#And it was supposed to be just a drabble with maybe 300 words; now it has 3000 words

[diamonddaze01]

Love: Best Served Hot

pairing: chef! kmg x gn!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, slice of life wc: 2.7k

summary: even when he’s exhausted, mingyu wants to care for you. 

a/n: this was supposed to be a 300 word drabble idk what happened // i love chef mingoo!!

The door creaks open, releasing a gust of chilly air that carries with it the rich, savory aroma of sautéed garlic and fresh spices. The warm glow of the kitchen lights flicker to life as Mingyu steps inside, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his hair slightly tousled from a long shift. He kicks off his shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and stretches his arms overhead, letting out a dramatic sigh that echoes through the apartment.

“Guess who’s here to save your taste buds!” he announces, though the weariness in his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders tells a different story.

You look up from your phone, a grin spreading across your face. “Don’t you ever get tired of cooking, Gyu?” you tease, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, the familiar warmth of the kitchen enveloping you.

He feigns offense, placing a hand on his chest as if you’ve just insulted his entire culinary career. “For you? Never. I’m making you gourmet ramen from scratch. The kind that makes you forget your ex. Trust me; it’s a glow-up for your palate.”

“You said that yesterday about the ribs,” you point out, watching him glide across the kitchen with practiced ease. The overhead lights cast a soft halo around his figure, and the way his hair flops into his eyes adds an adorable charm to his focused expression. “And the kimchi jjigae last week, and the burgers the time before that.”

“Shhhh.” He reaches around you for a cutting board, dropping a soft kiss on your lips to silence you. The warmth of his lips lingers as he pulls back, a playful spark in his eyes. “I’ve never met someone who complains so much about getting wined and dined.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “I’m not complaining; I’m just keeping you accountable. I need to know if your cooking is really as good as you claim.”

Mingyu laughs, a rich, warm sound that fills the kitchen and dances around you; it makes your heart sing a little, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “If you’re so worried about it, maybe you should just let me cook in peace.”

As he focuses on the task at hand, the slight sheen of sweat forming on his brow catches the kitchen's light, his movements slowing just a fraction. His fingers are steady but the small tremor in his hands gives away just how long he's been on his feet. He brushes his hair back with a frustrated tug, eyes closing briefly as if savoring a second of relief before diving back into the task. It’s in these small, unguarded moments you realize just how worn he is—the dark circles under his eyes, the set of his shoulders that normally stand so proud, now sagging ever so slightly. But even through the exhaustion, there’s a determination in him, the same kind you’ve come to recognize every time he puts your needs before his own.

“Hey,” you say, your voice softening. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a break? You’ve been on your feet for hours.”

He glances over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. “And what, exactly, have you eaten today, hmm?”

“Uh…” You falter, feeling a familiar flush of embarrassment creeping in.

“Here, let me help you.” He sets down the knife and taps his foot expectantly, whisk in hand. “Knowing you, you probably just subsisted on iced lattes all day because you were too busy to get a real meal, right?”

You huff, your indignation flaring. “I’ll have you know that I had a Pop-Tart and a bag of Skittles! Those are major food groups, you know.”

Mingyu bursts into laughter, but you catch a glimpse of concern flickering behind his playful facade. “Riiiiight,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “So now, you’re going to shut up and watch your gorgeous, incredibly talented, hot chef boyfriend make you a meal that has an actual vegetable in it.”

He gets like this sometimes, when he's frustrated that you don't take care of yourself. It’s been a cause for many an argument in the past—his insistence that you need to eat and your stubbornness that you know how to take care of yourself. Those conversations often swirl around the kitchen like a storm, but there’s a gentleness in the way he brushes off your concerns that tells you he cares deeply, even if he masks it with humor.

You watch him chop vegetables, let yourself get lulled into dreamlike trance with the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board. He moves with precision, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration as he glances over to check your expression. His dedication tugs at your heartstrings, a reminder of how he loves: by placing food in front of you even when he’s on the brink of falling asleep standing up. You’ve learned that his love language isn’t just about the meals he makes; it’s in the way he basks in the glow of your compliments, how your smile lights up his tired eyes like a spark in the dark.

You take a step closer, your fingers absentmindedly grazing the cool countertop, the warmth of the kitchen offering little comfort against the concern gnawing at you. It’s moments like these that make your heart ache —the way he pushes himself, never stopping until he’s done taking care of everyone else, even when he should be the one resting. A small, tight knot forms in your chest as you watch him, the way his brow furrows with each precise chop, his body moving with a practiced ease that can’t fully mask the heaviness of his fatigue. You wish you could stop him, take over for once, but you know he wouldn’t allow it. Still, you try to lighten the mood. 

“You know, you could just let me make dinner once in a while,” you offer, though your voice softens with unspoken worry.

He shakes his head, a grin breaking through his feigned annoyance. “And ruin my masterpiece? Never.”

The way he leans into the task, the sheer determination on his face, makes you fall in love with him a little more each day. It’s not just the food—it’s the way he pours his heart into everything he does, even when it means sacrificing his own comfort for yours. You can see it in the way his shoulders relax when you compliment his cooking, how he laughs more easily when you’re around, and how the corners of his eyes crinkle with joy when you taste something he’s prepared.

“I just want you to eat something real, not just sugar and caffeine,” he continues, a hint of worry creeping into his tone, finally letting his humorous facade fall for a second.  “I can’t have you turning into a human-sized Skittle.”

You can’t help but laugh at the image, feeling the tension of the day slip away. “I’ll have you know that I’d be a delicious  human-sized Skittle, thank you very much.”

He rolls his eyes playfully but then yawns again, the gesture drawing your concern back to the surface. “See? That right there—no more yawning until you’ve eaten something substantial, got it?”

He feigns a mock salute, but you can see the hint of exhaustion etched across his features. “Okay, okay, Captain Concerned. I promise I’ll eat something as soon as this ramen is ready. Just… give me a minute.”

You nod, the sincerity behind his words warming you. As he stirs the bubbling broth, you can’t help but admire the way his brow furrows in concentration, how he occasionally glances your way to ensure you’re still there, still watching.

“Alright, but you’d better not fall asleep in front of the stove,” you tease gently, your voice light but your heart heavy with concern.

He nods, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “No promises,” he retorts playfully, but the warmth in his gaze tells you that he appreciates your worry, even if he’d never admit it outright.

“Just keep your gorgeous, incredibly talented hot chef boyfriend awake, alright?” he says, a teasing lilt returning to his voice.

You can’t help but smile, feeling your affection for him grow in the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by the scents of his hard work. “Deal. But you’d better make that ramen quick, or I might just have to find a way to fuel you with caffeine and Skittles.”

The kitchen hums with quiet, the only sounds coming from the bubbling broth and the soft scrape of Mingyu’s knife on the cutting board. You don’t need to fill the space with conversation; just being there, your silent presence, is enough. It’s always been enough for him. After a long day of being barked at on the line, of rushing orders and chaos, this is what he craves—your calm support, your quiet companionship. You don’t need to ask him how his day was; the tension in his shoulders, the way he brushes his hair back in frustration, tells you everything.

You watch as he works, each movement slow but precise, his exhaustion barely hidden beneath the surface. And still, even in his fatigue, there’s a quiet grace in how he prepares your meal—chopping vegetables, whisking broth, his fingers moving with the kind of ease that only comes from years of practice. He flicks the pan to stir the ingredients and adds garnish with a flourish—and looks over at you for validation.

Even though you’ve seen him do this hundreds of times, you still smile when he meets your eyes.  It’s a dance you’ve perfected: him cooking, you watching, the back-and-forth that fills the space between you. It’s more than just food—it's the way he pours himself into each meal, hoping to see that spark of happiness in your eyes, that subtle nod of approval that tells him, once again, that he's done well, that you love what he’s made. And it never fails—you always smile, and in that moment, it’s like he’s won an award.

“That was slick,” you murmur with a grin, watching his tired eyes light up like you’ve just given him a standing ovation. 

In return, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, gentle and warm. “Only for you,” he whispers, but you know it’s true. It’s in the way he offers you spoonfuls of broth to taste, holding the spoon up to your lips, watching carefully for your reaction. When you hum in satisfaction, the tension in his shoulders eases, his tiredness momentarily forgotten.

Every compliment you give is met with a kiss—sometimes on your lips, sometimes on your nose, sometimes just a gentle press to your forehead. You know that this is his love language, this silent back-and-forth of care, and it’s how you love him, too. Just being here, watching him, letting him unwind at his own pace. You don’t need to talk for him to know you’re there, supporting him. He knows you’re here, watching him, feeling the weight of his exhaustion, without needing to say it. It’s in the way you linger nearby, always close but never overbearing, allowing him to move at his own pace. Sometimes, just your presence is enough to ease the weight of the world on his shoulders, the sound of your breathing in sync with his, the gentle hum of the kitchen filling the gaps. 

You sit at the counter, content to let him work in silence, knowing he’ll fuss if you hover too much. But, true to form, he turns around every now and then, his eyes narrowing like he’s assessing the situation. “You’re going to eat, too, right? Not just stare at me?”

