#Spotify wrapped drabble

[in-amor-veritas]

Hii! Perhaps 17 and wilmon?

Eeeee Thank youuuu!!!! 💕

You got

Girlfriend: Omar Rudberg 😅

cheating/university (Wille is crown prince) au oops

More below nsfw🌶️

When Wilhelm had been invited by his classmate over to study this hadn’t been his intention.

No. He had definitely not been expecting to end up like this, a hand tangled in Simon’s curls, trying to suppress the sounds coming from the back of his throat as the other man kneeled between his legs with Wilhelms cock in his mouth.

But here they are.

And okay, maybe he had made it far too obvious that he found Simon completely distracting and alluring, judging by the teasing lilt in his voice when he agreed and the flash of satisfaction in his eyes when Wilhelm had asked.

And okay, this isn’t exactly the first time this has happened.

Actually it’s happened a few times now over the past month.

They’d met in a shared philosophy class and Simon had been quick to challenge him every time he answered a question or shared an opinion. Wilhelm was convinced Simon took immense pleasure in putting him on the spot considering his title and the whole royal of it all which Simon had been quick to disparage from day one.

And fuck Wilhelm thought it was hot. He had never been challenged by anyone before Simon, at least not so publicly with so many eyes on him.

Simon was something delicious and forbidden, hanging just out of reach like original sin.

But maybe not so out of reach.

It hadn’t taken long at all for them to give into the strange, electrifying tension between them. It shouldn’t make sense, it shouldn’t turn him on this much but when Simon had cornered him, pinned him against the wall and looked him over with a sirens smile and bright eyes and said — no one has to know — well Wilhelm had folded instantaneously.

Simon does this thing with his tongue that makes Wilhelms toes curl. He knows exactly how to draw every desperate cry and stifled moan out of Wilhelms lips. The slick heat of his mouth and pressure of his tongue has Wilhelm seeing stars as he feels himself getting closer and closer to oblivion.

It’s just the two of them in this room, well Malin is stationed outside but she doesn’t count. It’s just the oppressive heat and lack of air and Simon’s lips and the filthy noises they make on his cock.

And then he pulls back and Wilhelm falls forward, following the loss of sensation, gasping, “What—“

“Look at me.” Simon demands and he does, he has to.

Simon is a debauched vision there on the floor, on his knees looking up at him. His lips are pink and swollen and glistening wet and his hair is a mess from where Wilhelms fingers have been twisted into the dark curls.

“Simon—“ he groans, letting his hand take him by the jaw, tilting his face up to stare in awe at him, his fine features, thick curls, dark eyes hooded in pleasure, “You’re so…”

A flash of satisfaction blooms in those eyes as he speaks, Simon leans into his hand which is now cupping his face. “What? Tell me.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Wilhelm murmurs, biting his lip as everything in him feels too tight, too sensitive, too hungry.

Simon smirks and rises from the floor, Wilhelm can’t draw his eyes from the planes of skin, seemingly endless and burnished gold in the lamplight. He crawls into his lap and Wilhelm holds him there.

“Am I taking good care of you?” Simon teases and he nods burying his nose into the other mans neck, dragging in a long deep inhale.

“Yes.” He chokes,

“Better than her?”

And for a moment Wilhelm feels guilt, white hot and lancing as he thinks about Karolina, his girlfriend who is out with friends tonight, who has no idea what he’s doing.

No their relationship isn’t perfect, yes they fight a lot, yes he might be forcing himself to be with her because she’s everything his mother and the court wants him to be with. But fuck—he’s been lying to her all this time.

The thought is gone as quickly as it comes however when Simon rocks their hips together, their cocks grinding together. It’s pulled from his mind and vaporizes into nothingness as his synapses fire and his vision is only Simon Simon Simon.

“Tell me the truth and I’ll let you fuck me again. Just like this.” Simon whispers into his ears, sending shivers rippling through him.

“Better.” His voice is strangled.

Nothing is better than this.

[aidanchaser]

Hi! Hope you're well :)

For the Spotify wrapped can I ask for 26 please and thank you <3

(and Jily if you fancy)

eeee i was hoping someone would ask for jily. i've officially hit like all my main otps now!

Come rest your bones next to me And toss all your thoughts to the sea

He collapsed into the couch beside her, nearly spilling his drink onto them both. It looked like butterbeer, but as he leaned into her, it smelled stronger.

"We made it through N.E.W.T.s," he said with a sigh.

His relief, however, was not shared. Her heart ached with the unknown that loomed before them both.

His eyes drifted towards hers, then down to her lips. He leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head. He caught the corner of her mouth.

"Evans?"

She thumbed the lip of her cup. "So what now, James?"

"Anything, long as it's with you."

Oh, oh, oh, don't leave me to breathe Don't leave me to bleed --My Heart is Buried in Venice, Ricky Montgomery

Send me a # 1-100 and I'll send you a 100 word drabble using my top 100 spotify songs

[sunofaraven]

I WOULD TAKE A DRABBLE YES

Uhmm for numbers... 4 and/or 87 (dont ask) (numbers mean things to me lol)

I want you to take a guess what character Imma say

Have you guessed yet?

It's her <3

Through and Through I’ve Come Undone

Gem had never been red before.

