Drabble - Blog Posts

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General Rules

This blog will be handling both SFW and NSFW content so one must be 18+ to interact.

MINORS DNI I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH!!

Please do not randomly dump vents into my box I am not your therapist. I can offer advice on day to day scenarios but that’s it.

Thirsts or headcannons are always welcome unless they are closed for the time being.

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Do not spam my ask box to get me to answer you or respond. It will not get you anywhere.

CONTENT RULES

I will not write or respond to requests with certain kinks. Scat, piss, blood play, knife play,,, Most harder kinks I will clarify on any others that I will not write later on.

I will not write incest or pseudo incest.

I might write certain characters as yanderes but not all.

I’ll write/talk about mostly domming characters but don’t mind occasionally thirsting for a sub reader thirst.

Threesomes and Polyamory are welcome within the boundaries of my rules.

DO NOT REBLOG MY WORK ON TIK TOK OR ANYWHERE ASIDE FROM TUMBLR UNLESS PERMISSION IS GIVEN WHICH IS HIGHLY UNLIKELY TO HAPPEN!!!

FANDOMS

BNHA (I will not write for Mineta, Endeavor, All Might, Present Mic, Vlad King, Spinner, Kurogiri, will clarify on anyone I’ve forgotten if a thirst on them is received)

JJK (I will not write for Panda and I haven’t read the manga so I won’t write for anyone that only appears in it)

Haikyuu (I will not write for Kiyoko or Yachi it just doesn’t sit right)

Cinderella Phenomenon (I will not write for Parfait, King Genero, Ophelia)

Seduce me the Otome (I will not write for any of the generals ESPECIALLY RABBIT)

Bungou Stray Dogs (I’ve only watched season one and I will not write thirsts for characters like Kyoka or the sort I will clarify when seen)

Twisted Wonderland! (Won’t write for the teachers or head master I don’t like him”

Fandoms will expand and shrink as time goes on.

Better Ruined ten Times

Word Count: 929. 

Genre: Fluff 

“Oh?” He drawled, clearly amused. 

You huffed in exasperation while beads of sweat stuck to your skin. Your hands held the wooden sword directly in front of you with an iron grip, knuckles turning white from the pressure. 

“I’m surprised you’re able to withstand a direct hit like this.” He praised half-heartedly. 

“You underestimate me, Sabito.” You replied with a smirk, putting venom into his very name.

He hummed before pushing forward, harder onto the blade, making your eyes widen. In a split second you felt your feet get knocked out from beneath you, resulting in you loosing balance and falling backwards. You landed on the ground in a hard thump, dropping your sword beside you. 

You felt a point lightly press into your chest as your eyes averted upwards. “You’re getting too cocky again.” He spoke placidly. 

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned over his mask with wavering determination. Your bones aching as you let out an annoyed groan. “Do we have to keep doing this?” 

“Do you want to be knocked off your feet mid-battle?” He asked matter of factly, although more a statement. “Better ruined ten times than once dead.”

You tilted your head to the side, trying to think up his current expression. You could picture his pale lavender cat-like eyes narrowed slightly, a neutral expression on his face. 

The blade pressed a little harder against your chest, once again reminding you of your current position. You brought your hand up and lightly pushed it away before getting to your feet once more. 

“Fine, fine.. whatever you say, dad.” You taunted with a smirk.

He tilted his head to the side before quickly and rather roughly delivering a flick to your forehead. Letting out a yelp and a small string of curses you placed both hands over the newly inflicted pain in your head. 

“You never learn, do you Y/N?” He let out a small chuckle, placing his hand on your head and ruffling your hair. 

“Sabittooo!” You whined, trying to fix your now frazzled hair. 

“I know you love me.” He teased before turning away from you. 

You peered at him from the corner of your eye, contemplating your next move. You swiftly jumped up from your spot, wrapping your arms around Sabito’s neck causing him to let out a surprised grunt. 

“Wh- Y/N!”

Tackling him to the ground you sat proudly on his back, grinning wildly. Shaking your head, you reached down and softly moved the red strap of Sabito’s mask. Hesitating for a second and looking at the eyes of the mask as if for consent. 

“Why do you still hesitate?” He asked in a voice not above a mere whisper. 

You huff. “Because I respect you and your wishes.” 

You hear him chuckle. “This position isn’t a very good example of your respect for me.”

Slipping off his back and sitting on your knees beside him, you watched him push himself into a sitting position. He crossed his legs, reaching his hands up to mettle with his mask for a moment. Then, it dropped to his neck in a stolid motion, nestled against the crook of his neck. 

You scanned his pale eyes with newfound admiration before speaking. “I love you so much better without that thing.”

“So you’ve said before.” He replied, reaching his hands behind his neck. 

You watched him with content and curiosity flashing on your features. The mask suddenly fell into his lap as his hands returned to your view. Reaching out, you lightly took the mask, turning it over in your hands.  You looked to him once more before raising the mask to your neck, attempting to tie the red strings in a knot behind you.  

Closing your eyes in concentration you fumbled with the strings, letting out a grunt of frustration. You then felt two soft hands set themselves upon yours, instantly causing your eyes to shoot open once more. 

Your gaze traveled up to the boy in front of you. He’d now been kneeling on his knees, his arms finding themselves closely around your head as he took the strings from you. His chest mere centimeters from your face, causing your cheeks to flush. 

“Just because I’m tying this, doesn’t mean I can’t see how embarrassed this is making you, you know.” Sabito spoke in a teasing manner. 

“I’m not embarrassed!” You replied hastily, crossing your arms in front of you, allowing him to finalize the knot. 

He leaned back as he adjusted his mask on you so that it sat at the side of your head; much like Makomo’s. Feeling happy with his work, he returned to his former position and studied you with his alluring eyes. 

“You look cute with my mask.” He commented nonchalantly. 

You smirked. “You should just give it to me then.” 

“Sorry, but that isn’t happening.” 

You let out an annoyed groan as you stood up, fixing your now disorderly clothing. You heard Sabito stand up beside you as well, the clanking of his wooden sword as he picked it up reached your ears. 

“Also, don’t think I haven’t forgot our training.” He spoke once more. 

“Oh yeah? Well..” You smirked, facing him as you slowly backed away. “You’ll have to catch me first!” 

He shook his head and chuckled. “You really shouldn’t give out such easy challenges.” 

He then took off after you with a content laugh. The both of you running in circles, hiding behind trees, and jumping over rocks having the times of your lives. If only moments like these could last forever..

© Aruchemihq - 2022

I don't know what possessed me to write but here goes. Not beta read.

Nsfw Warning

Sub! GN! Character x GN! Reader (can be read as a strap)

"What's next?"

It's a question that's been in your mind for a long while.

Graduating college, finding a job and all that is nice, but where to next?

A lover? A friend? Or did you need something else? Or nothing at all?

But with them underneath you, panting your name like a prayer, repeating over and over, you quickly focus on the cute face beneath you instead. Their legs trembles as they weakly wrap their thighs around your waist, they drool and arched their back just for you. They moan and whimper as you ram into them, shaking the bed a little, they start mumbling about how full they felt as drool slips from the corners of their puffy lips.

They're so good for you, so pretty with their hair spread on the pillow like a halo, your pretty little angel.

Who cares for a lover, friend or whatever. You have an angel beneath you, and perhaps they're all you need right now.

I can't believe I wrote this :)))))) anyways, I don't have a schedule, I don't really take coms and basically write when I feel like it so yea

Tranquil Place. . .

Xiao x implied fem!reader

[Hu tao mentioned]

Word count - 514

Cw - jealousy if you squint, cursing

Genre - fluff with the tiniest bit of angst and slightly suggestive

Summary - reader & Xiao go out to a lake hu tao mentioned!