“Obviously,” you tease, though the warmth in your chest says otherwise. He’s tired, you can see it in the way he brushes his hair back, but still, his concern is always you—making sure you’ve eaten something other than sugar and caffeine all day. “I had a Pop-Tart, remember? And Skittles,” you add.

He rolls his eyes, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Yes, of course, the epitome of gourmet food. You need actual food, not whatever sugar rush you’ve been riding on.” There’s a playful tilt to his voice, but beneath it, the care is genuine, the worry etched into his furrowed brow. He doesn’t have to say it, but you can feel it in every movement, in the way he insists on feeding you something real, even when he’s on the brink of exhaustion.

When the ramen is finally done, the kitchen smells like a cozy hug, and he brings the steaming bowl over with a satisfied smile, his usual swagger dimmed slightly by the long hours he's endured. But instead of sitting down at the table, you slide onto his lap. His arms wrap around your waist without hesitation, pulling you closer, his body melting against yours in a sigh that carries all the weight of the day. You can feel the tension leave his shoulders, the stress ebbing away as you press yourself against him. 

“Eat,baby,” he murmurs, pushing the bowl toward you. But when you don’t immediately take a bite, he reaches for the chopsticks, bringing the noodles to your lips himself.

You chuckle softly, but he’s serious, his eyes fixed on you as you take the first bite. “Good?” he asks, as if he isn’t already sure of the answer.

You nod, chewing slowly, savoring the warmth that spreads through you. “Perfect.”

Satisfied, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, but before he can relax completely, you grab the chopsticks from his hand and lift a bite of ramen to his lips. “Your turn,” you say, watching as his expression softens.

He laughs under his breath but doesn’t protest, taking the bite with a small nod of approval. “Good,” he hums, his voice lower now, sleepier. But as tired as he is, he still won’t stop fussing, making sure you take another bite, and another, before he lets himself have one too.

The silence between you is comfortable, filled only by the occasional murmur of approval or the clink of chopsticks against the bowl. Every time you compliment the ramen, he preens a little, leaning in to press another kiss to your cheek, your nose, your lips. And with every bite, you fall a little more in love—not with the food, but with him, with the way he cares for you in the smallest, quietest ways. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he should be the one resting, he’s still making sure you’re taken care of, that you’ve eaten, that you’re loved. And that’s how you know he loves you—because he can’t help but put you first, even when his eyes are heavy with sleep.

You sit there, nestled in his lap, feeding him and being fed, the two of you wrapped up in the warmth of the kitchen. This is how you love him—by just being here, letting him rest in the silence, your presence enough to soothe him after a long day. And in return, his way of loving you is by feeding you, taking care of you even when he’s exhausted. No words are needed; the quiet between you speaks volumes.

“You don’t have to always do this, you know,” you whisper, your fingers gently tracing the edge of the bowl. The ramen is long gone, and he’s running his fingers up your arm, goosebumps erupting in their wake. “Take care of me, I mean.”

Mingyu’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, the vibration sending a warm ripple through your body. “It’s not about having to. I want to,” he says simply, his voice low and sincere. “Besides, you’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Someone has to make sure you eat.”

You can’t help but laugh, even though you feel a lump forming in your throat. His love is always like this—quiet, unspoken, wrapped in the warmth of small actions rather than big words. It’s in the way he insists on feeding you, the way he pulls you closer when he’s tired but still makes sure you’re taken care of.

“I love you,” you whisper, almost instinctively, the words slipping out before you even realize.

He doesn’t respond right away, but you can feel his grip tighten ever so slightly, his arms drawing you closer as if he’s pulling you into the very core of him. Then, softly, so softly you almost miss it, he presses a kiss to your hair and murmurs, “I love you, too.”

[tsaheylutales]

Can you write a blurb about dustin and reader's relationship dynamics from you weren't supposed to know?

Here we go, a little dribble drabble! Hope you like it.

Henderson!Reader

(I'm not sure what else to put here...Enjoy!)

about 300 words

You and Dustin weren’t close in the traditional sense. Sure, you talked, you watched movies together sometimes, you both had a thing for science, your mom’s pretty good at raising nerds, but still…You weren’t that close. Not like Will and Jonathan. Not even like Mike and Nancy.

You were just… there. There to help with science fairs, to give rides, to fill in at the last minute for D&D when someone bailed and they needed a warm body.

It wasn’t until Eleven and the Upside Down came into the picture that he really started to pull away. It seemed he grew up, exposed to the horrors of other dimensions, dragged into a world of monsters and shadows. 

You didn’t even know about any of it until years later, long after everyone else had trauma-bonded, formed secret pacts, shared nightmares and scars. They had inside jokes, information they never bothered to pass on, no matter how many times you asked.

Once you did find out, that’s when you started noticing things, the snarky comments, the quiet eye rolls, the faces he pulls when he thinks you’re not looking. He makes you feel stupid for asking questions you apparently should already know the answers to. Like you’re always one step behind. Like you’re just slowing them down.

Now, you just bite your lip and stay quiet.

The drift didn’t feel as sudden as it probably was. Maybe because you were still holding on to something that wasn’t really there anymore. You kept convincing yourself nothing had changed, that he was just busy, or tired, or being a teenager. But slowly, he stopped letting you touch his comics. Stopped asking you to help plan his campaigns. Stopped talking to you the way he used to. 

You were no longer his sister, just someone to fill the space, take him places. A last resort. He only needed and wanted you when it was convenient for him. And you’d split yourself in two if it meant you could be included. 

[ithseem]

HEYY!! coming from your 300 follower event, congrats btw, can you write a drabble of Alpheratz or maybe Vega (for a bit of emotional flares), discovering a camera the summoner accidentally brought along with them to bound arlyn laying around somewhere, out of curiosity he scrolls through it's memory, discovering pictures they took back in Mid Eartheim, but after a few clicks later, he stumbles upon older pictures, memories of the summoner's life with their friends, family and etc. all the way back to when their first picture was taken

OMGOMGOMG I just finished replaying OMORI and this request pops in my ask box?? Perfection. Also, I know asked for a drabble but I wrote a whole-ass fic instead. I hope that's okay.

Frozen Memories

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Summary: Vega found your old camera and flips through the photos and goes through the bittersweet memories

Rating: General

Genre: Angst

Word count: 1,372

crossposted to ao3

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It was always one unexpected thing after another ever since you arrived in Bound Arlyn and those unexpected things usually led to chaos, much to Vega’s own, and your dismay. But today’s discovery was quite mundane. Eerily so. Vega had found a camera laying on the ground. His breath hitched as recognition struck—a pang in his chest, sharp and sudden. He recognized this camera all too well. This was a gift he and his friends pitched in to buy for you on your eighth birthday. He recalled your talent for capturing moments on his parents’ and his friends’ cameras, so he wanted to get a nice camera for you. They held yard sales and bake sales for at least seven months before they got the funds to buy that model. He swears he could still smell the cookies from all those years ago, the edible ones and the burnt ones alike. He could even feel the sticky batter and splatters of ink from the cookies and handmade signs and price tags. Seven months of whispered plans, clumsy mishaps, and dogged determination. All for this. His father had promised it was the best they could afford, and when the day finally came, he remembered the way your face lit up, brighter than the candles on your cake. “You’re really giving me this?” you had asked, your fingers trembling as you held the unwrapped camera box. The memory made his throat tighten. That smile of yours—the unguarded joy of a child with the whole world ahead—was etched in his mind like sunlight spilling through the cracks of a door. It was a moment he clung to, especially now, in this fractured place. But there as he stood, holding the camera with some of its metallic paint faded off the plastic and its slightly-frayed strap, a knot of unease formed in his chest. Why was this here? Why did you have it with you?

It all seemed surreal to him. He had been taken from you far too soon, and now here you were with no idea who he is. And the worst part is that look you gave him. You meant no harm. How could you? He knew that you were just existing, but he still couldn’t help but feel embittered.

Tales like these were supposed to end differently. The hero would reunite with their long-lost friend or lover, the weight of years apart relieved from their shoulders as they shared a tearful embrace. They would hold each other as though the very fabric of the world depended on it, refusing to let go lest the other vanish. But that was not the case for him. Was this all a cruel sick joke at his expense? All the smiles, all the laughter, all the silly conversations, all the promises under the stars… everything… It all seemed to have disintegrated, and for what? His hands trembled, a futile attempt to hold back the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the unfairness of it all, but the walls of the empty hallway pressed in on him, suffocating and oppressive. A single glance around was enough to remind him where he was, so he took refuge in an empty classroom.