But as the book sat heavy in her hands, she could feel the bloodlust in her throat.

Boogeyman.

Gem knew the word and the associated fear, so she warned Scott and Impulse, interrupting their laughter. “Don’t come near me.”

There was already a resistance in her bones as she walked away. They’d have to die before the day was through—it would practically be a mercy killing to do it now.

Not killing didn’t occur to her. The haze was already thick at the edges of her vision—eyes bloodshot and hands shaking.

Am I a good ally?

Gem didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed blood on her sword.

She was only yellow, but the curse would paint her in red by the time the sun set.

And to be honest, Gem liked the way it felt.

They want a show? I’ll give Them a show.

[jayflrt]

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 13. banned in the name of love

the performance in question (recorded by kim sunoo):

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

[velvetlilith777]

Spotify Wrapped Writing Exercise

Inspired by this post

As many of you know, I've been really struggling with writer's block if you can call it that? recently, so I want to try something out in hope of inspiring me and making me confident in my abilities again.

I'm asking that you send me any SDV character and a random number (1-100) and I'll write you a little drabble based off of the song it correlates to on my Wrapped for the year. Can be a bachelor, bachelorette, non marriage candidate or otherwise. They'll all be SFW/or at least not smut unless you ask otherwise or the song makes that impossible somehow (i.e. number 1 on my wrapped).

Just something to get the juices flowing again.

Thanks for reading ily 🖤

Updating with claimed numbers and character combos! I'm willing to duplicate numbers but don't want to double up exact combos 🥰

#6 - Shane

#12 - Harvey

#26 - Shane

#28 - Sam

#37 - Sam

#46 - Harvey

#50 - Shane

#69 - Sebastian

#88 - Sebastian

#99 - Harvey

[bidoofenergy]

63 for drabbles >:3

happy new year mack mackdizzy here's some ranchers fluff based off one of my fav cutesy kpop songs

63. blush by wooah

Jimmy finds himself watching Tango work. It's not on purpose—he looks up and Tango's right there in his field of view, planting wheat, fixing the roof, chasing a chicken. Endearing.

Tango wears his feelings clearly, has them written for everyone to see—and Jimmy can see. Jimmy's heart feels so full, swelling in his chest until he thinks it might pop in his throat—send a rush of air that would push his own feelings out his mouth for everyone to hear.

Tango glances over and, when he sees Jimmy watching him, waves. Jimmy waves back, cheeks burning. He can't stop blushing.

[follow-the-compass-home]

84!

This only took me like a month or whatever but hey, I did it! I love this song, the lyrics are very oughh and make me think of my friends. This is from a roommates AU I never wrote 'cause of lack of time but they basically end up becoming roommates by accident and rent the same apartment.

84. Bart’s Bike by Bears In Trees

Grian blinks awake when his head slips from his hand.

He looks around and finds Cleo still with her hands on the wheel, bickering about something or other with Etho, who’s on the backseat. Grian stretches and looks out the window. The traffic is just as bad as it had been when he’d fallen asleep, who knew how long ago.

“Oh! Look who’s awake!” Cleo exclaims, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

“Grian, want some chips- or, eh, what do you call them?” Etho shoves a bag of crisps onto his hands.

“Crisps. Yes, thanks.” Grian puts his hand in and grabs a small bunch that he just shoves into his mouth. “Where did you get them?”

“He got off and walked,” Cleo says.

“Traffic’s that bad?” Grian looks out the window again.

“We’re not grocery shopping during the holidays ever again.” Cleo grunts.

“Hey, at least we’re on our way home now!” Etho says as he shoves his head between the two front seats.

“Etho! I told you to stop doing that! It’s distracting me while driving!” Cleo yells, pushing him back again.

“You can hardly call this driving!” Etho retorts.

Grian smiles and leans back into his seat. He definitely couldn’t have asked for better roommates.

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

Oooo maybe 83 (2+81) for loscar?

You've got it!

83. Kiss The Sky (from The Wild Robot) by Maren Morris

Logan wasn't going to lie. He was kind of scared.

Okay, not kind of. Really scared.

He had no idea what the future would bring.

Maybe he'd do great in ELMS. Or maybe he'd crash and burn yet again. Maybe he wouldn't leave an impression at all, doing just enough not to get fired but never enough to truly succeed.

Even though the deal was done, he knew where he'd be racing next year, he still sat up at night thinking. Worrying. What if he still wasn't good enough?

That was what he was doing now, when Oscar stepped into the bedroom. He was turned away from the door, so he only heard Oscar moving around the room. When he finally joined him on the bed and wrapped his arms around him, he pressed closer to his touch.

"Something on your mind?" Oscar asked softly. Logan made a noncommittal sound. He was afraid his fears would seem silly to Oscar, who had always had a bright future. Where Logan had struggled, Oscar had soared. It made him feel like it had to all be in his own head. Why was he making it such a big deal?

He just wanted his future to be secure. To be safe. Just for once. Was that too much to ask?

Even though he didn't say a word, Oscar seemed to guess what was on his mind anyway. He pressed a kiss to his neck, tilting his head to whisper in his ear.

"I know you're scared, Logan," he said softly. "And that's okay. It's okay if you aren't, too. As long as you're happy with the path you're taking."

