#<500 words

[iamamythologicalcreature]

COC Day 8 - "Sick"

Sorry this is late. I honestly forgot I'd doodled this tiny little text ficlet. Just some randomness that popped into my head with this @carryon-countdown prompt.

Simon POV:

“I’m not sick.”

I sigh as I eye a wall full of homeopathic teas. Surely there’s something here, out of like 500 different herbal blends, that will help Baz out. I pick one up and read the label (like that will help). “You’re malnourished,” I murmur into my mobile as I read, “which I could fix, but you don’t want to bite me.”

I can hear Baz roll his eyes. “I’m fine, Snow. And I don’t get sick, so you don’t have to cure me.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Maybe this one? Is echinacea beneficial to stubborn blood-starved vampires? Maybe something with more iron in it. Maybe I should be stuffing supplements down his throat.

“I don’t get sick. I’m a dark creature of the night.”

I love how he uses that excuse like it isn’t at least partly responsible for his current condition. Prat. “You fainted.”

There’s a pause, then Baz mutters, “I took a strategic break from consciousness.”

I snort. I’m going to stuff him with iron supplements, then kiss him stupid. “You like green tea, right?”

Baz lets out a beleaguered sigh, which has a sort of honking cadence to it over the phone. “I’m not sick.” A pause. Then, “But I do like green tea.”

Right. Into the basket with that blend. “If I ‘took a break’ the way you did this morning, you’d have had me at Dr. Wellbelove’s within the hour.”

“That’s different.”

Red meat. I could do steak. I’m pretty decent at grilling. And if all else fails, Baz needs practice putting out fires, right? “Really not,” I say after a second. “I’m getting you protein powder, too.”

“That’s barbaric, Snow.”

“Oh, I’ll show you barbaric, Pitch,” I say with a smile. “But only if you drink your tea, and your protein shake, and top it all off with twice as many rodents as usual. And if you ask nicely.”

A pause. “I’m still not biting you.”

Was that hesitation? My altruistic desire to help Baz suddenly seems like a potential opportunity. I dump three flavours of protein powder into my basket, including one I know has the consistency of ground chalk. “Promises, promises, Baz.”

#coc 2023 #carry on countdown #sick #baz is sick #sort of #he denies all weakness #because he's baz #but simon will rescue him whether he wants to be rescued or not #because he's simon #ficlet #itty bitty ficcy #<500 words #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #carry on #simon snow series #the simon snow trilogy #simon snow fanfiction #better late than never #Jodofic

[elliesmissingfingerss]

cowboy hat — e.w. drabble

pure fluff. literally just fluff. wc: 474

ellie picked up a lot of mannerisms from joel over the years. she adopted a slight southern twang to some of her words and her word choice would get progressively more southern as she spent more and more time with him.

people started making jokes about it, since she grew up in fedra school and had absolutely no reason to have any southern accent whatsoever. she loved it, though. it was proof to her that joel was so deeply ingrained into her life that it was affecting her behaviors and mannerisms.

it made her feel all the more his, and him all the more hers. they were a family, truly.

imagine ellie and joel on patrol one day, walking through some old abandoned building when ellie finds a cowboy hat.

she'd pick it up and try to get joel to put it on, cracking jokes about his "cowboy heritage." when joel continued to refuse, ellie shrugged and plopped the hat onto her head.

she realized quickly that she didn't hate it. it kept the sun out of her eyes, for the most part, and joel would watch her with a soft smile, clearly amused by her antics and not even bothering to hide it.

so she kept it.

she'd put it on and inspect herself in the mirror sometimes, allowing herself to fall into a fantasy in which she was joel's actual daughter.

growing up in texas with him, all warm smiles and stupid jokes in place of his furrowed brows and reprimands about her safety.

a life without infected.

she'd end up keeping it hanging from her bedpost. she liked it there—on display. it made her happy to see it and think of her little fantasy.

