be Cyberpunk 2077 - I'm a big fan of sci-fi, cyberpunk dystopia and futuristic narratives. My only hang-up is that I fucking suck donkey balls at first-person shooters, so if the combat segments are mainly FPS oriented, I might nope out.

Anyway, I'm gonna stop yapping about the epiphany I had about video games and go back to thinking about astronauts having a swordfight on the Moon, because why wouldn't I be thinking about astronauts swordfighting on the moon?

[calamitysshatteredson]

‘  i am terrified for you  ’

Between You and These Bones prompts | accepting but slow forever

"I don't know why you would be." He was a terrible liar to anyone but himself, always had been. One reason he'd elected not to do it, not to risk making a habit of it.

There hadn't been need to worry about being an effective liar, in any case. He didn't particularly bother trying for being particularly convincing. "I'm quite sure there's no reason to worry."

Lies so terribly told they made him itch, a little. He'd tried for a perfectly casual, innocent inflection at first, but steadily his voice became toneless. "I appreciate it, I do. You trying to look out for me. Look after me. But it's unnecessary. I'm fine, can't you tell?"

What he could not possibly know about was the shift in his eyes. Like a slowly dimming light. Something, something, steadily going out. "I assure you. I... assure you..."

He'd stopped blinking. "You really should be worried about yourself."

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[chericos]

Hooked -> k. choso

nsfw drabble

cws; no plot, inexperienced!choso, dom!reader, implied fem!reader, reader has vamp teeth, biting, blood, unprotected sex, breeding(oops), overstimulation, multiple rounds, yeehaw!(cowgirl), slight teasing, praising, light aftercare, use of pet names(; baby, sweetheart, pretty, good boy, etc), very cute and sweet ! undercase as needed (sometimes its just ugly ok,)

1.6k; unedited

Freak ‘by Doja Cat

“Just— just go slow ok?”

God. You still don’t know how you did it. How you got your—insanely hot—neighbor withering underneath you.

His body spread across the expanse of your queen-size bed. Head thrown back as he lets out whines while you litter his body in featherlight kisses. Choso’s body jolts as you place your glossy lips on his thigh, a sticky pink stain smeared on his pale porcelain skin.

He twitches.

“are you excited, pretty?” He tilts his head up at the sound of your voice. You glance up at him, staring directly into his rich aubergine colored eyes. His glossed over eyes and pinched brows made you smile.

He’s so cute when he’s needy.

“p-please, I—” he cuts himself off with a gasp as you give a tentative lick to his tip, lips curving up into a smile as you feel him tense beneath you. With a light blow, you move back, your hand taking its place to slowly stroke the length of his shaft as you shift to hover directly above him.

“please what hmm..?” you lean down to press a kiss against his eye, then nose, then cheek, all the way down from his jaw to attacking his collarbone. Flourishing his pale skin in bruises of reds and blues.

He was such a gorgeous canvas.

“I— fuck!” A string of whines leave his lips as your teeth sink into his flesh, his hand flying to his mouth at the sound. you pull back, gaze focused on the bite mark you left. You watched as small drops of blood started to leak. Your tongue carefully glazes across the expanse of his shoulder. His cock twitches in your grasp, beads of pre-cum drip down to sparingly cover your lithe fingers.

Tears welled in the corners of his tightly shut eyes, the salty liquid streamed down his cheeks. You can still hear the sounds of his pathetic whimpering. “Aww… I’m just teasin’ cho,” you coo at him, using your free hand to pull down his hand from covering his pretty moans.

You lean forward to kiss him again—much harder than before. Desperation makes kissing feel so pleasurable, so good. You feel so damn good. His mind is a blank slate, your tongue dissolving his brain to mush. Rebuilding and rewiring his consciousness to crave you and your affection until the end of time.

You pump him twice as you sit up completely to get better access. The absence of your body makes him needy again, his hands reaching out to find purchase in some part of your body. Pre-cum dribbles pathetically from the tip as you guide his cock to your pussy, you lean back and slam your weight down onto him with full force. He slides with little resistance. His hands grip harshly on your hips as he bottoms out. A high-pitched mewl escaping him as he cums at the impact, your walls sucking him in with a vice-like grip as he shoots a load into you. His cock still hard as he fills you

“ah!—m’sorry… sorry, did-didn’t mean to…” Choso babbles. He’s sobbing at the pleasure, fat tears rolling down the sides of his face and leaving a damp spot on your satin covered pillows.

“s’ok baby, you’re doing so good for me”, your smile is hypnotizing as he locks his eyes with you. Your eyes glossed over in a lust filled haze, thumb stroking his cheek to collect the stray tears.

After a few minutes you give a slight roll of your hips to ease him in more. Feeling him twitch so deeply in you causes a moan to be ripped from your throat. You start your pace off slow and rhythmic. barely easing off of him before thrusting your hips back down. It’s leisurely, calm and steady. An appetizer compared to what’s to come.

The pace picks up, erratic bounces with the focus nothing more than to make you both feel good. "fuck, p-please, not too fast- i can't! ngh-” Choso whimpers breathlessly, going dumb from how good you're making him feel. He looks up at you through hooded eyes, head spinning. He mumbles incoherently, begging for you to stop, telling you that he's too tired and that he can't take it anymore even though his cock is still hard and leaking, flooding your insides with his cum almost continuously.

you don't listen to him. instead you ride him faster, rising up until his aching tip is the only thing inside you then slamming your hips back down to fuck yourself on his cock. he lets out a choked sob, keeling forward with every bounce.

"please, please, please—”he doesn't know what he's begging for.

he stretches you out so good. his cock heavy and pulsing inside you, ready to fill you up again despite choso's claims that he can't anymore.

"baby, please i- ah! you're ridin' me too good, m'gonna...gonna cum again.” he whines deliriously, feeling as if he'll pass out at any moment

He’s practically sobbing into your neck, tears streaming over the purple marks he left on your collar bones as he cums deep inside of you.

Your pace doesn’t let up. His back arched into you. Instinctually thrusting up into you, as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Your hands snake their way back to his face, giving a small squeeze to his cheeks before patting on them. A silent plea for him to open his mouth. As soon as he does, you shove two fingers into the back of his throat, pressing down on his tongue, grazing against the lower teeth, and remaining still there, causing saliva to accumulate in the cavity and a small dribble down the corner of his chin. Effectively choking him.

“You’re making such a mess, cho~” you tease unabashedly, like it was nothing but his fault. Choso focuses his eyes back on you. The cat-like smirk on your face at seeing him turn into a mess at the palm of your hand. It’s maddening.

“feelin’ so good that you’re drooling huh?” You know he’s too fucked up to respond, the constant stream of tears and the soft sounds of his light choking enough of a sign. But it’s so fun to toy with him.

"Hummmm, fuck!" Choso murmurs tearfully, calling your name afterward. His voice sounds so low, so choked up that you need to lean in even closer.

———

He's lost count of how many times you’ve made him cum. he’s overwhelmed, sensitive like you wouldn’t believe. He can barely think, his cock throbs and aches as you ride him relentlessly.

He was a complete and utter mess, his hair matted. His face covered in a mixture of sweat and tears, his cheeks permanently stained pink. His mind is filled with nothing more than your name and how good you’re making him feel. It’s addictive.

His thighs were shaking, legs weak as he gasped. His breath was ragged and labored, lungs burning— throat raw from the constant screaming and crying. He was barely able to string together a coherent thought, his words reduced to incoherent whines and moans, his words were slurred and sluggish, tongue heavy in his mouth. "M-mm..mm-more, plea-please, please, pleaseplease.." he managed to choke out, his body convulsing as his balls constricted, he was so close. "need—need to,ahh!—cum, p-please, pleasepleaseplease—“ he begs.

“Such a good boy… you gon’ cum, pretty?” There’s a sadistic lilt in your voice. Choso knows you’re only asking him questions he can’t properly answer.

“Mhm—!”

But he gives in anyway.

“That’s it— gonna fill me up hmm? Go’head pretty, you can do it.” You slam your hips down, taking him all the way down to the base with complete ease. Your body collapses into a shiver. You both cum at exactly the same time, moans and whines resonated the room as you slow down your pace to a complete stop.