────────────────── 〔✿〕────────────────────

Deciding to go to a nearby lake at the last minute was not your best idea, but you weren't one to go back on your word, now were you? heading up the stairs to your bedroom, rushing to get dressed

"mascara, check; bath suit, check. God, I know I'm fucking missing something, but what? Oh shit... My hair, well, I don't have time to straighten it, and nor do I have any skills to do anything fancy... or at all, so I guess I'll just make do with this.

You grabbed your brush (or whatever you use, I know some of you use different stuff) and put it in a [insert hairstyle], walking down the stairs as you did before.

"YOU KNOW YOU CAN TURN DOWN YOUR HEADLIGHTS RIGHT XIAO?" a sudden light flashed out of you, almost blinding. The car's lights dimmed.

"Sorry about that," mumbles a soft voice from the car you're about to enter.the door slams as you enter the car, you notice the lights are turned off.

"Where is this spoused lake?" "Hutao told me it's not too far from her, just 3 lefts, 1 right, and you're there! You said, looking at the directions that Hutao had given you."

"You know, I don't like you hanging out with that girl," Xiao said with genuine concern, but there was a hint of jealousy in his words,

"You know, she gives me like a 50% discount, right?"

"Yes, but being reminded that your death is inevitable isn't the best thing to hear."

"Xiao, you do understand sarcasm, right?"

"sarc-what?" You let out a muffled chuckle, not wanting to perplex the man anymore,

"never mind,"

"oh, ok, well good timing because we're actually here." Wandering out of the car, you don't know what happens, but as you step closer and closer to the glistening water, your soul feels at peace, almost like this seemingly divine place was meant for tranquility. Xiao's voice suddenly floods your sense of hearing

"hey y/n, are you ok? We can go to the clinic if y-" "Oh, I'm fine, it's just that this place is wonderful."

"I think so too. This seems to be one of Hu Tao's rare but good pieces of advice."

"Heyy, don't be like that. Hu Tao has loads of great advice"

"to you y/n, but aside from that, we came here to see this lake, right?"

"Oh yea, the lake!"

You swiftly take off the articles of clothing, revealing your bathing suit.

"Wh-what are you doing...?"

"Going to swim, duh!" "What, it's at least 6 degrees out here?"

Remember what I said about you not breaking your word? This is one of those days. Ignoring Xiao's comment, you jump into the water. The look on his face is the funniest shit you've ever seen. A mix of concern and annoyance, you feel he needs a present. "Xiao," your tone of voice intrigues him, "yes? Is there something you need? " coddling his face, followed by a light kiss on his lips. "I think that's enough for today, right?"

A.N - hope you enjoyed this was quite short but still! I'm very open to criticism,not like I would get any🥱😒/sarc

I am begging on my hands and knees for someone anyone to make a bayonetta x fem reader fan fiction, drabble, one shot ANYTHING PLEASE😿

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ part 2 | fluff

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is alhaitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— WAH a part 2 ?? masterlist

part 1 | part 2

Unknown Number: Hi. This is Dr. Alhaitham. I received your results. Are you available to come in tomorrow?

Your heart skips a full beat.

Wait. Wait.

You reread the message about eight times, thumb trembling over the screen.

Dr. Alhaitham. Dr. ALHAITHAM.

You never gave him your number. Not directly. The clinic must’ve had it on file from your intake paperwork. Still—why did he text? Shouldn’t it have been the nurse? Or the front desk?

Your brain spins in three different directions while your thumbs hesitate, hovering mid-air. What tone do you even take with a man who has seen your bloodwork and your undereye bags?

You: Hi… yes, I’m free. Is everything okay?

You don’t expect a reply right away, but the bubbles pop up almost instantly—like he was waiting. Watching the clock.

Dr. Alhaitham: I’d rather explain in person. It’s nothing urgent. I just… want to speak to you myself. Tomorrow at 10?

You stare. Blink. Re-read. “I just… want to speak to you myself.”

Butterflies launch a full-scale riot in your stomach. Your cheeks go hot. You’re squealing internally as your thumbs tap out a response that’s way too calm for how your heart is behaving.

You: Okay. I’ll be there. Also… is this your personal number?

A beat.

The kind of beat where you spiral. Where you consider throwing your phone across the room, just to escape the weight of your own message.

Your face is burning. Why did you ask that? Why did he use it?

The silence stretches until it starts to ache. And then—ping.

Dr. Alhaitham: Yes.

A full-body meltdown ensues.

You collapse back into the couch like a Victorian woman being told her corset’s been outlawed. He gave you his number. He texted you himself. He wants to talk to you personally.

Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

The Next Morning…

You show up to the clinic early. Too early. You pretend you’re just organized, but really you’re anxiously clutching your water bottle like it’s a lifeline. You tried to look effortless—pulled-together, but not obvious. Cute, but not trying too hard. Just… normal. Which is laughable, considering the amount of time you spent choosing earrings.

The nurse checks you in with a kind smile. You sit in the waiting room, leg bouncing, rehearsing responses in your head.

Then he appears.

Alhaitham steps out from behind the frosted glass doors. Still in his lab coat, still maddeningly unreadable. But when his eyes find yours—there’s a flicker of something. Recognition. Warmth. Something quieter.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You could swear—swear—the corner of his mouth twitches, like it’s tempted by a smile.

You follow him in.

The exam room is quiet, neat, humming with soft fluorescent light. You take your seat. He opens your file, but doesn’t look at it. His eyes stay on you.

“I didn’t want to go through the receptionist this time,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought it might make you anxious.”

You blink. The words take a second to land. “Oh. That’s… kind of considerate.”

“Also,” he says, finally glancing down, “your iron levels are low. You’ll need supplements. I’ve written the prescription.”

He slides the slip across the desk like he’s handing you a secret. You take it carefully, like it might crumble.

Silence.

The kind that sits heavy. The kind that means something.

He closes the folder, slow and deliberate. Leans forward just slightly, elbows braced on the desk, fingers laced.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been feeling this way for a while.”

You look away, shoulders curling in slightly. “I didn’t want to be dramatic.”

“You said you were a Victorian woman,” he deadpans.

You smile despite yourself, soft and a little sheepish. “Okay, but that’s just my personality.”

He watches you. Sharp eyes, steady and assessing—but not unkind.

Then, gently: “I don’t think you’re dramatic.”

You suck in a breath, caught off guard.

“I think you’re… overwhelmed. Tired. Maybe not used to being taken seriously.”

Your throat tightens. You bite the inside of your cheek. Something inside you shifts.

“I just treat patients,” he says. “But… I remembered you. More than I expected.”

Your heart slams once, hard. “…Why?” you whisper.

He shrugs, gaze not quite meeting yours. “You made an impression.”

Your grip tightens on the paper in your lap.

And then—his voice drops lower: “If you feel dizzy again… or if anything gets worse—don’t wait. Just message me. Directly.”

You nod, silent.

And as you leave—hand curling around the doorknob, heart thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free—his hand comes to rest gently on the small of your back.

Warm. Steady. Certain.

You freeze. Just for a breath. His palm lingers there like it belongs, grounding you in the quiet between heartbeats. You swear you feel the heat of it radiating through the fabric of your blouse, straight into your spine.

You try not to melt. Try not to show how much that simple touch undoes you.

Then, just as your breath begins to hitch, he leans in slightly. Not too close. Just enough that his voice slides in low, just above a whisper.

“Go home safely.”

His hand slips away—slowly, deliberately. The loss of contact is almost startling.

You turn, instinctive, eyes finding his.

And he’s already looking at you.