Logan exhaled softly. "I am," he said. "But I'm scared, too. What if . . . what if I fail again?"

Oscar hugged him tighter. "You didn't fail before, okay? You just found something that didn't quite work for you. Maybe this'll be better. Maybe it'll open new doors. But you'll never know if you never try, y'know?"

Logan absorbed his words. However scared he was, his boyfriend was right. His fears were valid. But if he ever wanted to conquer them, he had to look them in the eye and rise above them.

He could succeed. He just had to be brave.

He curled closer to Oscar, closing his eyes. He'd lived with caution the past few months, afraid to make a mistake or a wrong choice. Afraid to ruin his future because he wasn't cautious enough.

But the time for caution was over.

He could still spread his wings and fly. He knew it.

Oscar held him close, the one who made him feel lighter and braver.

Logan would be okay. Brave or scared, things would work out, and he would be okay.

[thevioletcaptain]

Really want to give you 69 for the song prompt thing but I will take it seriously and go with my actual numbers: 5 and 29

(you don't have to do both, I'm just giving options. Or maybe they fit together well! Who knows)

Thank you! And guess what?

Far Above The World #5 - Space Oddity by Ramin Djawadi (Bowie cover)

It's almost 1am when Dean's cell rings, and Jack says "Don't be mad" the second he answers. Seeing as he thought Jack was sleeping until five seconds ago, Dean's not making any promises.

"What's going on?"

"Um… y'know my friend Elliot?"

"Uhuh."

"And… you know what the ISS is?"

Dean squints.

"What'd you do?"

"I kinda… flew him here for his birthday? But the astronauts saw, and they're freaking out, and Elliot is—"

Dean pulls the phone away from his ear. Stares at it a moment before holding it out toward a barely-conscious Cas.

"Hey, babe? This one's all you."

[written for this spotify wrapped prompt game 🎶] [other fills for this prompt game are here] [also posted on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

(I made separate posts for the other two you requested because the tones vary so wildly 😅 Those posts are here: #29 Industry Baby by Lil Nas X & #69 As A Child by Madeline the Person.)

[serafilms]

song 1! ditto (newjeans) + na jaemin (spotify wrapped event)

i want you so, want you, so say it ditto

Today is the day. You’re going to do it. As you walk up to the school, you pass your friends. They give you firm pats on the shoulder and encouraging words. You clutch the envelope in your hand, basking in their praise and admiration of your courage.

“You’re so brave,” says one.

“You got this!” says another.

“Yes, I know,” you say to them. “Thank you.”

Your stomach flutters in a way that is only slightly uncomfortable and you swallow your nerves and go on.

“Good luck!” they all call.

Today is the day you confess to Na Jaemin.

It rained yesterday, leaving a nice sheen on the pavement and the grass from where the sunlight hit them. A few clouds linger in the sky, but are too weak to cross and overshadow the sun.

During yesterday’s rain is when you made the decision to confess. You’ve liked Jaemin for god knows how many months now. He’s always been nice to you (a little nicer than is necessary for just a friend, you think hopefully), he’s cute, smart and a little strange and you like him so much.

You remembered vaguely something from English class about rain representing baptism — a fresh start. As you wrote the letter clutched in your hand, you hoped it was a good omen.

I like you, Na Jaemin, you wrote. I don’t want to stay in the middle or be stuck in this maze anymore. Please tell me how you feel.

The autumn chill vanishes as you step through the doors of the school and make your way to where you know his locker is. He’s not there, but Lee Donghyuck is.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You smile politely, “Hey, Donghyuck. How are you?”

“I’m great,” he says, and starts rambling on about some achievement he hit in a video game. You listen and react appropriately, but your heart’s not really in the conversation and he can tell so he asks, “So did you need anything?”

“Yeah actually, I was wondering where Jaemin is?” You feel your cheeks warm when he looks at you knowingly but strive to fight through it.

“Well,” he beams and claps his hands together, “you’re in luck! He’s headed this way.”

You whip your head around to assess his claim and find that Jaemin is, in fact, walking straight towards you both. When you turn back to look at Donghyuck, he’s already taking off down the hallway.

“Hi,” Jaemin says cheerfully, “What’s up?”

Nothing comes out when you open your mouth to speak, so instead you thrust out your hands and bow your head, holding out the letter.

He takes it carefully and is about to tear it open when you stop him. “Wait! Open it after school, please.”

Your embarrassed demeanour offers him enough explanation so he nods and tucks it into his bag. You offer a smile and then speed walk away. “Bye Jaemin!”

There, you think, I did it. No holding back.

As you lay in bed the same night, you hear your phone buzz from the side. It’s a text from Jaemin. Theres a photo of a letter, a love letter, presumably written by himself.

Accompanying the photo is one word.

Ditto.

requested by @amoonlght

sorry if this wasn’t what u wanted but i just chose a member!! feel free to request again if u want something else :)

and we all cheered!!! my top listened song this year 🫶 thanks newjeans for this masterpiece

[nevertheblood]

66 + dazango !!! 👀 teehee

hello. so, uh. this got so far away from me that I think it is not a drabble anymore or even anything close to it.

the problem is that this song is so damn perfect for dazango-- I actually SCREECHED when I opened my spotify to check it.

and then as usual for me I went on a 'let's emotionally torture ango sakaguchi' runaway train and... here we are.