Vega took a few deep breaths before he turned on the camera. To his surprise, the batteries seemed to still have some charge in them. He flipped to the album to see the most recent picture taken eight years ago. It was one of your own family, and another group of people he’d assumed were your extended family. You were all smiling warmly for the lens. A pang of guilt hit him like a slap. What was he doing? He had no right to rifle through your memories like this, no right to invade something so personal. He hated himself for it, for letting his curiosity overpower his sense of decency. Yet, despite the self-reproach simmering in his chest, he couldn’t stop. He flipped through the album to the picture taken ten years ago. It was a photo of you, him, and your old friends, taken in the golden light of a summer afternoon at the park. You had asked a passerby to take your picture after several failed attempts at using the self timer. The image of your smiles, carefree and bright, felt like a punch to the gut. He stared at his younger self, arms thrown casually around you and your friends, as if nothing in the world could ever change. The warmth he felt in his chest at the image only lasted for a short moment, as bitterness soon took over. His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. How could you not remember? These moments, immortalized in this tiny digital canvas, these fragments of a life you once lived, do they really mean nothing to you? As angry as he felt towards your ignorance, he can’t bring himself to hate you.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, the sting of unshed tears blurring his vision as he continued flipping through the photos and videos. Each image felt like a relic of a time he could no longer touch, a whisper of a life that seemed almost foreign now. Most were candid shots of your friends caught mid-laughter, lost in their own little worlds. But among them, he couldn’t ignore how often he appeared. It wasn’t just one or two photos either. There were countless images of his smiles or gestures. His cheeks and ears burned at the sight, a small smile tugging at his lips. But at the same time, his heart still felt heavy. He can’t help but curse the fact that he had to find this camera now. Had he found this earlier, when times were simpler—when you still remembered him, he could allow himself to feel flattered, even joyful, at the revelation. Or better yet, he thought bitterly, had he never fallen into Bound Arlyn, he’d let himself feel happy that maybe, just maybe, you had been pining for him for a while as he had been pining for you. 

But no amount of magical thinking could rewrite the past. The reality of the situation was suffocating. Oppressive. The memories you’d once cherished enough to immortalize in these photos now meant nothing to you. The version of him you had loved—or at least cared for—was a stranger to you now, reduced to a nameless face in an album of forgotten moments. But a stubborn voice at the back of his head refused to let him believe that. What if the memories hadn’t disintegrated? What if they were buried deep into your subconscious waiting to be unearthed? He wanted to believe it. He needed to believe it. The alternative was too cruel, too final. But even that hope was tinged with bitterness, a fragile thing at war with the fear that nothing would ever bring those memories back.

His breath caught as he lingered on a photo of you and him, grinning like fools, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. One of your friends must have stolen your camera to capture this moment. But you never bothered to delete it. He couldn't tell if the ache in his chest was from the sweetness of the memory or the pain of its absence in your eyes now.

“Vega? What are you doing here?” A voice called out. He looked up to see a confused Alpheratz standing at the door before him. “And what’s that in your hand?”

“Ah-” was the only thing Vega could say.

Alpheratz looked at him up and down and simply said, “Never mind. Anyway, there’s a council meeting about to happen. You’re gonna be late.”

“Since when did you care about these things?”

“Since Spica started to REALLY get on my ass for skipping out. And by the way, you might want to wash up before going to the council room. Your face is all red and puffy”

“...Right.”

Vega put the camera in his pocket before deciding to return it to you later.

[cleminthewriter]

Mom Said It’s My Turn To Do The Writing

This was supposed to be a small fluff drabble but i quickly realized that I can’t write anything under 300 words for the life of me so here’s a full one shot. Enjoy :D

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex wasn’t really sure how long the two had been running for. Maybe minutes, maybe hours,maybe for just seconds. But Alex could tell by now they really couldn’t keep it up. Their legs were shaking which each step, their breathing had quickened, and everything seemed to be blurred despite having their glasses on. Clyde seemed filled with just enough energy to keep going, surely it wouldn’t notice if Alex took a small break to catch their breath and lean against a tree.

But notice it did. Alex watched through closing eyes as Clyde ran back over to check on them. 

“Sandwich Human! We don’t have time! They’re gonna get you!” Clyde hurried them. Alex held up a finger to signal for a minute. Then got off the tree and ran a bit further… before losing breath again and falling over.

Clyde rushed over to them, panicking. “Sandwich Human you are not dying today! There’s far more that needs to happen and your death is not for a while.” Clyde muttered. It placed a hand on Alex, which immediately made them sit up.

The duo had found out just a little bit ago the two can touch without Alex dying (immediately), Now after months of trying not to touch each other, it just felt… strange. It wasn’t like it hurt; Alex was just expecting to suddenly feel more teeth and to start coughing blood, and not just a semi-solid ooz hand (?) on their shoulder.

Clyde had already removed its hand from Alex, but still looked concerned. Then it seemed to have an idea. “Don't panic over what I’m about to do.” The veldigun told them. Before Alex could even question what they were about to do, they were immediately picked up by the veldigun. 

“Come on, let’s go find a cave or somewhere and get you some rest.” Clyde whispered as it began to run and locate a good place for the duo to sleep for the night. 

Alex really hadn’t been held like this since they were incredibly young. They had just grown out of asking to be carried and by then they were far too tall to be carried properly. Clyde was a bit taller than them, and was way stronger as well. It was odd, but strangely comforting to be carried around like they weighed nothing.

Just as Alex grew comfortable with being carried, Clyde looked to the side in joy. “Finally! A good cave!” It announced as it brought Alex inside. Clyde seemed to search around for some unknown reason before placing Alex down in a spot far from the opening. It readjusted the blanket Alex had been carrying to be wrapped around them.

“We need a nest, stay here.” Clyde whispered as it scurried away. 

Wow, tonight was a night of firsts for Alex, wasn’t it. They were hunted by the police for the first time, ran for more than half an hour for the first time, were carried for the first time in years, and now they were sleeping in a nest for the first time. Last time they had this many first was their 18th birthday, first time drinking and first time waking up in Mr. Jones’s shed with their clothes on backwards. What a night they still couldn’t remember.

As Alex thought about this in a headspace they were too sleepy to actually think about things logically, they had barely noticed Clyde coming back with a pile of supplies, which was now being used to make a makeshift nest. Alex examined the nest closely. It had what looked like some tree branches, leaves, some discarded trash, what was either a tent or a hammock, and fluff that they couldn’t identify (maybe it was cotton, maybe it was spider webs, maybe- actually, Alex didn't want to know). Alex was still unsure of how it was being held together because it looked poorly woven, until they noticed Clyde gliding a finger across the nest structure, leaving a trail of goo(?). So that was that question answered.

Eventually once Clyde had finished construction of the nest, it reapproached the human. “Alright, the nest is done, from the position of the moon it’s should be 4 or 5 am, so I’m gonna block the cave and sleep with you. So you hop in the nest, be there in a minute.” It told the human before grabbing leftover branches to cover the opening with. 

Alex made an “attempt” to move into the nest, but they were so tired they’d rather just lay on the ground then move another inch. It made them feel terrible cause Clyde just spent its time building a nest that it didn't need to, but here Alex was not getting in it. God they were just like their old family cat, Neptune, who never slept in the nice cat beds they’d buy him and instead sleep in the box it came in. Neptune was a nice cat, don’t get Alex wrong, just a tad annoying. Shame Neptune went missing mysteriously one day- actually no wait now that they think about it, it was highly likely Clyde had found him first and-

“Need help Sandwich Human?” Clyde offered as it towered over their body. Alex just made a vague yes noise and grabby hands. They heard the veldigun laugh as it picked them up. 

“Wow, your way more tired than I expected.” It chuckled as it laid the both of them in the nest. “Six, this must be what Winfrey felt when I stayed up past 6 am hunting and begged to be carried to our nest.” It chuckled again.

They stayed like that for a minute. While the nest was comfy, Alex found themselves unable to truly fall asleep. “Blanket maybe?” They thought as they unwrapped their blanket and threw half over Clyde. It was probably cold as well. Clyde seemed a bit shocked to have gotten half of the blanket around it as well, but grateful nonetheless.

Alex, however, was still having trouble sleeping. They were incredibly tired, but couldn’t get to that state where they were asleep. 

Clyde looked soft.

Alex wrapped themselves around the veldigun. This was something they probably would have considered a death wish maybe a few months ago, but at this moment it just felt… right. 

There was a small pause between the two. Maybe Alex had taken it too far, maybe this was the moment Clyde decided they were too much trouble, maybe-

Clyde wrapped its own arms around Alex, and its tail wrapped around theirs. This was… incredibly comforting. Maybe tonight had been, probably the worst in all of Alex’s life, but right now, in this cave, in this nest, in a moment of peace between human and eldritch beast, Alex had a thought they hadn’t thought in sometime:

“Maybe things will be ok.”

[anony-man]

Don’t know where else to put this, so I’ll put it here for now. Blast Off centric drabble, probably no more than 300 words. (Edit: it’s over 500 so kinda longggg if you wanna skip it, just rambles really)

TW for themes of depression and contemplating the afterlife, if you catch my drift.

The cool slab beneath him had grown warm from the hours spent lying on his side. Though Blast Off felt close to offlining from the threat of suffocating under the weight of his processor and the blankets piled atop his frame, he made no attempt to move.

