#under 1k drabble

[vxsellie]

JUST RIGHT - E.W

synopsis : ellie does your eyeliner a/n : this is the first thing posted on this acc & also the first thing i've ever written for ellie so i decided to keep it small ,, be kind i beg wc : 460

ellie's hands are cold against your skin, her fingers grazing your cheekbone lightly. you're sitting atop the closed toilet seat of your shared apartment, the faint scent of lilies filling the air as a candle burns on the counter top by the sink.

your eyes are shut, but you know ellie well enough to know exactly what you'd see if they were open. her brow would be knitted, her eyes narrowed with concentration, her lips pursed as she stares at you intently.

when you asked her to do your eyeliner, you hadn't imagined she'd take so long trying to get it just right. but here you sit, twenty minutes later, beginning to grow restless.

"el," you mutter lightly.

her free hand instantly comes up to cover your mouth. "i'm focused, shut up."

if you were able to move, you'd have slapped her for that. playfully, of course, but harsh nonetheless. you mentally shun her for her attitude toward you. it's not your fault you're curious to know how everything's going. she's wiped her work away at least fifty times by now and your skin is beginning to feel raw from the wipes.

you feel her slow movements as she removes her hands from your face, the eyeliner finally removing from your face as her palm leaves your mouth. you have a feeling she's done, but you remain unmoving just in case she's not.

"okay." she says, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. "okay, i think i'm done."

you instantly open your eyes, secretly overjoyed to have this over and done with. you stand from the toilet and step in front of the mirror, your bare feet hitting the cool tiled floor with gentle pats. you examine your reflection with an unreadable expression. ellie shuffles behind you, her brow furrowed with dissatisfaction.

she groans, "you don't like it, do you?"

"what?" you chuckle. "i never said that."

"you didn't need to. i can read it all over your face."

she sighs loudly, dramatic in her display of irritation with herself. you laugh again, turning away from the mirror to grin at her.

"the eyeliner is perfect, el." you say, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "and i mean it's literally fucking perfect, i seriously don't know how you managed to get the wings so even."

she blinks at you, still appearing confused. "then why do you have that look on your face?"

you turn back toward the mirror, staring at your reflection once more. she drew dramatic wings, flaring out on either side. above them, there are arcs going over your eyelids. you weren't lying when you said it was perfect. the art is stunningly drawn with meticulous care.

"because." you giggle. "i'm just going to the store."

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 taglist : @luvsturniolo @zzombiegirl

[wolfmoonwildflowers]

Bigger Dreams (Davrin x Rook fluff)

Read it on ao3 or keep reading below ✨

Word Count: 940

Rating: T

Rook uses she/her pronouns but is otherwise undescribed.

No CWs, just a couple of smooches and more warm/fuzzy feelings than should be legal.

Summary: Davrin and Rook share a cozy evening by the fire. Absolutely tooth-rotting levels of fluff packed into under 1k words. Not enough fanfic exists of this lovely, precious man (elf) so this is my contribution.

“I could get used to this,” Davrin drawls, dropping his pack to the ground near the entrance to his quarters. 

Rook peers around at him from the nest she’s made in his chair, grinning. “Get used to what? And how did you know I was here?” She resists the urge to reach out and make grabby-hands at him even as her imagination conjures scenes of them curled up here together, in front of the fire.

“Coming home to you sitting in my chair, safe, and warm, and waiting for me.” He leans over the back of said chair and kisses the top of her hair. 

Home. Home. Anywhere with him could be home.

She tips her head back so that she’s looking up at him upside down. Davrin huffs a laugh before dropping delicate kisses onto the tip of her nose and the corners of her mouth. “Let me go wash up. I’ll be back, aewnya.”

Hopefully he would be gone long enough for her to finish the chapter she was reading. Once he returned she knew it would be impossible to focus. These are the problems you want to have, she thinks, watching him pull the door shut on his way out.

—

“Ah, ah, ah,�� he tuts, dodging her lips. “None of that until you’ve eaten.” He settles in the chair, pulling Rook comfortably into his lap and handing her a small plate full of fresh fruit and cheese with bread. 