You both rest there. Shaking and panting as you try to collect what little you both have left of yourselves.

You pull off of him, his fat tip still leaking. His body shudders at the cold air, already missing the warm feeling of your wet wall surrounding him. Small drops of cum drop out of you.

“You ok baby?” you ask in a soft voice. His eyes are closed but you see him nod his head. His voice was too hoarse to speak. “Ima’ get up and clean you up ok? I’ll be right back sweetheart,”

Choso feels the weight of the bed shift as you get up and walk to your bathroom. He hears the sink run for a while before it shuts off, listening for your footsteps to walk back towards him. “hey cho, I just have a warm cloth, jus’ gonna wipe you off ok?” He mumbles out a small ok before you begin to carefully wipe around his thighs, taking extra care to lightly massage them as you work your way up to his abs.

It’s a soft and intimate moment, no words being shared yet you still felt connected in a way no words could describe. Once you were down wiping him down you got up once again to place the washcloth and bowl of(now cold) water into their respective places. You barely get your legs off the side of the bed before Choso is grabbing at your wrists. A dark look in his eye that makes even you nervous. There’s a pregnant pause before he speaks up:

“can we go again..?”

He had finally gotten a taste of you.

And boy, was he hooked.

[miedei]

coming home

a/n: kind of stream-of-consciousness style little drabble <3

wc: .4k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Arriving home always went one of two ways for you. More often than not, the place would be silent, a blanket of quiet laid over the cozy apartment. You’d come in, flick on all of the lamps in the living room (not the overhead light, you were very adamant about that), make yourself some tea and plop yourself on the sofa with a book. Not a bad routine, all things considered. But the other way, the way you come home today, blows that out of the water.

The moment you toe open the door, it feels like tension has physically slid off your shoulders. The lights are on, you can smell the neroli scented candles burning, and the notes of Andante in C Minor float through the air towards you. It’s clear the heaters have been on, a pleasant warmth seeping through you as you take off your shoes. However, it seems like the cause of all this warmth hasn’t noticed your arrival yet. Creeping through the hallway on socked feet, you hear a soft humming emanating from the kitchen, the smells of tomato soup entangled with it.

The door of the kitchen is ajar, warm light from countless flea market lamps spilling out through the crack. As if unconsciously, a hand reaches in front of you to push the door open further, and it feels like an angel has lifted you off your exhausted feet.

Because, on days like these, you come home to him. A broad-shouldered silhouette is framed with rays of light, and no matter if the posture is hunched, weary, or world-worn, it is Spencer, and it is home.

Your feet advance into the light, coming up behind him, and oh!

He’s heard you, and he’s turned around and his arms are open and this feels so right.

Long fingers are tangled in your hair and the scent of belonging envelops you, a sigh bubbling up out of your lungs.

Words are exchanged, ladles are cradled to your mouth ‘just for a taste’, lips meet, and suddenly it feels like even breathing is euphoric.

[starleska]

I keep reading and rereading all of the things in the lux/ring-a-ding x reader tag and I cannot help but think of my very own scenario/story…

This is unpolished and stream of consciousness so sorry if I do not make sense !!

I, along with a million other things, /love/ media archival and collection, right now all I’ve got is a handful of dvds and a few vhs tapes, but I’d love to go even older and collect some film cans! That is to say, imagine this:

A reader who is like me, they can’t get enough odd physical media and collect things from exercise videos to how to survive y2k guides. But one day they find something they’ve never found before: a 16mm film can in pristine condition! They get to trying to digitize it (another hobby I’d like to take up if I ever get the money to) and lo and behold it’s an old cartoon! As they watch and digitize at the same time they comment aloud about the cartoon and well… it begins to talk back! I just loved the scene where he spoke to the theatre and so a private conversation with similar vibes would be so fun… This idea can exist post episode or it can be a weird little Pocket Dimension au im unsure, but I’d love to write a few little drabbles that explore this dynamic…some day lol.

oh my gosh Mike, i'm so sorry this took so long to get back to!!! my inbox is simply drowning in Mr. Ring-A-Ding asks and has been for two solid weeks 🙈💖 my apologies!!! i hope you're doing well :3c but i am absolutely blown away by this x Reader premise, it's marvellous!! can you imagine how delighted Lux would be to know someone who not only has a vested interest in film, but also on the medium which projects light? oh, he'd be head-over-heels in moments 😍💖 i would love to read any drabbles you wrote of this concept if you feel up for it!! 👀 without giving too much away, i'm working with a similar premise in an x Reader wip right now...looks like we all want to write Readers who have a serious interest in Mr. Ring-A-Ding somehow, which is adorable ���💖

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Chatterbox (M, cold, 'drabble')

A little prompt-based fluff for you guys :) Reed and Greyson go out to dinner, but Reed realizes something is up when Greyson won't shut tf up lol. I'm loving writing this relationship, I can't lie, so sorry if it's too much Reed and Greyson lately - I'll get back to my other guys soon!

1.6K words (just a tiny lil blip of a story haha) CW: Male snz, coughing, fever, contagion mention. Hope you like it :)

Chatterbox

Reed looked down at his phone as he waited on Greyson, rereading the stream-of-consciousness texts his boyfriend had sent throughout the day.

Greyson

1:42PM

sooo pumped for tonight bb :)

1:56PM

should I wear a suit…? I know it’s a new spot but the website definitely reads ‘fine dining’, like fine-er than most of my clothes know how to be...

2:24PM

I think I’ll do dark jeans & a black button up. johnny cash style. cant go wrong w that. hahah.

3:17PM

I know ur working still but im just really excited to see you:):)

It was cute – borderline adorable – how nervous Greyson seemed for their dates, even after almost a year of the two of them being together. Reed had, of course, answered Greyson’s plethora texts throughout the day, but had tried to keep himself subdued so he wouldn’t give away his hand; tonight, he was going to ask Greyson to move in with him.

He knew it was a bit of a long time coming, but Reed was really trying to keep from scaring Greyson off by doing anything too quickly. His boyfriend certainly had a bit of past-relationship trauma that Reed tried valiantly to navigate; it was hard to figure out what the right time to do anything was. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure there was ever going to be a right time to push their relationship to the next level. But things had been good lately; like, really good. Tonight felt… right.

Greyson’s presence was palpable before Reed even saw him blow through the door. He looked up from his phone and clocked his boyfriend, standing out side the restaurant with his elbow locked over his face; Reed cocked his head a bit, confused. Was he… coughing?

The chef, clad in the Johnny-Cash-getup he’d promised, shook himself out before pushing the door to the restaurant open. He pawed at his nose with the back of his hand while asking the hostess to point Reed out – she gestured towards their table, and Greyson smiled when the two of them locked eyes. Reed waved, smiling back. Something was certainly… off.

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” Greyson said, kissing the top of Reed’s head before sitting across from him. “The fuckin’ train was running late again.”

“I’ve told you a million times I’ll come pick you up for dates,” Reed said, squeezing Greyson’s hand across the table. “You don’t always have to take the train.”

Greyson shrugged, smiled a little loopily. “I like the train,” he said, picking up his menu and squinting at the small font. “Lots of time to think. I’ve come up with my best dishes on the subway, I’m pretty sure; you remember that tart I made for the writer’s dinner, the one where we saw each other for the second time? Came up with that on the train. I was sitting next to this girl, probably a student, and she was eating one of those little egg tarts, the ones from the Japanese bakeries? I thought, damn I bet a root vegetable in one of those would fuckin’ slay – spoiler alert, it so did. Where would I have come up with that if not for the train? Plus, it’s one of the most sustainable ways to travel. I get my good karma for not actively killing the environment in. Win-win. What’re we eat – HTSHH! NXTSHH!” Greyson’s explosion of word vomit was very suddenly cut off to stifle two painful-sounding sneezes into the back of his hand.

Reed blinked for what was maybe the first time since his boyfriend sat down. “...bless,” he said after a beat. Greyson nodded, sniffled a little, and picked the menu back up.

