#short prompt drabble

[skibasyndrome]

"please, speak to me" for the prompt thingy?🫶

Tinaaaa!!! Thank you so much for sending me this prompt! I'm extremely sorry for taking forever to write this, but here it iiiis.

Because I simply couldn't leave them in their messy little fwb situation, this is a follow-up to this drabble here.

Hope you'll enjoy! 💜💜💜

For the first couple of days, Wille is so caught up in replaying his last night with Simon that he doesn’t fully notice to which extent he’s being avoided. When he does, the realization hits him square in the chest.

Wille doesn’t think that, during the admittedly relatively short time they’ve known each other, he’s ever gone this long without speaking to Simon. They just clicked, right away, became friendly very quickly, became… more than friendly equally quickly. And up till now they’ve never gone this long without speaking, at least a little bit. Wille misses his friend’s presence next to him during the one lecture on postmodernism they normally attend together. And he misses the stupid jokes they tell each other in the cafeteria during lunch breaks. Wille texts Simon twice during the week following the incident. Both times, Simon answers quickly, but the conversations die down just as quickly. Wille knows he’s busy with exams, but this is different. Simon won’t admit that anything’s wrong, continues to throw Wille a quick smile every time they cross paths on campus. But before Wille has the chance to approach him, he’s gone again. It feels like something ended between them. And Wille doesn’t know what to do about it, let alone what to say. He can’t suggest they have sex again. Well. He would like to, but he won’t. Every time he thinks back to Simon storming off, he feels like an idiot. But any other suggestion feels almost more ridiculous. He can almost hear Simon scoff at him whenever he thinks of something new to say. They’ve never done anything else, they’ve been friendly at uni, then spent their time back in the dorms fucking. Anything beyond that feels like an imposition. In front of his mind’s eye, Simon is rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Wille’s suggestion for brunch on Sunday or a couple drinks Thursday night. And so he keeps them to himself, his silly suggestions. But by week two, Wille feels like he’s going to burst if he lets the scenario play out inside of his head another fucking time. He needs to figure this out, needs to fix whatever there is to fix. Right whatever wrong it was that Wille did. Even if this arrangement, whatever it was, is over for Simon, Wille wants them to part on good terms. And not have Simon think badly of him. He feels more than a little silly as he finds himself walking through the halls of the music lecture building. And even while he’s waiting outside of the room he knows Simon’s choir is practicing in, he almost gets up and leaves again two times. Scrolling on his phone is barely enough of a distraction. Especially when, from time to time, a few beautiful notes hit his ear, coming through the large door. This would be a lot easier if he didn’t immediately recognize the beautiful voice. or Or if he didn’t remember what other beautiful sounds that voice is capable of producing, under the right conditions. 

He clears his throat and rolls his neck, trying to banish those tempting images from his mind. He’s about to give up and leave again, go for a walk or go find something else to distract him from his own misery, when the door opens and a couple of students start streaming out. Wille immediately gets up from the random chair he’s found sitting in the hallway, straightens up, feeling weirdly caught and weirdly out of place. Before he can wonder if Simon will even notice him standing in the hallway like a lost little puppy, the door closes again. It leaves Wille standing face to face with the man he hasn’t gotten a proper look at in a very long two weeks. Wille raises his hand for an awkward wave and notices too late that he clearly must’ve interrupted a conversation between Simon and his choir teacher, who now looks between the two of them, visibly confused. Even she must notice that this amount of silence isn’t very normal. Giving Wille another once-over, she retrieves her key from where she was about to lock the door and hands it over to Simon. She tells him to leave it on her desk later before walking off. For a gratingly long moment it looks like Simon is about to run after her. When he turns back around to Wille he looks a little less panicked, albeit no less confused. His bag is casually slung over his shoulder, and something inside of Wille’s chest aches at the familiar picture. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he shakes his head slightly, takes a step towards Simon. “Hey,” he starts and tries to smile, but it must be coming off exactly as weird and forced as it feels, because Simon only nods at him. “Hey.” Simon’s own smile is late, seems a little out of place. Maybe there’s still time to run away. But when Simon opens his mouth to speak, a different sense of panic washes over Wille, so he simply has to blurt it out. “I wanted to see you.” The silence that follows Wille’s confession is clearly taunting him. Simon just looks at him with his brows furrowed. “And I wanted to talk to you,” Wille continues, and maybe it’s the way Simon’s gaze darts back and forth between Wille’s lips and his eyes that makes Wille go on.  “Because I missed you,” he says. And because he’s not made enough of a fool of himself.  “Miss you, I mean.” Simon only nods quickly and, for a second, Wille gets caught up in his eyes. It's been entirely too long since he’s gotten a proper look at them. If Wille didn’t know any better, the idea that he’s spent hours looking at them before would sound ridiculous.

Simon is the first to break contact. He clears his throat. “So…?” he starts, then trails off, lifting himself up and down on his tiptoes. “Can we talk?” Wille is practically pleading and, as if on cue, a student pushes his way past, apparently seeing no better path than going between him and Simon. “I mean, maybe…” Wille gestures towards the room and Simon catches his hint. He gives a curt nod, one that Wille can’t read. But he does turn around, and not to leave. He slips in through the door, Wille at his heels. And before Wille has any chance to take in the interior of the room, or think about what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, now that he’s gotten to this point, Simon is on him. Wille's back hits the door with a loud thud, his chest immediately colliding with Simon's. He lets out a strangles sound of surprise when he suddenly has an arm full of Simon. But even his moment of shock is cut short when Simon’s lips are on his. Finally again. Wille quickly melts into the touch, relishes in the way Simon licks into his mouth, almost like he's been plagued by the same desperate need that has rendered Wille sleepless for these past two weeks. Wille's arms close around Simon's middle, backpack and all, and Wille lets out a sigh of… something. Relief, probably, but also pleasure. This is what they're good at, this is a way in which they've always understood each other. This is what makes sense for them. So much sense that Simon has Wille heavily panting against his lips in no time, so much sense that Wille’s hands easily find their way into the back pockets of Simon’s jeans, like they’re two puzzle pieces. So much sense that it takes Wille a long time, many seconds, minutes maybe, to realize that this isn’t what he came for. Not really, not initially. He tries to pull back, not going far with the wood of the door right behind him. But Simon understands, moves back, then takes a big step away from Wille that causes Wille’s hands to slip out of his pockets. He weakly holds them at his side, suddenly feeling really awkward about just standing here. He clears his throat. “I…” It’s like Simon didn’t only take away his breath, but also his speech. Wille tears his eyes from Simon’s face, from the soft reddish hue on his cheeks, from his wet lips. “I wanted to talk about last time, what you said. I-” Simon interrupts him with a groan. “Can’t we just forget about this already?” He sounds frustrated, angry almost, but there’s a trace of desperation. Wille swallows hard, very unhelpfully notices Simon’s taste on his tongue. While every bone in Wille’s body is yearning to just get back to what they were doing, to get back to what’s always felt good, he knows he shouldn’t. Not like this. Not until he’s tried, not until-

Simon groans loudly again and moves towards the handle, trying to get past Wille. His rib cage contracts painfully at the sight, and his last resolve crumbles. “Wait, please, wait, Simon,” he tries, quietly, too quietly, but, fuck, how else is he supposed to say this. Without thinking about it, he goes in for Simon’s wrist, grabs it, squeezes once, then lets go again, suddenly terrified he’s making it worse. He back away from the door, stops blocking it. “I’m sorry, Simon, I don’t-” “Don’t say it,” Simon rushes out. As quickly as he reached for the door, he’s taking a few steps back again. Wille opens and closes his mouth again, entirely helpless. He’s not fucking following. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all. “But what you said then, and when you left-” “It doesn’t matter, okay?” Simon is pacing, and there’s too much distance between them for Wille’s liking, way too much. But he doesn’t want to reach out, doesn’t want to overstep, but, fuck he needs to fix this, he needs to understand, he needs Simon to tell him. He can’t keep wondering if maybe, just maybe…. When Simon stops pacing only to go for the door again, it bursts out of Wille. “Please, just speak to me!” He startles himself with his raised voice, and Simon stops dead in his tracks, head whipping around towards Wille. It’s Simon’s turn to gape at him, speechless.