She scowls but there is no weight behind it; Davrin had a sixth sense for knowing when she’s forgotten to eat. Rarely did his senses lead him astray. While she works her way through the meal, he busies himself. There is something so precious about watching him fuss with the thick woven blanket, making sure it covers her feet where they rest on the arm of the chair. This cozy comfort of domestic bliss, no matter how fleeting, is all-consuming. She could happily stay like this, with him, forever. She would never grow tired of it.

“Thank you for bringing me dinner,” she hums, leaning to sit the plate gently on the floor.

Davrin pulls her against his chest, one arm around her slightly-bent knees, the other around her shoulders. She presses her face to his neck and lets out a contented sigh. 

“Anything for you,” he promises.

And she knows he means it. Not in the grand-romantic-gesture way — although he would mean that, too, she knows — but rather in the quiet, mundane way. The way he brings her food when she’s forgotten to eat. The way he makes sure her feet are never cold. The way he wraps his arms around her and keeps her from falling apart. They had found a surprising reverence in caring for one another like this. It was more than she could have ever hoped for. He was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Rook finds exhaustion catching up with her, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Her eyelids are suddenly so very heavy. She almost misses the soft murmur of his voice, stirring when his fingers brush the hair from her face. 

“Hm?”

“Stay here tonight,” he repeats, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She smiles, teasing. “Trying to lure me into your bed, are you? Scandalous.” Her eyes are still closed but she can feel his smile in return, the corners of his mouth pulling up against hers before he kisses her. The press of his lips is so gentle that it makes her chest ache.

“You have no idea just how many scandalous things I plan on doing to you,” he whispers. Rook’s eyes flutter open at that, but Davrin just smirks. “But not tonight. Tonight, I only want one thing — one thing more than anything else in the world — and that is to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

“Has anyone ever told you to try dreaming bigger?” Rook jokes, raising her hand to trace the line of his lips with her fingertip.

“You’re right, as always.” He kisses the pad of her finger, then pretends to consider. “Let me see… a bigger dream, hm… Okay, I’ve got it. The thing I want more than anything else in the world is to kiss you right before you fall asleep so that you will dream of me.”

“Bigger,” she prompts.

Davrin plays along, happy to indulge her. “I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up.”

“Bigger.”

“I want those things for more than just one day. I want them every day.”

“Bigger,” she insists, gasping and giggling sleepily when he rises from the chair and makes to carry her to the bed. 

Getting under the covers like this is no easy feat. Neither of them want to let go of the other. Eventually, Davrin shifts, guiding Rook’s legs around his waist. He cradles her close to him, pulling back the blankets and hefting both of them onto the mattress.

“I want you to imagine a future with me,” he whispers, making sure she’s comfortable before reclaiming his place on top of her and leaving featherlight kisses along her jaw. 

The heavy weight of his body is so comforting, so real. Rook scratches gently along his scalp, humming at the way she can feel the tension in him melt. 

“It’s going to go to my head, you know,” she says, finally.

“What is, aewnya?”

With one hand still stroking his hair, she lets the other hand search for his. Their fingers intertwine. “Being able to make all your dreams come true.”

—

Footnotes:

aewnya - my little bird

I haven’t finished the game myself but from what I can find on the internet it doesn’t seem like Davrin has any pet names for Rook SO I bastardized Tolkien’s elven language and made my own. Linguists, avert your eyes; I am so sorry for this sin.

aew Sindarin, noun, meaning (small) bird

-nya Quenya, pronominal suffix, 1st person sg. posessive, “my”

[chewyhanniebug]

it's been nearly two weeks and i haven't been able to stop thinking about this ask from @dearhyeongjunn about down bad pathetic gunil worshipping hyeongjun so i HAD to write about it. i know 900 words technically isn't a drabble but i still don't consider that long enough for ao3 so we're going tumblr exclusive again. please enjoy before i die thank you 💖

Having the ability to get Gunil—a big, strong man a full four years older—to fall to his knees was a power trip Hyeongjun would never quite get used to. It was just so easy. Of course it was possible without dressing up, wearing him down just another part of the fun, but there was something about the way Gunil's lips would part as he looked him up and down that went straight to Hyeongjun's ego.