Not blankly. Not politely. No, his gaze is sharp and unreadable, steady and direct. There’s something in it—something knowing—that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten around the cold metal of the doorknob.

You swallow hard.

You manage to nod. Maybe say “good bye.” You’re not sure. Your brain’s short-circuiting.

You take one step out.

Two.

You don’t even make it to the end of the hallway before your knees buckle slightly. Not enough to fall. Just enough to feel the ghost of his hand still lingering on your back.

11:41 p.m.

Your room is dim, bathed in the glow of your phone screen. You’re curled up in bed, overthinking the day in painful HD. You keep replaying every word. Every glance. Every almost-smile.

You haven’t messaged him. Even though he told you to.

You want to. But courage, it turns out, is fictional after 10 p.m.

Then—your phone lights up.

Dr. Alhaitham: Are you awake?

You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on the headboard. Your heart stumbles. Hands fumble.

You: yes?

A pause.

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry if this is strange. I just remembered something you said the other day.

Your pulse is in your ears. You clutch your phone like it might float away.

You: Which thing? (The Victorian woman part?)

A longer pause. Bubbles come and go.

Dr. Alhaitham: No. The part about collapsing into someone’s arms. You joked. But I keep thinking about it. Wondering if someone’s ever really done that for you.

The air leaves your lungs.

The world stills.

This isn’t a joke anymore.

You: No one ever has. Why?

A minute passes.

Then:

Dr. Alhaitham: Because I think you deserve to be caught. Even when you’re not falling.

You sit frozen in your bed, the blanket bunched around your waist, the silence loud in your ears. His words wrap around you like warmth. Like something you didn’t know you needed.

Then, another message:

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry. That was unprofessional. Good night.

But you can’t stop staring at the one before it.

“Because I think you deserve to be caught.”

The School Auditorium – 10:07 AM

The lights are too bright. The hum of the overhead fluorescents buzzes against the high ceiling, competing with the chorus of second-graders who are very much not using their indoor voices. You’re wrangling your chaos crew down the aisle—two are arguing about who’s taller, one’s asking if astronauts eat soup, and another is trying to lick the back of their own nametag.

You’re functioning on three hours of sleep, a half-drunk coffee that went cold in your cup holder, and the sheer force of whatever maternal instinct allows a person to stop a glitter spill midair.

You don’t notice the man walking onto the stage at first. Not until the noise cuts.

The chatter dies so suddenly it’s eerie—twenty-five small heads pivoting in unison toward the front like a hive mind has seized them.

You look up.

And your brain short-circuits.

There, standing at the center of the stage, is a man. Clipboard in one hand. Other tucked neatly into the pocket of a lab coat. He’s tall—really tall—built like someone who definitely doesn’t trip over his own feet, and carrying himself with the kind of effortless confidence that makes you feel like you’ve shown up underdressed to your own job.

He’s calm. Polished. Crisp lines and clean edges. A quiet authority that makes even the most fidgety of your kids fall still.

Alhaitham.

Dr. Alhaitham.

Your doctor.

Your heart leaps to your throat and lodges there.

He scans the room slowly, methodically. Dispassionate and professional—until his eyes land on you.

And pause.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough. Your breath catches. Your stomach does a little somersault, unprompted.

You are suddenly painfully aware of the state you’re in: oversized cardigan, mystery glitter on your left sleeve, your hair pinned back with a pencil because someone borrowed your last claw clip. There’s a child gripping your leg like it’s the mast of a sinking ship.

He starts to speak—something about germs and handwashing and healthy habits—but you don’t really hear it. The children do. They’re captivated. Spellbound.

You’re just trying to remember how to breathe.

The talk ends after what feels like a hundred years but also three minutes. You start herding your class toward the exit, one hand on a shoulder, another plucking a crayon from someone’s mouth.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down.

Dr. Alhaitham : You didn’t tell me you were a teacher.

You stop mid-step. The world tilts slightly.

You read it again.

You: You didn’t tell me you do school tours.

The reply comes so fast you know he had the message half-written already.

Dr.Alhaitham : I don’t. I only agreed because the principal is a patient. Didn’t expect to see you. (Or twenty-five second graders clinging to your legs.)

A breath escapes you—half laugh, half disbelief. Your heart’s still racing, but it’s a little lighter now. Warmer.

You: Yeah well… you might have cracked the case. That’s why I was always sick. Kid germs are no joke.

You watch the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.

You can feel the deliberation behind it. He’s thinking. Rethinking. Overthinking. You know the feeling too well.

Then finally—

Dr. Alhaitham : I get it now. All the coughs. The dizziness. The stress. You were holding together an entire classroom by sheer willpower.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening.

Something about the way he says it. The way he sees it.

Then another ping.

Dr. Alhaitham : You’re… kind of incredible, you know. Even with stickers on your pants.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound that leaves it. A sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Because you look down—and yep. There they are.

Two sparkly dinosaur stickers on your thigh.

And suddenly, you don’t feel quite so exhausted anymore.

—usagii’s note

I wish alhaitham was real :(

Sunday x Reader (Drabble?)

Sunday’s only regret was you. 

He’d tried his best to suppress any feelings he had for you, smothering them within him, keeping them tucked secretly away behind his breast pocket, in the innermost reaches of his heart. 

Of course, he would not spare you from the sweet dream. Only he needed to suffer, for everyone else to partake in the sweetest of dreams, cocooned and safe from the harsh realities of the monotonous drudgery of life. He’d alone remain strong, so all the weak could indulge and live life as they wished. 

He presided over these dreams, but he did not know the ins and outs of them all, did not know what each individual person wished for, nor what they lived out in the comfort of safety. 

And he couldn’t stop his curiosity, you, his sweet little secret respite; what life did you truly wish for above all else? 

With the promise he’d never invade the sanctity of your dream again, he peered down, seeking you out amongst a sea of others. 

Only to be met with his own visage. 

In your dream, you were with him. Laughter and sweet nothings spilled between you, love curled into your forms as if you’d always been together, as if you’d always loved him. As if you needed no other. 

With a heavy heart, what if’s and what could have been on the tip of his tongue, he pulled away from the comfort of your dream, bitter on his palate like medicine. 

He returned to his gilded cage, hoping for you to remain peacefully asleep in the safety of your dreams.

See, I’m consistent, second chapter is already up (i already wrote them all im just posting them)

okayyy the first chapter of these drabbles is upppppppp 

let me now what you think 

not all chapters will be like this btw 

and dont worry. i’ll update regularily 

I do not read alot (or any) of Omegaverse (because it makes no sence to me) but...

What is Bruce was strong like this and then his kids show up and it is like his face is GLOWING with happyness.

Bruce being an unapprochable Omega

His Kids come through the doors and he looks like night and day with how happy he looks it gives people wiplash with how fast the change happend.

*Next part is PLATONIC no batsecit here*

It does not matter if they are young but I also find it funny if it was Jason the walking brickwall that came up to Bruce and is like "Mama or Papa or Dad Mother" whatever you think it should be and kisses Bruce on the forhead and Bruce is beaming because "Oh his baby is here."

(I understand some people it is werid for kids to kiss their parents on the forhead or cheak but it is not for me in my culture)

Omegaverse AU. The annual Gotham Matchmaking Event was in full swing. Bruce Wayne, towering over the alphas and omegas around him, moved through the room with an unapproachable aura. The whispers followed him, just like they always did.

"Wayne’s so assertive. Doesn’t act like an omega at all," someone muttered.

"He should stop pretending to be above his station," another added with a laugh.

Bruce pretended not to hear them, his jaw tightening as he positioned himself near the door for an easy exit. If not for the fact that these matchmaking events were mandatory for all unmated omegas of age, he would have refused the invitation outright.