There were about twenty-four hours in a day according to earth’s standards, and while they were no longer stuck on that dreaded planet waiting for the inevitable, Blast Off still liked to entertain both aspects: ie the reliable way of counting the hours that ticked by and the potential for slipping away silently and painlessly into the arms of the Allspark.

Primus’ arms granted no safe haven for a mech like him, but who could put it past him for dreaming? He liked to imagine that the afterlife would be sweeter than the time spent in this desolate universe.

He needed to get up, and he needed to move, but he didn’t. All around his quiet, cluttered room lay the remnants of projects and plans. The lure of success and satisfaction was sitting right there, right in front of his face, no matter where he turned. It was easy, really; all he had to do was toss the blankets to the side and get up.

Blast Off blinked. The room was still silent, the books untouched. Potential was at his fingertips, but he was just so, so tired.

It had been over half a day already, according to his sloppy attempts at tracking time according to earth’s strict schedule. Over half a day had gone by, again, and he’d done little more than lay in his berth awaiting an unlikely demise. There were always options, of course, but none of them were feasible, nor pleasant, nor… reliable, really.

It was better to sit and sleep and hope that maybe this time, he wouldn’t wake up for once. Wishing and hoping would get him nowhere, but Blast Off was already known for getting his helm stuck in the clouds.

The shuttle blinked again, then sighed. He grabbed for the corners of the blankets before curling up and rolling onto his other side, having had enough with lying in the same position for hours on end. It was better to change things up, to keep himself guessing while he waited for the Cybertronian equivalent of the grim reaper to come and save him from his misery.

There was so much still to do, and so much to say, to explore, to experience… he supposed he’d have to be satisfied with what he’d already earned. It wouldn’t do to offline while thoughts of envy and regret swirled in his helm.

He’d already slept half the day away, only getting up for the bare essentials. Still, what else was there for him to accomplish? Nothing, he concluded. The berth was hot against his already warmed frame, and he could feel his optics drifting closed.

He wasn’t sleepy, but he was tired. Maybe, if he closed his optics and let his processor rest—just once more—his wish would finally be granted.

[thomascastle]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Pick-n-Mix Comix, Original Work

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: Beatrice Prescott, Ironpsyche

Additional Tags: Short, Vignette, Drabble, One-Shot, Urban Fantasy, Magical Realism, Superheroes, Psychic Abilities, Psychics, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Major Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Character-centric, Original Universe, POV Original Female Character, Implied/Referenced Incest, Sibling Incest, Brother/Sister Incest, Romance, Angst and Romance, Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Angst and Feels, Communication Failure, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans, Canon Trans Character, Screw the narrative let's make the tags do all the work, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon LGBTQ Female Character, Robots, Cyborgs, Exosuit, Exoskeleton, friends to nothing, Best Friends, Childhood Friends

Summary:

Just a short scene I cooked up between Ironpsyche and Beatrice, two of my normal characters from Pick-n-Mix Comix. I wasn't expecting them to have a connection or even know each other at all, but I started putting storylines together, and well...

I'm not sure if this will ever show up in a story itself, so I'm putting it separate for now, because it hurts me in dark places and maybe I want to share the horrible heart-wrenching.

Or maybe it's just over-dramatic and weird. I'm used to that by now.

Whooooo wants to read about incest?

No, not that kind of incest.

Consensual, forbidden love type of incest between grown adults who grew up together.

But then their bodies changed, and they changed with them.

It's very mopey and sad, and at 300 words, it packs a punch.

For me, anyway.

I couldn't really figure out where I wanted to put it in their storylines — they weren't even supposed to have a connection, but I kept drawing coincidences and patterns between them, so it seems the universe wants their angst to be inevitable from a certain point of view.

Anyway, it hurts me a lot. Maybe it'll hurt you too, dear reader/s.

[dreamofthe-wild]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @faelynny (nerd) 1. How many works do you have on AO3? 33 as of this post. 2. What's your total AO3 word count? 35,905, it seems low for the amount of works i've posted, but I have some old 100-300 word drabble challenges posted and a few crack fics.

3. What fandoms do you write for? I used to write for Linked Universe (LOZ), but I don't anymore. Right now I am writing actively for Genshin Impact and I have some unposted Fire Emblem Three Houses fics in the works.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? - some things can't be solved by being cut with a sword (376) - you probably couldn't see for the lights but you were staring straight at me (234) - if i had a boy (207) - mighty pumpkin soup for the soul (194) - pouring out a cold one for your homie (170) (all are Linked Universe)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to when I can, if I can come up with an answer then 9 times out of ten I will respond. Sometimes I even just comment to thank them for reading. I won't be holding conversation threads much though.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? There are definitely angstier ones that haven't been posted, but I'd say probably you mean nothing to me, it has an ending where essentially one of the characters sacrifices himself to bring back the rest of his team from the dead and wishes he had never met them to spare him the heartache, it ends with him dying alone and with regrets.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? It's not posted yet, but my Genshin Fic "Our Converging Paths", after a tense battle, the characters end up bonding on their way back home.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I have before, but no one can hate my fics as much as I do /hj/jk I just kinda delete the comments and block, because if my fic is causing them that much distress that they need to comment that, then maybe it's for the best that they can't interact with it anymore. /lh

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do not, but the closest I've gotten is writing a crack fic about how a character's ass jiggles.

10. Do you write crossovers? I may have one or two in the works but they aren't my favorite, I generally like to write things that could be plausible in canon, where canon has left things unfortunately empty.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes but it was way before my ao3 account, on wattpad someone was stealing my fic and I ended up just deleting my account lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I wouldn't say no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, but none have ever been finished or posted.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? I don't ship things very often, and can probably count my ships across all fandoms on just my two hands, but right now my all-time favorite ship would have to be Dimitri/Claude (fire emblem)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I was working on a fic about the First Link and Hylia and it turned into a cool medieval political drama with heavy fantasy elements, but I don't think it will ever get done.

16. What are your writing strengths? I have been told I'm really good at dialogue and banter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Finishing fics lol/hj I'd say seriously that being descriptive of the environment is very hard, I can describe a wound or a situation fairly decently, but trying to make the world exist and not make it feel like this is happening in some dark void is difficult.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I never have, because I only know English, but if it is done well and not just some random google translated phrases thrown into a fic at random, I think it can add a lot to a story.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Technically my first fanfiction was about Hetalia. But, I've basically wiped my old fanfics' existence from history, so now I suppose I could say Linked Universe.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written? It is still in progress, I have a story about Dimitri that will come out eventually, but I haven't been able to work on it recently, I don't know who to tag lol I don't use tumblr really that often.

[hacked-by-jake]

I don’t really want to say anything, but the song at the end of ep 10 doesn’t have to be sad. It would also fit absolutely perfectly to a damn hot sex scene. 👀

[robinsno1lesbian]

Buckley brainrot is SO REAL rn so here’s some thots HAVE FUN

Imagining going to a romance movie with Robin and she insists y’all sit in the back so you do and you’re now halfway through the movie and her hand is under your skirt and she’s already coaxed out one or two orgasms from you and she’s trying to make it a record and you’re biting your lip so hard to keep the moans in and she says

“Gotta be quiet baby, someone can turn around and see the mess you’re making.”

And when the movie finishes you get up and start blushing as you gently push Robin to usher her out quickly so no one asks about the wet spot on your seat and I-😵‍💫

robin buckley x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1225

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content! (MDNI), (semi?) public sex, fingering, squirting, petnames, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not proofread

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: sorry for my other asks still waiting in my inbox but this one had to be prioritized for all the amazing writing @maladaptive-day-dreams has done for me in the past few days!! the robin brainrot is REAL- this was supposed to be a 300-500 word drabble but i got a little too carried away with your request-

when she first put her palm to your thigh you didn't mind. it wasn't often that she got physical with you in public, hawkins in the 80s most definitely isn't the place and time for lesbians. but in the darkness of the movie theatre, it felt safe enough. your seats are in the very back of the room, and, besides, hardly anyone else is at the movies today. you've seen a young couple somewhere close to front row and maybe a handful of other people. but none of them are close enough to see the hand on your leg. and they aren't close enough to see the way robin moves closer to you until she has her lips pressed against your neck, leaving a trail of hot and wet kisses. "robin" you hiss under your breath. "we can't-" but when her hand moves further up your leg you shut it, your hips rolling against her for more. your girlfriend chuckles against your neck as she caresses your skin- "yeah..." she mumbles at that first hip roll. "that's what i thought" you know just how wet you are when she presses her fingers to your pantie-covered entrance and looks at you with mock surprise. "who would've known" she whispers. "that y/n y/l/n was into getting fucked in the movie theatre..." "i- uhm- I'm not" but there really is no point denying it when she pulls your panties down your spread legs and pockets them, before using her index- and middle finger to spread you open for her. "and you're so fucking wet too" robin's raspy voice is right next to your ear. you can't see her hand, your skirt turns out to be an amazing cover for what's happening underneath, you can only feel it when she spreads your lips apart and dips a finger down to your entrance. you gasp and she hushes you immediately. "shit gotta be quiet for me..." she looks around but no one seems to be paying any attention. "we wouldn't want them to hear" now what you think she means is that she will turn this into a quick little thing before focusing her attention back on the movie. you think she will make quick work of flicking your clit and finish you off in record time. what you don't think is that she will fuck you through multiple orgasms in a now, without stopping for once. after your first orgasm, you are sweat soaked and have a hand thrown over your mouth to hold back the noise. you look at her as if you're expecting her to withdraw her hand. she doesn't. robin gives you a wicked grin and pumps her fingers into you again. your eyes widen in surprise and you bite down on your hand. you mouth a "robin...please" but robin knows better. she knows you want this and she can tell by the way her fingers meet no resistance at all that you don't just want but need to cum again. your walls flutter around her skilled fingers at one particularly deep thrust. you're thankful for the loud volume of the movie that's playing. otherwise, the whole room would hear the wet noises from between your thighs. with your eyes rolling back and your grip tightening around the armrest of your seat, you cum again. you arch your back off of your seat and bite down on your lip so hard you're almost certain it'll draw blood. robin watches in amazement, her fingers gathering all of your cum and arousal and pushing it right back into your aching cunt.