“What’s this place’s thing anyway?” Greyson continued, flipping the menu over to look at drinks. “I can’t seem to figure it out; are they Italian? Mediterranean? Fine dining? Just high-end? No tasting menu, but prices are high enough to warrant one. Wine list reads very Italian, but there are like three dishes with hummus on them? I’m half-expecting to be served babaganoush bolognese. Which… maybe would work? Actually, eggplant, tomato sauce… I could see it working. You never know. Can’t judge a book by its menu, right? What’re you drinking? Want to get a bot -?”

This second monologue was cut short when Reed reached across the table to place a gentle hand on Greyson’s face. Just as he expected: hot.

“Babe,” Reed said gently, taking his hand back, “you’re burning up.”

The chef cast his glance down, embarrassed. “You weren’t supposed to figure that out till after dinner,” he muttered. Reed laughed.

“Seriously? You had to know I’d figure something was up. You’ve been monologing since the moment you sat down. Have you been sick all day? You should’ve told me, honey. How much cough medicine did you take before you showed up here?”

Greyson looked up at Reed and gave him a little half-smile. “Pretty sure I downed half a bottle of Robutusssin, not gonna liiii – hh! HhNXTSHH-ue! Huh-TSHH-ue!” Once again, Greyson attempted to stifle, to no avail. He allowed himself two painful little coughs before righting himself again.

“Bless you,” Reed said again. “I wish you would just sneeze normal, that always sounds so painful.”

“We’re in a restaurant,” Greyson said, a huskiness beginning to creep in to his voice. “That’s so gross.”

Reed rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Who cares? No one’s looking at us. They’re too busy with their many, many hummuses.”

A laugh bubbled out of Greyson, and with it came a flurry of congested coughs he directed into the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t mbake me laugh,” he muttered, taking a drink of water. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Good,” Reed said, flagging the waiter. “I’m so sorry,” he said when the young, well-dressed server came to their table, “something’s come up and we’re going to have to go.” He handed the kid a fifty. “Thank you for your help.”

The server nodded, said thank you to Reed, and went to grab the two men’s jackets. Greyson raised an eyebrow, confused. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking you home,” Reed said. “You need tea and soup, not…” he glanced back down at the menu, “fattoush flatbread.” Greyson visibly deflated.

“I wanted to spend the evening with you,” he said, his voice subdued. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called and canceled, I just… I mbiss you when we don’t see each other all week. You’re always busy, I’mb always busy, it just fucking sucks. I don’t even know how I got fucking sick… oh wait, yes I do. Elijah had a cold last week – was that last week? Did I tell you that? I can’t remember. I think the servers gave it to him. Fuckin’ servers, I’ve never met a group of people who get sick mbore than theehh – huh! Fuck – HUHETSHHH-ue! Huh-! HhITSZZZCH-ue!” Greyson folded in half, his torso practically beneath the table in an attempt to keep the entire restaurant from hearing him. It was, of course, at that moment that the server returned with their coats. Reed took them silently, and stood to gather his boyfriend, who slowly unfurled himself from his own lap.

“Bless you,” he said, gently helping Greyson to his feet and slipping his coat over his shoulders. He lead the two of them past the host stand and onto the sidewalk, where he turned Greyson to face him.

“First of all,” he said, sweeping Greyson’s hair out of his eyes and caressing his cheek, “I know a subset of people who get sick more than servers, and it’s chefs. You and all your chef buddies are pestilence incarnate because you work nine hundred hours a week.” This prompted a little laugh from Greyson. Perfect, thought Reed. Break the tension.

“Secondly, yes, you did tell me that Elijah was sick, and I told you, and I quote, ‘Don’t get too close, I know you two love to share a cold’, but I know you don’t like to listen to authority, so not sure what I expected.” Another laugh. Greyson pushed his hair back, rubbed his nose, and pulled Reed in to hug him. Reed continued from this spot, pressed into Greyson’s shoulder.

“And thirdly,” he said, “I miss you too. All the time. Which is why I asked you out tonight.” He pulled away, reached into his pocket, and dropped a key into Greyson’s palm. “I don’t want to miss you anymore. I don’t want you to have to take the train from Brooklyn every single night, I don’t want us to hang out once a week, I don’t want to drop you at your apartment to take care of yourself. I want to see you when I wake up every morning. I want to hear you sneak in at three AM after you and Matt go clubbing. I want to take care of you, at home, when you’re sick.” Reed smiled, a little embarrassed, as Greyson stared at the key. “Move in with me,” Reed said. “Please.”

Greyson’s mouth opened, then shut without words a couple of times before he looked Reed in the eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Okay. Yes. Yes, please.”

Reed felt a smile bloom on his face, huge, goofy, unashamed. He took Greyson’s face in his hands and planted a kiss on his lips. Greyson held his boyfriend by the waist, then picked him up to spin him around. “I love you,” Greyson muttered into Reed’s mouth.

“I love you more,” Reed said, smiling. Greyson turned away then, suddenly to -

“HRRSHH-ue! HhhITSHZZCH-ue!” he sneezed away from his boyfriend, which prompted a laugh from Reed.

“Probably too late for that nicety,” Reed joked, elbowing Greyson playfully. The chef huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes.

“I figured sneezing directly into your face would probably kill the moment,” he said, sniffling. “But I’ll go ahead and just do it next time.”

“Oh, shut up,” Reed laughed, kissing Greyson again. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and in bed. Sickie.”

Greyson smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said, looping his arm into Reed’s. “Let’s go home.”

[themizzenmask]

Vigil

Super quick stream of consciousness drabble for the single word whump prompt: Vigil

Loki is left in a coma after Thanos’ attack, and only Thor has any hope that he’ll ever wake up again

Thor knew what the others said. He heard Bruce and Dr Strange talking in hushed voices outside the room Thor almost never left.

Brain dead, never wake up, lost cause…dark and unwelcome words found their way to Thor’s ears, but he refused to accept them.

They didn’t know Loki.

They didn’t know how strong he was. How resilient. How stubborn.

Loki would wake up, and he would recover.

It had been three years since Thanos snapped his neck. Three years of Loki clinging to life, never moving more than the constant, shallow, rise and fall of his chest with each weak breath.

For over two of those years, ever since arriving at last on Earth after cleaving the damned titan’s head from his shoulders, Thor had sat vigil at Loki’s bedside day and night.

At first his friends came to keep him company. Reassure him or try to get him to leave. But Thor would never leave.

Loki might be afraid if he left him alone. Thor couldn’t let his little brother be afraid.

Most of them stopped coming eventually.

Brunnhilde ruled what was left of Asgard. The Avengers continued to do what they did.

And Thor stayed here, with Loki, waiting for him to wake up.

Only Bruce Banner ever really came to sit with him now, and he tactfully avoided telling Thor what he thought.

That Loki would never open his eyes again.

Thor wouldn’t have cared if he did say it, because he alone knew Loki, and he knew his trickster brother would survive this.

He was a god. A broken neck wasn’t necessarily a death sentence even to a mortal, and Loki wasn’t a mortal.

He would survive.

Loki’s hand was cold in his, unmoving, but Thor could feel a soft pulse beneath his fingers if he shifted them just slightly to rest over Loki’s thin wrist.

A fine needle penetrated Loki’s arm, delivering nutrients and fluids. Bruce seemed willing to humour Thor even now, and replaced the bag of the solution once a day.

And yet outside the door as he spoke with the other human doctor, he agreed with Dr Strange’s assessment that Loki would never wake again.

He was wrong.

Tears slipped from Thor’s eyes as their pessimistic words once more reached his ears from beyond that door.

They were wrong.

They had to be wrong.

An involuntary sob escaped Thor’s lips as he tightened his hold on Loki’s hand.

They had to be wrong.

A soft pressure returned his.

A slight curling of the fingers in his grasp.

Weak.

Almost imperceptible.

But Thor felt it.

He opened his eyes sharply, looked from their joined hands to Loki’s gaunt and ashen face, and choked on a breathless gasp as he met with familiar green eyes.

Tired, confused, but aware. Looking directly at Thor through a half lidded gaze.

“Loki?!” Thor breathed, unsure whether he dared smile or allow himself to feel the rising sense of uncontainable joy, “Bruce! Bruce! He wakes!!!”

He called out louder than he should. But Loki didn’t flinch or seem to mind.