A new arrival caught his attention. The man’s tanned skin and wavy hair stood out, he didn’t seem to be from Gotham. His name tag read "Kal."

Bruce watched the foreigner as he mingled with the other guests. Kal’s alpha status was obvious, but unlike most alphas, he radiated warmth and charm. People naturally gravitated toward him, drawn to his approachable demeanor. The double standards grated on Bruce more than he cared to admit.

Until Kal’s gaze found his.

The alpha froze, wide-eyed as he stared at Bruce. Bruce glared at the shorter man. It usually kept alphas at bay.

No such luck. Kal approached him anyway.

"Have you heard of Kryptonian queens?" Kal asked.

Bruce blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What?"

"In Kryptonian legends, queens were the biggest, strongest omegas in the colony. They either earned the title by winning dominance battles or left to establish new colonies on distant outposts," Kal said, his voice filled with awe. "You’re like a legend brought to life."

Bruce’s guarded expression faltered. Despite the absurdity of the alpha’s words, there was something in his tone—genuine respect—that made him pause.

And Bruce found himself listening.

Warning: it's not about Kallen, but Kallen is important character | a little ooc (?) | AU where Otto and Kallen have happy life (those children deserve for their happy ending!) | Kallen as the best wingwoman in the earth | fluff |

— Hmmm... are my cookies good? — Kallen asked with her normal optimistic, happy tone a fully of energy. — I really cooked those sweeties a lot of time!

— Yhmmm... — Otto barely swallowed his piece, similiar to you.

Howether those legends about a bad cooking skills of Kaslana's family members weren't hyperbole...

— Sweet cookies for my sweet friends! — Kaslana announced with happy and some kind of proud.

Those cookies weren't sweet. It tasted even worse than previous soup by which... NO! You didn't want remember this. Anyway, you and Otto didn't want to cause distress her by a such trivial thing as cookies. So we gladly nodded for what she clapped with satisfaction.

— It's really delicious, my dear Kallen. — Otto said as if he wanted to confirm his gesture. He grabbed the next cookie and he tried fiding his disgust.

— I'm happy that we finally have time for a friendly meeting, picnic among trees and... OH! — she suddenly a broke her monologue as she remembered something. — I put something in house! Be right back!

Kallen quickly ran, but she didn't stope a far to place of picnic. Her glad gaze attentively stared you and her childhood friend with expectancy what's happening at this moment, when you and Otto were alone.

But much to her surprise, Otto by gestures tried ask you about tissue, which you gave him with compassion in your eyes and face. It looked like he spit her cookies out to tissue and throw it into the the closest garbage. Of course, Kallen weren't happy by this situation.

— Not enough that's disgusting, this is unkind too! — she whispered to herself, but her gaze still was staring to her two friends. Otto sat down closer to you than earlier for what a Kallen's breath stopped with excitement.

— Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! — she chanted in her mind, but her a long awaited dream didn't coming, a least didn't in this moment.

You two didn't talk by a bit too long time for her. Her eyes squinted with disappointment — she didn't initiated and setted this situation for this deadly silence. She wanted seen you and him together or heard any conversation, really, any talking about common interests, which you have, even if she didn't understand it.

— I must do anything... — she whispered with desperation, cower in bushes. She strained her mind to thinking, but this wasn't to work. Suddenly, fortuna or different god smiled to her and her work.

— So... well... heh... — you tried say anything for loosen up the atmosphere. Otto turned around towards you and gave you curious gaze mixed with charming smile, which would bring every person to knees.

— Do you need anything from me? — he asked resisting his head on hand.

— N-no! I'm not, I only wanted talking with you, it's everything, what's I need from you! — you quickly explained your intention with a bit panic in voice, fearing as he understanding it.

— Oh... talking? Good, but about what? — he chuckled on your scared behaviour. It was really interesting and cute, when usually strong and fearless individual was becoming in shy.

— Are he flirting? — Kallen's breath stopped again on this think. Her guesswork about Otto's interest in you is true. She even had evidence for support this!

Meanwhile you still blushing, no knowledge, how you should interpreted his words. His gaze suddenly tuned around path which Kallen went off.

— Kallen already don't back a long time... — he whispered with worry. You looked where his eyes was, and you had admit right to him.

— Yeah, but don't worry, she's strong and can handle any threat! — you tried calm him from worries about his long-time friend, while Kallen was proud that you've think a such high about her, and Otto smiled for this.

— It's true... — he said with a little smile and thought for a brief moments. — ...she's really strong.

You approached to his and rested your head on his arm. His smell was really nice – not water cologne, but what's... you didn't specified this. But this smell made you feel relaxed and safe next to him. As in safe home, where you could return, when you need...

— Hmmmm... — you heard his silent, warm chuckled, and after a few seconds you quickly step aside with blushed face. You wanted apologise him for the discomfort, but his reaction didn't show discomfort, on the contrary.

Meanwhile, in bushes, Kallen almost jumped from happiness, which a full her person. Finally, what's happening and you both had brave. She waited a long time for this moment, but... this wasn't enough.

— I guess must leave their alone in Otto's room with bottle of wine... hihihihihihihi! — she chuckled and beamed with pride for her genius and perfect plan.

Warning: a little ooc (?) | light jealous | unrequited feelings |

— If you can,... — Welt looked at your eyes, his gaze was illegible. — ...consider over my proposal.

Honestly, he didn't know why he said this to you and why he repeat this once again. But he really hope that in some day, you'll noddle head with approval and join to him, leaving your current boss...

Otto Apocalypse...

This name always caused increase of his angry and wrath. After this everything, what's he saw, which he couldn't throw away from his thinks and memories.

But his wrath is bigger and had different type now – wrath encouraging to take this into his own hands and started more radical steps. He really wanted lacerate Otto to shreds...

Jealous... He is jealous...

— Why do you propose me this again, Mr. Yang? — you asked with distrust in voice. He should expected this words and reaction.

— I'm loyal for Schiksal and my Overseer, Otto Apocalypse. — you said with proud, when he proposed this for the first time. — And nobody change this.

Though... when he reminded in his mind your reaction to his phrase that „You know only this, what's Otto want show you”, he started think that you really contemplate over his communicate and you was a little shocked this. Perhaps you didn't accept this information to your awareness, but he successfully sowed in your mind seed of uncertainty.

— I just see that you don't fit for Schiksal... and you would do more in Anti-Entropy. — he replied with his usuall poker face, without show his true disappointment. — But it's your own choice, so good bye, Schiksal Valkyrie.

„And I really want see you in my ranks. Not him.” he wanted say you, but he bit his tongue in the perfect moment.

He didn't want ruin your pretty and safe world; he assumed that Otto do this himself. He'll very gladly tell you about truth.

And then, you'll accept his proposal.

Warning: angst | a little ooc (?) | reader's death |

Why?

Why do dare you...? After this everything what's he done. After everyone who became hurt for his selfish ambitions...

You still love him. Still care about him.

— I love you, Otto...

This phrase bounded around his head and haven't wanted leave from here. He even waked up drench in cold sweat with this words in his brain. He could understand this when you didn't know his past and... his crimes. His sins and blood on his hands.

But even you know this...

— I love you, Otto...

Shut up! Stop say this empty words!

Every cruelty from his hands... every lives who died untimely in the name his sick ambition and whim... and you still care about him!?

Fool...

— You're fool, if you really still love me... — he whispered pointing the gun at your forehead. Every screams of your companions missed his ears. He only looked at your eyes, to see any signs of disgust or, though, signs of fear in your gaze. But he didn't see any from this things.

