#ask drabbles

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

all the teeny tiny drabbles I wrote for the fmk alternatives ask

Frankie, Dave, Lucien - shopping clothes/ikea/groceries

Frankie, Oberyn, Joel - shopping clothes/ikea/groceries

Joel, Reed, Dave - wedding/party/museum

Joel, Dieter, Dave - netflix/ice-skating/dodgeball

Reed, Javier P., Dave - soap opera/play/favorite movie

Dieter, Max P., Ezra - car ride/plane/train ride

thanks to everyone who sent an ask 🫶

general masterlist here

[haarlep]

A bit of Haarlep masturbation? Raphael has been way to focused on dealing with mortal contracts and the succubus needs attention

There are a few times that the boudoir has been this empty before, but all told: not many. Not for so many days at a time, long stretches of silence where Haarlep is left to fend for themselves. They're not helpless. There's books. Things to smoke. The bath so big they could do laps in it. Food never runs out. Card games and puzzles. They rarely venture out, but when pressed, they could always cause trouble for any of the residents. The Archivist particularly hates it when Haarlep does a pitch-perfect imitation of Raphael.

The real issue is the physical boredom. The lack of physical stimulation. There haven't even been any visitors. The bed they share with their master is a frustratingly cold, lonely space. They're not made to be lonely. Cold and lonely is Cania and all the miseries of that second-deepest layer of the Hells. They're not interested in going back. (And the longer Raphael is gone, they have to wonder if they did something wrong, or...)

Mm, well. They don't need Raphael or his permission, and all things told, tending to themselves should remind Raphael that he has a House to keep in order, as well as his never-ending game of lanceboard with mortals.

Haarlep rolls onto their back with a petulant sigh, coal-burn eyes flicking up to the ceiling, and they run one hand down their body, over their meticulously made chest, stomach, between their thighs. They like leather and velvet and silk in equal measure, and today: silk. The kind of negligee that Raphael could've torn off them if he'd bothered to be here, and the kind of lace underwear that doesn't leave anything to the imagination.

Raphael will feel this, the stirrings of interest, as Haarlep palms absently at their cock. Inhaling, head tilting back against the pillow. He can feel everything. The tug of emotion like a thread tied under Haarlep's skin, something snagged and drawn on: if you were here, I wouldn't have to take care of myself, would I. He'll be—where would he be? Going over the finer points of a contract, maybe, sitting in a comfortable inn room, one knee draped over the other, and feeling his/their hands on his/their body.

Haarlep hums, eyes closing. They're getting warm—warmer—and half-hard under their palm, heat starting a slow drip down their spine to settle in the pit of their belly. They lift their negligee, and hook their thumbs into their underwear, pulling it down past their hips, leaving them around their thighs. The fabric pinches a little when they part their knees. They like that. The tension.

They curl their fingers around themselves, slow and mm, sensuous with themselves in a way that people rarely are with them. They take their time in part because they want to, and in part because they know this will be distracting: the slow up and down glide of their fingers, bumping over the ridges of their devillish cock, thumb running over the sensitive head.

Haarlep didn't realise how frustrated they were. It's so easy to be fully hard, to become aching in their own palm, to find their fingers slightly sticky with precome that dribbles out of him. Their lips part with a languid sigh, spine arching off the bed, just a little. Their other hand toys with the rest of their body: they scrape their sharp claws across their stomach to leave raised welts, dig claws into their chest.

Every glance of pain is a thrill of pleasure for Haarlep, and they know that every scratch will be felt on him, too. Their palm moves faster, eyes fluttering open to take in the room, to look down at themselves, the tremble of their muscles as heat builds. The shape of their cock, a little bigger and thicker than Raphael's, built to be his fantasy.

They won't last long; it's been too much time by themselves, wound up and alone, untouched and uncared for. They can already feel the tightening, the build of pressure and heat, move their hand faster, their breath coming quickly. They gasp and it's for nobody but them: just the sound of their own pleasure, head tipping back, craving the end of it.

Their orgasm comes quickly enough to take them by surprise—all muscles clenching, come splattering their stomach, dripping over their fingers. Somewhere, Raphael will be mid-conversation, and feeling the same thing, even if diluted. The waves of it. The way Haarlep's whole body answers the feeling. How Haarlep's mind is a brief, blissful, empty fog, nothing but this moment.

Afer, they clean off their fingers lazily, cattish, lapping up their own come, wiping it off their fingers and popping them in their mouth. No shame, not alone, but there wouldn't be if anyone else was here, either: to not clean themselves up would just be a waste.

Haarlep kicks their underwear the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor, and rolls onto their front, pulling a pillow towards them, their wings spreading out and relaxing. Then: they hear the smoke-burst, smell his perfume.

They close their eyes.

Of course this brought him home, undoubtedly wanting, expectant. They're stuck somewhere between deeply amused and profoundly annoyed.

"You're too late," they say, as they feel Raphael's weight join them on the bed. They crack an eye open. He looks, mm, pissed, brow furrowed. Haarlep yawns, pointedly, and turns away, nestling into the sheets, flicking their fingers at him dismissively. "I'm already spent, master. You'll have to wait your turn."