His hand stayed tight in Thor’s and his eyes remained fixed on him as if there was nothing else to see.

The door opened, footsteps hurried in, and the voices were closer now, talking rapidly.

Thor didn’t hear what they said. He focused on Loki, watching as his brow creased and he briefly looked at Bruce when he spoke gently directly to him.

“Loki. I’m going to ask you some questions. I don’t want you to try to speak. Just blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that?”

After a nervewracking pause, Loki blinked once.

“Great,” Bruce smiled, looking quickly back at Dr Strange then to Thor, “Okay. Do you know who this is?”

He gestured slowly to Thor.

Loki didn’t just blink, but ever so slightly arched an eyebrow as well. A small motion but so obviously sarcastic and so Loki that it drew an amused and delighted laugh from Thor. 

“Do you know who I am?”

Loki blinked once.

“You need to check the sensations in his extremities,” Strange murmured.

“I know. I’m going slow. He’s been in a coma for three years,” Bruce whispered harshly back.

Loki didn’t seem to hear, or at least not care, his gaze still on Thor.

“He moved his hand earlier,” Thor looked up at them, understanding they were worried about paralysis, “Squeezed mine when he woke.”

Thor looked back to Loki, “Brother, can you try to move your hand again?”

Loki’s brow creased, eyes tightening, and after a long moment, his fingers moved in Thor’s hand again.

“That’s great,” Bruce smiled nervously, but it sounded like he was truly pleased, “Can you move the other one?”

Thor couldn’t see his other hand, but after a few minutes, he nodded, confirming Loki had moved.

But then they asked him to move his feet.

Neither foot moved at all.

Bruce bit his lip, and pressed one of his toes between a pen and his finger, “Can you feel this, Loki?”

Loki’s brow furrowed but he blinked once.

“Does it feel at all numb?” Strange asked.

Another single blink.

Bruce glanced back at Dr Strange, something silent understood by both.

“What is wrong?” Thor asked nervously.

“It’s too early to say,” Bruce replied, “We’ll just have to keep an eye on things.”

He turned back to Loki, whose gaze had once again turned exhausted and fallen on Thor.

“Loki, are you in any pain?”

Loki didn’t respond, but he tightened his hand in Thor’s.

He was, but he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t admit to pain or fear or any feeling Odin would have deemed weak.

Thor caught Bruce’s gaze and adopted the communication method himself, blinking once to tell the doctor what Loki didn’t dare voice. He was in pain.

“I’m going to make up a new IV fluid. Something that might be more helpful now you’re awake,” Bruce smiled kindly at Loki, “For now, don’t try to speak or move too much. Take your time.”

With that, he left the room, ushering Strange out and they resumed their conversation outside as they walked away down the corridor.

Thor heard nothing of hopelessness now. Discussions of future and how to proceed and treatment and assessments, not of death anymore.

He turned back to Loki with a grin he couldn’t contain, tears slipping from his eyes.

He clasped the pale hand in both of his and kissed his knuckles lightly, his whole body trembling with emotion he could barely contain.

Too much emotion to contain. He was certain he must be altering the weather right now and he didn’t give a damn.

He shut his eyes as more tears fell from them and kissed Loki’s hand once more.

A tiny, rasping, almost inaudible voice drifted through the silence, uttering the single word, “Eye.”

Questioning. Thor had only one eye when Loki last saw him. That would take some explaining and Thor had no heart to even think of the past right now. He cared only for the present and the reality of Loki finally waking, proving everyone who doubted his strength wrong.

Thor swallowed back a sob, smiling down at Loki and brushing a hand through his long hair, untucked from the rigid neck brace that contained him.

“Bruce told you not to speak yet,” he chastised gently.

Every word in Loki’s reply was hoarse and breathless, barely there at all, but Thor heard each one as he listened with adoring attention to every minute sound that passed Loki’s lips.

“I do what I want Thor.”

[ethereal-goats]

Realizing a lot of my shit is just desperation and pressure based. Like, adding a dash of struggle to an experience amps it up a lil for me.

(Fair warning, everything from pee to eggs and hemipenes mentioned)

Having a really full bladder and sinking down on a cock and just shaking at how much fuller and tighter everything is? Being able to see the way a swollen bladder bulges when someone is stuffed full? I’m not as into the piss part of piss stuff, but someone being desperate and tight? Yeah, sure.

Desperate and full to lay eggs ovipositor style or being filled up by smth else and dealing with that pressure and arousal. This one is sorta a no brainer but man. The actual egg laying is also my cup of tea because someone all pathetic bearing down on a clutch and increasing the tension in their gut tenfold? Smth with an ovipositor feeling their partner getting tighter around them as an egg squeezes into them? Yeah, sign me up man.

Upset tummies usually come with some bloating and tension, and of COURSE someone would be wanting relief when their guts are tied in knots. Adding to this a little bit of a helpless edge, because with the previously mentioned things, there is an immediate avenue of relief, y’know?

Size difference is obvious on the pressure part, and especially fun when you add more fantastical elements like nonhuman dicks or any sort of magical aspect to the devil’s tango. Going the hemipene route with nonhuman characters and getting a lil double penetration zest to go with it is also quite fun. Adding to that, exploring non-human desires and exploring the flow of intimacy slightly differently with alien/fantasy/etc partners can also spice stuff up.

It’s not like I find concepts like piss or eggs or upset tummies erotic inherently, but the bodily experience is fucking banger. Like, each one has aspects that appeal to me, even if I don’t spring for every flavor of the kink. I think it’s really fun to try and pick out what facets of an experience produce that erotic experience, and looking to see if that might exist in kinks/interests that I didn’t initially align with. Idk, there is something that appeals to me in the vulnerable, pitiful side of all of these- in breaking that usual level of shame or control most people have. There’s a bit of freedom in being forced into a position where you can’t hold onto usual composure. Hm. Maybe the lack of control is bigger than just pressure and need- might Drabble about that later. Anyways, another stream of consciousness ramble.

[lotusbxtch]

don't ruin this on me

Pairing: f!Reader x post-outbreak Joel

Rating: Mature (mentions of smut)

Word count: 861

Warnings: Mentions of smut, mentions of heart attack symptoms, mentions of alcohol, aaaaaaangst so much angst, no use of y/n. Not beta'd.

a/n: for whatever reason, I am all up in my feelings tonight and felt the need to write an angsty little drabble about lonely Joel & lonely pining Reader. Consider this a stream of consciousness I needed to word vomit onto Tumblr since isn't that what this place is for?

It's 2 am, the trees outside casting long shadows on your walls in the full moon's light. You shift restlessly in your flannel sheets, not from the cold, but from your own thoughts. There's an ache in your chest, a little pinch that blossoms deeper and spreads slowly. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were having a heart attack -- you'd always heard that women's symptoms were more subtle than men's; the feeling of an immense elephant slowly crushing the life from you. But you know exactly what this is, and your eyes seek it out through your bedroom window. Seek him.

Just outside the glass, you see the silhouette of the house. His house. At night, everything in shades of grey, devoid of the color of life that the daylight brings. You think that this must be what the world looks like to him.

Ever since you moved in next door to Joel Miller, something deep in you changed. It felt magnetic, like kismet. The moment your eyes met his, something clicked, cracked, slowly hairline fractured in your soul. Something said "oh, there you are," whispered it in the pit of your heart, and you desperately wished it wasn't so. Because you swore you could see that glimmer of recognition the second your hand touched his, shaking it after introducing yourselves. You knew he felt it too. Could see his breath quicken for a few moments, something softening in his gaze. And then the tiniest pinprick of fear flashing in his eyes, and you could almost see him physically shut it out. And then nothing. Cold detachment. The chill went bone-deep, and you could never seem to escape it.

Joel was alone. He was always alone. Try as you might, more often than not, so were you.

You rolled the sheets around your body, wrapping up your arms and legs, holding yourself, desperately willing the feeling away. Knowing that you were literally yards away from him, and yet never seeming to be able to bridge that gap.

You thought things might have been different for a second a few months ago. Tommy and Maria had dragged you and Joel out for drinks, and after Joel disappeared for a few minutes, you went looking for him. You found him around the corner, looking up at the sky, fat fluffy snowflakes beginning to cascade down.