It wasn't often that Hyeongjun went for heels. Generally he found them more trouble than they were worth, but in the times he got a nudge from Jiseok or a whisper from Jungsu that Gunil needed to get out of his head, he was more than happy to bear it. He was the most comfortable in skirts and playing the persona Gunil craved to worship, to submit to, so it only made sense. They were the easiest way to get Gunil where he needed to be. He was too full of love and adoration for it to not spill into something pathetic.

Hyeongjun was fully aware that he was lanky in way that could be seen negatively—stiff and ungraceful in his movements—but the heels made him stand straighter and taller, looming over Gunil when he entered Hyeongjun's bedroom after receiving his text. He didn't need need to say a word for knees to hit the floor, running his thumb across Gunil's cheekbone as trembling hands ghosted their way along the socks ending halfway up his thighs, trapping him so quickly that it was almost laughable.

Tangling his fingers in Gunil's hair, Hyeongjun tugged him closer, pushing his head all the way down to be level with his high shoes. Gunil lightly pressed his lips to Hyeongjun's ankle as soon as he let go, trailing gentle kisses up his legs as if he was made of porcelain. The care in his touch was unbearably sweet, taking everything in Hyeongjun to stay poised, but he had to keep up the act. He was doing it for Gunil.

Walking backwards to the bed, Hyeongjun sat with his knees spread wide, smirking when Gunil immediately crawled between them instead of standing. It gave Gunil better access to his inner thighs, the first bloom of purple making Hyeongjun sigh and lean back on his hands, the hint of teeth as he sucked at the sensitive flesh sending a shiver through his body. It was the sounds that got to him the most—Gunil whimpering softly as if he was the one being touched—and Hyeongjun knew he had to do something before he really lost his mind.

Gunil groaned when Hyeongjun flipped the skirt up and laid back on his elbows, seeming to have not realised he hadn't been wearing anything underneath with the way he'd been so focused. His hands came up to hold Hyeongjun's hips, taking a deep yet stuttered breath before leaning forward, licking up the length of his cock so slowly that Hyeongjun had to scrunch the bedcovers in his fists to keep his hands to himself. All Hyeongjun wanted to do was push it in his mouth properly, but that wasn't what Gunil needed. It was the worship—the outpour of adoration—that got Gunil off.

Finally, finally, Gunil took the head between his lips, his eyelashes fluttering so prettily against his cheeks as he dropped down that Hyeongjun couldn't resist reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. Gunil flinched at the unexpected contact, but he didn't try to pull off like Hyeongjun half-expected, and that was enough for Hyeongjun to decide he should be properly rewarded for his effort.

"So good, hyung," he murmured softly to not break Gunil from his trance. "Deserve something for making me feel so good, hmm? Here."

Gunil's eyes flew open when Hyeongjun brought one of the heels between his legs, his hips kicking forward automatically to rut against his calf with a low moan that had Hyeongjun throwing his head back. He knew it had to be getting to him, but just how badly would always makes Hyeongjun's head spin. The way Gunil didn't need to be touched at all—still fully clothed and on his knees with a dick down his throat—to be so desperate had Hyeongjun hurtling dangerously close to the edge.

Wrenching Gunil back by the hair, Hyeongjun sat up and wrapped his own fingers tightly around his cock, only holding back for long enough for Gunil to stick out his tongue. Gunil swallowed obediently, dropping his head to Hyeongjun's thigh as soon as he let go of his hair, a shudder running through his body a second later with a drawn out whine. Coming in his pants was nothing new, but knowing he was the cause still made Hyeongjun's soft dick twitch. Just another thing to ignore for Gunil's sake.

He didn't really mind when Gunil was always so lovely catching his breath—eyes shining and a pretty smile curling his lips when he lifted his head—and Hyeongjun couldn't help bending to give him a sweet kiss. Of course Gunil revelled in it, pulling him closer by the back of his neck, clearly going to be a clingy mess for the rest of the night.

