#quick drabble on discord

[sluttywonu]

quiet ᵔᴗᵔ

pairing: gamer!wonwoo & f!reader

based on this

[mdni]

synopsis: you’re so in love with your boyfriend. everything about him. you seriously can’t get enough, even when he’s gaming with the boys.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: below the cut

a/n: this is a lil drabble bc i hit 200 followers??? thank you?????? this is probably extremely self divulgent but oh well! :) miss my wonu

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✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆

warnings: pwp, unprotected p in v, bratty reader, soft dom!wonu, slight size kink, hand kink (i won’t apologize), oral (m rec), riding, voyerism? slightly? both reader & wonwoo need to be quiet so nobody hears them hehehe. didn’t proof read oops

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you were over your boyfriends house for the weekend. how fun!

wonwoo invited you over for the whole weekend, just you two. mingyu was away so you had the place just to you two.

you were laying on his bed, playing on your phone while he did a quick gaming session with the boys. league of legends, wonwoo’s favorite, had an in-game event going on where he could win new skins for his characters. you’re a supportive girlfriend and just nodded you head with a smile while he tried explaining all of this to you.

“it’ll just be an hour or two.” he swore.

well, hour two passed and he’s still on the headset talking to seungcheol and jeonghan, laughing and occasionally yelling obscenities at the screen. you sighed and locked your phone, moving towards the foot of the bed.

“nu…”

he lifted one side of his headset off so he could hear you, “what, baby?”

“i’m bored.”

“i’m almost done. just hang tight, okay, love?”

another sigh left your lips as you bit your cheek. he could practically hear the pout that was on your face.

“why don’t you sit with me? i’ll teach you how to play.”

you guess that could be fun. maybe pass the time a little more. he pushed his chair out some, making space for you on his lap which, you happily took. he quickly pressed his lips to your cheek then focused back on the screen.

he was trying to explain what was going on but all these terms were truly going over your head. it’s fine, you started staring at the screen but then his hands. his hands you love oh so much.

the way they flexed with each press of a key on his keyboard or how tiny the computer mouse looked in his large palm… you couldn’t help it, your mind wandered while you thought of how they looked and flexed the same way when he touched you.

the thought made you squirm, starting to wiggle your hips on top of his large thigh.

wonwoo’s deeper toned voice taking you out of your little daydream, “you okay?”

you nodded, “mhm..”

he doesn’t necessarily buy it but nods back, bringing his attention to the game once more.

in between games, he rested one of his hands on your waist, gently sliding his hand up and down not knowing what he’s doing to you. you melted into his touch, pressing your body back into his chest. he let out a low laugh and kissed your cheek again and whispering “almost done, baby. not much longer.”

a whine escaped you, another pout on your lips “want you, wonwoo…”

he let out a breathy sigh and quickly muted the mic. “they’re gonna hear you, don’t do that.”

“but—“

he cut you off quick, holding your waist a bit tighter, “babe, i said ill be done soon. be patient.”

you rolled your eyes and settled back onto his thigh. “baby…” he warned.

“nonu, you said we’d hangout. i don’t want to sit here and watch you play your stupid game all night!”

he grit his jaw a bit. wonwoo won’t admit it but he secretly loves when you’re a brat. he loves to put you back into your place one way or another, usually on his cock.

his eyes flickered to the bottom of the discord call to make sure he was still muted then back up to your eyes.

“what do you want?”

you bit your cheek, “you… your hands on me o-or something.”

he nodded and unmuted the call briefly.

“i’m still here, you can start the lobby i’ll just be a second.” then muted once more.

“since you can’t be patient, i can give you what you want… but i’m not stopping.”

you sucked your teeth, whining again.

“or i can just leave you hanging. which would you prefer?”

you sulked a moment but agreed, making wonwoo smirk pridefully.

“strip for me, baby and get to work.”

with butterflies of anticipation, you gulped and stood up, quickly removing your layers of clothes while wonwoo’s dark eyes watched you.

“under my desk, love. quietly.”

with that he lifted his hips and pulled his sweatpants down just enough to free his length, already hard and leaking thanks to your little attitude.

you fell to your knees and did as he asked, taking his shaft in your hand. you stroked his length a few times while you listened to wonwoo unmute himself and apologize for stepping away momentarily. the familiar sound of his keys clacking filled the room while you licked up his shaft to his tip, tasting the salty precum against your tongue.

you took his tip in your mouth, suckling against it and taking him deeper and deeper until his pink tip was hitting the back of your throat. you wanted to gag, tears filling your waterline but suppressed it the best you could so you could stay quiet.

wonwoo grew quieter, too.

he didn’t want to moan on discord with his friends, he’d never hear the end of it. he tried to focus the best he could on the game but the way your pretty lips were wrapped around him, he was close to breaking.

after a few rounds of taking him down your throat, you pulled off of him with a small gasp and went back to stroking his cock. you rested your head on his thigh and whispered his name making him look down at you briefly then back towards the game. you looked so fucking pretty for him, he could bust right now.

“what, babe?”

you whined “want you..”

he bit his lip and muted the mic once more. “so needy. come ride me but i’m going to keep playing.”

he unmuted the mic and started barking some orders so seungcheol as you straddled his hips in this tiny gaming chair. you lowered yourself onto his cock, biting your lip to stifle any moans attempting to escape while your hands found his broad shoulders.

slowly at first, you started to bounce your hips, making his length hit your sweet spot with ease. his eyes focused hard on the game. you could hear jeonghan talking through the headset. the thought of either of them hearing you has you clenching around wonwoo, beginning to ride him harder.

wonwoo’s cock was perfect. it was long and slender, perfect to make you see stars every time you two fucked. as you rode him faster and harder, you felt more and more desperate, trying to get close to your sweet release.

one hand on his shoulder, the other found the back of the chair for more stabilization while you ground your hips more into him. soft little whimpers were leaving your throat as your high was approaching.

the harder you rode him, seeing you desperately trying to get yourself off was doing numbers on wonwoo right now.

“wonwoo, you’re playing like shit. focus!”

wonwoo rolled his eyes at seungcheol, clicking away on the mouse to try and defeat the enemy in front of him. he kept glancing down at the timer… only another minute and a half of the match.

you were so close you could taste it.

your orgasm was right in front of your face.

the hand that was on his shoulder fell so you could grab your breast in your hand, trying to offer yourself more stimulation, pretending it was wonwoo’s feeling you up. the thought elicited another whimper from you.

the match ended and to no surprise, wonwoo played poorly. seungcheol was giving him an earful but truthly, that didn’t even matter at the moment.

“i’ll be right back.”

wonwoo threw his headset off and slit the chair back some. his hands found your hips and helped you bounce on his cock.

“so fucking desperate. wanna cum?”

eyes screwed tight with bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded quickly. he moved his hips slightly, trying to match your rhythm while his fingertips dug into your plush skin.

“so close, baby. cum for me.” he spoke, words velvety smooth.

a few more thrusts between you two and you came hard against him. with how tight you were squeezing him, he was quick to follow you, cumming deep inside if you. his lips found yours, kissing you through both your highs, both of you panting excessively.

wonwoo was careful to lift you off of him and grab some tissues he kept on his desk to clean you up.

“i promise baby, this is the last round. okay? then im all yours.”

you nodded with a soft smile and kissed him before moving to retrieve your clothes. he cleaned himself off and threw the headset back on.

“im back, sorry.”

“next time you fuck your girlfriend, please mute yourself for the love of god.”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x f!Reader

Summary: When his son says that you're the favorite parent, all of Zayne's rules go out the door.

Warnings: Fluff

*First time writing for him and it's a dad drabble🥹 will definitely be doing an actual oneshot for him in the future

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Liam, finish your food.” Zayne tells the three-year-old, pushing the plate towards the child. Liam pushes it away again, shaking his head in response. He’s eaten a good portion of the food, leaving behind the most important part. “You won’t grow big and strong if you don’t finish your vegetables.”

“I don’t want more.” The boy says, and Zayne sighs. How should he proceed? Zayne’s dealt with a lot in his life, though this has to be the hardest thing he’s dealt with so far. A human so small is causing him to gray earlier than usual.

“If you don’t finish, you won’t get dessert.” Zayne threatens, and it makes the child’s little eyebrows furrow. He crosses his tiny arms before claiming,

“This is why I love mommy more.”

Zayne doesn’t get hurt over trivial things. A child claiming that it has a favorite parent is something that is momentarily, and it’s often decided by which parent spoils them the most. So it shouldn’t hurt when his son says that you’re the child’s favorite parent, right?

“That’s fine. You’re still not getting dessert.” Zayne tries to play it off as if the words don’t sting. The child begins to eat his vegetables since he doesn’t want to miss out on the sweet treat. Even if he isn’t the favorite parent, he’s doing his job right.

Though things begin to change around the home, and you’re quick to notice. Zayne is more lenient, allowing Liam to get away with things that he would’ve gotten scolded for before. Many rules that had been set by Zayne have gone out the door. The child is doing just fine without the rules, but you can’t help but question your husband while you’re putting away the groceries,

“I thought you wouldn’t buy this brand of cereal for him because it’s too unhealthy.” You point out, examining the box of cereal that you hold in your hand. He hums in response.

“He pointed at it and said he wanted to try it so I got it for him.” He answers, and you furrow your brows. It’s so unlike him. You don’t know how you feel about this version of your husband, but you do miss him being overprotective over his son.

“What’s up with you?” You question, and he tries to act like this is completely normal behavior from him.

“What do you mean?” He responds, and you have to walk over to him. He’s in the middle of putting away something, and you snatch it from his hands and put it on the counter before your hands cup his face.

“Who are you and what did you do to my husband?” You watch him avert his gaze, which is a dead giveaway that something is wrong with him. “Why aren’t you being overprotective of Liam?”

“He said he loves you more.” He admits, and it makes you want to laugh, but you hold it back. It melts your heart to see just how much Zayne values his son’s opinion, but he should know that he shouldn’t take everything to heart. “ Maybe I’m doing too much, and I don’t want him to hate me.”

“Liam, come here, honey!” You yell, and while you wait for the three year old to make his way to the kitchen, you inform Zayne of a crucial detail, “I scolded him earlier for something.”

“What?” Liam asks as he enters the kitchen. You let go of Zayne and look at your son.

“Who do you love more, mommy or daddy?” You question, and the child looks back and forth between you and Zayne. And just as you predicted, he points to Zayne.

“Daddy isn’t mean.” Liam tells you, obviously still mad about what you did earlier. You roll your eyes while Zayne sheepishly smiles. And he really let his son’s words affect him this much?

“Why are you smiling?” You don’t even have to look back at Zayne to know that he is. He lets out a chuckle, relieved to know that Liam doesn’t actually have a favorite parent.

“Sorry, my love.” Zayne kisses your temple before reaching for the cereal that he just bought, and throwing it in the trash. He won’t be needing that anymore. “I have to clean out the pantry as well.” 

You walk over to the pantry to see what he means, and your eyes widen at the amount of junk food that he bought to please his son. You can’t help but laugh, noticing the lengths your husband will go to make sure that he’s the favorite parent.