He juts out his chin in defiance and crosses his arms. Wille’s heartbeat quickens when Simon turns towards him again. There’s a fire in his eyes that makes Wille feel like Simon is the one towering over him. For another few seconds, they just stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to break contact. It’s scary, tense, like any wrong move could shatter everything. Wille decides then and there that he’ll keep this up for hours if he has to, if it means that Simon isn’t going to run away again. But it seems like Simon has different plans. With a long, exasperated sigh, he turns away again. Wille watched his shoulders sag, watches him throw his head back in frustration. When he runs a hand up and through his curls, a silly part of Wille’s conscience wishes he could be the one doing that. “Look,” Simon starts, and Wille steels himself for whatever revelation might be coming his way. His eyes never leave Simon’s face, still. “I’m sorry, okay?” Wille feels his face fall. “I’m sorry that this isn’t what we wanted, I’m sorry that I said what I said, I just-” Simon tugs on his hair again and lets out a frustrated noise. “It’s okay,” he says, and suddenly all the fierceness drains out of his voice. When he twists his head to look back towards Wille, Wille’s pulse yet again picks up speed.

“It’s okay that you don’t want the same thing, it is!” Wille has trouble listening with his heartbeat hammering away at his temples. “We can keep doing this,” Simon gestures between the two of them ”I’ll be fine, I swear, can we just not talk about-” Suddenly, it clicks. Oh. “Stop,” Wille says, quietly, carefully, and it must be such a stark difference in tone that it’s unsettling. Simon immediately quiets down, enough for Wille to take a step towards him. To finally close the distance between them. Wille doesn’t think his pulse has ever been this quick without him nearing a panic attack. Once again, he swallows. “You’re saying that you… like me?” Simon presses his eyes shut, lets his head fall back in a movement of aggravation. “Wille…,” he groans, but there’s no edge to his voice, no hostility. He rolls his head back, looks pained, but he doesn’t withdraw, stays where he is. “Yes, I like you. That’s the whole point, that’s why-” Oh. Wille doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t give Simon any more time to misunderstand him. With a fervor that’s entirely new in its intensity, he rushes forward. One hand on Simon’s neck, the other reaching for Simon’s arm, linking their fingers together loosely, Wille kisses him. He kisses him and kisses him and lets out a pathetic little noise when Simon presses back after a moment, returns the kiss with equal force. Fuck. Wille can’t keep it in any longer. A wave of relief washes over him, strong, intense, warm, just like Simon. Wille giggles into their kiss, breaks away from Simon’s lips. When he does, he doesn’t pull away, rests his forehead against Simon’s. And he simply can’t hold back his stupid grin. “I like you too,” he says and fuck, that feels a lot like butterflies. “A lot.”

Send me one of these prompts for a short lil story 💜

[urfriendlywriter]

birthday prompts for loversss !

(feel free to usee<3 tag mee!! inspired by my b'day haha. plot twist is i am single :))

staying up to wish them at midnight

you bring them a cake, singing hbd, but all their attention is on you.

hugs you, tearing up, breaking down because nobody has done this for them ever

intimate b'day celebrations like it's just you and them and every whisper of hbd and well wishes are so comforting <3

cupcake b'day celebrations!

them hugging u from behind as they watch u make a wish

"what did u wish for?" u ask as a soft murmur and they say, "you. to never let u go."

i celebrated my bestie's b'day and she said to me,

^ "thank u for loving me every year and making me feel like i am being loved by someone,"

^ "knowing that, that someone is you, is what matters." (i won in LIFEE)

"how's my favorite b'day girl/boy doing?" :))

maybe it's their first time having their b'day being celebrated, :(

and all they can do is bury their face into ur neck and cry. the cake abandoned for a moment until they gain composure.

when they write u letters on ur b'day,

or give u thought-out gifts.

wiping cake from the corners of their lips

or alternatively just kissing it away, making them fluster. (uhm.. didn't happen on my bday, who's lyINGG-)

a quiet whisper of happy birthday,

tight hugs and lingering kisses throughout the day, and just feeling loved by the other person. feeling their emotions of gratitude to have u in their life!

telling them or writing to them, "It's your [age] birthday, and so [age] reasons why I love you." (eg: 20th, 19th and so on)

[cute-sucker]

sometimes you get bratty, but you can't help it but wiggle into rafe's lap. he's comforting in the way where he'll soothe the worries by gently helping you go the right way—but today he's grumpy too.

you can see it the way his muscles tense up as he works in his notebook. theres a crease in his forehead that wasn't there before, and while there may be things you would have caught before, today of all days, you're extra bratty.

it begins innocently with you kissing his shoulder, and then skimming past to his face. you're soft when touching him, but you know he can feel your glittery pink lipgloss sticking to his skin. any other day he wouldn't mind but he seemed to get all annoyed about it.

"shit, c'mon you can't be doing that. 'm busy right now. can't you see that?" he mutters, reaching to sit you down. you pout, folding your arms as you try not to take it to heart. yet you can't help but blubber a bit as your eyes get watery.

you're sniffling, and then heading over to get a napkin. more than ever you wanted rafe's hands on you, gently coaxing you to feel better. but somehow all you can do is hobble over closer to him, peeking over his shoulder.

it gets him even more annoyed, and rafe groans, pulling you into his lap. you can't help but squeal happy that he's paying you some attention. for one, happy that you're in his lap now, but it's clear with his steely blue eyes he does not mean well.

instead, he's scowling at you, patting you down and then touching the small part of your back before sandwiching you between his legs. you bite your lips to stop from smiling, and it's clear that you've won this battle by the way he's looking at you. but you can't help but open your mouth to say something before he skims his finger near your lips.

"behave."

[defire]

"He's scared."

[sidekick pov, gang, prisoner, humiliation]

"What do you mean he's scared, sir? he just flipped you off."

Boss smirked and walked toward the victim, nodding as their captive tensed and glared up at him.

The boss gave it a few seconds, then quickly lifted his hand and snapped his fingers beside the captive's cheek.

The prisoner flinched so hard he actually grunted in the expectation of an impact. Then again, Sidekick couldn't fault him for being wise enough to expect boss to slap him. The kid had been slapped plenty of times already in the last hour.

"See?" Boss said. "He expects me to beat him. But he doesn't even move to defend himself."

Far from it, Sidekick realized. The captive had a death grip on his own belt loops like he was trying to strangle the fight right out of his thumbs.

"And he doesn't defend himself because he's scared." Boss said. "Aren't you, boy?"

"Fuck you," the prisoner started.

This time boss did slap him, soft enough to be indecent rather than cruel. The boy flushed and bent nearly halfway down.