"Joel..." you said softly. He turned, meeting your eyes with your name cascading off his lips. It was the sweetest your name had ever sounded to you. He just stared at you, neither of you saying a word, but your eyes locking and speaking volumes. You stepped up to him, stopping when your feet nearly touched. Slowly, you reached out and brushed your fingertips over his arms, across the soft leather of his jacket. His eyes followed the motion, his breath deepening and quickening. Your lips parted as you breathed in to say something, anything, but nothing could come out. Joel felt your inhale and shifted his eyes back to yours. The fire in his gaze seared you, sent shockwaves through your chest, your arms, your core. His fingers twitched at his sides as you kept looking at him, reaching up to touch his jawline, the little heart-shaped patch in his beard that you loved so much.

"Please," you breathed simply. Begging. Pleading. Saying so much in only one word. You wanted him to know you could give him so much, so many things he was missing. Warmth, laughter, passion, care, simple companionship, understanding. You wanted so desperately to kiss his plush lips, drag him back to your home, spend the next week slowly pulling his defenses apart in your bed, laying his heart out for yourself, soaking in him, letting the pain seep out of the cracks, replacing it with happiness. Wrapping your body around him, surrounding him in every way until he had no choice but to let you in, to let you see him, to drain away his sins and his anxieties and his regrets. To drown the demons out with your moans, your sighs, your hips, your flesh, your wetness, your pleasure, to give and receive as you well pleased. Whispering, shouting, screaming his name as he took and took and took. To love him and love him and love him. Until he forgot why he built up those walls, and gave himself wholly to you.

To love you.

But just as soon as you saw the fire, you saw him snuff it out. The embers barely burning, dying, he skimmed the side of your face with his rough hand. "Darlin', I can't. I can't. You don't need me, you don't want me, I'm bad for you. I can never be good for you."

And then he simply walked away, into the cold streets, back to his home. And those hairline fractures shifted and splintered until the entirety of you broke. And ever since then, you've felt hollow laying here at night. Alone.

A single tear slips down your face. A hurt that will never heal, when the man who could fix it is right there. And yet never close enough.

[nerdieforpedro]

Remember Francisco~

Frankie "Catfish" Morales x plus size female reader

Fanfiction rating: 18+

Main Masterlist l Frankie Masterlist

Word Count: approx. 3k

Summary: You're Frankie's superior as he's working to get his pilot license back. You find that he listens and follows directions quite well. This pleases you greatly.

Warnings: power imbalance, the reader is a menace, hand jobs, teasing, edging, semi-public sex, Frankie being a polite sub, mentions of masterbation, random douche, oral sex (male receiving), cum eating

Notes: This wasn't beta read so all mistakes are my own. I read @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Javier Pena/reader/Dieter Bravo sandwich last night was up past 2am contemplating my life choices. This was after almost being caught up on @frenchiereading Sky Drabbles as part of her cozy celebration so, the two melted in my mind and became this. It reads as stream of consciousness and switches POVs, I may write these two more when in the mood for filth which is most days of the week. We'll see.

The pilot’s cock is in your hand again. It’s usually while the others are at lunch. He’s so cute when he looks up at you, whimpering under his standard oil heating hat. You’d asked about it the first time you met him two months ago, he’d shrugged and said it was between him and his brothers. That was fine, you’d just been making conversation.

You’re griping him a little tighter, feeling him spurt out a bit more pre-cum for your hand to slick up and down his shaft. He’s not to touch you, he can watch as you lean against his desk and stroke him. Asking him if he’ll finish before the rest of the office comes back, if he can continue to keep quiet, if he knows that he bites his bottom lip and scrunches his nose when he’s close to his high, how his eyes light up when you first touch him and drink you in as he watches you stroke him.

It’s been a month of this, watching him walk around in those cargo pants, his little belly hanging over them slightly. You’d wanted to grab it and give it a good pinch before knocking that hat off and pushing him up against the wall. Crashing your lips against his. You never did. Instead, you pulled up a chair when he asked to learn more about these stupid spreadsheets for fuel inventory. Well, not stupid, but not as important as finding a way in those cargo pants.

You’re being professional, explaining things to him. Frankie, he does have a name. When you mess with him sometimes, you’d call him Franscico and he’d wince. He didn’t like it, that was something you’d remember. You may have tugged at the bottom of your v-neck sweater, exposing your breasts a bit more because he’s taller than you even sitting and he’d be looking down. Quite mean of you, but effective, his ears are red and he’s huffing. That was when your hand first touched his thigh. He didn’t move it so further you took it, until you’d unbuttoned his pants and had his thick cock in your hand, poking it with your finger. He became engorged quickly so you asked him if he wanted you to keep touching him. He replied yes and it’s continued during lunch time since then.

“Francisco, do you want me to put it in my mouth?”

He just stared at you, it felt like five minutes, but maybe it was just a full one and nodded. 

“You’ll have to earn that Frankie. For now, accept my hand.”

Morales’ hands are gripping the armrests on his chair, his hips are thrusting into your hand. His cock is looking particularly delicious this afternoon. It would make a perfect dessert after your lunch. “Francisco. Move back, I’m going to need room.” He is confused at your hand not moving but compiles and scoots his chair back. You take his jacket off the back of his chair and set it on the floor in front of you as you get on your knees.

“Wait, querida. I thought you said I had to earn it? I haven’t done anything yet.” His chest is heaving with his cock dripping but he still remembered what you told him at the start of the month. A smile drapes your lips, well trained already. 

“Did you not want me to suck your cock Frankie? You don’t think you’ve earned it?” Your hand returned to his cock, only this time you’re just holding it while looking up at the poor man. He’s tapping his foot wildly but still making good on not touching you. “I decide if you’ve earned it or not, don't I Francisco? Am I wrong?” You release his member and let it drop, making him flush in the chair from the loss of your hand and the sudden movement.

“N-No querida. You decide. I just listen. Please, did I earn it?” He licks the drool off that threatened to drip from the side of his mouth. Voices of the others are heard, it’s too late. They’ve come back early, unusual but not completely unexpected. You stand and straighten out your skirt, pick Frankie’s jacket up off the floor, walk over to him and place it on the back of his chair. Your hands move to his shoulders and push him and his chair back to his desk, giving him a kiss on his cheek before gingerly speaking in her ear, 

“We ran out of time Francisco. Seems like you talked yourself out of it. There will be another opportunity tomorrow.”

“T-Tomorrow? B-But, I’m sorry. I won’t interrupt you again. I promise querida.” You took your seat at your desk that was next to Frankie’s and licked your fingers off his pre-cum just as the others were filing back into the office. You then used some hand sanitizer and opened your email like it was a normal lunch. 

Throwing a knowing grin his way as he adjusted himself back into his pants and utter discomfort, “I’ll hold you to that Frankie.”

It had been a week since you’d almost sucked Frankie off in the office. Honestly, it’s been hell for him. He was able to get through the rest of that day just barely by making four different bathroom trips, each ten minutes, just to jerk off and clean up after himself. He told himself that this should have never happened. He should have asked to be re-assigned, but to where? It was part of getting his license back, this office work, so close to the helicopters that he flew and yet so far with all this damn paperwork. He didn’t remember it being this much. 

When he first came here two months ago, he was introduced to some old coger. He was supposed to be working with him, but then he had a heart attack. He made it, maybe? Frankie’s not really sure. What he does know is that you became his superior. You being a woman isn’t the issue, it’s that he finds you attractive and he knows you’re single. Apparently there was a bet to see if this one pilot John, James, whatever was actually going to ask you out. Frankie also doesn’t know if that guy ever did. What he does know is that you smell like vanilla, your voice sounds like honey and he shook your hands when he met you and noted how soft they were. Shaking hands is polite, but he shouldn’t think about your hands in his hair, on his chest, back or cock. He also looked too long at your full lips and thought about them when he went home at night.

Then you made your move, he should have said no. Maybe should have redirected it to a date, but he’s always had an issue with saying no. Saying no to Pope and that damn mission. Saying no to Tom during that mission and it got him killed. Saying no before the mission where he transported cocaine and got fucking caught and now he’s grounded. Your hand felt so good and he was able to watch your breasts bounce as you got him off. 