[modelbus]

can i request a reader (with sbi and also separate) who’s rich rich like she was born with a gold spoon and whenever she gives them gifts or treats them food they feel bad BAHAHAHA but it's just readers love language

can this be a drabble or whatever you can do :DD

I got your other message saying you wanted headcannons, so here you go! No wilbur for obvious reasons.

Included: Cc!Tommy, Cc!Phil, Cc!Techno, + all of them (platonic)

Rich Reader Headcannons

Tommy

Unapologetic about using your money.

He cares at first, and even when you say you’re paying he’ll order cheap things from restaurants, but after you give him the go ahead he will be a menace

Expect to lose all your money to Legos, his one true addiction.

“I could stream building this one, but this one would look so good in my room…” Tommy mumbles, squinting at two Lego boxes. You’re starting to regret letting him talk you into stopping by the store for what he said would be a quick visit.

It’s been two hours.

“Just get them both, Tom.” You finally sigh.

He lights up, no better than a kid on Christmas Day. “Fuck yeah!”

He’s money conscious, and will still note the price of things, but after he gets used to it he’s fine with you paying.

Doesnt blink twice at gifts.

You get this man anything and he will GOBBLE it up. Give him an Apple Watch? Great, his forever, he’s already wearing it. Give him a toothpick? He’s using it, perfect.

Won’t ask you to pay, and is very willing if you don’t want to, but let’s be real you always do pay.

He’ll say “thank you” at least. Five days later, maybe, when he finally remembers, but he says it!!

Talks you into buying things that you don’t need.

”I mean, you have the money. Y’know. Just saying.”

Phil

This man hates it, change my mind.

It’s a competition to see who can pay first with this man, and he does it out of pure spite.

Actually, he does it because he wants you to feel normal and not like you have to pay because you’re rich.

“I have the money, Phil!” You insist, holding your card.

“And I don’t care. I already gave them my card, I’m paying.”

When you make a stupid financial decision and buy a $1,000 lightsaber (blame Tommy), he just kinda sighs at you.

If you approach him for financial advice, he will genuinely tell you helpful things as if you weren’t incredibly rich.

He accepts your gifts, but always makes sure to somehow give you one in return.

maybe not of equal value… he isn’t as rich as you… but of equal love <3

Techno

Have you SEEN this man’s setup? He is in NO POSITION to decline gifts.

Will secretly be desperately in need of literally anything and just. Wont get it. So you end up buying it for him…

You order him food online to have it delivered to him and man just won’t say thank you. He’s rather awkwardly send you a photo of the food on his desk, entirely eaten.

Or he’ll just drop a photo of his new setup in discord for you.

He will “anonymously” acknowledge you when he streams/records a video on his new gear though.

“And if you’ve noticed this video came much faster than normal, it’s because of a new PC which runs at light speed.” He zooms into the face of his Minecraft character. “It’s not a toaster guys! Praise the rich gods!”

He literally can’t afford to buy you gifts in return.

Well he COULD but that man sees the shipping and is horrified.

His gifts in return are those photos of whatever you give him.

Techno genuinely is VERY appreciative though!! Like you are practically saving this man’s life by buying him shit.

He won’t ask for anything, you’ve just got to use your gut instinct to figure out what to give him.

All

Having all three to spend money on is a DREAM for you.

Phil forces Tommy to say “thank you” every single time. Repeatedly.

Techno sends his photos in the group discord, and Tommy will jokingly rage that he didn’t get a new PC or something that Techno did.

Paying when you all go to eat is a competition of speed between you and Phil. He started getting sneaky and approaching the waiter/waitress before they even brought the bill.

So you had to compromise and agree to give your cards to the waiter and let them pick a card at random.

(you win most times because you’ve got a fancy ass card)

For your birthday they tend to kidnap you from your bed and take you to do a surprise so you can’t find a way to pay or something 😭

They’re all in awe of your house, meaning you love having them over!!

Best vlogs occur at your house, let’s be honest

[heyimkana]

Sweet Neighbor Yuuta

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu x Female Reader

Word Count: 5K (I feel like I should apologize but if you’ve seen my other works, this is considered super short I’m being fr rn)

Summary: Yuuta is your new neighbor, and everyone loves him because of his sweet and kind personality. He has a crush on you, but you’re a married woman, so you can’t reciprocate his feelings the same way. But when your husband starts cheating on you, you can’t help but turn to him for comfort.

Content Warnings: alcohol, swearing, adultery/cheating, age gap (Yuuta is in his early twenties, reader is almost in her thirties), unprotected sex, also Yuuta going down the yandere route at the end I'm not playing so if it's not your cup of tea don't read

A/N: wrote this in one sitting after aleks @yuutito said something about yuuta and older woman that rewired my brain (how dare she went to sleep after casually telling me this like I wasn't going to just just sit there thinking about *redacted*-ing this ver of him in 124352 different positions). i was supposed to be watching my kids playing in my backyard but i wrote this instead. pls don't call child support. this is also supposed to be a drabble 🤡 🔫 i was going to send it to her on discord but a few people were asking if i was dead (girl, only on the inside lol) cause i haven't posted in a while so hi everyone guess who came back from the war (i'll go through my inbox asap i promise ily)

P.S: don't use your brain when you read this cause i certainly didn't use mine when i wrote this only my dick

Yuuta Okkotsu is your new neighbor. 

He lives across the street, and you’re not close to him, not yet. He’s younger than you, much younger than you—a fresh graduate from a reputable university who’s lucky enough to be able to work from home. He doesn’t go out much, but he’s friendly, always leaving good impressions around the neighborhood. Everyone knows Yuuta. Everyone loves Yuuta. 

The first time you asked about him, purely out of curiosity, was when you greeted your neighbor next door, an older woman living alone ever since her late husband passed. She just got home from, what you assumed, another trip to the clinic. You saw him stepping down from her porch after making sure she was okay and bidding her with a polite bow. You traded smiles with him, but he didn’t stop for a conversation. You just saw his face turn scarlet at the sight of you, and he dropped a quick “Hello” before he bolted.

“Who was that?” you asked.

“Oh, he’s our sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

“Sweet neighbor Yuuta,” you laughed a little. “He just moved here like three days ago, and everyone calls him that.”

“Because it’s true!”

“Uh-huh, and what did he do that was so sweet to you?”

“He’s helped me with my chores—washing the dishes, bathing my cat, mowing my backyard. He saw me having trouble crossing the street yesterday, so he offered to take me to the clinic today. Such a sweet boy, that man. Very handsome, too.”

That last part you could agree with. Instantly. 

You see Yuuta occasionally, always by coincidence, like maybe in the morning when you leave the house to put out your trash or grab a newspaper. He always seems like he’s eager to strike up a conversation but gives up before he can, simply because his heart can’t take it. You know he has a crush on you; it’s clear as day. He’s young, and he’s in love. It’s cute. But you’re married and committed, so that’s that. 

You meet him more frequently when he starts going to the same local supermarket. You bumped into him in one of the aisles, with him approaching you first because he saw you struggling to get that ketchup bottle on the top shelf. He’s so polite, and he’s, indeed, very sweet, especially to the elderly, always taking his time to humor them when nobody else seems to pay them any attention. He grabbed the bottle for you, and you ended up chatting with him while waiting in line. He offered to help carry your groceries, and you were thankful because you weren’t sure you could bring everything alone. He walked you to your car, bade you good night, and told you to take care. 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta. 

Things haven’t been going well with your husband. It’s fight after fight after fight.  At first, your relationship became so strained because you couldn’t conceive even after two years of marriage. The truth is, you don’t want to have a baby, not too soon, not when you still want to focus on living your life, but he wants it terribly, and if you want your marriage to work out, there’s no other choice but to try. You’re somehow glad that the universe seemed to work in your favor, at least for now.

You’re unsure if it’s your fault or his—you don’t have the money or time to get yourself tested. Nevertheless, he kept trying, turning your sex life into a string of dull experiments, one after another. It didn’t come as a surprise that after a while, he gave up. What did come as a surprise was when he started cheating. 

You have reasons to back your assumptions from all the evidence you’ve found along the way. The lipstick stain on his shirt, the hint of female perfume in his car, the way he never left his phone out of reach, terrified of you looking into it. It’s enough. 

It’s Friday night. Your husband won’t be home until late. Still got a bunch of stuff to do at work, he said, which is another way of saying, I got my secretary sucking my dick since you barely even bother anymore. Which is true.

You’re tired of him. You’re tired of having sex with him where he only cares about him cumming inside you and nothing more. You’re so tired of fighting. And now that he's cheating on you, you grow too tired to care. About him. About your marriage. About everything.

So, you head down to a bar one night just to distract yourself. And there he is again. Yuuta. Sitting by himself, watching a football game on the big screen with a beer bottle in hand. He looks rather… lonely, a new face that makes your heart twitch a bit. His solemn look makes him more gorgeous in a way, more mature, more mysterious, and girls love that, don’t they? A slightly dangerous aura to a very sweet face, unapproachable yet inviting.

But that doesn’t last too long because the moment he sees you, his face brightens entirely. He smiles, standing up from his seat to greet you, and you meet him halfway. You end up chatting all night. He’s a fantastic listener, and he’s so kind and thoughtful with each word, comforting you the way you need the most. It’s embarrassing that you nag about your husband like this, but he seems genuinely interested in helping you convey your emotions, and you just can’t stop. It feels so liberating.

Yuuta buys you your favorite drink but also reminds you not to get too much alcohol in your system. You begin to trust him, knowing for certain he won’t take any advantage of you. He walks you home right after. It’s true that he lives right across your house, but he makes sure you get inside safely. He leaves only after he sees you close and lock the door behind you. You spy on him from the window, wanting to see what he does after you’re gone. You see him rubbing a hand over his face, flushed from ears to neck, looking extremely happy that he got to spend time with you. 

He’s so cute, you think to yourself. Like a high school lovesick boy, kind of cute.

Yuuta then notices your husband’s missing car, meaning that you’re alone in the house. He looks sad on your behalf, which is so kind of him to think about your feelings that much. Then he turns upset, as if he was thinking, how dare he stay out so late, leaving her without protection like this. Looking visibly worried, he then texts you, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? My door is open for you anytime.” You smile and promptly reply to him with, “That’s so kind of you, thank you.” 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

These friendly sorts of private meetings between you and him go on for a while. Your husband often arrives late, usually drunk out of his mind or too tired to stay for a chat, and he heads straight to bed without even giving you a goodnight kiss. It hurts, but it’s fine. The more your husband breaks your heart, the harder Yuuta will try to mend it and make it whole again. And he did. Every night, when you’re lucky enough to see him, you’ll feel like a heavy weight is lifted from your chest. You feel… happy, even in this terrible situation, and it’s all because of him. 

You usually hang out with him at the bar, but sometimes you don’t feel like going for a ten-minute drive, and you choose to just cross the road and knock your fist against his door. No matter what hour you visit, day or night, for a morning latte or evening tea, he always greets you with the prettiest smile.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

Weeks passed by, and now you spend most of your free time chatting with him, sitting on the couch in his living room, and talking about yourself more than you ever did with your husband. He likes listening to you talk about yourself, and he tells you that you shine so brightly when you talk about the things you’re passionate about. He always stammers out his praises, looking like he’s seconds away from combusting into flames just from calling you beautiful or something. He’s so young, so inexperienced yet passionate when it comes to love and romance, and it shows.