Boss gave sidekick a look. It meant,

Cross me and you'll get the same.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love part 4

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his palm into his eyes.

Im such a piece of shit. God, how could I just do that.

He’s pissed at Steve for not saying something sooner, for waiting until Eddie had something good in his grasp. But he’s angry with himself too.

How stupid is he, really? Did he really not notice until it all came face to face?

He has Adiel’s number memorized, but he knows which of Steve’s beauty marks form constellations.

Mostly, hes confused. His feelings are a jumbled mess and he’s never been good at sorting them out. Naturally, he turns to music. Dio has serenaded him these past few days. Wayne has steered clear of his shit show.

How do you feel right now?

What do you see?

Where would you be right now?

Hey angel what about me?

Jesus fucking fuck. He attempts to run his hand through his hair only it doesn’t get too far, rings snagged in his tangled hair. He can feel the oil built up on the strands and knows it’s time to get his ass out of bed. He doesn’t.

“Angel, Angel, angel. You were my angel. Just not anymore.” He mutters to himself long after the track has finished and another song plays. He’s learning to let go still, even after he’s ended it.

You know what really makes him feel like a dickhead? That Adiel got hurt because of him. He didn’t deserve to get caught in Eddie’s bullshit.

Guilt eats him alive.

His conscious hurts and his heart trembles, tumbled in his chest, but he doesn’t feel the heartbreak the way he should. That world-on-fire and breath burning feeling. He can’t find it.

Like a masochist he wants for it, desires it, deserves it like sinner.

Those last few weeks were enough for his feelings to settle, for his heart to make a decision with or without his input. He tried—god fuck I tried—to feel that skipped-beat flutter when Adiel smiled his way. Could almost convince himself he could. That Adiel’s interlocked hand in his still felt an extension of himself instead of something foreign.

It used to feel like I belonged at his side. Why did it have to stop?

He’s wronged a friend who trusted him to keep his heart safe. A friend who had already been through so much. And Eddie added to that lifetime of hurt because he couldn’t figure it out himself.

Because he was too stupid to see and too stupid to know.

He thinks of Steve’s lips, like he has now for days. Weeks. His heart twists, rung out. That skipped-beat flutter that betrays him.

Fuck. Fuck, man.

He has to stop yanking at his hair like he can train himself out of feeling it.

Do your demons, do they ever let you go?

When you've tried, do they hide, deep inside

Is it someone that you know?

You're just a picture, you're an image caught in time

We're a lie, you and I.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he tells no one because he needs to say it until he can forgive himself a little. Until he can make himself believe that Adiel will forgive him, in time.

“I’m so sorry,” this time says it to himself, covers his face with his hands and finally cries.

Against his fucking will he cries, can’t hold onto it anymore. Ugly retching sobs that can only come from mourning an almost.

Finally, after days of like solitude, Wayne creeps in un-intrusive as a shadow. His hand on his shoulder may be the only thing that keeps Eddie from disappearing.

“I could’ve loved him, Wayne. I could’ve—I did. I think I fucking loved him and I didn’t know until—until I didn’t anymore. And then—and then I just couldn’t again.”

I wish he got to know that. That even for a short time, I had loved him.

Wayne, ever a man of few words, sits with him and lets him have his silence.

———

It’s a little over a month after that that Steve pays him a visit.

He’s smart enough to show up when Wayne isn’t home, looking sheepish as he shuffles on his front step. At least he has the gall to look him in the eyes.

All this is because of you, he thinks. His dark under eyes, his pallid skin. The rage in his blood. The almost that he had.

“Why are you here?” He looks taken aback, almost shrinks in on himself.

“I… the boys said that you, well.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, his hair longer than when Eddie last saw it. It slips through Steve’s fingers. “You never came by again and I wanted to see you. To talk? Can we talk? Can’t… can’t I come in?”

Having Steve in his home, in his space, is dangerous.

Those eyes are deep, soften by tired shadows.

“No,” his swallow is audible and steels himself, “Why should I want you in my home, Steve?”

Steve stands there lips parted and hands clenches at the bottom of his sweatshirt, eyes shined over. Eddie takes the chance to step forward. Everything inside him is too much.

“Don’t you understand what you did? I was happy. And you, fuck, you ruined it! Steve! You!” He out of the door way now and Steve steps back, back, back.

Steve’s face is red in shame. Eddie’s in anger. His pointed finger jabbed at his chest, accusing.

“You couldn’t just let me be happy? Why? Why did you kiss me, Steve? Why then? Was it because you couldn’t stand that I finally had someone? Say something!”

Steves eyes overflow, “Yes! I could stand it because I love you, asshole! I thought, I don’t know—I thought you loved me, too. Okay? Me. We both felt it—tell me you felt it too, Eddie? It wasn’t just me, right?

“You were everywhere and everything. You’d smile at me and it was the sun. So close, always right there and it was like we were—we were teetering on the edge of something amazing. And I was so happy, Eddie. So happy that day ‘cuz I thought, it was just us, right? Me and you. Just us. Together.

“But then you saw him and your weren’t even listening to me. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? You only had eyes for him. You left me there and I didn’t know what to do with myself ‘cuz suddenly all you’d talk about was him. Every day and every minute we were together. After thinking, after thinking you loved me too.

That I had you.

So yes! Okay? I kissed you because I was selfish and I needed to know. I needed to know if any of it was real. If there really was nothing there.”

Steve’s breathing hard by the end of, words a wavering wet string of rawn vulnerable pulled out of his chest. He’s looking at the floor, hair covering his eyes, and shoulders trembling as he hiccups.

Then, everything feels still. Calm inside. For the first time in ages, Eddie feels like he can take a deep breath and not fall apart. He closes his eyes for a second and just breathes. The fight escapes him with the last breath.

“You ruined me, Steve. You ruined me in a way that even I didn’t understand. I didn’t know, not until that night, about how you felt. And I’m sorry if it was my fault, if I did and said things to make you feel that way, okay? But I didn’t… I didn’t feel that way about you. Not then. Not when you kissed me.”

“And now? Eddie? Do you… could you feel that way for me, now?”

“If it weren’t for you,” he begins, “Adiel and I… we could’ve had something great. But then you—and I— I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wondered so much on why you kissed me that night, replaying every moment together, to see what you saw. And ended up feeling… feeling what you felt.”

He takes the chance to move forward the last bit of space to reach to him, have him look him in the eyes. Both of them mirror images of despair.

“You ruined me, Stevie. Everything was different. It wasn’t perfect anymore, I couldn’t make it perfect again. And I couldn’t be who I had been with Adiel knowing that I couldn’t find in me what we had before. That maybe, this has the chance of being something amazing, too.

I stopped seeing you everyday, so I saw you in everything. I stopped speaking to you, and you became the voice inside my head. It was maddening.”

Eddie laughs and wipes away the tears from Steve’s eyes, they fall faster when he smiles a weak and small but real thing.

“Adiel and I, we fit together; we were good together. But despite that, I didn’t want him anymore. I didn’t know why, I think I still don’t, but… I don’t need to know. I just need feel it, Stevie. And I feel it. I want this. Me and you. You have throughly ruined me, for anybody else.”

This time the kiss is different. It’s shared elation, wet and salty on the tongue, and clumsy as they try to fit into each other. Disappear in one another.

“Are you still mad?”