— Thank you, Otto. Thank you, that I see your face as my last thing...

You're not only fool – you're insane too. Even more than him...

After this your words, everyone could hear sound of shot. Your dead body slumped against his body.

He did, what he want. He showed you, as he could be cruel. That your love for him was absolutely foolish. He should felt good after this...

But... he have one question now...

Why? Why it hurt him so much?

Heart of a Traitor - Peter Pettigrew

What makes the heart of a traitor? Peter Pettigrew should know. It was, after all, the heart beating in his chest, pumping the traitorous blood that kept him alive. Lately, his heart rate has felt less human, more rat-like. He was more rat-like. Years of being Scabbers has taken an obvious toll on him. The Peter Pettigrew that called himself a marauder, studied James’ quidditch moves, gleefully cast aguamenti to wake up Sirius, and snuck down to the kitchens to feed Remus’ never-ending appetite, was scarcely there anymore. Being a Death Eater on the run would do that to you. Now he was constantly twitching, flinching at every movement and loud sound and (possibly worst of all) reduced to acting as a servant of the one and only Severus Snape. Sitting down miserably in his cellar after a long day of being belittled and listening to thinly disguised quips about his dignity and intelligence, he reminisced. Of his long-gone Hogwarts days; days of freedom and laughs and pranks and never-ending homework. Back when he was Pete, one of the marauders, the good guys. Those were easily the happiest times of his life, when things were simple and happiness seemed to be everflowing. 

Spirktober 2022: Drabble Writing Challenge

Link to original post: https://at.tumblr.com/blairamok/made-a-spirktober-prompt-list-feel-free-to-join/z294y5s90nw4

Day Fifteen: Comfort

Bone-weary and feeling every one of his 160 years, Spock sank into his chair at the end of a long day helping the colony on New Vulcan. His hand strayed to the side table next to him to clasp a locket. Up sprang a holographic projection, the off-key singing echoing through the empty house.

  “Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!...” The image of James Kirk serenaded the tired Vulcan. Spock knew the entire projection by heart, but that didn’t stop him from deriving comfort from seeing his beloved t’hy’la. The projection looped continuously as the Vulcan dozed off.

I've opened up the rabbit hole in my brain for Ford and Mabel interactions because of the comments on my last post with @sharksfrommars so now I need to write a little drabble with them for my au.

Drabble underneath more.

A sharp gasp made it's way to Ford's ears followed by a quick short "Oh my gosh". He looks up from what he'd been reading to be face to face with Mabel staring directly at him with bright, wide eyes.

A feeling of self-consciousness and worry makes it way through him. Had he done something odd without realising it? He's readjusting to human social norms and getting used to the ones in this time, after all.

"Oh my gosh! Grunkle Ford!" Mabel squeals, putting her hands on her cheeks and looking at him with pure, admittedly adorable, excitement.

Furrowing his brows, Ford tries to think what he could've done subconsciously that would've caused excitement, this much at that, within his great niece. Before he can even think of how to phrase his question to Mabel on what's excited her so, she continues to talk.

"Are you married, Grunkle Ford? Is that a wedding ring? That looks like a wedding ring. Why didn't you tell us you were married!?"

Oh. That was what it was. Ford felt a slight tightness build in his chest and rise to envelope his throat, too. It's only been a week since Ford had been torn from his home by the opening of the portal, something he doesn't think he could ever forgive Stanley for, but it feels like it's been a lifetime since he's seen his husband and daughter.

The pain feels almost unbearable at times, to accept that he'll never see his family again. He's been torn away from them and is probably as good as dead in their eyes.

But... this is Mabel who's asking about it. She's just an innocent, curious, young girl and for her he can steel himself to talk about his husband at least. Not his daughter, that pain cuts much too deep to talk about yet. Maybe that pain will cut too deep for forever.

Taking a deep breath, he looks down at the wedding ring that his husband had so lovingly made for him by hand, having wanted to do something human for Ford in the aquatic world they called home.

"His name, my husband that is, is Nimyrlov," He starts, looking into Mabel's eagerly excited eyes.

Boyfriend!Frank Castle x BJJ fighter girlfriend

Summary: Frank comes home to his reckless girlfriend with new injuries from class

Warnings: mentions of blood, cursing, mentions of bruises, ignoring wounds (for a short while don’t worry it’s all taken care of)

Reader is a big fan of exercise so if you don’t like that um I’m sorry I guess…?

An: I just went to bjj yesterday and woke up with the ow™️, so now I want comfort and goddamnit I’m gonna write it

Frank is very much okay with his girl being a badass. It’s cute and kinda hot the way she tries to take him down with what she learns. She’s gotten so damn confident since she started, and so much happier. Even though she wakes up every day in pain, she does it with a smile. She gets up and goes to bjj, then cools down at home before and after work. He respects her for that, he really does. He’s happy she found something.

But when his girl comes home with a split lip because (of course) she doesn’t wear a mouthguard, he almost has a conniption. She’s sitting on the couch watching tv when he gets home and he can already see the puffy lip and the bruise on her forearm and the bruises on her chest because it’s spring and it’s 85 degrees out right now and goddamnit she’s not putting on real clothes, she’s putting on a thin ass tank top that’s practically made of clear plastic.

Frank walking in the door and kissing her and seeing all the bruises, immediately putting aside whatever actual bleeding wounds he has for the bruises and split lip of his girl, going and grabbing the ice before disappearing into the bathroom to stitch himself up or whatever other things need to be done.

And when they wake in the morning and her lip is all puffy, Frank gets her a glass of water and makes her stay in bed, telling her she can’t go to her 6am class because its simply not happening, Frank driving her to a gym instead because “this damn sport of yours is too dangerous sweetheart”

And when you get home that night, a red mouthguard is sitting on the kitchen table.

🫠 Omni-Man Is My Jam. Drabble.

(Short drabble thingie while sleep deprived celebrating my incoming birthday, 200+ words,🫡 while I finish up some of my other fics, ready to explode. If you're feeling generous, here's my kofi.)

Omni–Man:

Long hard day of work or doing nothing, you lay on your bed to catch up on some much needed down time with yourself and phone before Omni–man invites himself in through your ever-forgetful window. The persistent viltrumite you can never get rid of even when you want to.

What does he say to that? from MK1, "I can hold my breath for weeks."

So it's no surprise when you're the one gasping for air, one hand desperately clinging onto your pillow for dear life to not blackout from the sequence of eye-rolling orgasms, the other with fingers digging deep into his short hair as he stays determined and hyperfocus on eating the sweet little pleasure between your trembling thighs caught in his strong beefy hands. You definitely blacked out after the 5th or was it 9th orgasm?

When you awoke at midnight, it wasn't to peace. Omni–man never seemed to take a break, almost threatening with an infinite amount of energy and stamina as he loomed over you, your legs draped over his mountainous shoulders. "I'm going to demolish this pussy." And he meant it in every soul punching thrust, increasing in intensity.

And when he finally calls it a night… Oh you could only twitch in response, dazed and gaping in many ways than one as he chuckled, throwing a lazy blanket barely covering the mess he made of you before flying out in an instant.

His message on your phone blinkied in the darkness: 'Be prepared for next time, pet.'

Drabbles of Dreams

Falling

        I gaze down at the streets. The world is set to monotone. Blacks and greys everywhere. No colour, no change, no difference.

        The busy cars, and crowded sidewalks are a jumble of monotone.

        Is this what colour blind people see?

        I look down at my wrists. Seeing darkened marks and silvery chains decorating them.

        Those chains look connected to something. I try and see but they only fade into the distance.

        The chains tug, and I follow with a jerk. Wide eyed, I realize I'm falling.