You ask questions about himself, too, and you can understand why it’s addicting for him to watch you speak, because the second he does that, he’s breathtaking. 

You find out that he likes the things you like, he’s watched the movies you’ve seen, and he’s read your favorite books. It’s not just a coincidence, is it? Maybe you’re a match made in heaven. But even so, nothing happens. He’s too respectful, and he makes you respect yourself. You’re married, and he’s a close friend of yours. That’s it.

He’s just your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

One morning, you find a bouquet sitting on your porch. Oh, right, today’s our anniversary. Your husband has this habit of sending you your favorite flowers on your anniversary. He does this every year, which is nice of him, but you really didn’t think he’d send you one this year, seeing how he barely exchanged more than three sentences with you. So now that you receive his flowers, you’re beginning to think, oh, maybe he’s trying to fix things between us. You’re not sure if you want that, though, not anymore. Most of your heart already belongs to someone else, which is terrible since you’re married, but you can’t help it. 

You pick up the flowers anyway; too pretty to be thrown away. You open the card attached to it. I will love you forever, it says, written in his handwriting. The way he wrote the letter f is a little different. Looks like he wrote in a rush, you presume. Either that, or he just didn't care enough. And it’s whatever; you didn’t expect much anyway. You appreciate the thought until your eyes land on the name he wrote.

That’s not my fucking name.

He must have sent flowers to his secretary at the same time and had his card switched. That fucking cheater.

You thought you didn’t care about him anymore, but God, now you’re livid.

Yuuta shows up at the perfect place and at the perfect time. He invites you over to have dinner together at his place. “J-just, you know, as friends,” he says, unconsciously giving you the confirmation that he does not think of you as a friend. Not at all.

So you come over in a beautiful red dress later that evening, and he stares at you, completely in awe, for a good three seconds. “You, umm—” He blushes madly, his head so full of steam he could barely think. “You look like… like a goddess.”

“Thank you,” you simper. That was so corny for him to say, but he meant every word, which makes it endearing. “You look amazing, too.” And he is. God, he looks so handsome in his black buttoned-down shirt, and his parted hair, and his sweet, sweet smile.

I want to fuck the shit out of him.

It’s the monster inside you who speaks it. The part of you that’s been neglected for so long, that’s never been touched in the way you wanted to. And it’s screaming, begging for Yuuta to love you.

But no. We’re friends. We’re just friends, aren’t we, Yuuta?

Yuuta cooks, too, apparently. Every dish looks fucking delicious, and everything else is perfect. The table setting decorated with your favorite flowers. The scented candles with your favorite fragrance set up romantically on top of the cozy fireplace. The soft music playing in the background, a piano instrumental of your favorite song. It’s like a date. A celebration. Like something you should’ve had with your husband today.

“You did all of this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?”

You gesture to your surroundings. “We’ve read the same books and watched the same movies. Okay, fine, maybe we have the same taste. But this song, those flowers, everything you’ve set up in this room, you did all of these for me, didn’t you?”

He pauses before he tucks his chin, avoiding your gaze. “I just… wanted to make you happy,” he confesses bashfully. “Is it… Is it too much? Do you not like it?”

“Yuuta, of course, I love it.” You stroke his arm, washing his worry away. “I just… I’ve never had someone care about me this much before…”

He melts under your touch, and there’s so much he wants to say, but his lips form nothing but a sad smile. He caresses your face with tender hand, his fingertips quivering slightly when they land on your cheek. His heart must be beating like crazy right now, you smile to yourself, leaning further into his touch to soothe him.

“I would do this every day for you if you let me,” he whispers, promise behind each word. “I would make you happy, so happy you’d forget what sadness feels like. What loneliness feels like.”

That stirs something inside your chest. “And what do you want in return for that?” You slide up a hand, testing his limit.

He stops your hand by covering it with his own. For a second, just for a brief second, he emits a different feeling. There’s intensity behind his gaze that burns you as if he wanted you all to himself. And that’s understandable. No man, especially one who’s so desperately in love like him, would want to share his woman with someone else, but he knows the situation they’re in, doesn’t he? It’s just not possible for you to be together, not now, not completely. Maybe that’s why he switches back in a blink, smiling until his eyes crinkle adorably. “Nothing,” he answers. “As long as we can be friends like this, it’s more than enough for me.”

He’s a terrible liar, you think, slightly amused. It’s cute how he tries so hard to conceal his feelings and you still can read him like an open book.

The food tastes as amazing as it looks, even down to the last bite. You don’t talk about the bouquet, afraid that you’ll ruin the mood, but Yuuta is always so attentive when it comes to you. He asks you what happened, and he hugs you the second he sees tears brimming in your eyes. You’re not sad. You’re fucking angry. And thank God Yuuta is there to let you vent your frustrations. You go as far as telling him almost every little shitty thing your husband did to you behind your back, as well as the slutty secretary that’s been sleeping with him for money. It feels relieving to finally say their names out loud, with so much hatred, so much rage, and to have Yuuta respond with, “No matter how pretty she is, she’s nothing compared to you. Your husband doesn’t deserve you. If I were him, I would’ve—” he stops himself, just in time, flustered and mortified under your gaze.

You’re older. You’re older than him by eight, no, nine years even. You know what’s going to happen if you encourage him to say the words he’s been dying to say. You know what it’s going to do to your relationship. But fuck that. If there were one man in this world who knew how to treat you like you deserve…

It’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

So, by the time the two of you move to the couch with some wine in your system, you lean forward, letting your fingers trace the protruding vein on the back of his hand. His eyes widen at the way your dress does very little to hide your cleavage, but he averts his gaze right away, being the gentleman that he is. But tonight, you want him to be the opposite of that. You don’t want him to be sweet; you want him to let his desire win. There’s a monster hiding inside him, something much more terrible than your own. You sometimes caught its glimpse when he thought you weren’t looking his way. The amount of obsession that fogged his eyes, his fixation over you, turning his sapphire blue eyes so dark, so deep, so intense, like he wanted to have you locked up in his room, tied up and used and thoroughly fucked until you found no strength to stand and no will to escape. It should’ve been a scary thought, but it wasn’t. It was… exciting.

“I want to hear it, Yuu…” Seduction lays thickly in your voice as you lay a gentle hand on his cheek, guiding his eyes back to you. You stare up at him from underneath your lashes with this look in your eyes that makes his breath hitch in his throat. “If you were my husband…” You wet your lip, your tongue a sinful dance to his eyes. “What would you do to make me feel…” You purposely drop your gaze to his lips, letting him catch your message. “…loved?”

You watch him gulp, goosebumps breaking on his skin. You watch his eyes fall to see the way you rub your thumb over the bumps on his knuckles. You watch them turn half-lidded as they linger a second too long on your lips. And you watch him break all control he has over himself, and you let him devour you the way you’ve been wanting him to.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

And he tastes even sweeter with your cum on his tongue.

It’s happening too fast, yet it feels like it’s not going fast enough. He starts by holding you by the face, slotting his lips against yours, passionate and gentle at the same time. He pulls away for a moment to see your reaction, and when you kiss him back, he lets out this sinful moan that causes your stomach to churn.

He’s so fucking sexy. Even without trying, he is. 

In the next second, he’s eating you out on the couch, spreading your legs, and kneeling on the floor with his head trapped between your thighs, wanting to get as much of you as you can give him. When his tongue circles your clit, and he’s moaning against your heat, it feels so good you almost run away, not used to experiencing this much pleasure. It’s scary how easily he plays with your body. How fast he can tell which part of yours likes to be licked, which ones want to be sucked, and which ones want to be fucked. He moves agonizingly slow, but each touch feels so right that you find no reason to complain. He’s sure to take his time with you, to make you feel loved in the way a wife should be when her husband makes love to her.

He takes hold of your thighs, holding you tight, but you want it even tighter to the point of leaving bruises all over your skin so you can show them to your husband later. His gaze is intense, constantly keeping his eyes on you. Your expression turns him on, making him ache so bad within the constraints of his pants that his eyes turn watery, desperate for release. He’s too ashamed to ask you to touch him, and maybe he doesn’t want to be touched, not yet, he just wants to focus on pleasuring you for now. So he keeps sucking your clit into his mouth, and he slides one hand into his own jeans to grip his cock tightly. He fucks his fist as fast as he fucks your hole with his tongue, groaning, whining, whimpering against your cunt. He’s pathetic. You love it.

You push him down to the carpeted floor after you drench his mouth and chin with your juice, and you push his fingers, coated with his own cum, into your mouth. He curses once at the sight, and it’s so sexy when he does it. After all this time hearing him talk so softly, so innocently, hearing a low, “Fuck, you're making me lose my mind,” tumbling off his lips is such a fucking turn-on. 

You tear yourself away from your dress before you rip open the buttons of his shirt, not caring if the two of you are in the middle of his living room, visible for anyone to see if they dare take a peek through the window. You wish the light in the room were brighter. It would’ve been a lovely show for your husband if he came home to see you riding another man’s cock, using Yuuta to your own satisfaction, and watching him make you cum the way he couldn’t. 

Yuuta, oblivious to your thoughts, is gasping out your name, one arm hiding his beet-red face while his other one is gripping your thigh. “W-wait,” he flinches, his breathing tattered. “You’re going—too fast—”

You know you are, but it’s so good that you can’t stop. His cock rubs your walls so deliciously as if it was made solely for this purpose. You cum so fast, so hard, and he follows almost right away, unable to hold it even longer when he sees you looking like that when you cummed. 

Your body is still trembling when he suddenly lifts you off his cock and guides you to his face. “Ride me again,” he says, begging. “Please, Angel, I want to taste you again.” And you do, sitting on his face and letting him lick, suck, and lap at everything that seeps out of you.

He’s staring at your swollen clit, licking his lips and seemingly dazed as he rubs his thumb softly over it. “I’m sorry I came inside you,” he says, genuinely feeling guilty about it despite you giving him permission to.

You shiver, still feeling so sensitive for receiving so much stimulation at once. “It’s okay. I can’t get pregnant anyway,” you laugh it off. “I haven’t gotten myself checked yet, but we’ve been trying for two years, and nothing has happened yet, so…”

His gaze darkens. “I see,” is the only thing he utters before he scoops you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. You’re surprised; you really thought that was it. Both of you came twice already in, like, fifteen minutes. That’s enough, isn’t it? But he’s still young, and he has a lot of energy that leaves him insatiable. If you let him, he’ll have you for the entire night.

It’s not a bad thing, not at all.

So you kneel in front of him on the bed, bite the corner of your lip to drive him even more insane, and stroke him slowly with your hand. “You still want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, the muscles in his abdomens tautening. “Yes, Ma’am, please…”

Ma’am? You almost laugh. How does he keep getting cuter and cuter?

“Okay.” You reward him with a little kiss on the head of his cock, robbing a soft whimper out of his mouth. Lying down on the bed, you spread your legs, sliding two fingers down your body to do the same to your cunt. “Come here and love me again, Yuu.”