you squirm when she pushes them back inside and a small whimper falls from your lips. it's all becoming too much and yet not nearly enough to feed your hunger for more...more of her touch, more of those sensations that are washing over you like waves...more of robin. robin, whose brows furrow when you whimper. regardless of how quiet it is, she stops her movements for a second to warn you; "gotta be quiet baby, someone can turn around and see the mess you’re making" and you sure are making a mess, your wetness running down your thighs and soaking right through the thin fabric of the skirt and into the seat. she pulls out of you and collects your arousal on her fingertips, moving upwards. you nod your head, willing to do anything robin asks of you as long as this does not stop. you can feel your overstimulated cunt throbbing, but you want to give her that. you want to make robin proud and give her one more. you know it's there, coiling in your lower abdomen as she circles your clit slowly. "will...will be so quiet" you breathe, with your head falling back against the wall behind you. "please" "oh i know you will" she smiles. "good girl" and, as she says it, robin pushes her fingers back into you, watching every single one of your reactions.

"you're gonna give me one more yeah...? yeah...?" she whispers the words so sweetly, as if she isn't pushing her fingers into you, perfectly timed with every word. and each time they seem to go deeper than before, hitting that spot of yours a little too well. "y-yes" you nod your head with your eyes closed. "look at me" robin mumbles. "please- i wanna see your face when i set this new record of making you cum" under other circumstances, this remark might've earned her a giggle but you can't. you can't. you can hardly open your eyes, but force yourself to do so anyway. the sight in front of you is a delight; robin has been watching you the entire time and, judging by the look on her face, she's getting just as much pleasure from this. "gonna cum...gonna cum..." you mouth, your lips parting when you feel the beginning of third orgasm washing over you and when she angles her hand the slightest bit different, causing the heel of her hand to hit against your clit with each one of her thrusts, you cum. hard. so fucking hard that you lose control over all your body does. you throw your palm over your mouth to hold back the moans, wishing robin could hear how good she's making you feel. but robin doesn't need to hear, not when she can feel and see. the last thing you notice before everything does dark is a weird, new sensation of fluids leaving your body and gushing against her hand. your orgasm is still rippling through you but you are aware enough to be extremely embarrassed for this mess. "oh my god- oh my god-" you whisper, brought back to reality by that feeling. you are mortified and bring your palms up to hide your face. but robin looks down at you in amazement. "holy shit y/n..." she whispers. "fuck- that was- that was the hottest thing ever" "i- i never did this before i-" you stutter. "it's-" but robin grabs your wrists and pushes you up. "i need to have you...right now...screw this movie..." she pulls you out of the seat and walks first, leading the way out of the cinema. all you can do is turn around one last time to see the mess you've made on the seat. god, you really hope no one will ask about it on your way out.

[nine-blessed-hero]

WIP Wednesday Saturday

Tagged by @wispstalk, TY <3

I thought I'd try something a bit different for this.

While The Ruby Falls is sitting on a shelf for Dec, I know I'm going to go nuts if I don't write something. So I thought I'd list all the TESIV: Oblivion WIPs I have kicking around, and maybe someone can offer an opinion on which to work on next.

There are 19 of them, so I've popped them under the cut in order of oldest to most recent.

Not Alone

Rin needs to learn to rely on the Blades, Baurus, and Martin a bit more. This was supposed to be my contribution to the tiny collection of HoK/Martin/Baurus fics but I am a coward and stopped writing. I'm halfway through an estimated 30k fic. This thing has no plot, only problems.

My Blade for Thee, Your Son to Be

Rather than become a Sanguinite after leaving the Arcane University, Martin is instead made a Blade. ~3,500 words already in. Naively, the expected wordcount was 5k. I think it's going to end up closer to 10k though. Fun Fact - the Prisoner in this version was the genesis for Aderyn in MOAU.

talis wants some shrooms

Talis has petitioned the Fighters Guild to go harvest some mushrooms for a project. Rowan and Cygwen oblige. About halfway through a 7k fic.

Learning to Shoot

Modern AU. Baurus teaches Marti to shoot a pistol while Aderyn is off getting her ass kicked by Mythic Dawn Cultists. This is supposed to be a look at the growing attraction between CEO and Bodyguard but *cries in "can't write men, gay, or flirting"*. Expected wordcount ~5k

Cloud ruler temple pov

Inspired by a random post, this will be about what Cloud ruler temple thinks about the Oblivion MQ & its occupants. ~800 words. Not started, not sure who the HoK would be for this one.

subtecxt practice 2

Neither Rowan nor Modryn can sleep, and the why is revealed through subtext. This was an exercise that I never completed because I was struggling with plot. Currently at 200 words, probably another 300 words in it.

Alchemist vs botanist debate

Intended to be a one-shot, of ~800 words. An alchemist & a botanist argue about invasive species from the Shivering Isles. Inspired by a post by @/cyrodiilproblems. Not started.

"How was your day?"

A random prompt I found that I thought would be fun to write for MOAU. Got no further than that.

Discovery/ Talis

A request from an Anon, over a year ago now :( I started writing it about the fact low pressure makes the dough Talis is working with do something different, but the premise isn't working for me anymore. Probably going to be closer to 500 words.

Anocar

A vague request to another fanwriter for more about this funny little wizard. I was thinking of pairing this with the "confession" prompt from TESFest22, but I never got far with an actual plot. Probably around 1000 words, featuring K'Rin. Not started.

Schemer the Murder Rat

According to the UESP, Schemer, the pet rat of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, has the rank of Murder, implying he's completed at least one contract. This is supposed to explore how, why, and what the fuck. Not started, probably another shot piece.

Get up

MOAU. Baurus needs rescuing from a burning building. 79 words into a 500-word drabble.

a comercial for shampoo

MOAU. The Blades find a shampoo commercial Martin starred in during his Sanguin days. Inspired by the comments on someone's fanart that I didn't record Q.Q So I'll need to hunt it out to give proper credit. 150 words into ~800-word fic.

Self-Indulgent AU

Aderyn is Martin's kid. I'm currently 14,055 words through this 1,000-word fic. It's nearly finished though, so maybe it'll be a nice round 15k? I just need to stop resisting writing the end.

caring for trees

Lucien talks to his Apple Trees and tells them of the murders they've assisted in. One-shot, inspired by a post from @/ciceroandlucien, estimated at 800 words.

Talis' Sister

Inspired by the ask I got a few days ago. Talis' younger sister, a mage at the arcane uni, sneaks out to see her brother & his pastries. But mostly to his pastries. Estimated 800 words.

[juergenklopp]

AO3 YEAR IN REVIEW – 2021

Tagged by @antonios-hair @whitewolfcraft @ultrasofts @dantteri thank you so much belovedestest <3

Stories Posted: 5 (+ 3 drabbles backdated)

I have/had so many ideas and WIPs that never saw completion in 2021, it’s not been a great year creative-wise for me unfortunately on top of already being a notoriously slow writer. But the ones I put out there, I am actually proud of, and hey, maybe the WIPs I started can be finished this year... Pspsps brain juice for Football AU and [redacted] and [redacted]...

Word Count: 35,177, which is way more than I thought it was? Wow? Pats in the back for past me, they’re not doing too bad.

Most Kudos: your color, my armor, I recently reread the fic and even though I’m not too sure about it anymore now for how dramatic and convoluted it reads, I still like it and I think I captured the dynamics somehow despite its brainrottyness. The influence is clear, I was reading Baldwin, Carson, and Rilke at the time and I suppose I tried and failed to achieve that lofty, poetic, literary feel to it when it’s literally smut and not that deep smh

Longest Story: en garde at 11,440 words. Ah, Fencing AU beloved. I was eyeballs deep researching fencing it actually made me a fan of the sport! It took so many years off my lifespan but I had tons of fun writing it and making up my own little universe of drivers as fencers. Let’s go Team GB let’s go!

Shortest Story: when you’re through thinking at 300 words. For a notoriously wordy writer I think I managed to hit my peak efficiency here. May the future hold more of this energy.