I may post this to ao3 once it's been proofread lol THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN WRITING IT!

probably OOC since it's unbeta'd and i wrote it in two days but ANYWAYS HERE--

dazango x never say die by chvrches ~~

Wasn't it gonna be fun and wasn't it gonna be new?

Wasn't it gonna be different and wasn't it gonna be true?

Didn't you say that? Didn't you say that?

Weren't you gonna be sorry and weren't you gonna be pure?

Weren't we gonna be honest and weren't we gonna be more?

Didn't you say that? Didn't you say that?

All you want is to play at playing God

But I'm falling in and falling out

Never, never, never ever

Never ever, ever say die

“You lied to me.”

It’s not a question. Ango doesn’t ask how he found out – Dazai always knows, somehow or other.

Ango also knows better by now than to make excuses.

“Yes,” he says. “Or rather – obfuscated the truth.”

“They are the same thing,” Dazai says, “When you make your business out of deceit.”

Ango sees his point, but really… it was an inconsequential thing. Sort of.

He’d told Dazai he’d be out of town for a meeting – that much was true. He’d neglected to mention that it was overseas, with one of the Port Mafia’s subsidiaries in Hong Kong.

What does it matter? Dazai is years out of the mafia. His dealings with them, and for the most part Ango’s as well, are a thing that lives only in memory, steeping silently in regret and anger all the while.

It’s not any of Dazai’s business, what Ango does for work. Shouldn’t be anyone’s business, given the layers and layers of secrecy involved. 

It was just a meeting. Surface level intelligence gathering, that was all – no deals, no tricks, no subterfuge.

Dazai’s been four years out of the mafia, it’s true, but his eyes, right now – they carry that same cold steel as back then, the bite of a bullet, the only light therein the flash of a gun’s muzzle.

He is angry.

“I know that we have… a certain arrangement,” Ango says carefully. He doesn’t really know what to call it, the thing that exists so nebulously between he and Dazai. The two of them meet somewhere at a crossroads of misplaced trust and hotel bedsheets and guilty mouths and festering, rotted bitterness. “But my work is my work. It is separate from… what goes on between us.”

Dazai touches his cheek, the gentleness a startling counterpoint to the violence in his eyes, and Ango leans into it, a flower to the sun. It’s perhaps a little pathetic, the way he still takes in every scrap of affection from Dazai like a starving street dog begging for food, the way he craves it and hates himself for craving it. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s worked so hard to earn forgiveness and he still doesn’t deserve it.

“You promised me,” Dazai says softly, the thrum of his anger a quiet undertone, a subtle purr, a getaway car’s engine. “When we began this whole thing – that you would be transparent with me.”

“I am,” Ango insists, “To the best of my ability. You must know, with my work, that there are certain things that I cannot tell you. That I am honour-bound to secrecy.”

“Honour-bound?” Dazai’s low laughter causes something deep in Ango’s belly to burn, shameful, like a brand. “What honour can you say you have left?”

That’s cruel. Unnecessarily cruel, and it's not even wholly true. Ango wants to tell him so, to make him feel the same remorse – he knows it’s not possible, Dazai does not concern himself with guilt and he has never once looked for redemption – but even so, didn’t they cast this aside, when Dazai gave Ango the keys to his heart? Doesn’t Dazai love him, even a little bit?

He doesn’t have an answer to that. And he knows, of course, that he is without honour, without pride, so he stays silent.

“You promised me,” Dazai says again, and – is his voice cracking?

Ango hardly understands it at first. The emotion that has poisoned Dazai’s very veins ever since the Mimic incident – it has always been anger, cold and vicious and calm, murderous intent behind a blithe smile. Toxin in the blood, flowing downstream.

Ango has never once seen Dazai with sadness in his eyes.

“I really thought, this time – this time it would be different. You promised – ”

He is only repeating the same words, over and over, almost like a naïve child who is feeling the unfairness of heartbreak for the very first time. It doesn’t make sense. Dazai is not –

But then. Dazai had been merely eighteen, the first time. A boy, really. No matter how boldly he had worn the heavy black mantle of a mafia executive, that was all he had been, in the heart of him. A boy, who lost his best friend.

Four years down the line, he had only wanted something real to believe in. Something solid and honest and true.

And Ango had – once again – betrayed that fragile trust.

He can feel everything he's worked for, over the last four years, every time he’s put his life or his job or his self-respect on the line for Dazai, to crudely shape himself into something that might be worthy of forgiveness, of love, slipping away all too fast – sand into the bottom of an hourglass.

But it's different this time. It has to be.

He slips his hand into Dazai’s, where it had been resting at his side, and tries to curl their fingers together.

“Dazai,” Ango says, “I – it means nothing, I know. But for what it’s worth – I’m sorry.”

Dazai’s hand remains still and unmoving.

“I knew you would be angry,” Ango keeps trying, all the same. “That I had had dealings with the Port Mafia again, even indirectly. I knew that you would question me about it and that there would be certain answers I could not give, even to you. I wasn’t…” He takes a deep breath, here, the flinch before the inevitable pain of the honesty. “I wasn’t prepared for that conversation. And so I avoided it, like a coward. You are right to be angry. I do not blame you for that.”