He obliges in a split second. Yuuta has so much love to give, and he lets his mouth, his tongue, and his cock paint a perfect picture on your body.

Everything feels like heaven until he suddenly stops in the middle of thrusting his hips, earning himself an impatient whine. His blue eyes have lost their warm, pretty light. They’re as dark as the night, but lust and greed are the perfect colors for him. He sits on his knees, resting your ankles on his shoulders, breathing heavily. 

“Yuuta?”

He’s not listening, too captivated by the way his tip slides in and out so easily. You’re so fucking wet for him; it’s embarrassing, but Yuuta would take a picture of you like this in a heartbeat, with your wedding ring still wrapped around your finger and his cock sheathed deep inside you, should you allow him to.

He splays his hand over your stomach, giving a little pressure to your womb. You squirm, suddenly feeling like you no longer have control over anything, over him, not like the way you did before. It’s frightening and thrilling at the same time. “Yuuta, what are you—” Your jaw turns slack at the sensation when he thrusts inside, just once, just to see how far it goes within your walls. He’s so hard and thick and throbbing that you could practically feel him poking from inside of your stomach. And perhaps he’s thinking the same thing, his eyes glistening when he feels a bulge forming under his palm. He swallows. He looks… hungry.

“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” he says, running a tongue across his lower lip, his eyes still fixated on the way you’re taking him so well, all stretched out and tight around him. “You know what I think?” He pulls himself out completely, shivers in his breath. “I think you’re wrong.” He slams his hips forward so abruptly, and with so much force, you have one hand shooting past your head to keep a safe distance away from the headboard. 

“Yuuta—” You gasp out, struggling to match his rhythm. “Wait—”

He only smiles a little, chuckles a little. He’s so far gone. He leans forward until you’re pressed chest to chest, folding you in half before he laces his fingers together with yours. “I think you can get pregnant.” He moves closer to your ear, whispering with his lips caressing your lobe, “And I’m going to show you how.”

He fucks the breaths out of you, swallowing each cry with his mouth, embracing you so tightly you can feel his heart beating against yours. “I’m sorry,” he pants, “It hurts, doesn’t it? I—” He’s interrupted with a low groan, feeling you clenching around him.“—really am sorry—” He smashes his lips against yours, smothering you with his kisses, too. “I know I’m being too rough, but I can't—”  He has one hand gripping the top of his headboard, giving him more support to drive his hips even deeper. “I can’t—stop—” He fucks you again, and again, harder each time until you find yourself unable to make sounds. “You’re so good... You feel so good around me... My angel…” You’re being folded, handled, trapped, and he fucks you until you’re drained, until you’re filled, until he’s spent. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Just a little bit more..." He kisses your forehead and your cheek to soothe you down, cradling your head as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His hips start to move erratically. “Don’t ever leave me… I will love you forever, so—ah, God—” He chokes out a sob when he feels you spasming around him again, reeling in another wave of orgasm that hit you so intensely, you see white.

It takes him a little over an hour until he finally lets you go. For now, at least.

But once he gives you a chance to breathe, he cleans you up so gently, dabbing a warm towel over your skin, peppering kisses as soft as butterfly wings down your back, your thighs, your chest, before ending his journey at your stomach. He rubs the supple flesh of your belly and smiles, completely satisfied after giving you his everything. And it scares you a little bit because… You might really end up getting pregnant this time.

“I have to go before he comes home,” you say, feeling your body ache terribly when you try to raise yourself off the bed. They’re not shown vividly yet, but there will be bruises in the morning in places you’re not sure you can cover. 

Yuuta hugs you from the side when you barely have one foot on the floor, whispering against the bare skin of your hip, “I’m not letting you go.”

It makes you happy. You feel so wanted, so loved, even after all the affection he gave you all night. The truth is, you don’t want to leave. Ever. To walk into your own home after experiencing what heaven feels like… It would be torturous.

“I wish I could stay with you, too.”

“You do?” He looks up with big, round eyes, hope residing in each one of them. “Would you stay with me forever?”

“If I could,” you reply and it’s true. God, if only you could stay forever with him, let him love you this way, forever. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?

“That makes me happy…” He takes both of your hands, kissing you on each wrist before he does the same to your palms. “That makes me so happy…” 

It tickles, so you laugh a little. He makes the same sweet sound, the sound of a boy in love. 

“I really need to go, though…” You whisper, hypnotized when he starts pushing your digit past his lips. It’s warm and wet inside his mouth, waking up the butterflies in your stomach. He keeps his eyes on you, looking so sensual as he sucks around your finger, enveloping it from base to tip. “Yuuta…”

“I understand.” He pulls away, ending it with a kiss. He seems disheartened, his smile doesn't shine as bright anymore and it hurts you. "I guess you left me with no choice."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He returns your embrace, just one more time before you have to let him go. “Can you turn around for me, please? I want to give you something,” he softly smiles. “A present. It will be quick, I promise.” 

You do as he says, excited at the thought of it. What will he give you? Knowing him and how he went through so much effort to prepare a dinner for two friends, you just know it would be something incredibly romantic. Yuuta kisses your nape, open-mouthed and lingering. You nibble on your lip to suppress your moan as he trails his lips from between your shoulder blades down to your spine. 

“Yuuta,” you sigh, squeezing your thighs together. You’re aching for him again, and it’s dangerous. Your husband can come anytime soon. “I know what you want, and really, I wish I could stay,” you say from the bottom of your heart, looking over your shoulder to see him, and you’re immediately answered by a kiss. He presses his chest to your spine, one hand cupping half of your neck and your jaw to keep you in place so he can deepen the kiss. His mouth moves with fervor, filling you up with desire, and if it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s car moving into your driveway, you would’ve let him take you there for another hour or two.

“I need to leave. Now.” You break away to gather your clothes quickly. Except you can’t.

You can’t move your hands.

Robbed out of your balance, you fall face-first to the floor. Your breath catches, your heart plummeting to your stomach when you realize you have your hands tied behind your back. You feel something rough grazing against your skin. There’s a rope ensnaring your wrists together, and it’s digging painfully into your flesh every time you struggle to break free. 

Panic rises quickly to your chest. You look up, your body froze with terror at the sight of him smiling at you. 

He’s not your sweet neighbor Yuuta. Not anymore.

This is the monster you caught a glimpse of before, in full form. His handsome features suddenly feel unrecognizable, not when you can no longer witness the warmth in his eyes.

What is happening? You breathe fast, frightened beyond your mind. Why is he doing this?

“I told you I’m not letting you go,” he says, walking slowly toward you. With every step he takes, your urge to escape grows bigger.

The second the dread sinks in, you part your lips to scream for help, but he clasps a hand over your mouth just in time. “Sshh shhh shhh,” he whispers, bringing you back to your feet. “We wouldn’t want your husband to find out, would we?” 

You try to kick and toss your body around, but he’s strong, much stronger than you could ever imagine him to be. From your peripheral vision, you see him taking out a syringe from a drawer behind him, fitted with a hollow needle to inject the clear liquid into your skin. You feel your heart pounding in your throat, your scream muffled as he sinks it into your skin. “There, there. Off you go, honey,” he whispers in your ear, as you begin to lose your will to fight. Your consciousness slowly wanes away with each second passing by. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. It’s only scary at the beginning, I promise.” He tosses the syringe away, now empty. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did you like the card I gave you?”

The card? What card?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry for tricking you like that,” he says with a little pout. “Truly, I am. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to do something to push you over the edge. I knew you liked me too from the start, but you wouldn’t make the first move. You kept staying faithful even when your husband was cheating on you like that. I admire you for that,” he sighs, utterly smitten by you, but only for a second before his tone drops. “But I was getting impatient, you see. And I knew you were, too. I watched your favorite movies. I read your favorite books. I learned everything about you and did everything you liked, but you still wouldn’t leave your husband for me. So you left me with no choice. I have to make you understand,” he slides his hand up your stomach, passing the valley between your breasts before he chooses to linger there, squeezing, teasing, pleasing. “That no one can touch you like I do. No one can love you like I do.”

You can feel him kissing your neck, licking a stripe up from your collarbone to the spot below your ear. “It was quite tricky copying his handwriting like that. There’s one letter I still can’t do very well even now. But it was enough to trick you, so I think everything’s fine in the end,” he chuckles, the sound filling your chest with horror, though you could barely register it now, not with the drug flowing in your system.

“You asked me what I would do to make you feel loved if I were your husband.” He carries you closer to the window, letting you see, with all the little power you have left, your husband closing the door of his car. Yuuta embraces you from behind, his hands tangled around your waist as he lets you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna show it to you.” You watch your husband make his way to your porch, oblivious to what’s happening in the dark room across the street. “I’m gonna love you, Angel. I will love you forever. With all my heart. And I’m gonna take my time. I’ll be so thorough with you that once I’m done, you won’t be able to spend a second of your life without me.” 

Your husband closes his front door, and with it goes your last chance of escaping, if there was even one.

You start losing strength in your legs, in your arms, but you’re still able to cry, and so you do just that. It won’t help you, nothing will help you, no one will help you, and no one will know what he’s doing to you, not when everyone thinks so fondly of him. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He kisses your tears away, landing an even softer one on your temple. “Don’t be afraid of me, my love. After all, it’s just me.” He meets your eyes in the reflection of his window, smiling with his hand holding the front of your neck.

“Your sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

***

[stupidlittlespirit]

glad you’re feeling better!

would you be comfortable sharing a sneak peek of the next chapter 👀

if not I totally understand please prioritize your well being!

Listen, I don't have a chapter sneak peak for you BUT..... because I'm making you all wait so long for this next chapter and I feel bad, I'm gonna give you a small snack.

This is an unpublished thingy that I posted on a little discord server that I'm in and people liked it there so I figured you might enjoy it here. It is just a very short warm-up drabble that I did ages ago and never used again. It's a bit messy and stuff, but whatever. It's set during MtB but it isn't really anything to do with the series. Just a little snippet of life within it:

I Got It Bad (and that ain't good) Rating: NSFW (only slightly) Type: Drabble Tags: Kissing, implied sexual stuff. Very, very tiny inference to muses but meant in no certain way. No pronouns/body described. Word count: 1233

When he's feeling contemplative, Ford likes to play the piano.

He is, like so many other things he turns his attention to, wonderful at it. 

Ford likes jazz. He pretends he's a classical purist but you've found the record sleeves on the shelves near his desk, you’ve done a little snooping, and you know they rarely correspond to the vinyl inside. They're just for show. He plays it mainly in the evenings when he's treating himself to a glass of scotch; he'll listen to a particular artist (this week it's been an awful lot of Duke Ellington) and then recreate it on his own instrument. 

He'll start small. Just a slow, leisurely tinkling of the ivories as he finds his rhythm, and then he'll settle into his groove and flex yet another of his many skills as you listen from another room while you tidy up.

If you're especially lucky, he'll ask you to join him and give him feedback on it. 

He doesn't care about the feedback, of course, because he knows he's good and so does everyone else, and you're sure he's just using it as an opportunity to show off but you never mind. 