you'd be hanging out in ellie's room one day, smoking one of the joints she had found on patrol and fooling around. you'd spot the cowboy hat hanging from her bedpost and smile to yourself, an idea instantly forming.

you'd snag the cowboy hat quickly and put it on, about to start making jokes about her having a cowboy hat when her face changed.

she'd raise a single eyebrow in a way that was always so reminiscent of joel, it was one of the first mannerisms that she'd picked up from joel.

ellie would lean in real close, her nose bumping yours as she whispered, "you know... there's a rule about cowboy hats."

you wouldn't respond, too focused on the way her eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips. your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

she'd flick the underside of the hat gently before her hand would trail down to grip your chin between her forefinger and thumb. "wear the hat...ride the cowboy," she'd murmur before connecting your lips and pulling you up to straddle her lap.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #the last of us #joel miller #ellie and joel #ellie williams x reader #drabble #<500 words

[miss-grimwood]

Colours - Bellamione

(smut)

‘Have you ever considered wearing colours?’ Hermione asked.

Bellatrix scoffed. ‘Black is a colour.’

‘It’s not, it’s a shade.’ Hermione corrected.

‘I look good in black.’

Thinking the conversation was over, Bellatrix rolled over, snuggling into Hermione’s side.

‘I think you’d look good in red.’ Hermione continued. As she spoke, her hand trailed up Bellatrix’s thigh, pulling her black nighty up around her hips.

‘So pretty against your skin,’ she continued, her fingers continuing on their path, finding Bella’s clit. Bellatrix gasped as she pressed down gently, moving her fingers in slow, barely there circles.

‘Would you wear red for me?’ Hermione purred. Bellatrix squirmed under her touch, desperate for more.

‘Yes,’ she mumbled, if only to satisfy Hermione, to make her press harder.

‘Do you mean it?’ She asked, pausing her movements.

‘Please, Mione, I mean it.’

‘Good girl,’ Hermione growled, flipping Bellatrix onto her back.

@sapphicmicrofics

#bellatrix lestrange #hermione granger #bellamione #smut #<500 words #microfic

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilymicrofics May Prompt 24: Belong || 419 Words One night, 4 POVs || Installment 4 of 4 || Previous installments here: one two three MICROFIC MASTERLIST

James hasn’t let her out of his arms since he walked through the door.

Okay maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate, but now that Lily is tucked into his side on the loveseat, he has no plan to let her leave.

Tonight’s mission had been…awful. He needed this time with his friends, the alcohol, Lily to calm his nerves and tether him back to the present. He’s not sure, but he feels that Lily’s thinking the same with the way her hands find purchase in his hands, on his arms, in his hair as she peppers him with kisses he’s only too happy to return.

She’s like a balm on his frayed nerves, and at that thought he pulls her closer, heart pounding.

Her fingers lightly graze over his arms, unable to stop touching him, to stop looking for injuries he's sworn to her aren't there, and he grabs her hand in reassurance before capturing her lips in another slow kiss. He knows they should maybe refrain a little from their affectionate displays but the alcohol has dulled that reason and Lily just feels so solid and real and promising in his arms. He’s always known (always known) that the two of them were meant for each other but lately, with all the heaviness of war, it’s struck him how much they just belong.

A question is on the tip of his tongue. Not the question, but a question nonetheless. It’s something he’d been thinking about for the last month, after his parents had gifted him the family cottage for his nineteenth birthday. He’d wanted to ask this week—maybe over a lunch or a drink—but this moment feels so indescribably right that the words threaten to spill forth.

James moves his lips to her neck, to the spot right below her ear that he knows makes her grin. Between featherlight kisses, he whispers, just loud enough for her to hear: “Move in with me, Evans?”