Hyeongjun couldn't bring himself to care about that, either. He was just as pathetic for him.

[frostyblustar]

Nico watches Percy poison Akhlys.

Day 2 of Percico Week - Powerful Percy (prompts by @percico-nicercy-events )

(Heavily inspired by Chapter 48 of House of Hades by Rick Riordan - Also this idea has been out there for ages)

Percy looked like a corpse, and Nico suspected he did too. Death mist did this sort of thing to a person, it was completely normal. Still, Percy looking so lifeless while still traversing Tartarus was a ghastly sight. Nico couldn’t see how he himself looked. When he looked down, he only saw fog. Maybe that was too thin to use as a descriptor, white smoke would be more accurate.

Akhyls was the goddess of misery, and the death mist. She claimed that this gift of smokiness, which would let them go unseen by monsters, was only viable if death followed. Well that sucked, but it was obvious her intention was to betray them from the beginning, so Percy seemed already ready to put up a fight. Nico took out his own sword, but it just looked like smoke. Riptide was the same it seemed, and did nothing to the goddess.

Nico could guess his weapon was under the same effect, so he didn’t attempt to use it. Instead, when Percy was lunged at, he put himself in front of the other. He took the blow hard, crashing into the ground as the goddess tried to tear into him. Despite feeling lighter and almost like he was smoke himself, he could still feel the sensation of claws digging into his flesh.

Before he could try handling this situation on his own, Percy was yelling. “Hey, Happy!”

He shouted more pleasant things about the goddess of misery, angering her to the point she was completely now focused on Percy instead of Nico. Nico could do nothing but watch as she screamed that they would both die. They would be sacrificed to Night. Their deaths would be painful. Wow, it sounded great.

Nico tried to get her sights back on him, since there was no way he was going to let Percy face her on his own. Despite his own fear, he cared about Percy too much to let himself run or hide. “Cheerful! Hey, over here Smiles!!”

Nothing, he meant nothing.

He sat up and watched while the plants that followed the goddesses steps started spewing sap, the poison flowing towards Percy. The poison settled around him, and Nico tried calling out more positive exclamations, but it was as if he wasn’t even there. Maybe the smoke had dissolved his form into nothing.

Percy laughed. That made Nico freeze. It wasn’t a cheerful laugh. It was broken, exhausted. Forced out in a wheeze that indicated Percy’s dehydration from their journey through Tartarus. A grin was on his face, and Nico couldn’t help but be mesmerized. In such a dire situation, Percy was showing a hidden side of himself. Nico didn’t mind it at all, but he worried about Percy’s mental state.

The pool of poison that had accumulated around Percy suddenly started flowing towards the goddess. “What is this?” She exclaimed with a disgusted look on her face.

Percy could control poison? He wasn’t sure how it was possible. Poseidon's domain was water, not poison- Though poison did have water in it…

There wasn’t much time to think it over, Percy continued to smile as the goddess started to cough. The poisonous fumes of her own creation were eating away at her. It was oddly terrifying, but also so cool. Percy was defending him, and that didn’t help the crush he still had.

Akhyls deserved this for sure, Nico wasn’t against this fate for her. However, Percy didn’t seem like the killing type. Him and Percy didn’t operate on the same moral code. He may find eye for an eye fitting, but Percy certainly did not think the same.

The grin wasn’t truly his, and the happiness he was taking in watching the goddess choke to death even as she tried to run away wasn’t him. Nico got up, and with no hesitation, he put a hand on Percy’s shoulder. He needed something to lean his weight against, Percy just happened to be a viable option is all.

“Percy, it’s okay. We’re safe.” His voice was soft and reassuring, he was keeping it low due to the lack of water.

The look of satisfaction melted away from Percy’s face, and his hands dropped as he let the goddess run off. He took one look at Nico, and suddenly he was back to normal. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you badly?”