Frankie can say that he is good at listening. Been doing it the entire month. His friends asked how the assignment is going, he tells them fine. He’s aware no one can know about what you do with your hands and his dick. The no-touching you is extremely difficult. He wants to put his hands all over you, see what you look like getting off, if you’d ask, if you’d tell him to do it he would. You haven’t. Why haven’t you? But he’s scared that you won’t touch him again and not recommend him to get his license back. Is he only good for feeling his dick? Is that the only thing you like about him? Maybe all the other things, you just tell him to get him off, he has been able to just think of your voice and cover his hand in his own cum.

Morales is following you into the hanger.

Apparently, the two of you have been tasked with restocking supplies in the back of this helicopter. It’s for a trainee the work that you’re both doing, he sometimes wonders why you’re doing it though. He knows why he is, but he doesn’t believe you’ve messed up anything in your life professionally that he knows of. 

The bastard John is here, he’s asked to speak to you so you step out for a minute, there’s no way he’s not gonna eavesdrop. He might have worked up the nerve to ask you out.

This fucker, he did and you said no. Frankie is thankful, but John, will at the very least be having his tires cut before the pilot leaves this evening, tell you that you should be glad he asked you out anyway. It’s why your last boyfriend left you because he didn’t want a fat bitch anymore. Frankie was about to step off the helicopter when you asked John why has he been sniffing around you like a dog with a bone then? And also you’re aware his wife left him for her fencing instructor who apparently fucked her so well that she faked pulling her back at work at her desk job that you were dumb enough to believe. 

John left with a red face as you stood still, hands tightened into fists. Frankie jumped off the helicopter and stood beside you. “Quierda, can I hug you? Please?” He was so thankful when you told him yes, he was aware you were sad, but thankfully not crying. God you’re so soft and feel so warm against his chest, Frankie rocks you back and forth as you murmur something. He asked what you said.

“Back inside now.” A command, but Frankie made sure to ask before touching you and you’d said yes. It should be fine, it has to be. Back inside the helicopter, you tell him to sit in the pilot’s seat. He does, but he’s nervous. He hasn’t earned this seat back yet, he was going to ask why you asked him to sit here when your lips touched his neck, moaning ‘Francisco.” Normally he prefers Frankie, but he’d let you call him Bob at the point because you’re touching him, fuck you’re kissing his neck, licking it. He wants to grab those wide hips of your and set you on the control panel so he can see your face, if it’s hungry like he knows his is, but he remembers. You leave his neck with a bite and run your hand across his chest.

“Frankie. I’m going to treat that fat cock of yours real nice. Watch me and paint my throat.” Morales watches you start to move down and he stands, apologizing. He goes to the back of the helicopter to grab a life fest, it’s got some foam so it should be good to kneel on. You looked confused for a moment, but kissed his cheek when he came back and as you settled between his legs took his hands and kissed the back of each of his hands. Looking up at him and hearing you utter the words, “You’re such a good man Frankie.” He nearly soaked his cargo pants. Call him good anything: good shot, good pilot, good man, good father, good boy, the list can go on.

“P-Permission to touch you again quierda?” You look up at him again, pressing your tongue to the tip of his cock, he finally feels your warm tongue on the head. “Please, for fuck’s sake…” His hands were an inch away from your cheek, almost touching you, but he still remembered.

“Not yet Francisco. Continue to be good for me. I’m looking forward to this too, sweetheart.” He felt your run from the head of his length to his base, seeing part your round face covered by the dark bush he had. Frankie’s a whimpering mess and he’s unsure what to do with his hands, where to put them. His foot was tapping hard again as your teeth nibbled gently at his velvet skin working your way back up. It was then that you truly took him in your mouth a third of the way and he bucked his hips once. The look on your face was stern at first, then softened, what did that mean?

The groan that he unleashed as your tongue swirled around the head of cock, his precum coating your lips. He felt you take him deeper, more of your throat was available to him as he thrusted again, unable to control himself. He reached for your face again, but hands on his thighs grounded him and made him remember what you’d told him. He opted to hold onto the bottom of the pilot’s seat as he bucked, seeing your face come closer to the base of his cock and loving every second of it. He was sure he heard you moan as well, he wanted to hear it unmuffled. You’re nearly back within his coarse curls when he feels his throbbing increase, he’s close so damn close. “Quierda I-It’s…” Your fingers press into his thighs as you continue to hollow your cheeks.

Frankie knows that you know him well. At least, his dick well. You’ve made him reach his peak most days at work, those few were when you two were interrupted. You’d always toyed with him, teased him, told him what he can and can’t do. Now you’re moved one of your hands to cup the wrinkled skin of his balls and are massaging them between those damn hands of yours, while he hears you audibly whimpering while swallowing his cock. Your head is even turned at an angle so you can breathe slightly easier, not by much. The small lights he sees near your eyes are from your tears and how hard you’ve been working for him. He tried to hold on as long as he could but he can’t and he’ll never forget this image because Frankie remembers.

His head swings back at first, knocking his standard oil heating cap off and then snapped his neck back down. His cock is pulsing in your mouth and with your head still at an angle he can see you gulping his spend down with only a few drops landing on the tops of your breasts. It’s a large load, he only masturbated once last night before passing out from having gone out with Benny and Will for drinks. Your hand that had been on his thigh reached near the base of the pilot’s chair and touched his hand, your fingers making a circle on the top of his hand. After the last of his seed drips into your mouth Frankie feels his body relaxing as he muttered his nickname for you. “Quierda, that was…damn I’m glad I listened this time…”

Slowly you withdrew him from your mouth, your tongue rolling against the bottom of his shaft once more, until you reached the head of his cock again. He hissed as you removed him finally from your warm mouth and kissed his tip. His softened length dropped against his boxers and cargo pants. With a final swallow of what was left in your mouth, you purred, “Yes you did Frankie. You listened well.” You motioned for him to help you up which he did and you sat in the co-pilot’s chair. Your chest was heaving as you finally caught your breath, your head back against the top of the chair, you looked over at Frankie, smiling. “I think I may be addicted to your dick Frankie now that I’ve had a taste. We may have to start taking this outside of work.” Your hand started at your breasts as you curled a finger to scoop up his cum that dripped and brought it to your lips. You didn’t swallow it though, instead he watched as you applied it like a balm to your lips and stood up, leaning over him after grabbing his shoulders.

“Taste yourself on my lips Frankie.” The pilot didn’t move because he recalled you hadn't given him permission to touch you yet. Being the smart woman you are, you remembered too and straddled him, bringing your full weight on him, thick thighs, belly pressing against him and your breasts nearly in his face. His hands touched your back, cupping your love handles. Your fingers cupped his face as he looked up at you and he dove his head forward crashing into your lips, starting tentatively before licking and having his own musk in his mouth, he then was able to grasp the flavor or your mouth mixed with him. His tongue fought with yours, winning due his skill and desperation. Your hips grinded on him and he felt it, the moisture between your thighs. When you drew back from him, he had a small smirk on his face.

“Hermosa let me drink you in. I’ll do a good job.” Frankie placed a kiss atop your breasts before you stood back up, pulling your skirt down. He felt a peck to his forehead as his hands remained on your back, though they had traveled lower. 

“Not yet. We need to finish here before they get suspicious.” You pressed your thumb against his bottom lip, he wanted to press the issue of having you right now, fuck everyone and everything else. “I think I should savor you elsewhere. Where we won’t be bothered and I can hear more than your whimpers, no matter how delightful I find them.” 

Frankie watched you walk away and pick up some package to place it in the back of the helicopter. He had forgotten that’s what he was supposed to be doing. He looked forward to the day he’d have you all to himself without interruption. 

The pilot fixed himself back in his pants and stood, exhaling before joining you to finish the assigned task. One day soon he'll be able to say he remembers your taste in his mouth instead of his own.