Dazai stays silent. Ango isn't sure if there's a light of hope in his eyes or if it's the shine of unshed tears. Somehow he isn't as shocked by the idea of Dazai crying as he perhaps ought to be.

So many people think of Dazai as a cold machine, especially anyone who knew him in the mafia, but Dazai feels. Of course he does. That's Ango's whole issue. It’s only that... well. Used to being on the receiving end of nothing but Dazai's anger, his petty bitterness, Ango had allowed himself to forget that the man is capable of so much more.

“I did promise you that I would do better by you this time, when we began this,” Ango says, “And I… didn’t wholly live up to that, I don’t think. We should have had a conversation about that meeting. I should have known it would hurt you.”

Dazai shakes his head. “You find it too easy to fake it, still. Am I wrong?”

Ango sighs. Lets his shoulders drop heavily. “Maybe. Are you a saint, yourself? Do you ever drop your masks around your new agency friends? Do they know how many you’ve killed?”

Dazai is quiet for a moment. Ango wonders if he’s struck too deep of a nerve, if those tears are still stinging in Dazai’s half-lidded eyes. He does not let go of Dazai’s stubborn hand.

“I also swore to you that I would be better,” Dazai says hoarsely, “That I would let my anger lie, in the interest of building something new.”

Ango runs his thumb over Dazai’s bony knuckles. “That you did.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Dazai’s fingers intersect with his.

Ango gives Dazai’s hand a tentative squeeze, as gentle as though his very bones were glass.

“That's exactly why I'm talking to you right now,” Dazai continues, “And not making arrangements for a bomb hoax at your apartment block.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?” Ango remarks dryly. To his quiet delight, that makes Dazai giggle. His eyes squeeze tightly shut when he laughs, and the tears gather in the wrinkle of skin at the corners.

“There's my Ango,” Dazai says softly, and oh, god, lovingly. It makes Ango dizzy.

It's confusing.

“What... what do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Dazai says, “Before you insisted on torturing yourself every time you looked at my face – and believe me, I know I pushed you into it, you don't need to remind me – you were quite unashamedly funny with me, in a disparaging sort of way. I'd missed that wit.” 

“Disparaging?” Ango remembers what Dazai means. Oda would meet Dazai's weirdness head on, and Ango was always the foil for their antics, the one who played it straight. None of it feels real, now. If not for Dazai standing in front of him with the same shared memory, Ango could be convinced it was only something he saw in some tragic play, and not something that he lived. It hurts to remember, still, a broken bone that healed wrong and aches in the cold. “You... liked that?”

“Was it really not obvious at the time?” Dazai's expression turns genuinely thoughtful. “You and he were the breath of fresh air I needed. My reality check when I was at my most insane. I thought it was clear that I worshipped you both.”

Ango suddenly finds it very hard to swallow. “No,” he says, with some difficulty, “I only recall seeing... how you felt for him. And... my own guilt, I think. Whenever you smiled at me I only thought of how I'd have to leave you.”

Neither of them can say his name out loud, even now. They tiptoe around the borders of grief, trying to grow something new from the rot within. Flowers pushing through cold concrete in an abandoned lot. 

“You have always held me at arm's length, haven't you?” Dazai says. Ango can't run away from that accusation, not when he's this close, this tangled up with him.

“I suppose I have,” Ango replies, a touch breathless.

Dazai closes what little distance is left between them and presses their foreheads together, cupping Ango's face with his free hand. Dazai has grown taller, Ango notices, and he has to look up now to see into those pretty dark eyes.

“You can let me in, you know,” Dazai tells him. “For fuck's sake, I gave you my heart, didn't I? Literally. I trust you. I hate that I do, I hate that I still need you, but you have to let yourself need me too or this all falls apart.”

“I do need you,” Ango cries out, squeezing Dazai's hand tighter this time. “I need you too much, that's the problem. I'm...” God, he feels flayed raw by all this. It's too much honesty for two men who make their living in lies. “I'm too afraid of losing you, after everything I've done.”

“Then stop pushing me away,” Dazai says. “Just because – what, you think you aren’t deserving of my affection? Because you’re afraid of the intimacy of letting me see the real you? Forget all that, just forget it.” He drops Ango’s hand and grabs his face with both hands. Deliriously, Ango notes the way Dazai’s smallest finger reaches all the way around to the back of his neck. Had his hands always been so big? “Listen. I know I can be… difficult. I know I can be an asshole. But just – let me have you, you fucker. And let me keep you.”

Let me keep you. Those words set something wild loose in Ango’s heart, something that flails and scratches and stings.

You could have this, it wails, rattling the bars of his ribcage. He wants you to stay.

“Dazai,” Ango says, softly. He tilts his head, leaning into Dazai’s touch. He can’t always tell when the man is being sincere – Oda had a knack for it that Ango never quite grasped – but he drops his pretences often enough around Ango now that he thinks he’s starting to see through them. “Don’t be cruel. Are you teasing me?”

“No,” Dazai answers, looking straight into Ango’s eyes, and the truth in it is so clear that it burns; like lake ice in your palm, a shot of vodka in your throat.