Personal Favorite(s): I am equally proud of all my fic progeny... but if I had to pick, probably rose, quartz, mirrored hearts. I wasn’t sure whether to post it in the first place or de-anon it... I think I managed to tie together the thematic strands and tackle topics so personal to me (gender woes, career angst, being worthy of love just the way you are, being enough) while staying true to the dynamics of the characters? I hope? Oh and, Enzo the Cat. Best OCC. Thank you to Anonymous Writer Whose Identity I Definitely Do Not Know for writing the fic that inspired it! (ALSO listen to the podfic actually! Weep... thank you M. Nat...)

2022 is the year of growth and actually being proud of your creative output. May the words flow and thank you so, so much for checking any of my stuff out (and sorry for not replying to comments for like, a calendar year, I get so overwhelmed and my brain just shut down... I will try to be better at that and also at commenting!) <3

I think almost everyone I know has done this but in case you haven’t, @powertrains, @toyotagazoo, @gordiewowe, @acrosstobear, @tetrapod7, you’re up if you’re keen! No pressure as always!

[taetaespeaches]

maybe just a soft little thing about holding jungkook’s hand for the first time?🥺

“I don’t know why you’re presenting that as a threat.”

jungkook x reader (or oc)

genre: fluff

word count: 928

a/n: Ok, this was legit just supposed to be like a 300 word thing about holding his hand and then it turned into this… I made this part of my long-term guk x reader couple. This drabble takes place in a laundromat, and here’s why: I have a whole plan for guk and his girl to meet in the laundry detergent aisle in a grocery store, and they eventually start having laundromat dates because it’s a way that they can both pass off their dates as “just laundry”. Anyways, those haven’t been written yet, but here’s a little glimpse into this couple. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading and thanks for requesting :))

THERE he was, standing in his all black fit, bomber jacket with an oversized t-shirt underneath and black skinny jeans and combat boots, looking like the emo man of your dreams, yet he was so timid with a blush set on his cheeks.

“Are you gonna get this awkward every time I fold my delicates?” You teased him, Jungkook giggling in response. You nudged him with your hip, Jungkook blushing even more as he focused on his own laundry, avoiding setting his gaze on your underwear and bras.

The laundromat seemed to be perfect at that time of night, completely empty, allowing Jungkook to be relatively relaxed as you both did your chore in each other’s presence.

“This is only the second time we’ve done laundry together, you have to give me a chance to get used to this,” he told you shyly. He was adorable, really, attempting to gain his composure as he folded his plethora of black and dark-colored clothing.

Grinning to yourself, you finished folding your underwear before you leaned against the folding table, crossing your arms as you stared at the man who was still folding his clothes.  

Looking to his side, his eyes widened before he bashfully smiled. “What?”

You simply shook your head, reaching out to take a half-folded t-shirt out of his hands. “Want help?” You asked as you started folding the shirt.

Jungkook’s smile widened as he nodded, but before he could give you a verbal response, his stomach interrupted him with a loud growl.

Both yours and Jungkook’s eyes widened and he let out a, “Jesus,” his hand grasping his abdomen, making you giggle. “Today was busy, I didn’t get to eat lunch today,” he explained.

Shooting him a glare, you shook your head. “Don’t make me get all nurturing on your ass, I’ll do it. I do know how to cook, and I’m not afraid to subject you to it.”

“I don’t know why you’re presenting that as a threat,” he giggled, “that sounds amazing.”

Smiling, you grabbed his hand. “Come here,” you told him as you began leading him across the laundromat. He allowed you to drag him, smiling widely as you did so. Standing in front of the vending machine, you tugged Jungkook’s hand so he was standing next to you. “What do you want?”

Jungkook shot you an innocent look as a small “huh?” slipped from his lips.

“I’m buying you dinner,” you smiled. “What do you want?”

Turning to scan the many rows of junk food inside the lit-up vending machine, Jungkook smiled brightly in a way that made his eyes sparkle. “I’ve never had a girl buy me dinner before,” he said cutely. “And in the form of vending machine cuisine?” He joked, “Wow, nurture me, baby.”

Baby?! Did this god dressed in all black with sparkling eyes just call you baby?!

When his hand shifted in yours, intertwining his fingers with your own, it was your turn to be nervous as your heart pounded against your chest. His palm was warm against your own and as he soothed his thumb overtop the back of your own, you felt giddy and excited.

As you were staring down at his hand holding yours, Jungkook asked you, “What’s your favorite kind of poptart?”

Looking up at him in surprise, you were met with his amused gaze as you questioned, “mine?”

His smirk showed that he was becoming increasingly more confident, receiving an ego boost from your suddenly shy demeanor. “Yeah, yours.”

“Hot fudge sundae,” you told him, eyeing his body language, noticing that he stood a little taller than before.

“Hey, that’s my second favorite,” he said happily. “Do you like brown sugar cinnamon too?” You nodded, holding back a fond grin. “Perfect,” he giggled. “C4 and C6, please. We can share,” he told you, nodding to the vending machine. “I refuse to eat alone.”

Chuckling, you nodded. “Is this you nurturing me now?” you asked as you inserted the money into the machine, Jungkook squeezing your hand.

“Get used to it,” he joked as one of the pop tarts fell with a thud. “Just so you know, I’ve never had a girl buy herself dinner in the form of vending machine cuisine either,” he teased as the second pop tart fell.

“I feel so special,” you grinned as you bent over to grab the snacks, Jungkook refusing to let go of your hand as you did so. “Your dinner, kind sir.” You handed him the brown sugar one as you began leading him back over to the folding table.

“You don’t want to eat at this little table here?” He asked, looking toward the small sitting area as you as you both walked toward the folding table.

“Nah uh,” you shook your head, turning to face Jungkook as you leaned against the table again, your hand still in his. “I want my panties in your line of vision so you’ll stop being a cocky bitch,” you told him, triggering Jungkook to immediately throw his head back in laughter at the comment.

“Jesus, you’re gonna keep me on my toes,” he said through his cackling, the comment dripping in affection.

“Maybe,” you smirked, looking up and down his frame, and then at his hand still holding onto yours. “You’re gonna be keeping me on mine too, though, aren’t you Kookie.”

And under your warm gaze with your cheeks tinted pink, his own became flushed again, both of you nervous and excited and looking forward to teasing each other for a very long time to come.

[msmkcreates]

"The Chase" (SpicyHoney Drabble)

Pairing: Spicyhoney

Rating: T/M for language

Warnings: Papcest implied

I've been unable to get an idea to stick these last few days, all I have clanging around are 300-800 word tidbits so here ya go

-------------

"wanna fuck?"

Not entirely innocent words, but Boss assumes they were said with the innocent intention of bothering him. He only leveled a glare at where Stretch was lounging across the living room chair.

"WHY ON ANY OF THE EARTHS WOULD I WANT TO FUCK?" He snarled, frustration still raw from their earlier spat. "FURTHERMORE WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT I'D BELIEVE YOU WANT TO FUCK ME? WEREN'T YOU JUST CALLING ME A, WHAT WAS IT...REAL-LIFE MURDER HOBO?"

"so you're saying if i could convince you i wanted to, you'd fuck me?" He asked, smirking in that infuriating manner he always does.

"NO." He said simply, turning back to his book and silently willing Blue to be home quickly. He'd only come downstairs for the promise to watch some cooking shows with him, they were slowly becoming rather good friends and he enjoyed the leisure of the Swap verse. Being stuck here hadn't been so bad, yet, even Stretch and his digs at Boss' LV usually weren't enough to drive him away...usually.

Today was a pretty close call, though.

"you sure about that?"

Boss sighed, closing his book. Apparently this was a full-blown conversation now, not just a hypothetical dig. "PRECISELY WHAT WOULD YOU GAIN FROM FUCKING ME?"

"hopefully an orgasm?" Stretch offered, rolling slightly in the chair. The movement put him into a position that looked horrifically uncomfortable, but he supposed comfort was not the aim but rather seduction, as it showed in one movement exactly how flexible he was, and his sweatshirt was riding up and exposing some spine. "bet you're bored, here in lala land with nobody to kill or maim or torture. some excitement could be good for you."

Boss gave a polite once-over. He might as well reward Stretch for the effort by allowing the indulgence of a single lingering gaze. "NO."

"no, you can't give me an orgasm?" Stretch asked, sighed, really, with all the gravitasse of a soap opera star. "a hard worker like you? i would think you'd put in the work, but oh, well."

"IF YOU'RE TRYING TO GOAD ME INTO PROVING I CAN, YOU'LL HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT," Boss chuckled. "I'M AFRAID I'M NOT THAT EASY."

He gained a sense of satisfaction from watching Stretch's face change. "what, seriously? that was almost flirting, bossypants."

"AND WHAT IS OFFERING TO FUCK ME IF NOT FLIRTING?" Boss asked in return, cocking his head. "SURELY SOMEONE LIKE YOU CAN HANDLE A BIT OF A CHASE? A CHALLENGE? EVEN LAZY AS YOU ARE YOU MUST HAVE SOME PRIDE, YES?"