The Catfish Bowl: @yorksgirl @megamindsecretlair @guelyury @innerpersonunknown @legendary-pink-dot @saturn-rings-writes @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @fhatbhabie @moralesispunk @morallyinept @linzels-blog @@maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @trulybetty @readingiskeepingmegoing @perotovar @seratuyo @sp00kymulderr @for-a-longlongtime @musings-of-a-rose @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @rhoorl @joelslegalwhre @joels-shitty-puns @dameron-grant-spector @covetyou @pedritapascal @handspunyarns @linzels-blog @beefros-sin-bin @javierpena-inatacvest @sin-djarin @gwendibleywrites @nissaimmortal @pascalsanctuary @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @beefrobeefcal

[gingervitus]

Divine - A Neverook Drabble (1,109 words)

HERE WE GO. IT'S WRITING CHALLENGE WEEKEND. @thedissonantverses I'm getting myself caught up on all the things I let slide by me during the week, but this takes precedence because I said it does.

You can find the prompt list here.

I chose: Character A finds themselves under an Evanuris shrine and feels a "divine" presence. What divine means is up to you ;)

AND HERE IS A DEBUT OF ANOTHER ROOK I GUESS. I'm collecting them.

Anyway, here's my first real time writing Neve Gallus, detective love of my life.

Neve has never been a praying woman, and given all that's happened in such a short span of time involving creatures who consider themselves to be of the godly variety, it seems she's made the right decision in avoiding it. 

Not to say she hasn't ever partaken in the festivities of Satinalia. She was very partial to all the vendors handing out poison strings, cherry cupcakes, and other various sweets. Her mother had grilled squid and tentacle salad piping hot on the table by the time she wandered in from the crowded streets. Even Dock Town comes alive with pious buffoonery on Satinalia. All Souls Day had been all the better when she got to dress up as a spirit and slide down the streets unnoticed. She slipped in and out of shops and stands all throughout the day. Collecting treasures like carastian candies, toffees, and peppermints as well as which of their neighbors had the nasty habit of skimming off his employees wages. She spent her All Souls Days were spent busy with a belly full of sweets and a mind filling with secrets. At the end of the day, she and her mother khachapuri–the best in all of Tevinter, an objective fact–followed by an entire pumpkin loaf split down the middle.

It had always been just the two of them with little else to their names, but Neve still thinks of so much of her upbringing with a melancholic fondness.

Standing in the heart of Arlathan Forest underneath the watchful gaze of an Evanuris shrine, she can't help but hurt for those who are looking back on what should be joyful memories with second guesses and anger now.

The tall domed ceiling above them is cracked, allowing light to cascade down over the tall statue of a goddess–whose name or title is unknown to Neve–and scattered amongst the shattered glass and overgrowth of plants that have since reclaimed the Elvhen capital. In any other scenario, this might be a beautiful place. It could even be tranquil. Somewhere she could find herself allowing her mind to slow down. Figure out a timeline. Find the cracks in a story. Finish the race to a breakthrough she's desperate to come to. But as it is, they are hunting down a set of lost Veil Jumpers, who have been gone for too long in the suspiciously active forest.

Rook, her unlikely de facto boss, stands at the base of the lopsided statue. Her long fingers glow like untrodden snow in the blistering sunlight as she traces a leaf of the ivy climbing up the torso of the altar. She is long and lanky, as Neve finds most academics she comes across are, but with this long lost god as her backdrop, Rook is stately. Elegant in the rays of light she basks in or are they showering her. It's difficult to tell. Her hair shines bright in long waves over her shoulders, pinned back out of her face with a simple braid on either side of her head. The color of it has always baffled Neve, yet it gives her a warm feeling in the pit of her chest for a single reason: Rook's hair is the exact color of the juice a purple gooseberry leaves behind when squished in the palm of a hand.

Neve loves gooseberry pie. Her mother made it often, and it makes her think of home whenever she has a slice.

Her stream of consciousness is cut short when the image in front of her shifts before her very eyes. As if in slow motion, a profile of Rook's face comes into view. Soft pink cheeks filled with youth and good nature. Sweet upturned nose that added to the naivety she so naturally exudes. Pale eyes that barely register in the bright light, but upon further inspection, a silvery blue, sharp and smart, stares back. Pink lips are slightly agape and full and a stark contrast to the snow of her skin.

Heart studdering in her chest, Neve finds herself wondering if these elven gods might have been what they say. If they might still exist to this day. If she might be in the presence of one now. Because if divinity did exist on this mortal plane, this would be how it manifests.

“Neve?” Her voice smooth as a rolling river and sweet as the toffee from old man Hartl’s shop that slowly went out of business after the neighborhood found out about his stinginess. Neve can hardly react. Certainly, words are not an option at this moment, so she settles with a hum to acknowledge the now concerned expression gracing Rook's long face. “Are you alright? You're flushed.”

Before she has the chance to preserve her dignity with some sort of half assed answer, one hand is yanking her down by her robe's collar and the other is pressed to her forehead, clammy and cool against her skin. “You are a little warm,” Harding agrees and then released her grip on Neve’s robes. “You feeling alright, Neve?”

The pounding in her chest is unbearable. She doesn't know whether to vomit, run, or simply die right there. Blood rushes in her ears, and for the first time in her life, the sound of water makes her head want to explode. “Fine,” she grunts, brushing her collar back into place and adjusting the fascinator that clearly didn't need adjusting. “It's just… stifling in here.” Breezing past Harding and taking one last look at the bewilderment on Rook's face (certainly not lingering too much on her still slightly parted lips), Neve makes her way for what once might have been a grand doorway that leads to a wide set of mostly intact stairs. “We should keep moving.”

Without a word, Rook and Harding follow her, and it's probably for the best. She isn't going to be the best casual conversationalist right now. Steps sync up with the sound of her prosthetic clanging against the stone floors of the remains of Arlathan, but she dares not look at the very elf she, in an obviously dazed or hallucinating state, had just been equating to a god… lest she have the same thoughts and not have baking in an ancient elven oven as an excuse.

Heat is absolutely to blame. By the time they return to the Lighthouse, she'll have the whole story primed and ready to go. Believable as best. Plausible at worst. It's a non-issue.

Because even if gods do exist, they certainly would not come in the form of a Nevarran elf hired by Varric Tethras, and that is a fact Neve is (mostly) sure of.

[toasteaa]

Cockwarming him while he's trying to work. Actually, scratch that - cockwarming him while you're trying to work.

another self indulgent stream of consciousness drabble that got a little too long because I'm thinking at my desk. 0.9k words of pure brainrot. Not proofread obv because...drabble. afab reader but no gendered terms.

The way you've curled over your desk, attempting to sit as still as possible and focus on the task at hand, but your thighs are starting to shake and the slick dribbling down the miniscule amount of his length not pressed into you is proving to be much harder to ignore now than it had been ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes ago...you were cheeky, bored; thought you could entertain yourself while you slogged through the seemingly endless pile of work that had built itself up on your desk. Thought you could entertain him as well - quietly tucked into his own work beside you, the both of you busier than you had been in months. And, unfortunately, much more distant than either of you would like to be. But work, regrettably, always had to come first - no matter how much it kept you from each other's beds.

But that's why you proposed this compromise in the first place: why not indulge in each other just a bit? It's not as though you would be forgoing your work; you'd both still be working, just with a little...extra inside of you.

At least, that was how you proposed it ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes ago you were confident you'd be able to keep working with his cock inside of you. Ten minutes ago you didn't think he'd agree so readily, but then again, you likely would have pestered him until he relented. Ten minutes ago you didn't think the dull ache between your thighs was that consuming or that the familiar press of his cockhead past your fluttering hole would make that dull ache turn into a deep, toe curling need the further he sank into your welcoming heat. Well...maybe you did know about that one.

And now here you are, ten minutes later: the tremble in your thighs reaching higher up your body now, settling into your shoulders, shaking every little breath you take as you try to maintain your focus. The clock tick tick ticking away in the corner of your eye breaking up the silence alongside your rustling pages and shaky exhales. Sometimes you shift, trying to get comfortable, only for your body to betray you with a clench around the cock inside of you and a pitiful little gasp at the barely there friction you've managed to get out of it.

And the worst part? He doesn't even seem affected by any of this.