Those brown eyes don’t resemble gems of green, but they’re filled with incredible warmth and Eddie sees home in them,

Sees a life with them,

It’s own kind of precious.

And he laughs.

“So much, Stevie. I’m mad and heartbroken and falling jn love and happy and so so sure of us. I think, I think I still need some time, I’m really fucked—no, no, shouldn’t cry anymore,” he says as Steve’s face scrunches and it’s so unbelievably cute if he wasn’t blaming himself for it all.

“I just want to make sure I do this right this time. And if I, if I invite you in… I won’t be able to.”

Steve rests his forehead against his, there is heat between them, “But I have you, right?”

“Yeah, took me a while to figure it out but… yeah. Yes. You have me, Steve. God, and I have you. And tomorrow, tomorrow you’re going to come over and pick me up at 6 in the evening so we can eat shitty pancakes at the diner.

And then we’ll figure this out together.”

Part 3 <💛 End, thank you for reading and for all the feedback!

[w4nd3r3r123456]

Whumpee who was bred in captivity. It's their first time going out. Maybe they're happy at first, but they soon get frustrated and confused. The sun is supposed to make them warm and happy, not sweat like a pig. The night is supposed to be calm and peaceful, so why is there yelling and people fighting? Whumpee was told to hate the rain, but why's it relaxing? Smoking and drinking is bad, but why does it feel so good?

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Nonsense

Written for the prompt "Nonsense" by Sabrina Carpenter.

Draco took another sip of his drink, letting it fizzle in his mouth and burn on its way down his throat. He steadfastly ignored the way his heart thud, thudded in his chest whenever Potter glanced up at him, the corner of his mouth ticking up as gave him a hot once-over.

The flush crept all the way up his neck and spread over his cheeks, his whole body felt too warm, tummy swooping and tingling, like he was a bloody teenager. He took another drink, trying to stay relaxed.

Pansy was talking, something about her latest flame, but he could barely keep up, hoping that his occasional nods and hums were sufficient.

And she didn't seem to notice until Potter stood up and walked past them, nodding at Draco and grinning at him, tilting his head down like he was a little shy and Draco's heart jumped into his throat as he attempted to smile back.

"Parkinson," he greeted, "Draco," he added, voice soft and warm like he'd cast a spell that tied Draco's intestines around each other.

"Hey," he breathed, shook his head. "I mean," he cleared his throat, "Potter."

Potter's grin widened and it looked for a moment like he would say something more, but then he just nodded and kept on his way to the loo.

"Well," Pansy said with a sigh, sounding unbearably bored, "go on then."

"Pardon me?"

"Go on," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "I know you've been watching him all night. It seems like he finally made his move and it's time for you to make yours."

He sniffed and took another sip of his drink, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Right. You've no idea what I'm talking about because you've been too busy staring at Potter to listen to the words coming out of my mouth for the past hour."

And he wanted to protest, he really did, but they both knew that he had no leg to stand on. "Fine," he said, knocking back the last of his drink. "I will."

"Finally," she muttered but he didn't even dignify that with a response. He marched to the loo and opened the door, "Listen, Potter," he started, louder than he might have if he'd realized that Potter was standing at the sink, washing his hands and not in one of the stalls. "Oh."

Potter looked up at him, eyes fucking twinkling behind his glasses and Draco wanted to punch something, wanted to throw up, or bang his head against the wall, or... something. Watching Potter remain so bloody attractive while Draco fell apart was entirely infuriating. "I'm listening," Potter said, grinning even more broadly.

And Draco did the only thing that he could think to do with his tongue so tied, he lunged forward and grabbed Potter by the collar of his shirt and dragged him in to kiss him.

The water on Potter's hands soaked through Draco's shirt, but it was the furthest thing from his mind as Potter's mouth opened against his and he spun them, pressing Draco back against the sink.

His hands gripped Potter's shirt harder, pulling him in as he sank deeper into the kiss.

The other man smiled, his lips turning up at the corners and making the kiss a little awkward, but in a sweet way that Draco couldn't help but enjoy. "What?" he asked, still attempting to kiss Potter but wanting to understand that infernal grin.

"I like you," Potter said with a little shrug before he kissed Draco a little more. "I enjoy you."

"You drive me mental," Draco replied, in spite of the way that his stomach did back flips at the other man's words.

"Yeah?" he asked, still grinning.

"Yes," he grunted, all petulance and delight mixed up together. "You get my words all twisted together, you turn me into this daft idiot who can't get his head on straight."

Potter snorted, "Very convenient, seeing as I do my best not to fall for straight men."

He rolled his eyes and shoved Potter's shoulder before drawing him in closer and wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Be mine?" Potter asked. "Not just sleeping in my bed or hooking up in loos," he clarified, "actually, properly mine?"

"Is that what you actually want?" Draco asked, thinking that outcome was certainly too good to be true. "With me?"

Potter chuckled and bumped Draco's cheek with his nose, "I don't see anyone else standing in this loo with me."

He blinked, pushed back the insecurity that he felt rising in his chest, nodded once and decided to let himself have what he wanted. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'd like that."

"Alright, then."

Harry nodded. "Alright."

[thehauntedetheral]

Yandere Enemies to Lovers

Requests are open!

• You and yan were detectives at x police station. You hated each other more than anything. The whole station knew this. You both were like cat and mouse chasing, teasing, mocking, always arguing with each other. You both were like a free entrainment to watch for your colleagues and senior.

• The whole station knew it was a recipe for disaster from scratch when your senior assigned you two together on a case for fake pretending to be a couple in a wedding and not any wedding but the wedding of a drug dealer's daughter where you both will be surrounded by mafia, underworld , corrupt powerful people. One mistake and you both are dead.

• The whole station has bet so much money on your failure that you decided no matter what happens you are gonna successfully complete this mission and prove all people wrong and take that money. The only problem? Your partner yan detective is a pain in ass.

• "I can do this without screwing up" you chanted many times in your mind while standing at the venue parking smoothing out your beautiful pink silk dress you had wear for your facade waiting for yan to arrive.

• Yan arrived in a few seconds wearing a dashing black suit, hair set, looking handsome. "You ready my lady?" He asks coming towards you with a huge grin. Making you glare at him.

• "You don't like my lady? What about my love?" He said teasing you. While you ignored his words and started walking towards the venue were wedding was going to take place.

• Yan put his hand on your back and started leading you forward. You looked at him and he just whispered " in loving boyfriend character". You just nodded.

• "I swear to god yan. This is important. One mistake and I will pull out my gun from holster and shoot you." You said entering the hall and taking your seat beside him.

• "Lovely. I like my woman being dominant and feisty" he whispered in your ears his hot breathe tickling your neck his faces inches away from your making you all red while he just chuckled. Definitely playing and teasing you around you thought and started paying attention to the guest present and looking for your target.

• The ceremony ended and the whole crowd was shifted to another hall for reception. Yan Detective has been working with the drug dealers, mafia people as one of their group's people undercover for months hence everyone knows him and were talking to him as a part of family. While you just stand beside him giving nervous smile. Well you were never a people's person. He is really good with people you thought. You on other hand are new and meeting them today for first time as his fake date.

• You observed how even talking with many people he never left go you. He would always touch you whether holding your hand, his hand wrapped around your waist, or behind your back. Kissing your temple or cheeks and smiling when someone says How good you two look together. He was really into character you thought.

• An grandpa flirted with you while yan said "Grandpa I respect you but stop flirting with my woman." Making everyone laugh.