Nico couldn’t help but smile a little at Percy’s concern, responding in a voice just as horse. “I’m fine. That was… Awesome, Percy.” He felt a little breathless.

“Was it really? I almost killed her.” Percy’s eyes were the same pretty shade of sea-green, even though he looked near death. Nico wanted to stare at them forever, but he would never be able to.

“But you didn’t. You stopped. This place does things to people, Percy. That wasn’t your fault. She threatened our lives, so you threatened hers.” Nico tried taking Percy’s hand, but they were smoke. “C’mon, we need to keep moving.”

Day 1 here

Check out my ao3 for longer Percico stories :)

[robyn-i-guess]

“It’s your turn to make dinner.” with Gerry & Michael Distortion

"I am not cooking tonight."

Gerry huffs and collapses onto his couch.

"What a greeting," Michael responds, its voice annoyingly cheerful as it always seemed to be. The door that was not there before removes itself, leaving just Michael, Gerry, and the dizzying feeling Michael tends to emit.

"Seriously though," he responds, "I couldn't. I'll burn the place down."

"Oh, don't doubt your talent!" It smiles. "I bet you'll make it combust!"

Gerry sighs of exhaustion, grabbing the cheap slushy that he had gotten in his way back from the Institute.

"Why don't you get that – what do you call it? Where the little people bring you your dinner?" Michael sits on the other side of the couch from Gerry, causing a headache to form as its presence usually does.

"Doordash? No, nothings open. It's 1am, Michael."

"I'm open!"

Gerry chokes on his drink. "You're fucking what?"

"I can deliver you the food!" It smiled like it had no clue what it just said. Did it know? Gerry didn't have the energy to pinpoint that.

"From where? Everything is closed."

"The kitchen!" The smile twists in a weird way. Is it meant to be excitement? Does Michael feel excitement? Too many questions lay unanswered.

"Fine, whatever. It's your turn to cook then. Go ham." Gerry pulls a throw blanket over him, trying his hardest to push away the growing migraine was threatening tonight's sleep. The buzzing in his head (that he didn't realize was there) disappears, a sign of Michael leaving his side.

5 minutes later comes a smell from the small kitchen that can only be described as painfully sour candy.

The next minute it's warm both in scent and temperature. Gerry questions just for a moment in his sleep riddled mind of the house is on fire, before remembering fire alarms exist. Michael could turn them off, but it wouldn't. He thinks.

Then there's sizzling, maybe popping, maybe boiling. The sound is hard to pinpoint, but it's certainly a cooking sound.

Then 30 minutes of silence. Nothing. Gerry knows Michael isn't gone because he can feel it look at him. Was it even 30 minutes?Maybe that's all it was doing. Maybe the exhaustion was getting to him.

On his shoulder came a gentle tap with what felt like a knife. If not for the jacket be wore, it might've cut or punctured the skin. Gerry pulls the blanket off and in front of him is – as he expected – Michael, with its usual shit eating grin.

"Wakey wakey!" It squeaks, holding a plate that curved weirdly into a bowl that Gerry knew he didn't own, but he does now, he supposes.

In it is certainly... food. It is like if an artificial intelligence was told to create what it thought food was; sure, it resembles something edible, but what it was couldn't be pinpointed. Are those noodles? Is that sauce or the color of something cooked? What plant is that? The answer is none of the above, it is not anything, it's simply food.

It tasted like ramen.

Apparently, Michael just had fun with instant ramen.

Whatever keeps it entertained.

[buckevantommy]

maybe this is just my pet peeve, but:

it would be helpful if authors could mention the wordcount for longer fics posted on tumblr - I'm talking over 1k, especially if it's all below the cut OR there's no fic, only an ao3 link, and you also have your fics behind a login wall bc that means having to open in a browser to login bc tumblr browser doesn't recognise.. it's just frustrating.. all these extra steps just to see a wordcount let alone fic tags means i won't bother and i know i might be missing out on good fic 🫠🫠🫠

[ljubimaya]

I've been thinking of posting my longer fics exclusively on ao3 since I've been seeing that my werewolf baji series is flopping hard here on Tumblr

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

Fellow Travelers Fic Recs- Dribbles & Drabbles: 1K Words Or Less For those of you with a short attention span, short on time or perhaps new to the fandom and just want to get a little taste... Here's a handful of fics with less than 1,000 words. Happy reading!