He has, in typical Ford fashion, always refuted your accusation: “I assure you, I certainly am not,” he'd said one evening with a knowing smile, as you'd watched from your seat beside him. “I merely know that you like jazz and I play because you listen,” and you'd felt such an intensely affectionate warmth bloom in your chest that you'd dropped the point immediately.

(And when he had added on a quiet: “Plus, I like the way you look at me when I do it,” and you'd made him hit a bum note when you’d leant up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then, well, who can blame you?) 

Your favourite thing to do, beyond simply enjoying the melodies, is to watch his hands and fingers as he works. 

He'd been a little apprehensive at first, once he had noticed, but you had been quick to reassure him that your interest was appreciative, if perhaps salacious, and not even close to judgemental. 

“Would you be uncomfortable if I took a video?” You ask one dark winter's evening, leaning against the piano’s top while you observe him. “Just for myself, I mean.” 

“Whatever for?” Ford responds without missing a beat of his metronome. 

He's going away soon. He and Stan set sail in two days time and it’s a long trip this time, which means for four months, four long, agonising months, you’ll be without him. It’s almost too much to bear and your heart feels like lead at the thought. 

“Because I’m going to miss you and I’d like to have something to remind me of you when I feel like shit,” you say. 

The corner of Ford’s mouth curls upward a fraction and he spares you a thinly veiled, heated glance, his cheeks turning pink. “I thought our plan was to give you plenty of reminders the night before….?” 

Your stomach flutters. 

“I’d like more than bruises, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say, biting down on a smile. 

Ford laughs under his breath and after a moment, says: “And it’s just for you? The video?” 

“Of course,” you reassure him. “I don’t have to, I just…. Your hands are my favourite part of you and I think about them, often.” 

Too often, some might say. 

Ford laughs again, a little louder this time. “Not my dashing good looks?” he teases. “Or my dazzling personality? You wound me, my dear.” 

You grin. “All of the above,” you say with a shrug. “But especially your hands.” 

“Is that so?” Ford says, taking one hand from the keys to pat the empty space beside him. “And what, pray tell, do you think about them?” 

You go where he asks, taking up a seat at his side obediently. “Lots of things.” 

“Such as….?” 

He’s fishing for compliments, you both know it, but does sound genuinely curious, too. 

“I think they’re the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen,” you say, giving him exactly what he wants. “And I think about how they fit in mine. I think about how they feel, how your thumb rubs over my knuckles when we hold hands and how your little finger does the same on the sides, you know, just because you can do that….”

“Anything else?” Ford asks, voice warm. 

You smile, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers tick across the ivory. “And…. I like to think about how you hold my thighs when you have your head between them. The way you hold onto my hips. How your fingers taste when you put them in my mouth.” 

Ford makes a soft sound, somewhere between a contented sigh and an aroused groan, and his hands falter momentarily before he restarts his playing. 

“Is that so?” he says, hoarse. 

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly. Your head is full of those same thoughts right now, your mind’s eye blurred with the memories of Ford’s fingers climbing underneath your jeans and inching past your underwear. Of touching you so intimately that you have to press your thighs together slightly to sate the longing. 

Ford catches it. 

“You’re thinking about it right now,” he mutters, and his tone holds no question.

He’s stopped playing. His hands are frozen over the keys. 

“Aren’t you?” you answer, eyes still on them. 

Ford exhales slowly through his nose, shaky,  restrained. “I’m always thinking of you,” he says simply. 

You tear your eyes away to look up at him, only to find that his gaze is already on you. 

Ford’s eyes are molten, half-lidded and hot, and they flick down to your mouth and back up to your own. 

“You’re terrible,” he says, in such a way that it’s obvious he means it in the most complimentary context possible. “A terrible, terrible influence on an old man like me.” 

A smirk creeps onto your face. It’s always satisfying to see the effect you have on him. “I can leave, if you’d like me to. I have plenty to do and I-!” 

Ford pushes the stool back with one leg, your combined weights little more than a minor  inconvenience to him, and he hauls you into his lap before you can even finish the thought. 

You laugh, loud and bright, and fling your arms around his neck to hold on tightly to him and avoid sending you both to the floor in a heap. “Or not,” you concede. 

“Never,” agrees Ford, and then he’s kissing you. 

It’s slow and tender and white hot as always. 

You can feel his arousal press between your legs and it’s enough to make you smile against his mouth. 

“What a dirty old man you’ve become,” you say dramatically, nudging your nose against his. 

“I'm only what my muse makes of me,” Ford says raggedly. “And you are an awfully seductive force, you know….” 

“So I've been told,” you smile, one hand wandering below to palm him gently through his slacks. 

Ford groans, low and deep, and tilts his head back. “I'll make a deal with you,” he says quietly. “I swore off them a long time ago but just for you, just this once: if you keep doing that, I'll let you take footage of any fucking thing you like….” 

You grin. 

“Deal.” 

[kithtaehyung]

drabble: first one pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) rating/genre: pg ; fluff ; three tangerines au note: uhh. surprise and happy holidays LOL. based on this ig reel sent in the discord multiple times, this little slice is gonna kickstart the "3tan does sm" mini series! basically this little ongoing collection will have all the drabbles/requests based on social media things y'all send in. if it inspires me, i'll make a drabble or something out of it hehehe. enjoy! warnings: nothing big. just 3tan yoongi lol links: three tangerines mlist ; masterlist drop date: december 28, 2023, 7:07pm est word count: 1.1k

-

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In the middle of winter, you decide that tonight is the perfect time to try something new. 

Which leaves Yoongi confused as hell because this attempt requires him to be outside in the freeze, when the two of you were just bundled up in blankets and watching a movie minutes ago. 

But he can scold your lack of attention span and tendency to watch videos during long movies later. 

“What am I doing?” 

Placing him on one spot of the sidewalk just outside his apartment, you urge, “Just, hold on. Stay right there.” 

“Huh?” 

Giggling, you give no other instructions, instead rushing forward to bring your phone to a nearby bench. When you set it down to see what the camera catches, you determine that you look fine enough, so you tell Yoongi—who is simply standing there and still looking devastatingly handsome—what you wanna do. “Okay, pull up the video I sent you.” 

“Shouldn’t we go back inside?” 

“Yes, yes, after this.” 

When you walk up, he pulls up the link, and you both watch as people run to their partners and rush them out of frame, spinning them around or chasing them away. 

Ever consistent, Yoongi is both unfazed and wondering what goes on. “What’s the goal of this again?” 

Shrugging, you’re just happy he’s not tugging you back indoors yet. “I don’t really know, but. I just wanna see how you do it.” 

“Mm…” He looks one more time, cementing his answer with the way he smushes his lips. “Fine.” 

“You’ll do it?” 

“Uh huh. But this is just for you.” 

Right. Because of course this can't be seen anywhere else. Your smile is rueful with a tinge of holiday hope, “I know.” 

And Yoongi’s expression carries the same weight. 

Maybe one day this conversation will be a lot different. Just like the way your quick stay at his place while your brother is at a work dinner will prove a lot longer of a night. One day. 

Maybe.

Cheering yourself up, you practically bounce back to where the bench is, slipping a bit with a tiny “whoops” before reaching out to press record. Backing up onto the sidewalk, you throw up peace signs, poses, do a few different filler moves until Yoongi does his part. 

But nothing happens. 

And no one appears by your side. 

So you turn to see if he actually left but goddamn it is he recording you? “What the!” 

Yoongi just laughs as you kick your head back in laughter, and stops holding his phone up. “So cute.” 

Damn it, he can’t give you this fluttering feeling while being annoying! “Focus!” 

Groaning, you turn your recording off and then back on again, repeating some of the same things for the camera and shuffling a little in place to warm up. Because it is freezing and this idea could have waited another season or two. 

And when you look to the side after a pause, Yoongi is recording again. 

You bend forward to shield from the chill, your yell echoing throughout the small little courtyard, “Yoongi!” Does he have to keep grinning like that? There’s no time for prolonging this even more! “I cannot with you right now.” 

After another attractive huff of amusement, he keeps going, “I can’t help it! You’re being adorable.” 

Well. At least Yoongi’s having his fun. If anything, he’s stalling because he doesn’t wanna do whatever challenge this is. So you can drop it. “Ugh… Never mind, we can go inside.” 

After grabbing your phone, you walk up to him again before he stops you. And you think it’s because you were about to slip once more, but his low tone gets you to see his face under those locks. 

“Nah, we can do it.” When you give him a pouting frown, his teeth shine. “Serious!” 

Easily placated, you’re back to grinning. “Okay, for real this time! It’s cold!” 

“I know! You didn’t even let me get my beanie!” 

Laughing out your guilt, you warn him over your shoulder, “If you run into me, you better not knock me over.” 

“I won’t, doll.” 

“Okay!” Placing your phone down for hopefully the last time, you hit record, seeing yourself sigh before gingerly walking back to the sidewalk. 

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to try and get Yoongi to do this. It’s colder than hell’s deepest frost at this point, and some snow is still falling from darkened skies. 

But all the little reactions in the videos looked too cute, and you are genuinely curious to see what he’s gonna do. So even through your poses, you brace yourself. Is he gonna run in for a hug? Is he gonna rush you off with a big warm embrace? 

…Is he really not gonna do anything?

Feeling a little bad, you drop the cute poses and turn. 

Only to feel him right at your side, gathering you with a soft, strong arm and leading you down the sidewalk. 

Well, damn.

The gesture is so him that, for a second, you genuinely think that he saw something and led you out of harm’s way on instinct. But as you look around, you don’t see anyone else in the wintry courtyard besides the two of you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Your vision flicks away from the lighted trees dotting the area. “Oh, nothing, I was just…” 

“Wanna run it back? If we do let’s go somewhere else. It’s icy right there.” 

Blinking, you see his eyes full of pure curiosity and attentiveness. 

And suddenly you wanna go back inside for a completely different reason other than warmth. 

“That felt perfect,” you whisper, eyes lowering to his ever inviting lips. “Lemme check it.” 

Leaving his cozy side, you go back and retrieve your chilly phone, stopping the recording that you are relieved you successfully started. Both you and Yoongi watch as you play the full thing, and after he leads you out of frame, your jaw drops. 

“Oh, my god. This beats all the ones I’ve seen.” 

“Really?” 

“Damn… Now I’m actually sad I can’t post this.” When you laugh, it’s not all joyful. Turning to him, you pretend to be mad. “Why are you so cool?” 

Huffing small, Yoongi looks up and around you before giving your cheek a kiss, and your knees weaken at how tender it is. “Send it to me,” he murmurs. 

“You want it, too?” 

“Mm.” 

“Okay.” 

“Just a little longer, babe.” He gives you another peck on your very cold nose. Then both cheeks. And your forehead. 

All while you’re out in the open where anyone could witness. 

Just his willingness to amuse you was already perfect. Yoongi didn’t need to do any of that, and he certainly didn’t need to be so charming with his stylistic choice. But he did it all anyway while freezing his pretty ass off.

And his next words make your chest yearn to stay with him—for every holiday season and silly trend that comes around. 

“Then this’ll be the first one of us we post.”