The thunderous pounding of his heart doesn’t quell itself when he hears a shocked laugh, as if caught off-guard. Lily looks at him, beaming from ear to ear, eyes shining from alcohol and excitement, and nods, pulling his face to hers and crashing their lips together for a kiss that threatens to end him then and there. He smiles against her lips and feels the grin reciprocated as they stay wrapped up in each other, the heat from the room's fire burning hot and wild in his chest as he pictures a future that's theirs.

—

I had so much fun with this series, and I appreciate all the positive response around it! Y'all are amazing 💕

#jilymicrofics #kelsey writes #jily #james potter #lily evans #jple #microfic #<500 words #marauders

[16woodsequ]

I have an ask for a drabble and I thought it was for Steve and Tony, so I wrote this tonight kind of reflecting my current feelings about wanting to write but being unable to do much of it.

I realized the ask is for Tony and Bucky so I'm not posting it with the ask, but please enjoy this therapy drabble I wrote because I needed to write a little something to try to ride the wave of emotions my brain is in right now.

Set in an au where Tony and Steve talk about their feelings lol

Just Something

"I'm doing real bad."

It only takes one text from Steve to get Tony up and out of his chair. The wellness texts had started as a begrudging agreement between the two when neither one wanted to admit they needed help, but now, after years of growth and effort they feel more second nature.

This type of openess between them had taken a long time to achieve, but Tony is glad for it on nights like this.

JARVIS locates Steve easily, which means he wants to be found, which is another good sign.  

Tony finds him sitting listlessly on the common room couch. The sun has set, the room grey and shadowed as night sets in.

"What's up?"  Tony asks, sitting down next to Steve. He can tell just by looking at him that it's a bad night and he's glad Steve had reached out. 

Steve shrugs, frustrated, not meeting Tony's eyes. "I just feel…grey." His hands clench. "Just empty. And tired. And like I might crack open inside. And I feel so frustrated because I'm tired of feeling this way but it feels like it always comes back up, no matter the effort I put in against it."

Tony knows the feeling. Depression is a beast with many heads and sometimes it feels like resurfacing from the depths of an ocean, only to be pulled under again by a black, sweeping wave.

"Do you want to do anything?" he tries. Distractions are something he and Steve do together often now when one or the other needs to 'ride out the wave'.

Steve just shrugs dejectedly. "I want to draw," he says softly. "I feel it in me so much it's like I can't breath… but thinking about trying to compose something just exhausts me. I feel like I can't finish anything. I'm tired."

Tony hums for a second before spying one of Steve's many sketchbooks under the coffee table.

"Maybe you need to let yourself do something small," he says, grabbing it and holding it out. "Scribble, or throw something together just to get out what you're feeling."

Steve reaches for the sketchbook, looking hesitant. Tony nods encouragingly. 

"I do that sometimes in my lab," he says. "When my brain is blocked or feeling low. I'll just weld random bits together or finish a really quick, silly project. Just to get something done."

Steve glances down at the book and pulls the pencil out from the coilbound spine.

"Just something," he repeats, some of the bleakness in his eyes easing as he takes a breath and opens his book.

#steve rogers #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #tony stark #depression #healthy coping mechanisms #mcu #writing #marvel #Just Something #<500 words

[nought-shall-go-ill]

Jily Microfic — May Prompt 3: Hagrid

This @jilymicrofics piece is a continuation from prompts 1 and 2 (click on the links to read), though as with the others, you can read this as a stand alone piece.

May 1976

“Hagrid?”

“Hagrid.”

“But Hagrid is a member of the school staff, Potter,” Lily said in exasperation. “There’s no way he’d just trot out and get a rare flower from the forest for me just because I asked him.”

“Well, you won’t know that until you ask, will you?”

James was leaning nonchalantly against the common room wall, twiddling his wand absentmindedly between his thumbs. Ordinarily, Lily would have thought such a look was ridiculous — an obvious attempt to make himself seem cooler, more laissez faire to the younger students — but she had yet again become a little preoccupied with how tall he had gotten.

“Look, just forget I asked, ok?”