Ango feels it prickle in his skin, his hair, his tongue. He reaches up to curl his hand around Dazai’s wrist, feels the rough gauze of bandages under his fingertips.

Dazai’s lips part to take a breath – and Ango kisses him.

Sharing kisses is not new to them, of course. They began their quiet affair shortly before Dazai’s stint in prison, and continued it without pause after he got out. They have exchanged many kisses, spent many nights in each other’s embrace, but this – this is softer.

Pure, somehow, if that were something either of them were allowed to be.

Dazai pulls Ango closer, arms enfolding him, and Ango falls deeper into it, his hands circling around Dazai’s slim waist, his pretty waist –

It’s a lot. Ango starts to pull away first, still a little unsure, offering Dazai the space to back out.

Dazai, though, drags him back in, hands tangling in his hair, an unequivocal I want you. It’d be kind of an asshole move in any other scenario, but much like most things Dazai does nowadays, it’s an asshole move for the greater good, which means it’s allowed to fly.

Ango spreads his hands flat against Dazai’s chest, as though he means to push him away but knows he won’t. This embrace is all-encompassing, safe in its completeness, Dazai’s tongue tracing the edges of Ango’s teeth; his older, stronger hands cradling Ango’s head.

Dazai’s chest is broader, now, too, than Ango ever remembers it being back then – not that he’d held Dazai like this, in those days. He’d kept him at arm’s length, just like Dazai had said.

Not now. Not this time. Trial and error and trial and error and trial and fucking error it may take, but god damn it, Ango wants to make this work. For the sake of whatever shared legacy the two of them have left, and whatever shared future they might be able to build with the sheer force of this kiss.

Dazai is kissing him so hungrily, so fervently, and in the harsh press of his lips and hands Ango feels a sort of mirror image, the same stubborn need that burns in his own heart.

As soon as I want something it is lost to me? Not this time. Not again.

When they finally draw apart, it’s as one, in a single-minded and mutual exhale of breath.

They’re nose to nose. Dazai’s dark eyes are the colour of whiskey on a polished oak bar.

Kisses aren’t new to them – but kisses that feel like a promise? Kisses that are warm and genuine and offered up in totality alongside a bared soul?

Ango’s heartbeat hums in his throat, behind his soft, wry smile. “Does this mean you’re thinking of forgiving me?”

“Forgiving you?” Dazai almost laughs. “Forgiveness is… complicated. It’s not something I put much stock in, anyway.”

“Then what do you put stock in?”

“The now,” Dazai answers simply. “The present moment, and the people in it.”

“How can you?” Ango says, forlornly. It’s halfway between an accusation and a plea for understanding. How, when our past is such an all-swallowing shadow, the mire that we pushed through to make ourselves who we are?

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Dazai says quickly. “I do not forget. I refuse to. I remember the way things were, and the way they ended.”

Something in the sharp and stubborn way he says it… maybe Dazai, too, is beginning to lose the edges of the memories to time. How, exactly, did Oda’s hair fall in his face again? Ango recalls that his voice sounded different after an hour in a smoky bar, but was it deeper? Scratchier? The details are indistinct, a photograph half-developed, like trying to find the shape of the horizon with the sun in your eyes.

 I do not forget. Even now, Dazai is lying, in a way. But it’s a small lie, one Ango will allow him to keep; to hold close in the secretive dark.

“Still,” Dazai says. He takes a breath in, and seems to centre himself again. He doesn’t bother with the happy-go-lucky fake smile, the one that barely even hides the outline of his pain, a thin veneer of paint over scratches in the walls. He knows that Ango knows that he hurts. “You know, I always think it’s bullshit when someone says oh, but it’s what they would have wanted. About someone who’s dead. You don’t know that, and you can’t very well ask ‘em. But, I do… very firmly believe… that us, well, trying – trying to make something newer and cleaner and better, and rebuilding it as many times as it takes because hell knows we’re fucked up people but we want to make it as good as we can get it, and it’s not because we feel like we need atonement but because we just… want to. I think…” He has to quietly pause to take a breath, and Ango understands. Sincerity is a weed, a sick and tangled thing that grows too fast. It makes you choke on the truth.

“I think he’d like that,” Dazai says eventually. “Do you… disagree?”

“You really don’t think he’d still resent me?”

“I do not,” Dazai says, and backs up his point with a kiss to Ango’s forehead. “He was not the same as me. He was better with... forgiveness, and things of that ilk; although not perfect - nobody is. But like I say. I don’t know, not for sure. That’s just something you gotta carry with you.”  

Ango huffs a weary sigh, and leans forward, using Dazai’s shoulder to rest his head. “I know,” he says into the lapel of Dazai’s coat. The tan one – Ango knows why he chose that colour. He wonders if anyone else does, or if he alone gets to share that soft and fragile part of Dazai’s soul.

“I know you know,” Dazai replies.

“Don’t be so damn smug.”

“I’m not.” He rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like that. I meant to say that… you know. I get it.”

“You don’t do guilt,” Ango accuses him.

“Not really.” Dazai’s smile is pained. Not for the first time, Ango wonders if sometimes he wishes he felt more than he does. If he has ever wanted to atone for his crimes, for his brutality. “But I understand it. And I understand… the circumstances of it.”