-

-

fin. :)

-

🌨️ what do we feel! i needed this little drabble :')) 🌨️

a/n: did i mean for this to be a full blown drabble? no! was this the video that bo originally sent me that i flailed over? no! but it's the reel i saw and apparently had been sent in the server multiple times. so here we are with a surprise hahaha.

enjoy your holidays, everyone! and if you have anything social media related that 3tan reminds you of - or you can see the 3tan crew doing - send them in and maybe i'll get inspired again. :D this didn't take me long at all and i wanted to do it, so no worries about extra work!

a/n 2: 3tan12 is going strong alongside the holiday fics! should be posting teasers and taglists for those, too. very very excited for all of them mwahaha

🌨️ links: three tangerines mlist ; masterlist

[fefern]

Halloooo, i noticed that ur requests r still open so can i request hcs on how wuwa Calcharo react if he has an s/o (gender neutral) who looks soft and delicate but they can actually defend themselves and get rid off enemies easily? Like maybe he found out they can fight, when they were just strolling around, and a tacet discord almost harms him but his s/o saves him in time? lol tysm and pls don’t rush 💗

✧˖° his reaction to a soft but strong lover. | calcharo headcanons + drabble.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ synopsis: calcharo simply thinks you are an absolute doll, fragile and in need of protection always. but how will he react when he realizes just how strong you are?

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ characters involved: calcharo and gender neutral reader.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ warnings: none!

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ notes: hi anon!! thank you very much for the wonderful ask, this was so fun to write and super sweet to think about too! calcharo is such a sweetheart in my head your honor *ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ please enjoy!

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ calcharo ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

calcharo genuinely thinks there is no one as pretty as you in the entire universe. 

the way you carry yourself, the way your features look, your poise, he simply thinks of you as a porcelain doll come to life.

calcharo is always on the defensive and stoic side due to his nature, but he becomes a bit softer when he’s with you, treating you as if you’re fine china and doing his best to ensure no harm comes your way at all.

it would be like this for a few months, you two together, and with him always being the first to make a move if any harm were to come your way. 

however, letting his guard down a bit did seem to have a pitfall, and one time, when you two were taking your usual stroll in comfortable silence, he catches himself staring at you.

you glow in the moonlight, your features gentle as ever, and he feels lucky that you love someone like him. 

however, something seems to change in your features, and you turn to him.

your eyes are suddenly sharp and focused as you give a small gasp and utter his name in shock, “calcharo!” 

before he can react, he hears the sound of a tacet discord grumbling, and all of the sudden, your figure is behind his and he hears a sharp slash in the air. 

your hair breezes past his own silver locks, and his eyes widen a bit as he realizes the trouble that the two of you may be in. calcharo shuffles forward a bit before turning around, grabbing his broadblade in hand. however, before he even has a chance to fight, he gets to see you in action. 

your movements are quick and precise, having a sort of elegance to them as you move and fight against the tacet discord. within a few seconds, the creature collapses and dies, leaving you softly heaving as you wipe your brow and stand up straight. calcharo can only stare at you in confusion, blinking slowly as he realizes what happened. he quickly comes to your side, holding his weapon in hand and glancing around for a moment. the area is once again clear, and the man let’s out a soft sigh before he relaxes and tilts his head at you. 

“my pretty songbird, you did not tell me you were so adept with fighting.” calcharo murmurs, scanning your features and making sure you didn’t get hurt in the process of protecting him. though you may insist that you’re alright, he still dotes on you for a moment before giving you a small smile. “i am impressed. how lucky i am to be blessed with a beautiful yet deadly lover.” he tells you, his eyes softening a bit as he gently pats your head. “rest assured, i will not let my guard down again.” calcharo huffs, shaking his head at himself for being as foolish as to let his guard down in the open and almost get injured.

“but if the day comes where we must fight an enemy grander than anything mankind has ever seen before,” he gently places a hand on your shoulder and kisses your forehead. “i hope you will be by my side as we defeat the enemy together.”

[fiyeraba-february]

Welcome to Fiyeraba February 2025! Fiyeraba February is a fan month dedicated to all things Fiyeraba!

There will be two prompts for every week and weekend. The only thing needed to participate in the event is to post you’re Fiyeraba works in the month of February and tag them with “Fiyeraba February” and/or “Fiyeraba February 2025” on tumblr or add them to the collection on AO3!

If you like this event consider checking out the Fiyeraba Fam Tumblr Community and Discord. There will be a channel on the Discord dedicated to Fiyeraba February!

If you have any questions send us an ask!

Prompts:

Feb 01-02: “Green” and “Dancing”

Feb 03-07: “I’m Not That Girl” and “Stories”

Feb 08-09: “Sun and Moon” and “Forest”

Feb 10-14: “As Long As You’re Mine” and “Cultural Differences”

Feb 15-16: “Grass” and “Touch”

Feb 17-21: “No Good Deed” and “Poppies”

Feb 22-23: “First Meetings” and “Transformations”

Feb 24-28: “Straw” and “Epilogue/Prologue”

* All creations must be Fiyeraba related, I know there are other lovely ships out there but this is a Fiyeraba event!

* NSFW is allowed, however it must be tagged properly on AO3 or spoilered if posted on Tumblr

* There will be an AO3 collection. It will be moderated to avoid spam, so works won’t appear for a little while after you submit them. Works don’t have to be submitted to the collection but it’s a nice way to see all the new works for the event!

* The prompts are for inspiration, you don’t have to follow them and it’s totally okay if you miss some!

* There are two prompts per week/weekend, if one doesn’t really work for you don’t have to use it! You can create different works for each prompt or combine them into one giant Fiyeraba work or something in between, whatever floats your boat!

* All Fiyeraba fan works are allowed. You can make drabbles or 100k+ word epics, you can create quick sketches or paint the cystine chapel, you can make meta, gifs, a knitted sweater or anything else you want featuring Fiyeraba!

* Tag your creations with “Fiyeraba February 2025” and/or “Fiyeraba February” so people can find all the awesome creations, I will try to go through the tag daily and reblog all the wonderful works to the blog!

* Most importantly be kind to others and have fun! This is about celebrating a scarecrow and a green person, have some fun!

The AO3 collection

How to add a work to an AO3 collection

Calendar

The Fiyeraba Fam Tumblr Community

This event is run by @chocolate-mallowmelt, with graphics by @gamorahww

[rosenclaws]

Happy Birthday Old Man || Old Man!Logan drabble

warnings: none, maybe a little sad

a/n: I can't believe Hugh is 56. He's now 33 years older than me. For now. (it'll be 32 next week but that's not much better oops)

come join my discord server!

Logan's back ached worse than normal today. It's been a pretty shit day to be fair. The fall weather only made his bones creak more and it's homecoming season meaning all those asshole rich kids with daddies money rent a limo. Stupid high schoolers who think they're being sneaky with their drinking making a mess in his car. He charged double the price after one of them puked all over his seats.

Glancing at the clock in his limo he sees that its finally time to go home. His mind drifts as he drives and drives. Only thinking about you as he nears closer to home. A part of him wonders why you're still here. He can't give you the best life. He can't give you any life. He's dying. Still you stay with him. Taking care of him. Why? He'll never really understand. As he pulls into the dark driveway he sees the lights still on in the kitchen.

"Honey," He calls as he stumbles inside.

"Logan!" You smile as you appear from the kitchen. It's nearly 3 in the morning and yet the smile on your face stays. He collapses into a chair. Groaning as his bones creak and pain shoots through his whole body.

"I'm alright." He says with a tired smile, he's lying but he can't stand to see you look so pitiful. Not at him. You sigh as you go over and start to massage his shoulders. Kissing his forehead as he melts into your touch.

"Are you hungry?" You ask. He nods. To be honest he doesn't really eat much anymore. At least nothing healthy. You disappear into the kitchen only to come back covering something with your hands. Slowly you move your hand to reveal a small cupcake with a candle in it.

"What's this honey?" You place the cupcake by his side and smile.

"It's your birthday." He furrows his brows as he thinks. Was it really? God he lost track of his birthday a long time ago.

"You sure?" You laugh and bring the cupcake up to his face.

"Very. Charles told me a while ago. I know that you aren't big on celebration but..." You drift off, starting to regret your silly little idea. He breathes in and blows out the candle. Suppressing a cough as he plucks the candle out.

"Thanks." He digs his finger into the frosting. It's sweet, just like you. It's also homemade. He can see the flour on your face and clothes.

He almost feels guilty. For being the lucky one who gets your love. All your hard work just to make him a cupcake for the birthday he forgot about. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? He rips off a piece of the cupcake and holds it up to your mouth. Feeding you the soft cake and getting frosting on your face.

"Logan," You gently scold him. Picking up some of the frosting yourself and smearing it on his cheek.

"Hey!" He smacks your hand away and pulls you into his lap. He kisses the frosting off your face and you gently wipe away the frosting on his cheek. He groans when he moves just a little too quick and you get off of him immediately. Settling in between his legs instead.

"I'm fine honey, promise." You smile and rest your head on his knees. You try to hide your sadness as you look at the man in front of you. You love him and you don't know how much time you have left with him. But you push that thought away. It's his birthday. Another year and he's still here.

"Happy birthday Logan." You stay by his side as he rests in the chair. Basking in the soft moment for as long as you can.

"Thank you honey," Happy birthday to the old man.

Now all you can do is hope he makes it to his next one.

[dino-cattivo]

Snirius prompt: Flame

A drabble prompt from the StarPrince Sever. It got a bit too long for the Discord, so I will post it here and link to it. It is just something quick and fun, so there are probably some spelling errors I overlooked.

The quill scratched over the parchment, the letters an elegant cursive that Severus had spent months perfecting when starting Hogwarts, wanting to fit in with his pure-blooded peers. Even years later -  filled with many bad decisions and on the wrong side of a war - his writing is still as pristine as it had always been.

The words, though, had changed from back then. No longer were they refined and checked for every double meaning. Now they were raw and honest, baring all the emotions he usually conceals behind the shields that kept him alive while he was lying to the face of the Dark Lord. Once a year, he allows himself to let go, bare his soul, remind himself that there is a man left under the scars. It is what gives him the power to continue on, day after day, wearing a mask as he continues to be the pawn of Albus Dumbledore, preparing for the time the Dark Lord returns and war will reign over Britain once more. 

Should anyone ever read the letters, they would be surprised to learn who they were addressed to. Not his best friend, he had lost long before her death, now 13 years ago. Nor to his mother, whom he still mourns, or the headmaster holding his leash. No, the letters go to someone no one would expect, someone he should despise, since the man himself wouldn’t offer a hand if Severus were drowning. 

But here he was writing a letter to Sirius Black. A letter of hidden feelings, he was too afraid to confess during their school days, fearing rejection and prosecution. A letter of pain, as the man’s actions still made him uneasy every time the full moon graced the sky. A letter of regret for the path Severus had chosen and how late he had found his way back. A letter of apology for Severus knew Sirius was innocent - would never have betrayed James Potter if it cost him his life - but Severus was powerless to prove his innocence and set him free again. But most important, a letter of love, of longing, of desperate want. 