[leiflitter]

about our saltburn boys, idk in what universe/timeline but i'd like to hear about their first proper date from you 🖤

So I am doing a minor bend on this prompt because at this point it's always the YAH!canon but look. Can you blame me? And if you want to read their INTERRUPTED first actual romantic date in YAHcanon, then behold:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Also, to the assorted Saltburnites out there... Feel free to send me art prompts, ficlet prompts, headcanon prompts, YAH questions... Whatever you want, I love answering em!

OXFORD, 2007.

Felix had a suspicion. It was one of those little niggly ones that you couldn't quite put your finger squarely on; a hunch, that was the word, and he'd been tossing it around in his head for long enough to want to act on it.

Oliver was, clearly, inexperienced.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Olls had clearly spent too much time studying, and had neglected his social education. Felix couldn't blame him- after all the stories about his parents, Ollie not being a Casanova was pretty much par for the course. If he had gotten a girlfriend back up in Liverpool, then where could he have taken her? Welcome to my house, it's full of rats and used needles would send any decent lass running in the opposite direction.

Ollie probably needed a girlfriend, too, just for a little bit. It'd be a learning experience. Even better, he and Oliver could go on double-dates with whoever his flavour of the week was. Felix's code of ethics regarding relationships was fairly... Lackadaisical, true, but he had morals. So, yes, he'd shag a girl and be her boyfriend until she got boring, but really... What did they expect? He wasn't about to look for a Future Lady Blabla Catton until at least third year, but this was groundwork. He wanted to find out which girls were the most bearable- and if he didn't go out with them, then how would he know? Besides, there were some right nutters out there. The ones who said I love you after a week, or went all doolally when he called it quits. Or ended up, well... Felix didn’t dwell on that, though. It wasn't his fault; if he blamed himself for everything other people did, then he'd never get out of bed in the morning.

Back to the matter at hand. Oliver Quick's love life, or lack thereof.

Oliver, inexperienced with the fairer sex; happy enough to shag 'em but not confident enough to bag 'em. Besides, he had it on good authority that Ollie wasn't shagging properly. He'd been eavesdropping, yes, but that meant it was far more likely to be true.

Oliver Quick? We hooked up... Well, sort of, he went down on me for ages, I think he was too drunk to get it up, but...

Why else would you do that, other than avoiding the main event? There was nothing in it for Oliver; Felix was a devotee to the snog, finger, fuck pipeline for a reason, and it was mostly because if he had his hand up a girl's skirt, she'd be giving him a little action through his jeans. Quid pro quo- and if she blew him, well, that was her choice, wasn't it? Didn't mean he had to venture down south and get his face all slimy.

Felix didn’t want to ask Ollie if he was a virgin, but he definitely wasn't fucking before Felix took him under his wing. Again, it wasn't bad, just... The first time was always a big deal, and Olls probably wanted to have an actual connection or something girly like that. Farleigh had agreed, slyly, smirking all over his face when Felix had asked for a second opinion. Farls seemed to think of it as somehow insulting; Felix almost thought it oddly nice. Ollie took things seriously, that was all. He probably wanted to do it for the first time with someone he loved.

That made Felix feel a little nauseous, but why wouldn't it? All that mushy stuff triggered his gag reflex. Besides, Felix didn’t want Olls to get all long term committed. He just wanted Oliver to get his dick wet, because he was a good friend and hated anyone missing out. Oxford was heaving with skirt; he didn't want Olls to have a reputation as an overly-licky limp noodle.

Said noodle was trying to focus on an essay while Felix lay on his bed and slowly deconstructed his crisp packet in the hope of finding some more crumbs of salt hidden in the creases. He jammed a finger into his mouth; nothing, more's the pity, and Felix let the packet fall to the floor as he wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "Olls."

Ollie was ignoring him, but he was sitting a little straighter. Felix rolled over, resting his chin on his hands. "Ollie-Ollie-Oliver, earth to Oliver, s'terrible manners to ignore your host, mate..."

"Just lemme finish this sentence, Felix, then I'm all yours." Oliver lowered his head determinedly, pen scratching against his notebook.

"Oliver Quick, I know how long your sentences can be. You'll get semi-bloody-colons involved, and I want to ask you something."

Oliver sighed, put the pen down, then gave a cursory glance behind him before flopping to Felix's grubby carpet. From this angle his weird eyes looked awfully big; Felix smiled down at him, the plan firm in his mind. Train Ollie up, turn him into a proper Romeo by the start of second year, and then they'd have loads of fun. "Would you like to go on a date, Oliver?"

Ollie's face screwed up. "Y'wha?"

"Fuck off, not like that, mate, I'm not bent. But I bet you've never ever been on a date before, yeah?" Felix was using his most reasonable voice. "It's like Rocky. A training montage."

"I don't want to date, Felix. Got enough on my plate as is." Oliver was still all scrunched-looking. "I'm fine as I am. No montage needed."

"And that attitude is exactly why you need my help." Felix pushed himself up, crawling off the bed to jab Oliver's ribs with one bare foot. "C'mon. Off you trot, put on something nice. I'll pay- fucking starving, up for Chinese?"