While you resist the urge to squirm in his lap, his hand rests idly on your hip. While you struggle to breathe, hiding moans and mewls in the heel of your non dominant hand (your dominant hand still struggling to maintain the impression of "working"), you can feel his even breaths without a whisper of a groan lingering in the exhale. While the words on the pages you've tried to read three times are blurred and nonsensical in the haze spreading through your senses, you can hear the pages of his book turn at a steady, even rate - as though his attention isn't split between you and whatever arbitrary topic he's decided to review.

You almost hate him for it. Almost. How he can appear so unfazed, so unaffected; you clench around him, hard, ignoring the jolt of electricity that goes through you at the action, and relish in the small pinch he gives your hip.

"Distracted?" It should be illegal for him to sound so nonplussed.

"Not at all", the wobble of your voice attempts to betray you, but you swallow it back down, "in fact, I think I'm almost done."

"With that page?"

"With all of it." A lie, but he didn't need to know that.

His hum is a lazy, languid thing that seeps into you where he's pressed forward against your back; a moan rips through you, choked and breathy, as he adjusts himself, your pen falling from your hand as you elect to claw into the wooden surface of your desk. Tears spring to the corners of your eyes, a horrible, blurring mixture swimming along with the dizziness, the fullness, you feel when he settles back down, his grip on your hip firm and grounding...and pulling your ass too snugly back into his lap. He peers over your shoulder; you refused to acknowledge that his hands do not shake when he slides your pages to the side.

"Hmm...you've missed a signature here...and here...your handwriting is nearly illegible here -"

"Yes, thank you. I am aware of a few mistakes. Those can be fixed later."

"These are due tomorrow morning."

"And they can be done tomorrow morning."

"You're sure of that?"

You don't want to answer any more of his questions. You don't want to sit here and play this game anymore - even if you were the one to start it. But you can't even wiggle before his grip turns to iron on your hip - always one thought ahead of you. Another shifting, one that punches a little wanton moan you're too frayed to try and hide out of you, and you hear his book close; one of his hands comes to meet your trembling one, urging you to pick your pen back up.

"Here", his other hand smooths over your thigh before settling betwixt the both of them, the pads of his fingers sliding through the tacky mess between your folds, and you can feel the way he throbs when you try to choke back another moan, his fingertips teasing against your swollen, neglected clit,

"I'll help you finish."

[ryuuarchive]

✶ FIRST KISS: BOKUAKA

tags: fluff, first love, drabble, (1st part!)

“Can I kiss you?”

Bokuto was hyped. His facial expression was not much different from when he was about to spike and was absolutely sure he would get a point. Kind of adorable, actually. But also just a wee bit foolish. They called him an airhead or a simpleton for constantly bouncing off the walls and giving his teammates a non-stop emotional rollercoaster ride, for being a sucker for sickeningly sweet flattery and his attention seeking tendencies. For a reason.

Akaashi thought it was a good thing nobody else saw Bokuto right now: all fired up, almost vibrating out of the bones, his leg bouncing. Quite an ordinary look on Kōtarō at first glance, but thinking about the fact that Akaashi himself makes him feel all the excitement made him a little bit proud. Oddly, yet innocently intimate, too.

“Can I, Akaashi? I like really want to. Really really.”

Akaashi figured. Politely, it wasn't much of a rocket science.

“I've never kissed anyone before, hope it's okay. Is it? Tell me it is, Akaashi, it's a matter of life and death, yeah? I want it to be okay so I could kiss you and...”

“Shh,” Keiji pressed his finger to Bokuto's lips, putting his endless stream of consciousness on pause, “it is okay, Bokuto-san. I've never kissed anyone too.”

Lord, this is gonna be awkward.

[benjineedssleep]

👋 7 and 11 for the "get to know your fic writer" asks, please!

ohhh these are solid ones. can't believe i actually have answers though LOLOL

here's the og post if anyone else wants to join in on the sillies -> Get to know your fic writer! if you were tagged, question 11 was asking for fic recs and ily <3

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

it comes to me in a vision /hj

no but in all seriousness when i come up with ideas for any kind of story (drabble, one shot, short fic, long fic, doesn't matter) they kind of come with a built in pov. i don't think there's ever been a time when i've struggled to come up with a character who i want to tell the story. i think a part of this has to do with the fact some semblance of conflict comes prepackaged with my ideas and conflict is always tied to a person for me.

like with my current short fic, the premise was always that sam was to have a struggle with the reality of being alone in x amount of time because i see sam as a very family/community oriented person. so i guess in this instance you can say my pov choices not only stem from the story idea itself, but the idea stems from some core aspect of a character and their personality.

does that make any sense? i hope it does D:

11. Link your three favorite fics right now.

the sambastian brainrot is actually insane however:

You've Really Got Me by softwisp

this fic is genuinely one of the most well written and captivating fics i've read in a long fucking time. it's also so fascinating because it's written in this super internal monologue-y stream of consciousness way that i've literally never seen before.

please note this fic is sexually explicit tho lmao

The Sunshine of Your Smile by Andrea_P_Quintell

this fucking fic ALTERED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY. i remember reading this and texting my friend at the speed of LIGHT when i finished. i think about it now and then and honestly it's due for a reread. also finding out @shortysus4 wrote this has me *slamming fist on table* /pos y'all are so mf-ing talented holy shit--

Frog Rock by wheneveryouwantto

this was the fic that converted me to the sambastian religion. i don't even know how i started shipping them i just know i read this and something in me went "wait a goddamn minute", saw the possibilities, and went insane. and it's not even like it was the first sdv/sambastian fic i ever read. there were others but this was the fic that flipped the switch. @superpyodan i'm looking at you and i'm bowing LMFAO

YOU ALSO GET BONUSES

i've been low key invested in the little snippets of @superpyodan's oc (kenny) x alex fic and @eemamminy-art's oc (mallory) x alex fic that they both post. i haven't committed to the fics themselves just yet HOWEVER i can say both of their ocs live rent free in my head. one day i will have the mentals to pick up the fics but for now they're bonuses for straight vibes alone XD

also if you're tagged here and had absolutely no idea i fucked with your writing that hard i am SO SORRY-- i've been a lurker for 4 months and only started showing my face like a month ago wahhhh D:

[drabblesandsnippets]

December Daze Challenge 2024

Well, I actually did it! I wrote every single day of December, completing my December Daze advent calendar with 31 drabbles for various versions of Bucky.

(I'll be organizing the Imagines... Masterlist soon to make it easier to find specific ones.)

First, I have to say thank you so much to @the-slumberparty for creating this event! I had so much fun, and I cannot wait to finally get a chance to read some of the other creations 😂

I also wanted to share some thoughts now that I'm officially done:

This was HARD, but extremely satisfying because I had no idea if I was actually going to be able to do it - I also didn't know what I was going to write until I sat down, and sometimes it changed halfway through (or even after I wrote an entire drabble)

I quickly learned that the fastest way to write was literally just to start typing a stream of consciousness, and usually it'd begin with "this feels like the hardest prompt, I don't even know where to start" (the prompts were so good! I just doubt my ability lol) and then 30 minutes later I'd be in the zone

Knowing they'd be under 500 words, I would try to edit as I was writing - yeah, don't do that (note to self)

I realized that I'm still trying to find my voice and my fics tend to oscillate between either using a lot of really flowery words with lots of commas, or trying to write smaller sentences to get the point across to keep the story flowing

I easily fall into patterns when I'm writing, especially my paragraph spacing and I'm trying to find my way out of that lol

I'm really interested in exploring more darker storylines, like stalker Bucky or possessive Bucky

I might also try a bit more angsty stuff, but it'll probably always have a happy ending (I can't help it!)

I ALMOST wrote a Stucky x reader drabble but chickened out at the last minute - might try it eventually 🤷‍♀️

I DID write a weird little drabble about Bodyguard Bucky but scrapped it when I realized it couldn't be condensed to 500 words (might share it as a snippet if anyone is interested)

I will likely never attempt a daily challenge ever again lol I can't wait to get back to interacting more and reblogging things! I have absolutely no regrets though 🩶

Thank you to everyone who supported me during this challenge, I could not have finished it without knowing people were looking forward to these - and @rositxespinosa I can't wait to find out which ones you might want turned into a longer fic (no pressure)!

Happy New Year y'all!!