• He was separated from you by some people for some separate chat when an women in her early forties came to you gushing " Oh my god you are even more pretty than yan described" the lady said complementing.

"I am sorry what?" You asked confused.

"I am sorry I just talk to much when I am excited. Well that dear boyfriend of yours always talk about you with so much love and admiration and I have to admit that you are pretty just as he said. Beautiful long hairs, pretty eyes and an adorable face." She said but excused herself when someone called for her.

Wait a second!! You were assigned to this case with him two days ago so why he has been talking about you with love and admiration long before? Pretty eyes? Adorable face? Is this the same yan colleague of yours or mafia kidnapped him and send you a duplicate one? What does all of this means?

You looked at yan seeing his tall handsome self still talking with the group of men which took him. Is it possible that he likes you? You thought but soon threw that idea out of your mind thinking it might be one of his pranks on you again.

Your senior informed you through your ear piece in disguise of earring telling you yan has collected enough evidence and the team outside the hotel is ready to enter and strike now. "Be ready officer." He said before cutting off.

You feel yan being beside you now and whispering "You got the message from senior?"

You simply nodded looking forward not ready to look in his eyes.

The door burst open with your team surrounding every exit and screaming to surrender and to get down on floor. You took your gun from your holster hidden under your dress and pointed at them while yan detective doing the same with a evil grin as everyone was surprised to get to know he was from police side. He really played well as his character.

After some screaming, cursing, bullets flying your team arrested most of them some ran but you were satisfied with the people you guys catched.

After everything under wraps You got to your senior and thanked him for putting you on this case as it will definitely increase the chance of your bonus. But your senior's words shocked you. "You should thank Yan Detective. I told him he can take anyone with him. It was all his plan. He chose you not me."

You got of his office and moved towards your table before taking a peek at yan detective on his table working. Thinking " Is it true? That this man might like me?" Well as a good detective one thing is sure you are gonna find out the true feelings of yan detective about you no matter what it takes.

Oh baby you have no idea how badly this man is bad for you. He teases, argue, pranks, fight with you just to get your mere attention. This man will do anything to get your attention. Good luck with finding out about his feelings for you!

Want part 2? Let me know through comments.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[shhhsecretsideblog]

you were a big shot attorney. You always won your cases and had the highest success rate in your firm. You thought now you could settle early and start a family. but you didn't realize that nine months later, you would be representing the defendant of the biggest case in the county.

Your firm suggested that you should take leave since you were so close to your due date, but you refused. You taken all the notes and documented all the evidence to prove your client's innocence.

As you arrived to the court house, you were feeling twinges in your hips and lower belly but you passed them as practice contractions. Soon as you sit down, you couldn't help but feeling restricted as you felt your belly lower than usual as it planted all over your lap. As the trial goes on, you breathe heavily when you sit but had to cover up the pain as you were questioning other witnesses.

The finishing statements come and you slowly get up, scrunching your face as you felt a small pop go in your pants. You look down at your seat and see your water just broke. Your client sees it too and looks panicked for your state. You give them a look saying you got this and was relieved that your pants were black.

"Your honor, members of the jury, my client has more than enough proof that-" You stopped mid sentence as the worst contraction hits you, making you lose your breath. You hold onto the table for stability, as everyone in the court had all their eyes on you.

"Five witnesses have a record of seeing my client 14 miles away from the crime scene and has no skill or experience of committing the charges against them. May the record show that - mmmmmmmmmm" You bit your lip as you widen your stance, feeling a force coming down your pelvis.

You couldn't notice the commotion around you as the blinding pain forced you to spread your legs as you felt the baby's feet pressing down your pants as you could not control your pushing.

I was winning the case but swiftly losing the battle against my body. Throughout the long drawn out day I’d tried to ignore the cramps, dismissing their rising strength and frequency. I paid no mind to the way my belly hung lower on my aching hips, or the weight that had dropped into my pelvis. It was the final day of the court hearing, the last day to make my case to the jury and implore my client's innocence.

My closing speech was suddenly lost to my uncontrollable groaning, the blinding pain all consuming, and I could distinctively feel something coming out of my body. “Ohhhh god…” I moaned, gripping the desk in front of me and bearing down with the rampant contraction.

I could feel something moving, my eyes widened in panic. It wasn’t coming from inside my womb, this movement was outside between my thighs. My heart jumped to my throat in fear, having seen one too many horror films, and irrationally worried what on earth I was giving birth to… One of my hands left the desk and drifted between my legs and I felt through the fabric a foot sticking out of my vagina. Breech. Oh fuck, my baby is breech.

I had no idea what was happening in the courtroom, where my client was, what the jury were thinking, all I could focus on was the unbearable pressure filling my pelvis. My body was crying out at me to push, to deliver the baby and stop all the pain. I growled, bearing down once more, and I felt myself stretch wider and wider beneath my clothes as the baby descended.

It was coming out… my baby was literally coming out of me right there in the middle of the courtroom and there was nothing I could do to stop it. My underwear was soon filling with the torso of my baby, pulling and stretching the fabric beyond recognition. I wanted to remove my clothing, to hold my baby as it slipped further and further out, but I couldn’t get my body to move. Wider… my hips had to be wider. I curled forward, leaning far over the table on my elbows and pushing my hips backward. “Mnghhhh…. My baby… it’s coming….” I grunted, pushing the shoulders past my sensitive lips, the head of the baby still to be born.

“Fuck…. Hurts… oh god, here comes another contraction…” My fingernails clawed at the wooden desk as I bore down against the large round mass of the head. I pushed and screamed and mooed and grunted… the head painfully slowly inching out. Then the pain stopped, my body sagging with relief as the head slipped out and my baby was completely born into my underwear.

[nyoomerr]

For a prompt:

If you could take one scene from svsss to 'fix-it' what would it be?

my favorite place for fix-its is as a jin-lan city divergence, just like half the population of this fandom, LOL. i've done fix-its there a couple times now, and i want to try my hand at a "the trial happens" fix-it fic sometime in the future, but there's no way i'd be fitting that into a drabble length ahaha 💦

so in the meantime, here's a shorter thing, set when lbh is trying to cure sqq of the sower's rash!

---

In Shen Qingqiu’s defense, he’s had a very, very stressful day. 

Meeting Luo Binghe two years too early, getting accosted by a bunch of no-good Huan Hua upstarts, getting infected with the sower’s curse - there’s just been a lot, okay! By the time he’d made it here, cornered in a dingy alleyway with Luo Binghe looming over him, he’d already used up a large amount of his daily rationed tolerance for bullshit! His face had already started to crack!! He wanted a break!!!

He did not get a break. Instead he got Luo Binghe, suddenly larger than Shen Qingqiu himself, shoulders broad in a way that made his height look far more becoming on him than it had when he was 17 and on the edge of the abyss, a beanpole that had just recently grown tall enough to look Shen Qingqiu level in the eyes. 

Instead he got Luo Binghe, as observant as ever but with far less respect for his Shizun, catching Shen Qingqiu’s wrist and running his thumb over the rash caused by the sower’s curse. 

Instead he got Luo Binghe, his ears a bit too pointed for a human and his teeth more like fangs in his mouth, raising his own hand to those deadly teeth of his and tearing into his flesh, and -

Shen Qingqiu had a defense, remember!! Stressful day, no breaks!!

- and Shen Qingqiu can’t help himself, and raises his free hand up to Luo Binghe’s mouth, too, pressing the pad of one thumb up into one too-sharp canine. 