        Falling,

        And falling,

        And falling.

        But, I'm light. As light as a feather. It feels so slow, the feeling of falling, yet so liberating, freeing.

        I love it and want it to last forever. 

        The ground bellow me shatters as I hit it. I'm not dead, the world is now black all around me, and I'm being dragged down.

        I feel something cold hit my body, which ultimately makes me feel heavier. I wish I was still falling, though the cool sensation is nice.

        I'm still being dragged, so long I loose even more sense of time and I realize at some point, the cold turned into freezing.

        It's unpleasant, uncomfortable- no painful, and suffocating.

        It's like I'm drowning, but I don't need to breath or see, since it's dark and nothing's there to look at anyway.

        I don't know how long the silver chains have been pulling me but it seems as though it's been forever when I see something. 

        It's - red.

Colour? Why is it red? I thought.

        It drew closer and closer until I realized it was flickering. Flame. 

        The flame grew bigger and brighter one moment, then smaller and weaker the next. It seemed as though it was dying, so the chains stopped and released me so I could move to it.

        The flame flickered as I drew near and I paused my movements a little. I cupped my hands around it and realized it wasn't warm. It was warmer than the area around me though, and helped me see, so I stayed, finding comfort in the small flame. 

        The flame started to lick me and get hotter. Surely enough, it burned me.

        I started falling back, father and farther, until I forgot all about the flame and the emotions I felt before, only the awareness I felt something, and did something moments ago lingered.

        I was suddenly aware of the feeling of something soft on my back and the darkness slowly faded until I saw the darkness of my ceiling with the red of my alarm clock highlighting my face.

        I was awake.

...

So, I've been having thoughts about Spider wielding Chaos magic.

Crazy, right? In a galaxy where blue people exist and humans have found a way to colonize planets, red magic wouldn't be too farfetched.

That would be absolutely wild—Spider awakening as a Chaos witch in a moment of extreme pain and trauma, unleashing a force that he never knew existed. It would make him a terrifying and awe-inspiring figure on Pandora, a force of nature devoted to Eywa and the planet of his birth. Throw in Kiri, and you've got two overpowered siblings.

Anyway, here's a drabble:

Captured by the RDA, Spider endures days of torture as they demand the location of the Sullys. They push him past his limits—electric shocks, water deprivation, beatings—until something inside him snaps. It’s not just pain that fuels the transformation, but sheer, unfiltered rage. He had spent his entire life being nothing but a pawn to everyone. A demon to the Na’vi, a prisoner to the RDA, an afterthought to the humans of Hell's Gate. No more.

The air distorts. The room trembles. A deep crimson glow seeps from Spider’s fingers, crackling and sparking like liquid fire. He doesn’t think—doesn’t even understand what’s happening—before an explosion of red chaos energy erupts outward, flaying the RDA soldiers alive. Metal warps and melts, bodies twist and contort, their screams merging into a sickening cacophony of agony. Blood paints the walls.

Quaritch barely has time to register what’s happening before he bursts apart, his entire form breaking down on a molecular level.

Spider stands at the epicenter of the carnage, breath heaving, eyes glowing a deep, menacing crimson. His feet leave the floor as he ascends, floating weightlessly, surrounded by swirling tendrils of chaotic energy. He looks down at the ruin he has created, the shredded remains of his captors, the metal reduced to slag.

And for the first time in his life, Spider feels powerful.

He doesn’t run. He doesn’t hide. He flies, the red glow of his magic cutting across the Pandoran sky like a falling star of crimson.

The Omatikaya stare in shock as he arrives, his form wreathed in pulsing red light. He doesn’t wait for their judgment. He knows what he must do. The RDA has taken everything from him, from the Na'vi, from Eywa, from this world. Jake Sully had done what he could, but these demons were relentless in their pursuit for more. Never again.

With a single whisper, the forest bends to his will. The skies darken. The very fabric of reality trembles as he vanishes in a flicker of crimson energy, reappearing in the heart of Bridgehead City.

And then, with a single motion of his hand, he tears it apart.

Buildings collapse. Mechs crumple like paper. Soldiers scream as the very air around them shreds them into nothing. There is no mercy, no hesitation—only raw, undiluted vengeance. The Wrath of Eywa.

Spider doesn’t stop until the RDA is gone. Until their machines are dust, their weapons are ruins, and the very land they corrupted is cleansed by his power. As the last embers of destruction fade, he stands amidst the wreckage, his red eyes burning like twin suns. He is no longer just a stray human, no longer the son of a demon.

He is the harbinger of chaos.

And Pandora is his to protect.

"LET ME KISS IT BETTER"

The tension was thick in the air and the night was young, Donnie and Nicole were on a fancy date at a 5 star restaurant once the press conference was over for their new business. Nicole was the CEO of her own company and Donnie was her co-manager. He ran his own gym and shoe company, and tonight was the only night they had free time for each other until they needed to go about their own businesses again.

"The food here is incredible D". Nicole said smiling beautifully as always. Donnie couldn't stop staring at his wife from across the table. She always brought a sense of light and stress free vibes upon him on a day to day basis. He loved her more than she ever knew and he would do anything for her. As the night went on she decided to turn up the heat a tad bit, she slowly dragged the top of her high heel up his shin which made him look up to clear his throat and grab his wine. "You okay"? He asked with a little concern. "Mhmm, just admiring my handsome husband. You look rather dashing in that suit D, but I cannot wait to get it off later". She said winking at him from above her wine glass. He saw a hint of mischief in her eyes and it made his heart stutter, nevertheless he went with it and decided to wrap up the check and take her home.

The drive home was electrifying, Nicole couldn't keep her hands off him and Donnie was more than ready to help her out of her Savage and Fenty dress. The valet driver was already in the parking lot by the time they reached the penthouse. "Thanks man, and keep the tip". Donnie said handing his valet driver a 20 dollar bill. Donnie and Nicole walked up to the elevator and the second the elevator opened she was in his arms until it closed. Donnie grabbed her ass while she wrapped her legs around his waist. His strong back and neck muscles reacted to the way her body presses against his. A moan was pulled from Nicole the second she felt his bulge through his pants. It rubbed against her through her dress and she bit down on his lower lip softly. The elevator opened and luckily no one was standing in the way, he walked them to their suite and didn't even bother to release his grip on her to get the room key. Somehow she managed to grab it from his pocket without letting go. "Mmm d...Donnie". She moaned in his ear. He opened the door and headed straight for the room to lay her down on the bed and begin undressing her.

Once he got her out of the dress his face was buried between her thighs for a good minute until he got her wet enough to give her what she wanted. "Please daddy, I need you". She whimpered running her hands up and down his chest. Her fingers lazily undid his belt buckle and bit her lip when she saw what he was packing. "Fuck baby". She whispered. Donnie looked down at her and slid his boxers off making sure to move as slow as possible so she could take in all of him. "You ready for daddy baby"? He asked. "Mhmm". She moaned pulling him by the waist to get him closer. Donnie lined up with her entrance and inch by inch he made his way inside of her. "Fuck Donnie...you're so big". She said breathlessly. Donnie was trying his hardest to stay patient but the way she felt wrapped around him made him feral. "Anything for you baby, you can take it". He said whispering in her ear. He finally bottomed out and began thrusting in and out of her while keeping eye contact and whispering sweet nothings, words of praise to guide her through her anticipated much needed orgasm. "Cmon baby you can do it". He said grinding into her a little deeper and a little faster. Her eyes rolled and her back arched already feeling the tight hot knot in her stomach approaching. "D...d...daddy". Nicole moaned raking her nails down his back to hold him closer, a few more strokes and Donnie was coming hard. Nicole pulsed around him and she screamed his name not too far behind either. All she felt was white heat around her and caught her breath before he smirked while still buried deep inside of her. " Ready for round 2 baby"? He asked. "I thought you'd never ask". She said still slightly panting and sweating.