Lily was unsure why she’d even considered it in the first place. Yes, Potter had been very helpful in providing her with that flower for her last Potion’s project, and yes, he had seemed very nice these past few days, covering for her when she was late for class and getting her that last slab of crumble at dinner, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t the same old berk deep down.

She turned to leave, all too aware that a few sets of bewildered eyes had noticed them standing there together.

“Or I could ask,” James blurted out in a muffle of mixed words. “He needn’t even know it’s for you. I’ll ask, and I can get the flower for you by tomorrow.”

Lily raised eyebrows.

“And you think he’ll say yes to you?”

“Just you wait and see, Evans.”

He smiled, and Lily walked away smiling also. Perhaps this friendship — was that what it was? — would have some benefits after all.

“What was that?” she overheard Sirius ask his best friend from behind her. “Since when are you so pally with Evans?”

#jilymicrofics #jily #jily fic #<500 words #let’s see if we can keep this little continuation up until the end of May shall we?

[charmsandtealeaves]

21. Snap

Written for @jilymicrofics Jan2023 prompt list. Prompt No.21: Snap

James should really know better by now than to leave his glasses on the very end of his nightstand. The number of times he’d knocked them blindly off to somewhere on the floor was quite frankly astonishing. Fumbling around on his hands and knees he ran an outstretched palm along the wooden floor of his dormitory, trying to find them in the dark. An agonisingly sharp snap alerted him to their location, now broken beneath his left knee. “Bollocks,” he muttered. “Found them then?” Lily asked in a hushed tone. “Unfortunately.” He picked up the two halves and thrust them at his girlfriend who was still wrapped in the covers of his four poster bed. “I blame you for this.” “I told you I was happy for you to leave them on, Potter! Oculus reparo!”

AO3

#jilymircofics #jily #james potter #lily evans #<500 words #jily drabble #Charms Library

[jilymicrofics]

James knows, deep down, that he shouldn’t let himself get as riled up by Evans as he does. He should ignore it all — ignore the way she flicks her hair over her shoulders, that haughty tilt of her chin, the indignation that sparkles in her eyes when she glares at him.

It shouldn’t itch underneath his skin, a fury that never seems to quell, when their arguments tumble into something wild, a forest fire determined to burn through any tentative sprouts of greenery, those shy and hopefully threads of friendship that bravely fight their way through the debris.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But he can’t seem to help the way he rears up immediately in defense, the stiffening of his spine when she meets his eyes. It doesn't matter how much James knows he shouldn’t. His instinct, always, is to fight back. ***

Check out this lovely little jilymircofic added to the discord by @oneofthesirens!

Fancy giving one of these a go yourself? Check out the January 2023 prompt list here. Or alternatively you don’t even have to use our prompts at all! Just tag us in your jily creation under 3K words to be reblogged! You can also add your submissions to the discord (ask for an invite link) or the AO3 Collection!

#jilymicrofics #maker: oneofthesirens #<500 words #discord submission #january 2023 prompt list

[equallyloyalandlethal]

Thiam Drabble #8

“Why didn’t you tell me you were living out of your truck? My parent’s house has plenty of rooms!”

Theo sighed, eyes closing with a groan. Of course now was when Liam would bring that tidbit up again. It made sense, though. The chimera had been orchestrating the pack to keep him and Liam apart the last two weeks since Mason had let that detail slip. Yet, here they were, locked in the truck’s cab for the next couple hours as they drove back from a kelpie killing mission. His little wolf was learning when to pick his battles. It made him proud, almost enough to smirk, but he doubted the expression would be well received. 

“Because I’m not a charity case that needs adopting,” he answered, carefully not looking to his right. “I can manage by myself.”

It was the truth. Most of it, anyway. He hadn’t wanted charity or pity, still didn’t in fact. Accepting help like that never sat well with him. Life was exchanges, a give and take cycle on constant repeat. He ought to know, given how well he manipulated the cycle over the years. People rarely knew what had happened until he was two cities gone and back underground with the Doctors. Some even thanked him for it. 