“They’re so much sharper than I thought…” Shen Qingqiu mumbles to himself, as if he’s making a simple field observation and not sticking his hand in his future murderer’s mouth. 

The hand Luo Binghe has wrapped around Shen Qingqiu’s other wrist tightens, and Shen Qingqiu freezes.

“Haha,” he says, and then very quickly tries to extract his hand from Luo Binghe’s mouth. 

But then - stressful day, no breaks, very good excuse!! - Shen Qingqiu doesn’t actually drop his hand all the way back to his side. Instead, he finds himself hovering useless fingers over the bleeding wound Luo Binghe had torn into the palm of his hand.

“...Shizun?” Luo Binghe asks, sounding a bit like a lost kid and not at all like a blackened emperor on the path to revenge.

Shen Qingqiu lets his fingers make contact, sliding gently through the hot mess of blood dripping from Luo Binghe’s palm. Luo Binghe shivers under his touch.

“...You shouldn’t let it bleed like this,” Shen Qingqiu says. Luo Binghe’s blood is precious, after all - watching fat crimson beads of it fall to the ground beneath them feels like a waste. 

Beneath Shen Qingqiu’s fingers, the wound knits itself back together. He supposes that makes sense - there’s blood all over Luo Binghe’s hand and wrist, and Shen Qingqiu’s fingers as well, now. There’s no need for him to keep the wound open; he can use any of the existing blood to force down Shen Qingqiu’s throat. 

…Fuck, Shen Qingqiu really forgot to be scared of that, just then!!

(In front of him, Luo Binghe is thinking very, very hard. He’s remembering every moment of his childhood when his Shizun had made an ill-advised move to get closer to some beast or another just to get a better look; he’s remembering the feeling of his Shiun’s fingers in his mouth, curious and testing.

Luo Binghe… perhaps has a better idea than his current plan. After all, if his Shizun won’t take him back willingly, then Luo Binghe will simply take his Shizun back, himself - and what better way to attract Shen Qingqiu than with a beast?)

Beneath Shen Qingqiu’s fingers, Luo Binghe shifts his hand, moving it to be palm-down. Shen Qinqgiu frowns, watching Luo Binghe’s blood drip onto the ground faster, now, but - 

But then Luo Binghe’s fingers do something - odd. They were human looking just now, Shen Qingqiu was sure of it, but now Luo Binghe’s nails are black and pointed and curled like claws, and his fingers are shaped oddly up to the first knuckle. It almost looks like…

Shen Qingqiu slides his fingers down from Luo Binghe’s palm to his fingers, taking a couple of them firmly in hand and pressing gently at the base of the claws there.

Fascinatingly, Luo Binghe’s claws extend out like a cat’s. 

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, unconsciously tugging Luo Binghe’s hand up to his face for a closer look. He doesn’t remember the Luo Binghe of PIDW ever having this feature. “Where do they go, normally?”

“If Shizun comes back to this disciple’s rooms with him, I’ll cut off a finger for you to dissect,” Luo Binghe says, as if that’s a completely normal and sane thing to suggest.

Shocked, Shen Qingqiu drops Luo Binghe’s hand and rears backwards, pressing into the dirty alleyway wall behind him. Luo Binghe stares down at him, expression twisted up.

“Is this disciple so despicable that Shizun doesn’t even want that?” Luo Binghe asks, voice bitter. “Which part is so undesirable to Shizun? Following me anywhere at all, or being made to inspect any part of this disciple so closely?”

“Obviously that isn’t what’s wrong, here!” Shen Qingqiu gasps, offended and terrified in equal measure. “What kind of - don’t cut off your fingers to use as bait!”

“Ah,” Luo Binghe says ruefully. “So I couldn’t fool you after all. Was that it, then? Shizun took offense to my attempts to lure him in? Or was it all of it, after all?”

Shen Qingqiu gapes at him, then finally remembers he has a fan and very quickly snaps it open to hide behind. What kind of person wouldn’t take offense to being lured into a trap, ah! If a rabbit knew it would be skinned and eaten once caught, it also wouldn’t like any sort of bait, no matter how tasty!

Aloud, Shen Qingqiu says nothing. Luo Binghe’s expression grows more pinched, his lips pulling up in a sneer, and -

- and ah, his teeth are even sharper, now! Shen Qingqiu hadn’t even noticed!! Had that happened when Luo Binghe had released whatever sort of glamor made his nails look human, too? Was it a physical modification, or only an illusion? Did it break if someone tried to touch it? But, no, Shen Qingqiu himself had touched Luo Binghe’s teeth, and they hadn’t seemed out of sorts, so -

“Do your teeth retract too?” Shen Qingqiu can’t help but ask. 

Luo Binghe lets out a frustrated sigh. “Shizun can experiment with this one all he wants, if he would just -!”

Shen Qingqiu peers out over the edge of his fan carefully. Luo Binghe has been acting seriously, seriously OOC for a blacked demon lord this whole time, and it leaves Shen Qingqiu feeling off balance. Should he try to talk his way out of this? Should he just go back to trying to run for it?

Luo Binghe narrows his eyes at Shen Qingqiu. “If Shizun tries to run again, I’ll release the whole glamor and stand in the middle of the town until you come get me.”

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu exclaims. “Don’t be foolish, you - this master hasn’t told anyone about -”

“I know,” Luo Binghe says. “So either Shizun would be able to see a demon that is willing to let him dissect it, or someone else would come along and do that very thing but with far less precision.”

Shen Qingqiu raises his fan higher, nervous. “Don’t talk about being attacked like that,” he scolds.

Luo Binghe hums, pressing in closer to Shen Qingqiu’s space. “Shizun’s right, of course - anyone but him would ruin this disciple if they tried to take me apart. They wouldn’t be delicate enough; they’d ruin all the best parts to study.”

“That’s not -”

“So Shizun should be the one to take charge,” Luo Binghe says. “If you won’t follow me back to my room, I’ll follow you back to yours.”

Shen Qingqiu hesitates. He doesn’t really want to dissect Luo Binghe, of course - he has enough trouble as it is repressing the feeling of Xiu Ya slicing into the flesh of Luo Binghe’s chest from years ago. But he - he does want to know how Luo Binghe’s teeth work.

Shen Qingqiu’s room… is in the same building where Liu Qingge is staying, too. Hadn’t Shen Qingqiu first wanted to hug that battle-obsessed idiot’s thigh to get a strong protector for the future? If Luo Binghe tried anything, couldn’t he just call for help from his own room?

…This is very, very stupid. Shen Qingqiu is glad he has his very excellent and reasonable excuses from earlier. 

“If Binghe wants,” Shen Qingqiu says aloud.

Luo Binghe grins at him wide enough that Shen Qingqiu can make out the odd way Luo Binghe’s teeth sit in his mouth, as if he has a second row of them. 

Fascinating, he thinks, and reaches up to once more stick his hand into the mouth of his most deadly disciple.

Luo Binghe opens wider, letting Shen Qingqiu look, and starts quietly herding them back to the building the Cang Qiong delegation is staying in. It’s… ah, it’s probably fine, if Shen Qingqiu could just look a bit more…

[devildomwriter]

Paper Angels | Simeon, Luke, & Raphael x Reader

1K Word Count | GN! Reader | Luke is platonic of course | CW: none, just minor misunderstandings

The snow was coming down hard outside. It was much too cold for even a grown angel to go out in, let alone a young one like Luke.