Ango is still leaning on Dazai’s shoulder, and Dazai has to twist his head sideways to awkwardly press a kiss to Ango’s cheek. It ends up halfway on his ear, but that’s okay. They’re trying.

“You carry your pain,” Dazai says, “And I’ll carry mine. And that way we’re in it together – sort of.”

“Is this your version of empathy?”

Dazai shrugs. The motion half-dislodges Ango’s glasses. “Take it or leave it.”

Ango straightens up, looks Dazai in the eye. “I’ll take it,” he says, “For better or for worse.”

“For better, I hope,” Dazai says in a whisper so soft Ango can’t even be certain he meant to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” Ango says, “I’d like to think we tend towards the better, now.”

Dazai kisses him again, and the softest wingbeats of a fledgling hope start to flutter in his lungs.

Better this time, they said. We’ll do better this time.

[in-amor-veritas]

Hello!!

For the Spotify Drabble, I’m going for 29 with Wilmon of course

Hiii since someone already asked for 29 I randomized it and got 69 which is

The Bitch of Living: Spring Awakening OBC

Which made me giggle a bit bc it’s a fitting song for the number 69 but mostly bc of divorce fic. But I think it’s too obvious to write a drabble about that one esp when I’m halfway into chp 6 sooo I guess let’s continue the scene from the cheating university au that I couldn’t finish last night.

read more below

Wilhelm can’t keep his eyes off of him.

Simon knows it’s a little mean, because he’s trying so hard to play the perfect boyfriend card, but when they are under the spinning colors of the dance floor, surrounded by the energy of moving bodies and the vibration of bass he makes sure Wilhelm can see what he’s doing.

Maybe it’s a little bit of a power trip, knowing that he can command this kind of attention from him. Maybe he is being a little insane taking things this far but the full brunt of Wilhelm’s attention is like a drug in his system and he’s not able to rationalize it.

He almost feels a little bad even, when he sees the other man staring, a hand on his girlfriend’s waist as she drinks something from the bar. They are swaying to the music, but Simon knows Wilhelm is too distracted to pay close attention to her.

Feeling bad is stupid though. This is the Crown Prince, it’s not like he doesn’t have plenty of opportunities to sleep with whoever he wants. He’s sure Karolina isn’t exactly monogamous either considering how all of these people spend so much time drinking and doing party drugs at exclusive VIP events.

Rich kid problems don’t exactly garner much sympathy from him.

It kind of makes it seem like all of Wilhelm’s friends are assholes, but Simon thinks he likes Felice who is his best friend. He hasn’t spent enough time with her to really know, but she’s been nice to him—extremely nice which could be fake for all he knows considering how the others regard him. Madison is kind of cool, she’s disgustingly wealthy as well but somehow gets away with not caring about showing it off. Maybe it’s because she’s foreign or maybe it’s because she’s a little …odd anyway. Simon doesn’t know.

What he does know however is that Wilhelm is staring right into his soul at the moment and he feels completely on display. His top is translucent but he might as well not be wearing anything with the way Wilhelm is undressing him with his eyes.

None of these people here know. None of his friends know what they’ve been doing the past few weeks. And they never will.

This kind of anonymity is hotter than he had expected, it almost him feel like they could do anything—get away with anything at all.

One day Wilhelm will move on to someone else to fuck in secret, and Simon will be left with a hilarious story and blackmail material if he ever needs to use it. (That’s a joke. Kind of) but for now Simon doesn’t want to wait around for an appropriate time. He feeds off of the fact that Wilhelm wants him in the present, it’s heady and addictive and it’s so satisfying to see how he’s got him wrapped around his finger.

Simon lets the man that’s been eyeing him closely come closer, lets him spread his large hands over his hips and waist and pull him in tight. Keeps eye contact with Wilhelm as they grind on the floor.

He knows he’s shameless, but it’s worth it to see Wilhelm’s reaction, the way his eyes widen. Simon wets his lips and leans his head back just for good measure as the man rocks into him, says something inaudible in his ear.

Simon doesn’t care. He only cares about the vein in Wilhelm’s jaw when he clenches it. The way his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows like he’s parched. He feels a smirk curl up the corners of his own lips, imagines the lips on his neck as if they were the others.

That seems to be the limit. Once the stranger Simon is dancing with starts to slide his fingers under his shirt and kiss his neck.

He watches as Wilhelm inevitably excuses himself from Karolina, who leans in to say something and strides off toward the bar.

Wilhelm waits all of three seconds before he makes a beeline for them, reaching out to take Simon’s arm. “Can I talk to you?”

The touch lights a fire in his stomach, turned on but mostly annoyed. Yes he’s been teasing him, but that’s not an okay to grab him. Simon isn’t his.

“Um what are you doing?” He says, pushing away from the man who gives a vicious look in Wilhelm’s direction before his eyes widen in recognition. Simon looks between them and feels the tension, Wilhelm’s eyes are dark, his mouth set in a tight line.

The stranger decides it’s not worth it, especially when he notices the black suit in the background. Simon raises an eyebrow as he slinks off.

“You can’t just grab me—“

The other man frowns, “Sorry but—can we just…can I talk to you somewhere quieter?”