He huffed quietly, shifting to face as much towards the driver’s door as he feasibly could while still safely piloting the vehicle. Besides, what would he get out of living in a house? There were plenty of places he could find a shower and enough fast food joints around town open till all hours that he didn’t need a fridge. There wasn’t anything he needed that he couldn’t get while living in his truck. 

 “That’s beside the point. You don’t have to do it all by yourself anymore, you’re one of us, part of the pack. You should let us help you,” Liam pressed. 

Soft creaks and squeaks of skin on leather said Liam was moving, but Theo didn’t expect for the wolf’s hand to meet his shoulder and tug him back to facing the other. Nor was he ready for the gentle frown on his face or the purse of his lips. Theo’s breath hitched, catching in his throat before he remembered how to breathe and forced air back out, shaking his head once roughly. 

“I don’t need it,” he snwered, hoping whatever non-existant deity of the hour would take pity on him and prove him wrong about their existence by having Liam not notice how strained his voice was.

The wolf’s eyes narrowed just the slightest fraction of an inch. Shit, he thought, both his wolf and coyote snickering in the back of his head. This was gonna be a long ass night.

#heh heh #Liam is onto you Theo #thiam #teen wolf #teen wolf fandom #theo raeken liam dunbar #theo raeken x liam dunbar #drabbles #ficlet #<500 words #quick writing things to get the brain going

[happy-snake-noises]

Smoke and Mirrors

Fandom - Harry Potter (but can honestly be read as an original work)

Characters - honestly was supposed to be Regulus Black and an OC but names aren't mentioned so it could be anyone

Additional notes - Aromantic Original Character, Short drabble, honestly just clearing out my WIPs, Smoking, Like mildly sexual lol, absolutely no beta, we die like Reggie

Smoke curled from the ashtray, sat in the middle of the rusty garden table, sat on the balcony, during a cold, grey night under the London sky. Occasionally, patches cleared up in the sky, revealing the inky blackness above. And if he was really lucky, he could see the dying remains of the constellations above, now nothing more than pathetic dots in the sky.

Smoke snaked upwards from her fingers, floated upwards from the burning end of the cigarette in her grasp, held elegantly, yet carelessly, nonchalantly between the knuckles of her major and index. She lounged, head thrown backwards, and her legs propped up on the empty chair in front of her. With every inhale, her chest rose, before stilling, then descended again – and then repeat. She knew his eyes were on her – she didn’t stop him.

Smoke poured out her mouth, cascaded from her parted lips, still red and swollen from endeavours only a few minutes prior. The ring that sat upon her bottom lip pushed against it ever so slightly as she pursed her lips to blow rings of smoke. A silent laugh left her, her shoulders shook and her legs pressed together. She brought the cigarette back up to her lips, dragging on it almost softly, before resting her arm against his thigh again. He recognised that gleam in her eye before she even need utter words. He leant towards her, hand on her neck, pulling himself closer until his lips brushed her.

Smoke flowed out of her mouth, out of her lungs, right into his. He breathed it in, like a drowning man would oxygen. He held her close, even as she began to inhale shakily, afraid that if he’d let her go, he’d crumble to dust.

He blindly reached out to stub out his fag in the tray, then reached to cup her face. The kiss was slow and gentle and tender. It wasn’t heated or passionate, or hasty in any way – there was nowhere to be, no end goal. It was a simple kiss. A simple kiss that meant so many words to him, but could be epitomised by three.

“I love you.”

He felt the tears trace along his fingers on her cheek before he felt the trembling exhale against his mouth. Her mismatched eyes blurred behind a veil of tears, turning to molten gold and burning forest in the glow of the street lights. The filter of her cigarette gave a soft crunch as her hand balled into a fist. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she didn’t utter a word.