Be sure to show the authors some love and appreciation with kudos and comments on the fics you enjoyed!

✨ Likes are lovely, but please reblog to share this wonderful content with your mutuals! 😁

*If you have a tumblr (or other socials) you'd like linked, let me know and I'll add it. Also, if anyone doesn't want their socials linked here, please let me know and I'll gladly remove it.

🥛 Six-word stories from every decade by @carnivalrow // nightfall_in_winter [NR, 12] A heart for sale. Used once...* Hawk Part 1- stories from the 60s. Part 2 -stories from the 70s.

🥛 you know, you’ve been rather sweet lately by tangerineflamingo* [NR, 255] They stay like this, wrapped in each other’s embrace, their bodies entwined in the warm glow of sunlight. Part 1 of fellow travelers drabbles 🥛there is no sin in what you & I just did by @beyondxmeasure // Cyantific [M, 250] The burden of guilt weighs heavily on Tim for what he's about to do, but for now, he sets aside any conflicting feelings where God and Hawkins Fuller are concerned, along with the cross around his neck.

🥛 Blessed by @lookturtles // look_turtles [G, 300] Tim is sick and Hawk takes care of him.

🥛 Golden Fire by @itslexduh // ItsLexDuh [T, 478] A little drabble about Tim seeing Hawk with his wedding ring for the first time in 1957.

🥛 so you'll remember me by voidedcat* [G, 548] Hawk finds the cufflinks Tim'd kept after all these years. But now it's too damn late.

🥛 Yours Truly by Cozy_coffee* [G, 630] Love is…the three times Hawk said “I love you” to Tim.

🥛 if i have to switch the lights off, i wanna switch them off with you by @startagainbuttercup // startagainbuttercup [T, 661] "I don't remember our last kiss," Hawk blurted.

Tim's face instantly changed as he parted his lips in surprise.

"The whole time you were there, with the doctors, I thought you were dying, and I couldn't remember when was the last time we kissed." Hawk's voice trembled a little. He looked at his lap. "There were so many, but I just couldn't remember the last one."

Or, a little scene after, "Did you forget that I'm a convicted felon?"

Part 3 of Fellow Travelers 1x06 extra scenes

🥛 You didn't have to love me like you did, but you did, and I thank you. by @in-our-special-place // Cupping_Cakes [M, 708] “He wasn't my friend. He was the man I loved.”

🥛 Cherry blossom by @carnivalrow // nightfall_in_winter [M, 740] There is a moment when they both travel west and Tim falls asleep in the car. An excerpt is provided. This fic examines Hawk's thoughts in that precise moment.

🥛 Liability by @solitudinariann // Dysterscribbles [T, 804] Angstier version of the scene where Hawk asks Tim to write a letter for Mary and calls his friends a 'liability' which makes Tim think Hawk must think of him as a liability too. Angst and something more ensues.

🥛 The Twelth of Never by ghostandwitness* [M, 973 WIP] What if Hawk didn’t prevent Tim from passing the security clearance? A retelling of Hawk and Tim’s story where their affair is continued through Tim’s employment at State, for those of us who want a different ending (but of course, not without a hard time getting there-After all it's Hawk and Tim).

[veifei]

finished drafting my critical commentary for my poem ahhhhhhhh all i need to do it edit, cite and SUBMIT and then never think about this ever ever again (until i get my grade back that is)

[starlostastronaut]

also because i reblogged that other thing and i am complaining about lack of interactions here sometimes while being guilty of not answering requests:

i will write them. i just underrestimated how time consuming med school will be. so i am thinking of you and i'm writing down notes and believe it or not i actually have several reqs almost completed. i just want to wait until i know i have time to post consistently again to put them out

i just dont want to look like hypocrite complaining while not actively writing. but i still get likes and no feedback on old fics and the thing is the same. doesnt matter if its old or new fic <3

teri out ✌🏻

[nectardaddy]

I'm learning very quickly I'm too long winded to write drabbles...