Oliver went all floppy, like a recalcitrant toddler, before nodding, slowly hauling himself upright. "Fine. But only for free food. Don't get any ideas."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Felix thought that Ollie might only have one nice shirt. It wasn't even a decent nice shirt, that blue plaid thing, but Felix had excellent manners. He'd smiled as Oliver begrudgingly opened his dorm room door. Now, seated across from each other at a two-person table, Felix was going to teach Oliver how to carry on a polite dinner conversation.

"I have to say, Ollie, the colour of that shirt really brings out your eyes." Felix shoved another complimentary prawn cracker into his mouth, giving Oliver his most attentive smile. Ollie took a swig of his beer, nodding slowly.

"Thank you, Felix. You look... You look lovely, too." That was coupled with a very grim little smile, and Felix shook his head.

"I told you, Olls, you've got to pretend I'm, y'know, a fit bird. Not me. Try it again, mate, with feeling this time."

Oliver sighed, loudly, before reaching over and putting his hand on Felix's wrist. The eye contact went from fleeting to intense so quickly Felix felt as if he'd been pinned to some metaphysical wall; Oliver smiled at him, dimples puckering his cheeks, going all squinty and bright. "You look lovely tonight, Felix."

"Oh." Felix blinked, and the glow faded from Ollie as he withdrew his hand, returning to his usual, friendly little self. "Christ. No, you- you've got that down, mate. Good job."

It was a good thing Felix wasn't a girl, else he'd have gone all giggly and flustered; a result which meant there was nothing Felix could teach. A shame, really, but after that it definitely felt a lot safer having dinner as mates.

[thedrabblecollective]

Hi! Quick question, would it be okay if I were to tag you on this month prompts that have already past? I wanted to see if I could play catch up with them before I tag you (I write fic with the blog onthesandsofdreams). Thank you!

Hi, there! Yup, totally okay!

[beautiful-songbird]

so for a story- late winter night study session + namjoon

is that okay? :)

A/N: here you go! This one is a bit shorter than the others but I hope you like it!

Word Count: 272

The snowy chill outside had been present for so long that it was starting to settle into Sophia’s bones. Snow was piling up now, and it seemed cruel that the school year continued on even now. Everyone had been groggy in class, and now as the clock was ticking towards midnight, it was well past time to go to bed.

The library was still open at this hour, but the only noises that could be heard in the building were the flipping of book pages and the scratching of pencils and pens against paper. Everyone was too tired to be here, and this much was evident by the way that no one conversed at all.

The clock on the wall was the only reason everyone was still awake. It was a constant reminder that these assignments were due soon, and it kept everyone going.

The faint scent of coffee was floating through the building, but no one was drinking anything, so the source of the scent was unknown. The cold air had a scent of its own, nearly overpowering even the strong coffee. Somewhere in there was the scent of smoke as well, but it was so obscure that it could barely be detected.

Sophia glanced across the room to find the one man she didn’t mind studying in the same room with. He was deep in thought, his glasses settled on the bridge of his nose as he spun his pen in his hand. She now recognized that his was the scent of coffee, for a small cup was steaming next to his book. She smiled. She could make it tonight.

Send me an aesthetic setting and a member and I’ll write a drabble!

[gentlemancrow]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Location: Somewhere Else (The Magnus Archives), Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Random & Short, nonsexual intimacy, Canon Asexual Character, Somehow a cat is there, Eldritch Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Abyssal Merfolk Jon, Only one bed in the archives, Blood, Blood and Injury Series: Part 4 of Crow's Tumblr Ask Drabbles Summary:

A series of short drabbles/microfics written for various request prompts on tumblr!

Jon chooses to stay Somewhere Else, Martin attends to an injury Jon cannot, a first kiss is shared, a much deserved soak in a bath is had, Jon becomes a beautiful creature at dusk, a cat stokes jealousy, a forgotten, lonely sweater brings painful memories, Martin becomes acquainted with a mysterious creature of the deep, Martin learns what it means to be saved, Jon learns what it means to be undone, and there was only one bed in the archives...

~~~

Nothing much nothing new!  Just decided to consolidate some of the ask drabbles I’d written recently into a little collection if you like!

[dai-bendu-conlang]

(for the prompts) Anakin, ahran

ahran /ɑ.ran/ noun. parent

Obi-Wan was thankful that Anakin wasn’t miserable when he was on pain medication, but a rather entertaining conversationalist.

“Enoah Dai ahran kat fehl,” Anakin started for the third time, his voice sounding more childish now that he wasn’t pretending to be a mature student instead of the fourteen-year-old he was. “Ji… Obi-Wan. I don’t get it. How’s that even supposed to work? The Force is like—” Anakin waved around his hands, imitating airflow, Obi-Wan assumed. It was a little difficult to figure out. “And I’m like. Bones. At least 12. Maybe 15.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “Yes, Anakin, you’re at least 15 bones. And I’m not quite sure how exactly the Force is supposed to be your parent either, but I’m sure we can research that after the healers allow you to leave.”

[impala-dreamer]

'Tell me about _______'

(Finish that in my inbox and get a drabble... Ex: "tell me about Sam tying me up")