“You don’t have to say it back.” New tears rolled down her face as her eyelids fluttered closed and she leant into his touch. A sigh left her lips before she opened them again.

“But I do.” She rested her lips against his in an almost chaste manner. “I do too.”

“It’s alright.” He brushed away her tears, and smiled. “I know you do.”

-

Hope you enjoyed this small piece -Rem

#Rem writes #aromantic #creative writing #writing #drabble #one shot #<500 words #aromantic character #queerplatonic relationship #technically Regulus x oc but like you can't tell #one of the less shitty pieces of writing I wanted to share #fanfic #fan fic writing #fan fiction

[mrfandomwars]

Short Shockblurr fic

Summary:

I tried to follow the prompt of @yourdailywritingprompt on tiktok that was the following:

"Write a scene between two of your characters with no dialogue. Make it a quiet private moment where we see what they're like together when no oneelse is around."

Blurr hummed to himself as he folded the blankets, straight out of the drying machine.

It was a quiet day, the triplets were at school with Hyperfire; Wheelie, Overcast and Icenerator were already at his Sire’s house while Predaking, Skylynx and Darksteel were out on a mission with the Wreckers.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Blurr smiled as he heard his Conjux come into the room.

He leaned back as he felt a his Conjux lean against him, looking at what he was doing as he put his good hand around Blurr’s waist.

Blurr continued to humm as he folded, feeling his husband relax against his back.

They stayed like that for a bit, leaning agaisnt each other as Blurr worked and hummed and as Shockwave watched.

Until Blurr felt a small wisp of air near his antene.

Blurr turned his head back, looking at Shockwave’s only eye suspiciously.

Shockwave stared back innocently.

Well, as innocent as Shockwave could do.

Blurr rolled his eyes and turned back to the folding.

But he twisted in a second, holding his closed hand close to Shockwave’s optic before quicklz opening, making sure he didn’t actually touch and hurt his husband.

Shockwave head snapped back in surprise, his hold on Blurr’s tightening his hold for a second before relaxing.

Shockwave blinked as Blurr tried to hold back a smile, but it took their optics meeting for them to burst out laughing.

(When they quieted down, Blurr drew Shockwave back in, hugging him and kissing his visor lightly.)

#transformers #tf blurr #tf Shockwave #Shockblurr #shockblurr fic #tf #mr writes #<500 words

[sinfulsachi]

ShinRan 69ing please?

Let’s give this a go. NSFW, minors DNI.

.

.

Ran’s lips are the death of him.

It isn't how she's making breathing difficult – she can steal away his breath anytime, anywhere – nor how she's far down and he's up here and he cannot see the look on her face. It's those lips – the stretch and stroke and slide – that kill him. Lips he feels wrapped around so intensely like a chill down his spine, imagination supplicating the way they pucker and move in shallow bobs. Lips around head, descending, ascending, descending again, to the hilt, nose against sac, a loop like the way they are currently connected.

There are a thousand ways in which Ran has proven she can handle him in any occasion, any situation. Perhaps this, at one in the morning at the bed of a rented pickup truck, stars above casting shadows on their wake, cushion of blankets under him and he under her, is the sixty-ninth.

-

Shinichi’s lips are the death of her.

It isn’t how he’s making her knees and elbows ache – he’s made her do positions more strenuous to the core than this – nor how he’s gripping her tight above the ass to lock in the best angle. It's those lips – warm and wet and willing – that kill her. Lips which have called in happy birthday an hour ago, roses at her doorstep and itinerary pulled out of thin air, now calling in between her thighs well wishes she hears above sounds of crickets, obscured by branches overarching the quiet location they’re parked above a hill overlooking the city. Lips over lips, lapping, kissing, lapping again, tongue slipping in, slow, repetitive motions like his thrusts inside her mouth.