[desaturate-worlds]

j saw someone call their 3k word fic a drabble. what’s going on guys.

[all54321]

It Can Mean Whatever We Want It To Mean Part 1

[AO3]

Thinking about the Trauma Bonded AU and wanted to solidify whether it’s platonic or romantic… so I chose the secret third option (queer platonic relationship)

Also while it’s not mentioned, they are both aromantic, because there needs to be more aspec rep.

Summary: After Scar learns that the hermits think him and Grian are dating, it makes him question what their relationship really is.

—————

Scar basically breathing down the back of Grian’s neck makes it hard for him to keep concentration on working on his base blueprints. Despite the distraction, he doesn’t dislodge Scar from where he’s plastered against Grian’s side.

He doesn’t know why Scar suddenly came to his base and wanted to cuddle, but they’ve been through this long enough that Grian isn’t going to ask any questions. If Scar wants to explain, he can in his own time.

“Did you know that people think we’re dating?” Scar whispers after several minutes.

“Huh?” Grian murmurs, startled, as he glances over at Scar, who is still staring down at the papers in front of them.

He shrugs, “I just kind of… heard about it.”

Grian sets down his pencil and turns to face Scar as much as he can with Scar holding onto him. Grian frowns, catching the strange lilt to Scar’s tone, “What’s on your mind?”

He pulls back slowly, until there’s no point of contact left between them, Grian shivers a little at the lack of touch. Scar looks away from him, “I was wondering what you thought about it.”

“That people think we’re dating?” he echoes, trying to figure out what about this is bothering Scar. “I mean, we’re not, but the others can think what they want.”

“I see,” he murmurs, still looking forwards. Grian can’t tell if his answer was helpful or not.

He sighs, “I know that we have a deal to not push on things, but c’mon, what’s on your mind?”

Scar takes a slow breath in, parsing through his thoughts. He eventually releases it, “It’s just that I realized that I do things with you that I don’t do with the others. Hearing that made me think of what it means.”

“Does it have to mean anything?” Grian asks, fidgeting with his pencil. “I don’t see why what we do have to mean anything.” Well it certainly means something to him, now that the topic is brought up, but it’s nothing romantic. He has no interest in dating Scar, after all.

“It feels like it has to,” Scar insists, and Grian realizes that this has been on his mind for a while now.

“Just, why does it have to mean what others think it should mean?” Grian amends quickly. “It’s between us, shouldn’t we be the ones to decide what it means?”

That seems to alleviate at least some of what bothers Scar, but not by much. He finally looks at Grian again, “What do you think it should mean?”

Somehow the question catches him off guard. After thinking on it he offers Scar a small shrug, “It doesn’t mean either or, really. Not romantic, but why does it need to be what everyone decides a friendship has to be?”

As Scar takes in his words, the conflict seems to fade, “Yeah, yeah, I like the sound of that.”

Grian smiles and extends a wing and arm, “Now, wanna get back to cuddling?”

Scar doesn’t hesitant to fall into his embrace, wrapping his arms around him again. Grian can’t continuing working like this anymore, but he doesn’t mind. He drops his pencil and returns the embrace, holding Scar close to him.

[spicyteawrites]

here's the first drabble of my belated cytham kinktober 2023! (I know, it's nearly the end of knotty November already smh)

click here for the ao3 link!!

prompt: knotting (werejackal Cyno/harpy Haitham)

the tags and terms that I used are listed in the notes before each drabble. please keep my headcanons in mind when you read ✨

doodled this purely for the drabble (Cyno is on a stool ofc) 😭 bonus terrible shitposts (all text) under the cut!