A pointless letter since Severus never sent a single one of them, not since he found the courage to write the first one shortly after Lily’s death and Sirius’s imprisonment, wanting to let him know that he was not alone. Meaningless since even if prisoners were allowed mail, Severus was too big of a coward to have his words read by anyone. No, he had burned it instead, and every letter since. 

Now that the man was free - even if on the run with Pettigrew in the wind - he could send it. Instead, he watched the flames in his fireplace as they ate the paper until nothing but ash remained. 

A knock on his door pulled him from his dark thoughts. The emotions fell from his face as the blank mask returned. Time for another year of surviving. 

Opening the door, he expected Albus with a special mission to fill his summer holidays. Instead, he came face to face with the person who had just filled his thoughts. For the first time, the spy's perfect mask slipped, showing his shock. 

Sirius Black pushed inside, closing the door before a passing Muggle could see him and call the authorities. What was he doing here? Did he want revenge for Severus getting Lupin fired? The loyal Gryffindor always ready to defend his friend? Or was it more personal, and he blamed Severus for the rat’s escape?

“Hello Severus,” Sirius’ words made him flinch. Not Sniviluss - the nickname the Marauders had been so found of - nor Snape. Alarm bells rang in Severus’ mind, since something was wrong. “Sorry it took so long, I had a lot going on between Azkaban, Peter, and being on the run.” A self-deprived chuckle. “This is hard. I just wanted to say. I got your letters.”

As if to prove it, Sirius pulled a stack of papers from his worn leather jacket. Severus instantly recognized his own handwriting. He shook his head, panic crawling up his throat. It couldn’t be. “I burned them!”

“Ahh, yeah. I guessed as much. And that you had no idea what you were doing.” A faith chuckle. “It’s Black family stuff. Old. A way to communicate without owls. Write the full name of a Black, think of them, burn the letter, they will get it.”

Now, Severus was fully panicking. These letters were never meant to be read by anyone, least of all Sirius. They held too much power over Severus, showing his heart and leaving him unprotected. They were a sharp blade in Sirius’ hand, the tip sitting right against Severus’ throat, a single word able to drive it into the flesh. 

Warm hands grabbed his shaking ones before he could turn tail and run, keeping him in place as Sirius tried to make eye contact. Severus was unable to endure the pity and instead suited the dirty floor under his feet. He had never gotten the stains out his father had left, no matter how many cleaning spells he threw at it.

“I wanted to say thank you. The letters, knowing someone out there believed my innocence, were what kept me going all these years in Azkaban. Without them, I doubt I would be here today. Without you, I would have given in to the Dementors long ago.” Sirius stepped closer, his boots entering Severus’ field of vision, and he gasped as Sirius’ forehead met his own. “I wanted to say so much, made speech after speech as I sat in that damn cell, and now I can’t remember any of it. I blame you. You are just so…” Severus shrank into himself,, head beating fast in fear. It was his fault. He had done something wrong.

A hand on his chin tilted up his head, and they looked eyes. He prayed Sirius was not skilled in Legilimency as his shields were in tatters right now. 

There was no accusation, no hate or pity on Sirius’ face. Just a soft smile and eyes filled with warmth. Leaning forward, Sirius pressed his lips softly against Severus’. “It is infuriating. All you do is stand there, and I feel like I can’t breathe, thinking about your lips, wanting to pull you close and never let you leave my arms again.” As if to prove his words, he stole another kiss, this one lingering longer than the first. “I answered you, you know. Every single letter I got, I wrote an answer to. Couldn’t send them back, obviously. But I just thought, if you like-” He pulled out a bundle from his other pocket, some of it paper, but some of it dirty fabric - most likely from his prison uniform. “If you want to read them. You don’t have to. I just thought that maybe you would like to know. Fuck. I swear I was good at this once. A real smooth talker. It is just. You kind of turn my brain into mush. You are pretty.” Sirius squeaked instantly, slapping a hand over his mouth as he turned red under it. “Forget I said that!”

Grabbing the letters from Sirius’ hand, Snape pressed them to his chest, a treasure he never expected to receive. Then he leaned in, stealing his own kiss from Sirius’ lips. “Shut up, you stupid man, and kiss me properly.”

[lmeg9]

Have a kaishin family drabble that I don’t know what to do with. Light angst and hurt/comfort, but sweet. Kaito and shinichi are married because I need more married kaishin in my life, and they have a son.

also ignore any errors, this was typed out and not edited to some friends on discord, and I just copy pasted here

Okay so Toichi is alive. And kaito knows he’s alive.

Shinichi doesn’t remember falling asleep. He’d been watching a movie with kaito and their son, with Kaito in the middle of the two of them. But it had been a long day after a rather grueling case, and one moment he was blinking during a dialogue scene, the next he was pulling open his eyes and the credits were rolling.

His head is resting on kaito’s shoulder, and kaito has his arm wrapped around his waist. Shinichi’s eyes immediately look around, seeking out their son. He relaxes when he sees him sleeping on kaito’s other side, head resting on kaito’s leg and his little body curled up on the couch.

Shinichi smiles, then he looks up to ask kaito about putting their son to bed, but his words die on his lips when he sees kaito’s expression. His eyes are sad and far away.

“Kaito…?” He murmurs.

Kaito blinks, and he’s back in the present with shinichi. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s get him to bed,” he tells shinichi, who can only nod.

He follows kaito upstairs to their son’s room. Kaito tucks him in and kisses his forehead. But instead of leaving, he spends a moment just watching him. Shinichi approaches and tucks himself against kaito’s side. Kaito wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.

“I’ll be okay…” kaito murmurs.

Shinichi waits patiently.

“It’s just… he’ll be the same age I was next month. The same age I was when my dad died… or when I thought he did, anyway.”

Shinichi thinks he understands, but he continues to wait in silence, letting kaito take his time while he fights his demons, offering his silent support the only way he knows how. He tucks his head under kaito’s chin, moving as close as possible to his husband.

Kaito kisses the crown of his head and wraps both arms around him, holding him tight.

“I know… he was trying to protect us. That’s why he faked his death. But I could *never* imagine leaving the two of you. I would give you some kind of sign or… of course I would want to protect you. But… I would have found a way.”

Then his voice grew rough, and he trembled with barely suppressed anger, “and I never, *never* would set our son up to become the next KID at barely 16 years of age. I don’t… I can’t understand why… I…”

“I know,” shinichi murmured, before pulling kaito in for a kiss. Quick and chaste, offering comfort and support.

[compsilura]

hi !!

21+, CST writer looking for new writing partners ! i write only on discord and i’ll play any role :) i prefer fandomless oc x oc pairings, but i’m willing to draw inspiration from any fandom !

you should reach out if…

you loooove exchanging headcannons, turning smaller snippets into longer threads and eventually full length replies

you enjoy exchanging pinterest boards, playlists, quick drabbles, any of the above !! ♡

you’re pro-prose and you write lines that make you regularly go “damn, that was a banger”

you’re looking for yet another survivor of the rp dark ages, when we were definitely way too young to be writing some of the things we were (2011-2016)

if you give this post a like, i'll reach out from my main blog !!

[pelibirdie]

Posting sci-fi Kuras for a discord event (hence why Kuras looks so close yet kinda far from how he actually dresses)

I also wrote a quick drabble about it. Enjoy :)

Tw: choking, a hint of medical gore and violent Kuras under cut.

Your vision got blurry as your conciousness slowly slipped away. You never thought the day you would feel the kind doctors' hands around your neck, suffocating you with pressure unfitting for his frame. Fingers unmoving. Grip made out of steel. Your cheek touched the cold moulding wall as you tried to break free.

Nobody knew how old the doctor of Lowtown was. All they knew was that he never seemed to get old. Never seemed to fall ill. Was always in top condition. People speculated him to be a cyborg but his skin felt real. Too real. So warm and incredibly human.

You punched away, trying your best to weaken his grip with the mechanic hands he claimed to have fixed for you.

"Kuras.. please..."

You were rapidly losing conciousness. Your thoughts were slipping away from you. Limbs weak, your arms could barely frind the strength to hold onto him.

"It was so easy. You could have just not followed me. Done as I had said." Kuras spoke, a robotic indifference in his tone.

"I offered you health. I offered you a restart on your journey." You were no longer thrashing around. You had no strength left to. "This...rudeness is uncalled for. I merely offered you my help. What do you do in return? You break into my laboratory. You interrupt my experiment and worse of all: You tamper with my spescimen."

Kuras was creating...things. You didnt know what if was, but in your small expedition in the laboratory below his clinic you saw organs. Beating organic matter stored in tubes with a phosphoric liquid substance. Bones made out of metal. Frames of skeletons and joints made out of steel. Mechanic, atudy and perfectly mobile. Any yet there was no clear origin as to where anything came from. Either he was growing these organs himself...or worse.

"Kuras, the man who could heal or build any body part."

An alarm went off- the steady beeping sound that filled the lab suddenly errupted into a long singular beep noise. Startled, Kuras ran towards the tube, looking to see the issue. His golden eyes flickered over what looked terribly like a human. It was so close- but its limbs were abnormally long, the skin and muscles didn't seem to develop well.

You fell with your back against the wall, air rushing back to your lungs. Your mechanic hands lightly hugged your neck protectively. While you were recovering, Kuras already seemed to have solved the issue. The heartbeat-you realized- was constant again. The little graphics on his screen no longer went haywire.

Kuras fixed his posture, running hands through his hair. His long pristine coat did not look as white under the laboratory lighting. It got muddier as he approached you. With an eerie calmness, Kuras’s right hand reached for your face. His hand held your face, just a few centimeters closer and he would be covering your mouth entirely. He kneeled slightly, just to be on your level while you sat on the floor. You look to his piercing eyes for "Speak of this to none. If I even hear a single whisper on the street, a murmur, just know: I have built bodies for every. Single. Person in this city. No one you can confide in is safe. Nowhere you can hide in is out of my reach. Either you keep your mouth shut, or this secret dies with you. Understood?"

The clinical coldness in his tone sent a chill down your spine. His grip forced you to look at him, unable to tear your eyes off his focused gaze.

"...yes."

"Good. Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

The doctor let go of you, wiping his hand off. Kuras turned to walk to the doors to the clinic upsatairs.

"Oh and one more thing: This never happened. "

You nodded to him. His eyes went back to the cat like mirth they always had around you. Now for a different reason. His back turned, the corner of his dyes traced your slumped form one last time before going back upstairs. He left only the doors open, urging you to leave.

A/N: i did the art in 3 hours. I speedrsn it so hard and i think the quality reflects that. Idk how but i also mare a fuckass bg for this like ik this isnt my best piece but im impressed to say the least. Its supposed to be the scene were kuras is locked in on you. It was in drafts that i had him with his back turned, but that meant i had to come up with a scifi Kuras design. Anyway draw ur mcs being choked by kuras on a ungerground laboratory 🖋🧍‍♀️ (joking, do not)

If i do write the smut i will address the molding wall in the lab don't worry.

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe. 🩵 Special thanks to @secretbraintwin for the ko-fi request! 🩵)

~

✨ Also, taking this opportunity to shout out the fact I have a brand-spanking-new author discord! Come be among the first to say hi, make friends, get exclusive story updates, and much more 😉✨

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In which Tyrus and Astarion try something new in the bedroom. Explicit/18+.