Her legs are getting tired, spread open far too long; maybe if she lowers her hips, she’ll – fuck, he groans. A tingling vibration over her folds, rippling up her walls. Her hips jerk forward; he groans again. A sinful slurp. Not only is she suffocating him; she’s drowning him. She may have moaned his name, she isn’t sure, for he responds with a muffled hum, cock brushing the roof of her mouth, pace picking up.

Something’s brewing— her jaw stretches out it aches, saliva making a path down the thick vein of his length. The suckling gets harder, hips pump faster, car rickety under their weight. He mirrors her, yin and yang, a perfect give and take until she’s no longer in the right mind to reciprocate. Whimpering with his cock still in her mouth, she gushes in his tongue, folds twitching as he licks what trickles out. She sees stars when he bursts, seed filling her throat, quenching a lovely thirst that’s not nearly answered because she looks behind and her eyes still beg for more.

“Need a twenty-one.”

Shinichi chuckles, before he gets up and drags Ran, ass up, to the edge of the vehicle.

.

.

#mind the tags! #mmm semi-exhibitionism? #no one's around to see them dw #dcmk pairing: shinran #pwp #my writing #tnx for this anon i love this #<500 words #bc this is the only typa writing im capable of nowadays #>1k who?

[miss-grimwood]

Undressed - Bellamione

‘Go on then, strip for me.’ Bellatrix commanded casually, from the bed.

‘Oh, you sure know how to keep the spark alive.’ Hermione teased. 

She pulled her shirt over her head and Bellatrix wolf whistled. Hermione only rolled her eyes in response.

Ten years of marriage had tamed them. The sex was still good, of course, provided they accounted for Bella’s bad back and Hermione’s dodgy knee, but lingerie had been long replaced by comfy knickers and warm pyjamas.

Still, as Hermione undressed, Bellatrix couldn’t help but ogle her.

‘You know, five years ago I’d have had you pinned to the bed and screaming my name before you could get your nightie on.’ Bellatrix told her.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ Hermione laughed. She slid into bed beside Bellatrix, pulling the covers around herself as she snuggled into Bella’s warm body.

@sapphicmicrofics

#bellatrix lestrange #hermione granger #bellamione #fluff #smutty #domestic #old lesbians #<500 words #microfic

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilymicrofics June Prompt 15: Broken || 340 words || Read on Ao3 MICROFIC MASTERLIST

"This isn't something broken that you can just fix, James!" Lily shouts across the kitchen.

James can hear the desperation in his own voice as he looks at her, hair dull, face pale, eyes red-rimmed from nights of tearful unrest. "I'm not trying to fix it, I'm just...let me help you."

"You can't help me." Her voice breaks.

"I can't just watch you...starve yourself to death, Lily."

His words hang between them in a way that lays all his cards on the table. He's seen her move the food around her plate. He's seen her vanish things when she doesn't think he's looking. Ever since Peter gave them the news after that last mission—nearly a week ago—he's been losing her to her grief.

She blinks. "Then don't watch."

"Don't—Lily!" Feeling his heart breaking from the weight of her pain, he grabs her firmly by the shoulders and forces her to look at him through her raw and red-rimmed eyes. The green is striking, even in sorrow. "What about me, hm? What about Harry." Watching her face contort with a mixture of anger and unimaginable pain makes him feel hollow. He softens his voice. "I know you're sad, love. I am, too. But we have to keep going."

"Try telling me that after your best friend's been murdered," she spits with so much venom that James recoils in shock. "Dorcas is gone, James. You’re telling me you’ll just be fine when it’s Sirius or Remus or Peter?" As soon as the words leave her she gasps and covers her mouth in horror as tears well in her eyes. She shakes her head quickly, her breath catching as a new wave of sobs spills forward. "I don't—I'd never—I'm sorry—"

James steps forward and wraps her in his arms, lips pressing hard to the top of her head in an effort to quell her tears, and he feels her arms snake around his middle, gripping onto him for dear life.

Which, he supposes, is all they can do.