Luke kicked his feet as he waited at the table for something to happen. He let out another bored sigh that his housemates continued to ignore and he was growing more frustrated by it. Luke hadn’t taken any of their prior recommendations to keep busy so they weren’t going to give him anymore.

Finally, the answer to his prayers arrived, you.

You walked in the door and shut it behind you quickly. Everyone was surprised to see you had walked there in the blizzard and came to fetch your coat and bring you hot cocoa.

Luke was pushed aside as his elders fretted over you.

With you was a large plastic bin and you set it in the middle of the table.

“Luke,” you said loudly and pointed at him with a grin.

“Wh-huh? Yes!”

“I have a mission for you should you choose to accept!”

Luke nodded and saluted you. Simeon chuckled and hung up your coat, waiting to the side to see what you had in store for his apprentice.

“I need your help making paper angels!”

Luke nodded affirmatively but a confused expression crossed his face. “How do we do that?”

You feigned shock and opened the blue bin you’d been carrying and handed a pair of scissors to him and Simeon.

“Oh, me too?” Simeon asked and you nodded.

“I’m good with scissors,” Raphael commented and held out his hand until you noticed and handed him a pair.

You took a stack of white craft paper out of the bin and dropped it onto the table with a thud.

“I accidentally got myself into something I can’t get out of and long story short I need a thousand paper angels by tomorrow afternoon,” you said with a stressed grin and Solomon covered his mouth as he laughed.

“Don’t worry ___ I’ll help you!” Luke reassured you proudly and you nodded and felt a wave of relief hit you now that you had a determined little angel on your side.

The two older angels wondered what you could have possibly gotten yourself into that required one thousand paper angels but were unsuccessful in prying that information out of you.

“I googled it this morning and it looks really easy.”

“You agreed to make these without knowing how?” Raphael questioned your judgment and you smiled and nodded confidently as he grew more concerned about you.

“So, fold the paper a couple of times like this, make sure it’s even,” you showed them and they followed along easily.

“Now, trace out an easy-to-cut angel…” you said as you drew one.

The results immediately varied and you looked horrified. Raphael did not understand why as he showed you his design proudly.

“What…is that…”

“An angel.”

Simeon looked back and forth at you and Raphael and laughed. “Oh…um, ___, this is what Raphael really looks like…”

You took in that information as you stared at the biblically correct angel in front of you on the construction paper and decided to stop thinking about it and move on.

“Uh-huh…and you, Simeon?” You asked more hesitantly.

“Oh. This is a Throne.” He smiled apologetically and Luke shook his head.

“___ obviously means Christmas angels, right?” He asked you and you nodded.

“Oh…” Raphael said sadly and set his paper aside to try again, as did Simeon.

Eventually, the four of you were on the same page and drew near identical half-outlines of angels. Finally, it was time to cut them and Raphael got them done so quickly it was concerning so to save yourself the trouble of showing everyone how bad you were with scissors, you slid yours over to Raphael and he nodded and swiftly cut them out.

Raphael’s D.D.D. began to ring so he quickly answered it to get out of cutting Simeon’s angels too who was trying to pawn it off of him.

“Hello, Michael….Right now? We’re just cutting angels…”

You gave Simeon a concerned look and Simeon quickly tried to interrupt Raphael but he got up from his seat with a confused expression.

“What do you mean is everyone okay? Yes, we’re fine, I just explained…” Raphael watched you with an exasperated look as Luke and Simeon cut out the paper shapes.

“Simeon, you’re going to tear the wing off, careful,” he instructed and Simeon set his craft down and got up to take the phone away from Raphael.

“You want to talk to Simeon? Why?”

Simeon grabbed the phone but quickly became confused when he didn’t see the call on the screen and accidentally hung up.

“Oh dear…” he sighed and Luke’s D.D.D. began ringing instead.

“S-Sir Michael! Y-Yes this is Luke!” Luke dropped everything and held his phone flustered.

“What are Simeon and Raphael doing? We’re cutting up angels. ___ needs a thousand of them and they can’t get themselves out of it apparently…you’re sending who…w-wait!” The conversation became more concerning but you ignored it and traced more angels onto the paper.

Luke looked at Simeon in a panic, “There’s no need for that! It’s just a craft— huh…yeah…paper angels?” The tension in the room immediately lifted and Luke let out a small laugh, unaware that might insult Michael. Raphael looked nervous but when the call seemed to wrap up without any more misunderstandings he relaxed again.

“Yes Sir! I’ll let him know, Sir!” Luke said confidently and hung up the phone with a loud sigh. He stared at Raphael and blushed as he related Michael’s warning. “U-Um…Sir Michael says to clarify next time that it’s paper angels…also…he wants to know what ___ did to get stuck making a thousand of them.”

“Tell him to find out if he can,” you said as you concentrated on cutting along the lines.

“I-If he can? I can’t tell him that!”

“Then he’ll never know and neither will any of you. Now then, we’ve done eight. That leaves nine hundred and ninety-two to go.”

Simeon shook his head, “It’s going to be a while…isn’t it?”

Raphael held up his scissors confidently, expression blank as always, “With that attitude it will. Just don’t cut any more wings off and we should be just fine.”

[skibasyndrome]

"tell me the truth" 😉🤧

Juuuune! Thank you so much for the ask! 💜💜💜 Idk where this came from, but have a little canon divergent s1e4 moment

Simon is already halfway down the hill, almost at the bus stop, when the first, dry sob rattles his rib cage. He gasps from the force of it, gripping onto the straps of his backpack more tightly, stomps his feet into the gravel a little harder than necessary to shake off the ugly feeling. Tries to keep himself together before her bursts into a million pieces in the middle of Hillerska's driveway. This doesn't make sense, none of it. Simon doesn't think he said anything wrong, feels like some of those texts must have shown Wille that Simon wanted to be there for him, wanted to be- something. Something, someone that isn't this, a person Wille wants around one second and then can't seem to stand to even look in the eye another.

Simon feels the prickle of angry tears in his eyes and rubs over them aggressively. He doesn't understand why it has to be like this, why Wille doesn't even want to speak to him. Or let Simon speak, let him tell Wille some the things he thought about saying while Wille was gone, home, dealing with everything. Nothing sounded particularly good or comforting, but he wanted to try at least. His phone feels like it's burning a hole into his pocket, holding the texts still, and Simon clenches his fists to fight the urge to grab it and text Wille, out of spite, is what he thinks, but there's something else, stronger, more aching, that makes him want to try one last time to ask, to make Wille explain it so Simon understands- Simon stops abruptly. He is not leaving without an explanation. ***