Scowling, Stretch straightened in the chair. "jeez, i was only joking, you don't have to be such a dick about it."

"I'M HOME!"

They both looked over at the doorway, where Blue was kicking the door shut behind him. Boss was on his feet faster than Stretch, offering to take some of the grocery bags he was laden with, and Stretch frowned and sunk back into his seat. He isn't lazy, he helps just fine, but Boss and Blue together is like the fucking Energizer Bunny on Crack. How's he supposed to keep up, supposed to help, if Boss always gets there first?

Just like Boss to twist a fun suggestion into an insult. Oh, well, he'd only been offering out of boredom anyway, curiosity at most. He'd thought that maybe the edgelord was more fun in bed, when the only stick in his pelvis was Stretch's.

Blue plopped a kiss on the top of his skull as he passed and he huffed and sunk further into the chair. His phone dinged as they chattered in the kitchen, and he took the out, checking it.

bossypants: PERHAPS YOU ARE JOKING BUT I AM NOT. DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH THAT INFORMATION.

His browbones shot up in surprise, what the fuck, he can't mean what he thinks he means, can he? Boss, the eternal edgelord, the prissy, prickly, puffed-chest version of himself, was actually inviting Stretch to try to seduce him?

It could be a joke. Could be he has no intention of sleeping with him and nothing Stretch would do could work, but in that case, it almost makes him want to do it more. A real challenge, a real chase. He can get sex lots of places in his world, even good sex, he's got a list of booty calls a mile long, but there's no chase anymore. Nobody in Swap doesn't know he's down to fuck, nobody in Swap doesn't know he's the go-to for casual fun. He doesn't chase anyone here, it's either dtf? or not.

He tapped back, to confirm.

(xxx): u do realize you've invited chaos into your life

bossypants: AS YOU SAID, I GUESS I'M JUST BORED. A LITTLE EXCITEMENT COULD BE GOOD FOR ME. BRING IT ON, ASHTRAY.

Well, well, well. Stretch smirked and put his phone away. This could break up the monotony a bit in a way that annoying Boss daily hadn't been able to scratch lately.

Consider it brought, Boss. Consider it brought.

[jobean12-blog]

Caught!

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 863

Summary: You and Bucky enjoy some fishing on the ocean...

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club continuation of drunk drabbles and the prompt from @this-kitten-is-smitten below. It’s also for my loves @itsunclebucky 300 followers writing challenge! Congratulations again my darling, you deserve it all and so much more! The prompt I had was: #12: “Isn’t this illegal? - Probably.” with Bucky. Thank you all for reading! LOVE❤❤❤

Warnings: Fun in the sun, cheeky Bucky and reader, Bucky being shirtless, fluff, light smut (18+ only please ;)

“Hey doll, can you put some sunblock on my back, please?” Bucky asks as he carefully shifts toward you on the small boat, every movement he makes causing it to rock precariously on the calm ocean water.  “Sure, Buck, sit, you’re too tall for me when you stand,” you giggle, pulling him down by his metal hand. “You know, I was thinking,” you say, squirting the cool liquid onto your hands, “we could totally use your metal arm as a fishing lure! Think about it…it’s shiny and metal and you can make it vibrate!!! Maybe, we could even get some sharks to visit!!”

You’re talking so fast and excitedly that you don’t notice Bucky giving you a death glare over his shoulder until he gives the boat a good rock. Stumbling you grab his shoulders, “what the hell, Bucky, are you trying to tip us over?” “Maybe if it tips and I fall in I’ll attract Jaws and he will eat me…then you’ll be sorry!!!”

You throw your head back in laughter, trying to concentrate on spreading the sunblock evenly on Bucky’s back. “I don’t want Jaws to eat you Buck, although you are a delicious snack,” you trail off reaching your hands around his front and trailing them toward the waistband of his bathing suit shorts.

“Baby don’t start something you can’t finish, we are supposed to be fishing for our dinner,” Bucky scolds teasingly as he grabs your wrist and starts kissing up your arm. “Mmmmm Buck, fine, let me finish putting this on then.” You rub the sunblock along his back, loving the feel of his muscles under your fingertips, Bucky’s eyes close as he holds his face up to the sun.

“All done baby, let’s fish!” Bucky slowly stands, trying to be careful as he gathers the fishing polls and bait. “Why did we decide to take the smallest boat instead of one of those fancy ones with a radio and the sunshade?” Bucky asks looking over at you. He watches as your hair is blows in the ocean breeze and skin glows from the sun, a wide smile on your lips. “Yea, I know, I get it,” he says, understanding how much you love to be as close to the water as possible, the small boat much more intimate.

“Remember Buck, if we catch anything too small or that we can’t eat we have to throw it back fast, I only want to take what we are going to eat.” Handing you your fishing poll he nods, “of course, I agree.” You cast out your line with proficiency, sitting down on the small bench and relaxing. Bucky follows suit, sitting next to you and pulling you between his legs.

You sit in comfortable silence, the sound of sea birds and lapping water soothing you both into a trance. Bucky’s fishing poll starts to pull and bend first, his reaction causing you both to jump up in excitement. “I think I got something!” he shouts, carefully pulling at the line while reeling it in. “Easy now, Buck, it might be Jaws,” you joke, poking his side.

“Don’t distract me doll. If it is Jaws, we’re gonna need a bigger boat,” he says, trying to hold in his laughter. You jump in excitement, loving that he remembers lines from your favorite movies and just as you throw your arms around his neck you feel the boat begin to tip, Bucky’s shifting weight bringing it over completely.

Popping up from beneath the water you look around for Bucky, spotting his metal arm shining under the water as he swims toward you. The next thing you know he grabs your waist and pushes up and out of the water taking you with him. You fly through the air and land with a big splash behind him, squealing in happiness, “omg, Bucky, that was SO FUN!”

Bucky stares at you, his eyes darkening as he slowly swims toward you. “Buck, what is it, why are you looking at me like that?!?” You start to panic thinking he sees something behind you. It isn’t until the breeze blows that you feel the chill on your exposed skin. Looking down, you notice your bikini top has come completely untied amidst all the fun. “Oh….,” is all you can get out before Bucky is on you, pulling your body flush against him as his lips crash to yours.

He wraps your legs around his waist, the feel of his hard cock pressing into your core. You let out a gasp at the pressure, rocking your hips as his mouth travels down your jaw and neck. “Fuck, Bucky, did you plan this?!” you breath out, nails digging into his back. Without an answer his metal hand dips into your bikini bottoms, fingers lightly teasing your folds as you moan against his skin.

The sound of a motorboat nearby catches your attention and both you and Bucky look up, watching it speed by. “What if they see us, Buck, isn’t this illegal?” He pushes a finger past your folds, slowly pumping it in and out, “probably” he whispers against your lips, “but I don’t really give a shit.”

@aesthetical-bucky​ @book-dragon-13​ @eurynome827​ @flyawaybay @hiddles-rose​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @itsunclebucky​ @ikaris-whore​ @jhangelface0523​ @jewelofwinter​ @jewels2876​ @loricameback​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ @littleredstarfish​ @marvelgirl7​ @mushyjellybeans​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines​ @nano--raptor​ @randomfandompenguin​ @sallycanwait68​ @softpeachbarnes​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @when-the-hell-is-bucky​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​

[jossujb]

@sisiljan tagged me to talk about some of writing wips, and since my Tumblr has been rather dead I though why not.

Rules: Tell your blog the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them and then tag five other writers.

1. Leiskuva kultakala (The Flaming Goldfish) This is my main WIP, it’s a continuation for my first Jago/Litefoot mermaid!AU. have roughly 14k of it done and, but now I am frustrated and blocking hard, and I spend a lot of time just crying about it and feeling like I am shit person who should kill themselves.

I think it’s cos I kind of have a lot expectations on how I want it to be, there’s a lot of like, actual plot elements happening, and I find it really pushing on my skills. And I am not confident in writing it, cos I am afraid that a idea I love the most is gonna just be a shit fic everyone laughs at, you know?

2. Mitä sitten kuuluu? (I don’t know how to translate this, maybe How are they doing? or What happens next?) This a working tittle for drabbles I have been writing for a drabble run thread, where the idea is to write a drabble between 100-300 words from a prompt word the previous person left you with. 

I started this with like unconnected Mrs. Wibbsey/The Fourth Doctor romantic cuteness, but during the month I’ve been writing them Jago and Litefoot popped up and there’s a lot of things going. 

This is the only thing I have found relaxing and pleasing to write in like, 4 months? I think it’s because nobody can really in the thread say it’s stupid or worthless, and that’s given me the freedom to try out things I might not do otherwise.

3. Kunnes päässä räjähtää (Untill the head explodes) This is supposed to porn spin-off of the drabble series xDD During the spin-off Jago and Litefoot turned back into 18 and 23 year old, respectively, and I kinda started having hots for that.