Simon focuses on his face. His brow has a light sheen of sweat and his hair sticks to his forehead in places. There’s a flush on his cheeks and Simon sees the way his chest is rising and falling. “What do you have to say Wilhelm?” The words are a challenge, waiting to see how far the Prince will go.

Wordlessly he reaches out and grabs Simon’s wrist, stepping into his space as he pushes Simon’s hand against him. Simon’s eyes widen, stomach swooping with a twist when he realizes.

He’s hard.

There’s something so purely euphoric about knowing he’s this worked up just by watching him. Simon finds himself smiling, a short laugh caught in his throat as he looks around. No one is looking at them, it’s too full and their bodies are too obscured by the crowd. He presses against him pleased to hear the hiss from his lips. “Wow. You really should be careful. Anyone could notice.”

Wilhelm’s expression is unreadable but Simon sees the way he lingers on his lips, the stutter in his breath. He wants to kiss him, Simon knows, but he won’t do it here.

Not where everyone can see.

“VIP room.” Wilhelm groans, “Come with me.”

He almost wants to roll his eyes. Of course the Prince would have access to one of those. Simon was fully prepared to fall into one of the bathroom stalls. The idea of hooking up in some plush party room at an exclusive club, with hundreds of unsuspecting people in the vicinity is very appealing though.

“Lead the way then.”

[aidanchaser]

hi!! for the drabble game, 17? 🎄💗

thank you <3 getting to open my ask box to treats and reply with gifts is a helpful way to spend my morning

I wanted to do something felix and adrien related because I adored your twin telepathy fic but 17's a very romantic song so we're recalibrating:

Her eyes and words are so icy Oh but she burns

The winter morning drifts in through the open balcony. Her shoulder, bared to the world, is cold like marble against his palm, but beneath the sheets her legs slide against his as smoothly and warmly as last night's wine.

The kisses have abated; the warmth has not.

"You don't have to go back," Félix whispers, afraid that if he breaks the silence he will break this moment between them. He reaches for her hand.

Kagami climbs out of bed and reaches for her dress. Her tone is cold, but her words burn in his chest. "You don't have to run."

And it's worth it, it's divine I have this some of the time --Cherry Wine, Hozier

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

54 + fyonikonathan for the spotify wrapped ask game <333

ok so 54 is the circle which i've already gotten BUT. grabs 55

fyonikonathan + my time by bo en

Hands of time will wring my neck Every little moment spells regret But I don't have to feel this way As a voice inside my head - Nikolai sits atop a church with a rotting arm in its lap, feeling like whatever wings it ever began to sprout are decaying off its back. Fyodor did not care about it. Nathaniel could never get the words out if he ever did. It wants to not care in return, it wants to lay in a tub of holy water and let itself burn, feel the scorch and bite that sinners are so graciously allowed because at least then it would be a reprieve from everything else gnawing away at its very being. But they would never let such a thing like itself in. And it's not here for that anyway. It stands up and stares down at the arm, and its stomach turns over and over, and churns, and tries to consume itself rather then think about what Nikolai might be considering right now. Ultimately, it doesn't. It tosses the arm down into the graveyard, uncaring of what happens to it next (because it's not Fyodor's, it's not, it's not, Fyodor didn't care and xe never could, xe saw it like a pawn-) And then it steps off the church roof, cloak outstretched grimly.

[bidoofenergy]

BIDOOF!!! 77 for the Spotify Wrapped drabbles :D

i can't count??? i think this is actually 77?? regardless. one of my favorite covers. woe, unrequited gemtho upon ye

From The Start - Good Kid

Gem had thought—hoped, desperately wished—that joining Hermitcraft would kill her hero crush on Etho. Never meet your heroes, right?

Her feelings are driving her a little insane. When it's just the two of them, Gem hesitates and stumbles over her words like she's a teenager again. And yet, somehow, Etho is unaware. Every time she sees him it's like the first all over again. It's a shot of adrenaline straight into her bloodstream, sending her heart thudding out of her chest, making her so dizzy she's never sure what comes out of her mouth.

And yet, somehow, Etho is unaware.

[lucy-frostblade]

song 73? for a drabble, please friend

73- what do you say from black friday

.

Kat stood in line, freezing cold and so tired. She knew it was a mistake to wait in line, but Josh's girlfriend's kid sisters wanted this toy so badly, and Kat needed so badly for Rachel to like her.

"Scuse me, please, can I just get in line, I have twenty dollars-"

Kat spins around, ready to defend her spot that she'd been waiting in for four hours, when she comes face to face with-

"Janice." The world around her stills as she comes face to face with her ex-girlfriend.

"Kat." Janice breathes.

Everyone else in line pauses, as if listening to them.

"How- how have you been?" Kat stammers, determined not to make this awkward. It's been ten years, she can be normal about Janice Wood.

"Uh- good. I've been- how about you?" Janice deflects, pulling her red beanie further down on her head. Distantly, Kat swears she hears the other people in line starting to gossip as she struggles through a conversation, but she isn't focused on anyone except Janice.

"Good."

They both pause, reaching for something to say, something to break the ice, the world pausing with them.

"I've missed you." Kat says, smiling softly.

"Me too."

.

send me a number and ill write a drabble based on the correlated song on my wrapped