[seraphdreams]

One thing about me is I never know when someone is being mean or saying rude things about me. Because I wrote this step bro choso drabble (I also don’t know the difference in drabbles and fics and whatever else there is) and someone commented

‘Step bro? I’m going back to ao3’

And I feel like that’s bad but like babe… ao3 has much worse than a step bro, hell I’ve written worse things on ao3 then a little step brother fic

someone on tumblr??? surprised at seeing stepbro fics???? that’s very very rare!

[tsuyalovebot]

make him lose his cool.

suggestive and sexual content. mdni, ageless blogs dni.

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting. ignore any typos.) no sex, but caleb popping a boner like a victorian man. afab reader (that also wears bras). mc=reader.

"caleb is an ass man!" "no, he likes tits!"

personally, i think caleb would have a near panic attack upon seeing your shoulder, elbow, or ankle.

he just does a really good job of pretending he doesn't mind it. after all, the two of you grew up together. he's had to put his hands on you many times — carrying, tending to scrapes and cuts, tickling you, ruffling your hair, squeezing your face. skinship was a language that the two of you were plenty fluent in.

but the year spent apart failed to maintain this, like some half-assed video streaming subscription, and caleb's the newborn fawn learning how to walk.

so what happens when he knocks on the room to his bedroom — it belongs to you now, technically — with a plate of breakfast before coming in, and he witnesses you sitting up, all sleepy and the neckline of his shirt slightly sliding down your shoulder?

he's going to throw himself off a cliffside. maybe even off skyhaven itself.

the plate hits the bedside table on your side with a loud clatter. none of the food spilled over, luckily. he has half a mind to garble some lame excuse about being busy and a quick good morning before trying to bolt.

but, caleb nearly snaps into two when you tug at the hem of his shirt, slumber still slurred in your words as you ask where he's going. there'd been no strength in that tug. yet, he stopped in his tracks all the same. he ends up listening to your grumbles, ones reminding him that it's his day off, remember? you promised you'd spend it with me.

"i gotta take a shower first," he chuckles, hoping his voice wasn't too shaky. please don't notice. please don't notice.

"but caleb," you keen.

god, it's like when he'd take leave from the academy for a few days just to go back to you and gran. always coming home to you, thoroughly acquainted with you not being a morning person but still making the effort to cling to him and savor every second you two spent together.

he assumed it would be the same now, but clearly, that was a mistake. because the coiling tension of warmth threatening to boil over in his stomach was nothing short of treacherous.

caleb does manage to escape; albeit pained by the half-awake whines behind him and the sound of you falling back into bed. god, how badly he wanted to cave into your demands. you don't even know the half of it.

he wonders if you've ever curled into his side of that bed he once slept on, seeking his cologne, his body, his warmth the same way he looks for your silhouette in every corner of this home. a melody he knows, but a name he can't quite place in this shell of a house that transformed in your presence.

regardless, it's really difficult to let this relationship rebuild organically when he was popping a boner over the slightest sliver of skin. the shower's streams are icy on his skin, the impromptu bath having thrown a wrench into his morning routine. he refuses to even touch himself. letting the proof of his sin soften under the biting cold of the water, despite the discomfort.

because nothing was more horrific than having his body react to you like a prepubescent teen discovering porn online for the first time.

caleb thinks he's safe after spending an hour in the bathroom, fingertips pruned and mind cooler than the iciest of planets. but as he's changed back into his clothes, he discovers you beside the door, a blanket around your sitting form and those eyelids droopy.

"pipsqueak? what're you doin' here?" he's crouching down — mortifying boner forgotten as he gathers you into his arms before he realizes it.

then, you stir. a whine muffled into the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him, the vibration seeming to ripple down his spinal column. the blanket falls from your body in the motions, and you're so soft compared to the firmness of his body.

his arms tighten around you on instinct and you let out a pleased sound and—

he stiffens. you weren't wearing a bra.

"caleb, you're done." you yawn, like the spoiled, pampered figurehead of royalty you are. you arch up into him, and he swears he feels several of his neurons die, dropping like flies in the empty cavity of his head.

"take me back to bed." he feels the air shift as you seem to inhale his scent. your voice softer, more content when you say, "i wanna sleep some more."

he's so fucking doomed.