wip...?

thinking many thoughts ab robert “bob” floyd

You felt his hand fall to your forearm as he turned you back to face him. He didn’t say anything as his gaze moved from your eyes to your lips and back. His silence continued as he leaned forward and connected your lips again. This time it was intentional, slow, and made butterflies creep up your stomach. He reached for you as you reciprocated the kiss. One hand in your hair, thumb resting on your cheek, the other searching for your waist. You held the front of his shirt, scared to let him go, and deepened the affair, sliding your tongue along his bottom lip. He gladly accepted and slowly yet fiercely slid his own into your mouth. The kiss continued and your hands slid along his front and ended in his hair, gripping. He released a quiet moan as you did and without breaking the kiss he stood from his own stool and trapped you against the bar. Your back dug into the bartop as you moaned back into his mouth and his hands slid down to your hips, squeezing. Had your phone not interrupted, you’re sure it would have continued to escalate that very night. He released you with a sigh, and you kept your eyes closed for just a moment longer. You slowly peeled them open and Bob groaned at the sensuality of it all. He huffed a small laugh and a blush covered his face as he scratched the back of his neck, perhaps in insecurity at his previous actions.

If growing up ever taught Sam anything, it was to take a hint.

To leave the room if his parent’s discussion was starting to get heated, to head home when Sebastian started to quieten and recluse while hanging out—

…and you probably don’t like him as much as he liked you.

It’s such a cynical thought to have while playing on stage in front of countless people. Spotlights highlight him in a bath of brightness, his fingers move almost effortlessly on the strings of his guitar. All his friends and family are in the crowd, cheering the Pelicans on for their first performance.

They’re all showing their support, yes—but Sam can only really notice you.

Right in the smack front-middle is you—the silly farmer he’s fallen head over heels over; you’re bobbing your head to the beat of the song with a tentative, almost secretive smile. Not like the big proud grins that you usually offer him, when your teeth are bared and lips stretched so far your cheeks hurt—no, you look every bit the pining yearner in the books Penny would tell him about.

It’s a look he’s terribly familiar with, it’s exactly how he looks at you.

When he’s on the stage, all the attention on him as he sings every high and low note, it’s easy to shut his eyes and picture you staring up at him with that lovesick expression that he reserves for only you.

It’s wishful thinking. But Sam knows how to take a hint. You aren’t looking at him, who’s right under the spotlight and center stage—but right over his shoulder.

You don’t smile at him like that.

He knows the adoring look in your eyes is only for Sebastian.

Sebastian likes frogs. Emphasis on the word likes.

He appreciates them, they do good for the environment. They eat up all the nasty flies that buzz around the mountain lake, too. He doesn’t have to worry about mosquitos snaking on his blood while he smokes. It’s just a plus that he finds them cool and interesting.

Which most people find weird. Sebastian thinks it’s weird that they find it weird. Frogs aren’t going out of their way to bother people.

Yes, he likes them. They’re his favorite animal, certainly.

But favorite is not enough for him to want to smooch a frog.

“Sam, I’m not gonna fucking kiss a frog.”

“C’mon! It’ll be like the movie!” Sam teases, insistently shoving Sebastian to the frog innocently sitting on a park bench. “Who knows, maybe it’ll be your very own froggy princess—”

“Didn’t the girl turn into a frog when she kissed it,” he shoots back, elbowing Sam backwards in the gut. The blond lets out an overdramatic hiss of pain, bent over and clutching his stomach. “Abby, back me up here.”

“I never watched that stuff,” Abigail shrugs, watching with amusement. She makes no move to help at all, comfortably resting against the wide wooden posts of a fence. “Watched a lotta cartoons though. Phineas and Ferb is my jam.”

“Not about the movie,” Sebastian grits exasperatedly. His brows knitting together in frustration “The frog.”

“Mhm, go on,” a cheshire-like grin on her face. “Kiss it, Seb. A big smooch right on its slimy mouth.”

Sam eggs him on, the pain of being elbowed magically disappearing. “Do it! Do it!”

Sebastian presses his lips tightly together. There’s no use resisting once Abby and Sam band together. They’re a force to be reckoned with like this—demanding and overbearing. Sebastian exasperatedly wipes a hand over his face, shooting the poor frog a sorry look.

Sam pushes him one more time, he gives him a stony glare in return. “Fuck—alright! Stop being so damn loud, you’ll scare it away.”

The frog in question croaks slightly, like it senses the trio talking about it. He gives it a wary glance.

As he slowly approaches, Sebastian can hear Abby and Sam’s satisfied sniggering behind him. They roped him into doing another stupidly outrageous thing for the umpteenth time.

He sighs, he really needs better friends.

Mustering up all his courage, he bends down, almost eye level with the frog, resting a hand on the wooden grain bench on where it’s perched upon.

He screws his eyes shut and goes for it.

Sebastian’s lips connect with the frog’s slimy, almost rough skin. So fast and featherlight that it can barely be considered a kiss. Cold against his lips. He pulls back immediately after, wiping any residue off his lips with the back of his hand.

The frog jumps, croaking with,what he assumes is, alarm.

“See?” Abby laughs, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. “No princess in sight. You didn’t turn into a frog either!”

“Man,” Sam snickers, patting him roughly on the back. Sebastian groans with every smack. “It would’ve been cool though, if you turned into a frog. We’d have a frog drummer in our band!”

Sebastian shoves his unruly friends off. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s get going. The frog is probably traumatized.”

“You can check that off your bucket list,” Abby teases, a smirk playing on her lips. “Kiss a frog before I die. We’ll tell the story for generations.”

Sam howls with laughter, Sebastian feels absolutely mortified.

Before the trio could make any move out of the park, a cloud of green smoke curtains the frog, so thick and so unusual. Sebastian unconsciously backs away from it.

“What—woah,” Sam says, more mezmerised than shocked at the green smoke pouring out of the frog Sebastian kissed. “What is that?”

“The fuck if we know, Sam!”

“Boys, boys, shut the fuck up. Look.”

Abigail points at the fog. It grows and grows, stopping and dissipating once the whole bench is covered with the green mist.

The frog is gone—disappeared into thin air. Instead, a not-so-frog shaped person sits. You blink up at Sebastian slowly.

Woah, woah.

He feels his heart accelerating—for all the wrong reasons. An unusual thumping sound that vibrates all throughout his body—his fingertips, his stomach, his toes. Where there should be fear and panic and definitely fear, Sebastian feels exhilaration.

You’re pretty.

It’s also pretty horrifying for him to think—and feel.

You blink slowly—a frog-like trait that cement his suspicions. You’re staring up at him as he stares back down at you, curious meets bewildered. “…”

His eyes are wide, scanning each and every part of your now not frog-like features. Sebastian feels cold sweat dripping down his forehead—a stark temperature difference to the heat in his cheeks. “Oh—oh shit.”

“Uhm… ribbit?”

-

Another thing he blames on Sam and Abby—his horrifying attraction you; the person, not the frog.

He checks that off his metaphorical bucket list, too.

- fuck me eyes -

OKAY HEAR ME OUT - i know yelena is ace / aro in the comics (and maybe the mcu but not confirmed) but this is my story so 🥲anyway if you are uncomfortable with me making yelena be in a relationship then do not read further <3 Y/n is Wanda Maximoff's younger sister and is training with Kate Bishop under Clint's supervision.