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It took time, drawing out from Astarion what else he thought about alone. After their first few successful ventures back into sexual intimacy, Tyrus expected him to be excited about trying whatever else he’d been imagining—but Astarion seemed firm on sticking with what worked, when they did occasionally indulge.

That was, until one occasion after they’d already unclothed, when Astarion held Tyrus’s hands with both of his as his lips traveled down Tyrus’s neck. At first they just interlaced fingers, palms pressed together the same way the rest of their limbs and torsos were. But then the pressure increased. 

Astarion was pinning his wrists into the mattress, Tyrus realized.

Before he had time to process the feeling, Astarion’s lips paused. “Does this feel alright?” he whispered in a low, rough voice against Tyrus’s skin, before raising his head. “Holding you . . . down, like this?” His eyes were wide and dilated with arousal, and yet half-hidden by a concerned, furrowed brow.

Tyrus didn’t answer right away—though neither did he pull from Astarion’s grip. He squeezed Astarion’s hands in reassurance while he tried to assess his body, this position, and what, if anything, was happening in his head.

“It feels impractical, I suppose, if you still want to be using your hand for the rest of it,” he nodded down in the direction of Astarion’s erection.

Astarion’s worry faded into amused exasperation. “I’m restraining you, Tyrus. Please be serious.”

“I am,” Tyrus protested, even if he understood what Astarion was truly asking. He wiggled his wrists in Astarion’s grip—then shrugged. “I seem to be fine. Though, I don’t understand: why do it?” 

Even in the midst of asking, Tyrus watched how Astarion’s eyes slid away, his shoulders hunching up and his hands pulling out of Tyrus’s. Embarrassed about the answer—no, ashamed, Tyrus quickly gauged.

He managed to catch one of Astarion’s hands before it went far, at least. Then gave it a quick squeeze, pulling Astarion’s arm forward while he propped himself up on one elbow. 

“I don’t have to understand,” Tyrus corrected himself, before pressing a small kiss against the other man’s knuckles and then moving their hands back to the previous position. “If it’s something you wanted to try, I don’t think I’ll mind.”

Astarion blew out a breath. “You’re right that it’s a bit impractical to do for long, love, especially with just my hands,” he sighed around a small half-smile.

Tyrus did feel something then—a small swoop in his belly. Uncertainty, at the thought of something besides Astarion’s hands.

He was a mage of great power, well capable of defending himself, free of a master’s influence, and currently alone with the person he trusted most in this entire world. Still, the thought of allowing rope or worse, cuffs around his wrists, in a sexual context no less, after the experiences of his first winter ball . . .

If he did ever try such a thing willingly, Tyrus already knew he would feel more vulnerable than he ever could with a thousand Dark Justiciars at his back.

He blinked, realizing Astarion was watching his reaction with sharp, inquisitive eyes. Tyrus had no idea what expression had taken over his face, but tried now to give a reassuring smile. “You could . . . hold them with one hand?” he offered, moving Astarion’s hand then to meet both of his own in between them. 

Astarion’s pale face colored, ever-so-slightly, and Tyrus felt some satisfaction knowing it was thanks to him twice over. “Well. Perhaps the delicate shape of those wrists are good for something besides fancy spellcasting,” Astarion said—very careful in starting to wrap his forefinger and thumb around Tyrus’s wrists, despite the flippancy of his tone.

It didn’t mean much to Tyrus, at first, as Astarion used his free hand to spread more oil on his erection and then in the intimate crease of Tyrus’s inner legs. It was the same as what they’d done the last two times before, save he was left to watch and stay pliant while Astarion slung Tyrus’s legs over his free arm, then slot his cock into the tight seam of Tyrus’s thighs.

Then Astarion moved Tyrus’s captured wrists up, past his chest and face—holding them down into the pillow just above Tyrus’s head.

Tyrus felt another swoop in his belly as Astarion went back to kissing at his neck and nipping his earlobe, holding him so securely and confined while his hips moved. This time the feeling was harder to define: still uncertainty, but something more complicated, too.

Strangely, it was easier to just focus on tactile sensation instead—Tyrus was only half-hard at the moment, but whenever the head of Astarion’s cock rubbed just so against the slippery oiled skin behind his balls, he could feel arousal tightening in his groin. This time even more so, considering Tyrus could do nothing with himself at the moment but lie there and feel.

Astarion’s words were his only distraction, though they fueled Tyrus’s arousal in a different way; murmuring things like, “I have all of you now, don’t I?” and “Taking it so beautifully, darling,” and “All mine,” as he began moving faster.

Tyrus hadn’t bothered having an orgasm since their last night before Cazador’s death. Now he could feel his body building up to something like one, with the combination of feeling Astarion so enthusiastic and aroused above him, the perineum massage from Astarion’s cock spreading a deep, pulsing pleasure within him, and the inability to do anything but take it with his hands pinned above him.

“Astarion,” Tyrus gasped after a few minutes, though he was too overwhelmed to say more. To even translate what he was feeling into words and needs, even as he felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Astarion quickly came to a stop. “Too much?” he murmured in Tyrus’s ear, the ring of his fingers loosening around Tyrus’s wrists.

Tyrus shook his head. “Just . . . just, so much,” he sighed, before instinctively making what little movement he still could: undulating his hips against Astarion’s cock snug between them. 

Astarion sucked in a hitched breath at the feeling. “Gods, you’ll be the death of me,” he half-groaned, half-laughed, before holding Tyrus tight and moving his hips again.

It was a deeper, slower build up than Tyrus was used to, his cock leaking over and over despite the fact it hadn't grown full mast. All of this felt so contradictory—being so helpless, yet so entirely taken care of. And when the pleasure did come to a peak, it was all-consuming and yet left him just as aroused as before.

“Astarion, please,” Tyrus begged after that point in a high, breathless voice, still unsure what he was asking for. “Please, please.”

Clarification apparently wasn’t needed. A dark fire lit up in Astarion’s eyes at Tyrus’s words—he thrust sharp and fast, eased further by the mess Tyrus had made, then let out a desperate moan as he found his own release.

He barely had to do more than touch Tyrus’s leaking erection, afterward, before Tyrus joined for an uncanny second time.

This time, Tyrus did feel his body come down from it, though his mind was left both a bit floaty and confused. Nowhere close to the overwhelm and devastation of his first few experiences with sex—though maybe it would have descended into that, if not for how carefully Astarion treated him once it was over. 

After cleaning their bodies quickly with Prestidigitation, he slowly released Tyrus’s wrists, bringing them up to massage and kiss one by one. “You did so well, love,” he murmured while smoothing Tyrus’s hair, pressing his lips to the corners of Tyrus's drying eyes, positioning Tyrus's legs more comfortably when Tyrus didn’t have the frame of mind to do it for himself.

Next, Astarion used the same spell to warm the huge, knitted blanket Cynda had given them and cocooned it around the both of them, pulling Tyrus at last into his arms. Stroking a hand up and down Tyrus’s spine, kissing the crown of his head, before whispering, “Thank you.”

Tyrus’s thoughts had slowly, gently cleared through the process—and though his mind still felt a bit tender after such a strangely intense experience, he also felt a wonderful, blossoming warmth in his chest, more lovely than any of the previous sensations combined.

“I trust you,” he said back in a soft voice, smiling when Astarion’s arms squeezed around him just a bit tighter in response.

-

Later, he leaned back and said, “So . . . you like hearing me say, ‘Please,’ hm?” 

He couldn’t help but giggle when Astarion only huffed, buried his face abashedly in Tyrus’s hair, and made no answer.

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: "What? Where?!" (Discord Drabble)

"Steve," Eddie says, giving a weary look as he smoothes his hands over his jacket.

Not that the leather would actually crumple. But he does suspect Steve stepped on it at some point.

"What?" Steve hums, palming at his polo.

He needn't worry, the thing is so tight it naturally irons itself out.

"Your hair!" Eddie warns, eyeing the great mess atop his boyfriend's – somewhat flushed – noggin.

"What?" Steve whips around to look in the mirror of Claudia Henderson's powder room, "Where?!"

Eddie can actually see Steve's brain catch up to the hair catastrophe at hand, a recoiling shiver running through his body.

He opens his mouth to laugh but instead finds himself yelping at the distinct sound of Dustin squabbling with his mother in the kitchen. Eddie clamps his hand over the door handle, heart picking up speed again. They were supposed to be out on the back patio!

His mind races through a myriad of excuses as he stares at the pink tiles encasing them.

Claudia's disapproval! Wanye's reaction. A fast-approaching, chastising "Boy!" from the old man...

Dustin's inevitable disgust and cacophonous laughter...

He rolls his eyes as he looks up at Steve's reflection. He'd meant a quick fix-up, a combing of fingers through hair.

Not Steve meticulously picking at individual strands in efforts to reconstruct his signature coif.

They both scream at a banging on the bathroom door.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

My writing process has changed, and I've realized that (in my humble opinion) I'm not a very good author!

This isn't to say that I'm not happy with my writing. I love my writing! I think I'm a fantastic writer and I love all 200k+ words of fanfiction that I've written in the last year and a half. I'm very proud of everything I've shared, and I'm excited about what I haven't posted for public consumption yet.

But, as delightfully summed up in this post about Concept vs Story, I've been realizing that a lot of my fanfic up to this point has been concepts, not fully developed narrative stories. That's part of the reason why some of my ideas have had a lot of momentum, then long hiatuses - there's fantastic ideas, world building exploration, character study, but not much narrative structure.

That's not bad! I think it's a process that works really well for me. I love that Autumn Embers is based on the concept of "What does being intersex look like in the omegaverse?" I'm still in love with Transferrable Skills and the idea of Running Into Your Online Intimate Improv Partner IRL. But neither of those stories are "finished" for a couple of reasons.

The first is that I basically wrote those chapters, gave the barest hint of editing, and then threw the chapters onto tumblr. This is, I admit, mostly because I'm nervous about sharing my writing publicly. I've gained so much confidence in the last 18 months, but I still get self-conscious about sharing my ideas, fantasies, kinks, and worldview. I've gotten much better about writing for myself first, but it's still easier to share if I don't spend too much time staring at the words and second guessing myself.

The second reason those stories aren't done, and the one I'm most excited to be tackling, is that I'm realizing that I tend to write myself into knots due to a lack of planning. That's fine for a one-shot or quick drabble (or 30k words of psychological thriller/drama/romance(/comedy???), in the case of Slasher Handler (still unfinished lmao)). I think that's pretty fantastic for receiving and answering asks, and the collaborative storytelling format that tumblr ask boxes are perfect for. But as a long-winded writer, I'm realizing that it's not great for me when it comes to longer formatted works.

I'm really excited about Bump For Short, my current WIP, because it's the first story, longer than 15k words, that I'm writing out the first draft for before sharing more than snippets for WIP Wednesday. It's a little scary, since it means I have more than 30k words with limited feedback. I can't give enough thanks to Mr Dragon and Charlie and the delightful friends I've made on discord for the support they've given me with this project. I'm looking forward to finishing the 50k of this first draft, then going through and adding to it to flesh the ideas out even more and make this not just a concept but a full story.