Just as he is starting to think the student he asked for the way to the prince's room was fucking with him, Simon rounds the corner and almost collides with a distraught Wille. A last spark of Simon's defiance flares up and he is ready to fight if he has to, but as soon as Wille's head whips around, his eyes meeting Simon's through the strands of hair he has falling into his face, Wille freezes. His shoulders sag, as do the corners of his mouth, his eyes go soft, but not like Simon wishes they would. He looks like a frightened animal caught in the headlights, like he's looking up at Simon even with him being taller. And if there wasn't a crack in his heart already, Simon knows there's one now. Simon feels dumb all of a sudden, a gnawing voice telling him he's presumptuous and selfish for showing up again. He hasn't seen Wille grieving yet, he realizes with a start, not like this. He's seen the grieving prince, in a lots more clips and photos than felt comfortable, but he hasn't seen the Wille he knows, he thought he knew, he- "Simon...," Wille's voice cracks, the word breathy and unsteady. As if he's only just realized that he can still move his body, that Simon hasn't put a spell on him, Wille raises a quivering hand to his face, trying to put his hair back into place. Something about the gesture cuts Simon deep. Feels out of place and wrong, and like the Wille with the unruly bangs and the toothy smile shouldn't be the same one who has to give a eulogy to his dead brother in front of the entire school. Simon's eyes flit to the two tall figures looming in the back of the hallway, then back to Wille. Maybe he is interrupting something, maybe he shouldn't even be here, maybe the bodyguards shouldn't see him, maybe this is all part of the problem, and maybe he should've just gone home and deleted everything and forgotten about whatever it was that this could've been. But Wille is shaking, Simon can tell, even with how hard Wille is trying not to show it. And for a silly little moment, Simon wonders if anyone even thought to hug the crown prince. Simon shakes off the thought, squares his shoulders and raises his chin. Because despite everything in him screaming to reach out and do something, he needs to know if Wille wants him to at all. Or if he needs to suck it up and forget about this, for good this time. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath. "Tell me the truth," he says, and hopes it sounds more confident to Wille's ears than to his own. Wille's eyes quickly move over Simon's face like he's unsure where he's allowed to look. Simon straightens his back a little more, tries to make himself look taller and less nervous about the answer he might be getting. Despite it all, his breath catches inside his throat when he tries to continue. He lowers his voice, thinks it's so the bodyguards don't hear, but knows he has to to keep speaking at all. "Do you really want me to go and forget about this?" Wille's eyes find Simon's, wild, wide, dark, unreadable. For a few horrible seconds, Simon thinks coming here might've been one of the stupidest decisions he's ever made. But then Wille drops his eyes again. Simon follows his gaze and watches, breath quickening, how Wille slowly, carefully, grabs his hand. Wille shakes his head once, then again, more fervently, and Simon's heart drops. But Wille pulls him closer by his hand, takes a tentative step, waits to see if Simon will follow. "Stay," he says, so quiet that Simon barely gets to hear it over the sound of his own blood rushing in his head. "Stay, please."

Send me one of these prompts for a short lil story 💜

[urfriendlywriter]

5 prompts a day !

(24 hours drabble challenge! Write a drabble within 24hrs (using any one or more prompts) and tag meeee I'll repost it in this account for 24 hrs!!)

a very silent night and they're back from home, utterly spent and tired and beeline straight for you. pulling u closer by ur waist and resting their forehead against yours as they barely whisper, "love me, [name]."

forbidden love when,

^ "We can't, [name]-" they cuts you off, lips crashing against yours in a fierce, desperate kiss full of love and longing.

they break the kiss, their forehead resting against yours. "I know," their voice is murmured, "I know we can't. I know it's complicated. I know it's crazy. But fuck, I've missed you."

they swallow hard, their throat bobbing. "If you tell me to stop. If you push me away again. I won't come back this time. I'll respect your boundaries, but I won't put myself through this torture again." (someone PLS. WRITE. AND GIVE ME. ANGST!!!)

[cute-sucker]

rafe would never like to admit how needy he was emotionally.

the way he would cower into your touch, holding your hand with that urgency that you thought wasn't needed. there was something about him, mouth agape, slobbering all over your dress while his chest falls. he swears it never happened the next day, but the photos of him rosy cheeked, spooning on your chest never fail to disappoint.

he can't take his eyes off you during anything. he hates it too, how much he needs you there. whenever you're not around him - he's obsessing over you. it doesn't matter the, where, when, how, just know you're on his mind 100% of the time.

theres just this need in him that he can't control, the way his eyes go darker when he notices you aren't paying attention to you. he flicks a hand at your pouting lips, demanding for your attention with sullen eyes, 'hey, whatcha doing?' he mutters, but you know it's not a question - it's a warning.

it's the worst whenever he needs validation.

he'll hate to admit how much he crumbles in your arms. he's hyperventalting, whispering validation to himself in that gruff voice, telling himself to suck it up, before he sees you.

there's something about him teary eyed, sucking in air, asking, no, begging for you to tell him that he is the man. you can't help but bite your lip at how pathetic, how pathetically adorable he looks in your lap.

what if he can't tell anyone that, that's how he feels? he runs calloused hands up in his hair, taking shallow breaths while waiting, waiting for you to come and rest your head into that hallow of his collarbone.

so that he can be rafe, and that would be enough.

[rexscanonwife]

🌈 Welcome to WLWeek 2024 🌈

Hello everyone, I wanted to put together a nice, low-pressure event dedicated to my fellow wlw self shippers for one week of June because it's pride month, babey!! This is the first time I've ever tried to 'organize' an event, so take it easy on me, I'll try to be as communicative as possible and if anyone has questions about it, asks and DMs are always open!

On to the details! Its gonna last from Monday the 10th through Friday the 14th, and anyone can opt in or out as they see fit! No one is obligated to participate throughout the entire week or from the beginning alone, just do what you feel like!

RULES:

NO PROSHIPPERS/COMSHIPPERS/NEUTRAL, all blogs with that will be blocked on sight!

Obviously don't participate if you're not wlw/not shipping with a female character

Lesbians, bisexual, pansexual, sapphic, and once again general wlw/nblw are welcome!

Essentially I am tolerating NO funny business, and I won't tolerate bullying either so everyone be very niceys and hey, try to support each other! 💖💖💖 now onto the prompt list

Monday June 10th: Favorite style/aesthetic-

draw you and your female f/o in your favorite clothing style (goth, Y2K, cottagecore, etc.) Or what you think their favorite style would be! alt. for writers, write a drabble about going shopping for these outfits with your f/o!

Tuesday June 11th: Morning routine -

draw you and your female f/o getting ready for the day. Who's the early riser and who's dragging them back into bed? alt. for writers, write an early morning cuddle session/chat. 

Wednesday June 12th: Date night-

draw you and your female f/o on a date! Is it a dinner, a picnic? Are you guys dressed to the nines or at home in your jammies? Alt. for writers, write a date gone slightly awry. How do you fix things/compromise? 

Thursday June 13th: Beach day-

it's summertime, draw you and your female f/o in beachwear and enjoying the sun and sand! alt. for writers, write out a nice dip in the ocean! Can you swim? Can your f/o? Does one have to teach the other? Is it nice and relaxed or does it dissolve into splash fighting? 

Friday June 14th: Role/Ship Swap -

draw your f/o as the self shipper and you as the fictional character role they fill! What kind of s/i do they make? Would they write fanfic, draw fanart? Alt. for writers, write a gush post from ur f/o's point of view! 

And that's it!! Do one of them, do all of them, or do none of them, it's your choice! I just wanted to show some love to my fellow wlw self shippers out there this month and so something fun for them!

Now if you got this far and you read the rules make sure to put 'great googly moogly' in the tags when u rb! And don't forget to tag my blog here when you write/draw for this event!!! 🫶🫶 everyone who does will get a rb from me and a little promo as well, and maybe even a follow cause I need more wlw mutuals :3

[ronzombie]

imagine an AU where you're your F/O's OC.

they fall even deeper in love with you after every lore piece they write. after every trauma and flaw they inflict on you, they still love you and would do anything to have you there with them in person.

who knows? maybe one day their wish will come true...