#jily #jilymicrofics #<500 words #jple #kelsey writes #in laughter in strife #microfic #oops i wrote this last night #i'm writing so much but all of it is for july/august and i crave validation #order!jily

[meteor-writes]

Hello, haven't done this in a while but have been wanting to get back into writing and remembered @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thanks for existing guys!

Scars - 324 Words

In the clouded mirror, Maria no longer has edges. She's a blur. A smudge of foundation on the edge of the sink. She wraps herself up in the warmth of a towel and tucks it neatly closed over her breasts. How long until the room cools? The steam is already condensing into little bundles of pearl on the tiles and a chill blows over her shoulders.

It's a reminder that it's a brief respite - the blur. A shapeless time where water drips from her hair and Maria doesn't mind because there's no shirt to soak it up and chafe her with it.

She dabs her face with the towel and winces. A red dot has appeared on the white flannel.

Don't scratch.

Don't pick.

Don't squeeze.

She traces her fingertips over her chin. Draws them over tacky, barely-dry skin, until she hits it. The bump. A thermal fissure. Maria bends down. The blur doesn't disappear quickly, but it disappears all the same and at the centre of the mirror is a radial slice of fog-free glass. She tilts and it's swallowed whole. A red splodge with nail polish shine.

Will it scar?

A permanent rupture in a perfect canvas. She should have been more careful. Mama always has to knock her hand before it makes contact. And everyday Sara sneaks her concealer in the school bathroom. “It'll pass,” she says, “as long as it doesn't scar.”

What if it scars?

Maria pulls the towel over her hand and sweeps a quick twenty-four hours. Her face is there. Brows furrowed. Lips gnawed. Skin rocky. A new one has grown overnight. A thumb tack pressing firmly into her vein.

You should switch face wash.

Have you tried non-comedogenic?

Don't worry, it'll get better with time.

But what about the scars?

The mirror has fogged again. Just the single point in the centre is clear now. Maria is no longer a blur. She is a blot.

#flash fiction #writeblr #shout out to thesaurus.com for that final word #works like perfection #body image #insecurity #storytime #story 80 #<500 words

[justadamnextra]

Don’t let it break your heart. (It’s slowly killing mine.)

Izuku Midoriya is getting married and Katsuki Bakugo can’t bare to watch the love of his life marry someone else.

drabble inspired by this art here

Katsuki can’t help but to stare, watching nimble scarred fingers work the buttons of his black button up.

He can’t stop the thoughts from running through his head. Thoughts of how everyone important in Izuku’s life is sitting inside the venue on the right hand side. Thoughts of how his best friend and hero partner is getting married. Thoughts of how Japan is going to react with joy as the Number One hero ties the knot with a nice quirkless girl.

His thoughts get interrupted when Izuku slips the red tie around his collar. (The greenette was always awful with tying them, but he practiced so much to get it right. To tie the perfect knot for Kacchan.) Izuku is trying his best to keep is eyes on tie, avoiding the look in Katsuki’s eyes.

Katsuki doesn’t want to ruin the intimate moment, but sometimes he deserves to be selfish. “You’re really going through with this?”

“Kacchan,” Izuku pauses for a quick moment, his breathe shaky as he says the words while smoothing down the tie, “You know I don’t have a choice.”

The two of them stand in silence, Izuku trying his best to not look in crimson eyes full of heartache. Trying his best to keep his composure when all he wants to do is cry.

“But I’m the one you love.”

It comes out as a whisper, sounding so broken that Izuku finally lets his eyes meet the others as tears threaten to spill over. He reaches his hand towards Katsuki’s face, leaning in as he lets two words slip past his lips before planting them on delicate, soft ones.

“I know.”

#bkdk #dkbk #drabble #angst #hurt no comfort ig?? #based on art #bkdk drabble #<500 words #i MIGHT expand this into a chaptered fic i may not #originally posted on ao3 #my works