I attempt ing at writing this as a crossdressing kink fic for a kink bingo, but the thing is tho, that Litefoot had a lot of personal mental heath issues going on in his 20′s, so like... I am not exactly sure if I can make it kinky without being problematic in some way, so I dunno. I have like 2k-ish down, but I feel like I wanna kill myself.

Anyway, those are the things I am working right now that I am blocking and hating myself and not being online that much.

[septiembrre]

"you're the worst" and "you're my favorite"! :)

I had a writing block forever and this was just supposed to be 300-400 words of drabble and then it spiraled a little out of hand… 

-

It’s been a few hours since Rio brought her to this house. The house itself is a charming, simply furnished. In another life, she would have loved to call it home. It sits on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood, and the night is peaceful. But, she’s restless.  

She can’t sleep, she can’t eat, so she’s cleaning.

The afternoon was a blur. Rio had met Beth at the Paper Porcupine alone, and then Mick called. Suddenly, Rio was shuffling her into his ridiculous car, sharing the most minimal details - FBI, at the bar.  The drive was tense, silent, stressed and it gave Beth a half an hour to bitterly contemplate where they were headed. To her surprise, instead of a derelict motel or empty loft, Rio had spirited them away to a modest neighborhood. There were no kids riding about on bicycles like her neighborhood, no middle-aged parents out on a run, but a lot of older folks and well-loved garden beds. Rio pulled up to a quaint green house, unlocked the front door with a key he proffered from his glove compartment. And then he settled in with her.

Beth called all the people she needed to call, fiddling with her phone on the couch. Hours passed - Rio had squirreled himself away in one of the bedrooms - and night crept in. The living room is decorated sparsely but closer to her brand of comfort. The house doesn’t really feel like Rio. At least, not in the way the loft felt like a pandora’s box of his personality all those months ago. The couch she’s resting on is so soft and she would curl up here if her mind wasn’t racing, swirling around the indications of the FBI showing up again at Rio’s business, swirling around what it could mean for her cash.

Beth takes a breath.

She starts to look around. She begins by taking inventory of the fridge - empty except for moldy cheese and almond milk that smelled okay, some condiments. She pops open the freezer and found what will be their next meal - veggie burgers, frozen bread, and peas. She thinks about turning on the stove - but the top is a little greasy and she’s not really hungry. Mostly, Beth’s annoyed at the closed door and lack of updates, but she knows she should wait for him. She makes some coffee instead.

The journey of discovery continues, and she drifts through this space that seems to sometimes be Rio’s. Beth rummages through minimally stocked cabinets, finds some mezcal, gin, and blessedly bourbon. She uses the bourbon to top off her coffee.

Beth opens what looks like a pantry but turns out to be fully-stocked with cleaning supplies - detergent, disinfectants, bleach, vinegar, gloves, masks, the works. Despite the shittiness of this day, she laughs. What a weirdo. Such a neat freak. Of course, he has a stockpile comparable to hers, a mother to four children.  

She turns her attention to the empty bedroom. She finds some basic t-shirts and sweatpants sized for Rio and changes. She’s not sure how much to trust the house, it seems clean but a musty smell clings to the rooms. So she strips off the sheets from the bed and runs the wash. She sweeps. She wipes down the stove, then moves the laundry to the dryer. Rio stays holed up in the other bedroom and every now and then she can hear him talking on the phone. Beth takes a deep breath, pins up her hair, retrieves some supplies from the pantry and continues on to the bathroom. She sprays down the surfaces.

And she’s just over it. It was her night to make dinner and Dean all but hung up on her earlier when she called to explain. She was supposed to make another batch of cash with Ruby and Annie, and after her call, they’re scared and holed up in their homes, too. And, now they’re behind schedule. And, now - the fucking FBI? Beth rubs vigorously at a spot on the shower wall. She had finally hit her stride with Rio. After one particularly ugly night where they screamed themselves hoarse at the store, they were okay.  They still don’t broach much talk about before - but they talk about work, they talk about now - and sometimes things between them feel good. But, now her mind leaps and somersaults and she thinks Jim Turner could be waiting for her around a corner of this house, freshly resurrected from the dead and ready to pull them into another deadly triangle.

She hears the bedroom door open, and Rio appears. He leans against the frame of the bathroom, he’s change into sweatpants, too.

“It’s all clean, mama.”

She’s really very tired. Her eyes prick.

“It’s grimy.” Her voice is hoarser than she expects when she speaks.

He purses his lips and then ducks out of the doorway. And fine. She returns to scrubbing any imaginable yuck out of the shower wall. A minute later, she hears him return. She turns to find him tapping on his phone, and music fills the room. She recognizes Rosalía from one of Annie’s money-making playlists - a dive into international lady musicians. He notices her noticing and quirks his brow at her. She holds out her hand and once he begrudgingly hands over the phone, she queues up Milionària.  Rio chuckles, pulls on long rubber gloves, and steps into the shower with her. He’s pulled a second brush out from the pantry stock, and he reaches over her head to help her with the tall spots. She feels a little lightheaded and she’s not sure if it’s all the cleaning chemicals or if it’s that her nose can still zero in on Rio’s cologne.  

Together, moving along to the music, they make quick work of the bathroom. Beth gets the linens out of the dryer. Rio helps her with the sheets.

Thoughts creep up reminding her of the state of her sheets after that afternoon in her bedroom, and how she tended that bed alone afterward.  They’re both tired, and they’re not who they used to be, yet this moment still has that familiar weight, that current. She savors the lines of him out of the corner of her eye and catches him peeking at her, too. She wonders idly where he’s going to sleep.

They finish with the bed. Rio grins at her. Despite everything, she braces herself for an innuendo she knows is at the tip of his tongue. “Dinner?”

It makes Beth laugh. “It’s one a.m.”

Naturally, it’s this moment when her stomach growls.

Rio works on the food. She brings out the mezcal and bourbon she found earlier and pours them drinks, grabs plates. He catches her up on details from his calls with Mick. The FBI lingered outside the bar for some time, and ultimately it’s better that they spend the night in the safe house, just to be sure. They plan for him to drop her off downtown tomorrow afternoon and have Annie get her the rest of the way home.

They make their way through Rio’s playlist, drink more alcohol. Sometime over the course of Rio toasting their bread, and putting together her veggie burger, she relaxes. After they finish their dinner, they curl up on the couch in their mirrored outfits. Next to each other, facing each other, but the couch is not that big anyway.

Beth asks him about the house.

He doesn’t reveal much as usual, but he comes here sometimes, yeah? When shit hits the fan. It makes her mind spin and she wonders. “Like what kind of shit?”

“Hm?”

“Well, your pantry is fully stocked with cleaning supplies.”

He smiles - it’s sharkish.

Beth rolls her eyes. “I know you think you’re so cool.” He scoffs, but under his faux-affrontedness, she can see his glee. He loves when she calls him out. “All Tony Montana or Don Corleone.” She blinks and can’t believe she can seriously say that to someone. “But, honestly, you have the cleaning supplies of a suburban mom of four. We’re not that different.”

He’s literally snickering into his hand and she just cannot with him. Beth insists, “It’s true!”

Rio looks down the line of his nose at her. His gaze is sly. “You’re the worst, ma.”

Now she’s laughing. “That’s okay. I can be your worst.” She blames it on the warm, giddiness of being a little buzzed when she gives him a smile, impish. “You’re my worst, too.”

His eyebrows quirk up towards his hairline. He eyes her body from top to bottom and back again and his mouth does that thing she hates and loves where it purses - too attractively - at one side and he’s as playful as ever before. What an arrogant shit, she thinks. Something in her body has too much feeling. The tell-tale heat curls in her chest, and she knows she’s wet. He bites his bottom lip. Her thighs clench and she’s annoyed.

“I’m definitely your best.”

Beth squawks. Blood rushes through her ears, rising up from her chest to blot her cheeks. She rears back, away from him.  “I- You- I’m-” She closes her gaping mouth and eyes him primly. “ Then, I’m definitely not your worst.”

He grins, conceding maybe.

Beth rocks her jaw and edges closer. Their chests don’t meet, but she can feel the warmth emanating from him.

She weighs her options.

Beth doesn’t break his gaze until she’s close enough that her lips graze his collarbone. She noses at the top of his shirt. She feels sexy and maybe it’s too much, but she takes the top button between her teeth and tugs.

Her gaze darts back up at his face. His mouth is parted and she feels that stupid, perfect thrill. Beth remembers how easy it was to enthrall him - too easy. She had examined it in the middle of her nights months ago and then buried it deep inside. She had convinced herself that it had been a trick of her imagination gone wild with the headiness of watching him in that dirty mirror, of finally tracing his skin in the sunlight streaming through her windows. But, she has done it again. Despite everything suspended between them, she still manages it.

Beth knows what’s she’s doing when she bites her lip and leans her face close to his. His gaze is glued to her mouth.

She tries again, “I’m your worst?”

He swallows, and maybe he’s a little wrecked, too. His fingertips brush the cleft of her chin. “You’re my favorite.”

Beth grins, widely, victorious. She nudges her nose against his and whispers, “Want to take a shower with me?”