All characters are of legal age

————————————————

Y/N's pov :

because of my 'bad' behaviour on the field, Clint has made me stay back to fix some trick arrows instead of going out with him and Kate on some retrieval mission. Which I admit does suck. But jokes on them, I love making trick arrows.

i spin in my chair grabbing a 'very dangerous' arrow and laughing at the label Kate put on it before placing it in the bag of arrows I've already made.

The radio is blasting some grunge rock music, the sun isn't out because it's winter in New York. However, it's snowing which is amazing for me.

I nod my head to some AC/DC song, my hair is in a messy bun, I flip my safety goggles up to get a better view of the snow falling onto the ground outside.

"KATE BISHOP" a unfamiliar voice rings through the room, making me tense up, I spin around to the source of the raspy voice and see a woman, about my age, blonde hair and a cute outfit on.

"she's not here" i state in a monotone voice, just as I had been trained, when in doubt stay calm until Kate panics.

the woman's eyes widen and she looks at me with a light blush, probably from the cold New York weather. "she will be back in like ten minutes, give or take, if you go to the living room and wait there, her number is on the table if it's urgent" i smile politely, the woman nods and quickly exits the room.

YELENA’S POV :

Kate Bishop and Clint Barton have been on my ass all Christmas, my mission was simple. Get revenge on him who murdered my sister, anyone who dares to try stop me, will be killed. I've recently found the location of where Clint Barton is staying while having his holiday in New York. That means today is the day Mr Barton dies. I walk into the apartment, the door is not locked however the house is empty. Is what I think until I hear a familiar song. Some old song from my youth, it's loud and sounds like metal. What a song to die to. I smirk as I turn the corner to see the back of someone's head. Black curly hair faces away from me. Well that's not the figure I was expecting. Maybe it's the protégé.

"KATE BISHOP" i shout making my presence known to the small figure.

The raven haired person spins around in their chair just to reveal, to my dismay they are not Kate Bishop.

"she's not here" the woman states with a shrug. the girl is beautiful and the voice matches the face. "she will be back in like ten minutes, give or take, if you go to the living room and wait there, her number is on the table if it's urgent" follows the previous comment, the girl smiles mockingly toward me.

All I can do is nod, and when I tell you I've never picked my phone up so quickly I mean it. Once I'm in the living room I pull my phone out, putting the number into my contacts and deciding to send a quick message to the Bishop child.

I aggressively type "Bishop, who the fuck is that fine ass woman in your apartment? You know the one with the fuck me eyes? And the fuck me face? And the fuck me fingers? I'm going to need her full name, address and her relationship status."

I hit send and not even a minute later a message comes through from the Bishop child. "Hey, I'm guessing your Yelena, yeah please refrain from talking about my best friend like that"

and with a devious smirk I stumble to push my phone back into my Jean pocket and walk out of that apartment in hopes of seeing the girl with the fuck me eyes once more.

I was listening to "treehouse" by Alex g and Drew up a random character! No idea who this is but they seem pretty fascinated in something! Must be mind blowing! 🤗

Drabble thingy wingy ingy I wrote before work

Swapfell Papyrus is called Mutt here

Tws: none I can think of :))

Waving off the last customer before closing you smile when they finally turn and leave, exhaling the pent up tension from the work you lean on the counter and close your eyes.

It was peaceful. It wasn't a busy day but you weren't well adjusted to talking to people yet. Tiring work but it had you productive so you didn't mind. You sit up, putting on a strained smile when you hear the bell on the door jingling - a customer coming in right before closing. Looking towards the door you immediately dropped your friendly employee smile and frowned.

He was a jackass and a bit of a handful with his teasing attitude and lazy snarky comments but you both considered each other friends.

"Heya there, thought you.. ya know.. are supposed to ***work*** here. Not lean 'gainst the counter and look so glum" Your friend, Mutt, drawled with a lazy grin. He had a thing for getting on people's nerves. And he especially enjoyed getting on yours. For whatever reason.

"Hi to you too Mutt. I do work, I just finished my chores early, now what do you want?" You sighed, placing your elbows against the counter and lean your head in the cupped palms. Looking at him with a soft glare.

"Is the 'finished chores' in the room with us right now?" He shot back, tipping a cup on the counter off, luckily it was empty but you reached up and flicked it to roll and hit him.

"Well, anyways, got bored and wanted ta' come say hi" He continued - picking lazily at his sharp teeth with his pinky, looking around the store.

"Bored? Of sitting and dozing off at your station? Wow your work must be really difficult.." Rolling your eyes at him he laughed at what you assumed was your annoyed response. Despite the low chuckling you added :

"You know you just wanted to come bother me. Bitch."

Maybe it wasn't mature of you but you felt like he needed to know what he was being. Besides it was almost closing time and he was your friend, you know he wouldn't get offended and yell about wanting to talk to your higher ups.

"Awe, caught me. While that is true.. M'lord came by and ordered me to drop this off for ya." Mutt reached into his baggy pant pocket and pulled out a small brown bag that was folded at the top but had wrinkles, showing that someone was rough with it - probably both him and his brother.

When he dropped the bag on the counter he leaned back on it and you reached for it before stopping and giving him a quizzical stare. Asking him silently what was in it.

"Wha? I dun' know what's inside. Probably leftovers if I had to guess." Shrugging at you he tapped the bag and pushed it closer with his index finger.

Accepting that answer you push the folded top up and open, seeing a purple sticky note on top of a container. He was right, it was leftovers. Opening the bag up further to try and read the note, the store's florescent lights shined a little into the bag allowing you to see what his brother wrote.

"Make sure to eat it all." With a very angry frowny face next to it. His brother was nice, to you at least. You only met him a few times he seemed to warm up to you being his brother's friend quickly. Apparently the rest of Mutt's acquaintances were all weirdos who - and in his words - "didn't have anything going for them in their sad, miserable lives.". He was definitely mean and a hard ass sometimes but meant well.

Mutt admitted a while back to telling his brother about your eating habits and something about him being upset. So he started forcing leftovers into bags and giving you them occasionally. He typically delivered them himself but he was a busy man.

He wasn't the greatest cook but his pasta dishes were actually super well done. And it's not like you can complain about how food tastes when all you eat is greasy junk food. Which his brother has been very vocal about disapproving of - but the gesture made you smile warmly it felt nice to have someone care about you in such a way that they'd send you food.

You look back up to Mutt after getting lost in your thoughts, taking notice of his fox like eyes and wide chesire grin. He looked like that often.

"Thanks. Tell your brother I said thank you to him too."

The taller skeleton sighed dramatically and groaned quietly to himself before nodding. "Yeah yeah, I'd tell em that anyway. He'd get on my ass about your manners if ya didn't say thank you."

Softly laughing at that you turned and opened the door to behind the counter and moved to give him a hug. You know he likes hugging people, said he enjoys the warmth more once or twice before. So you made sure to at least get him some jackets and the hot hand things.

You felt him pause and hesitate before chuckling lowly again and reaching down to wrap around you too.

"You'll let me come into tha' kitchen and eat sum of that food right? M'lord's culinary is killing me, bein' his gennie pig."

Patting his back and punching softly in the shoulder you sighed and moved back to the door, holding it open for him as he quickly grinned and slinked right past you. Making a b-line for the back to steal food as you followed behind him, making sure to grab your gifted dinner for the night.

Thanks for reading it you did :)) feel free to request or add onto what you thought of the post!

BLACK BUTLER IDEA!!!

I still will probably write this but I want to know if there is a demand at all for black butler content. Please like and reply if you’re up for a new fic!!!! here is a sample of what I was thinking

݁ᛪ༙The clock ticked steadily in the dim sitting room. Moonlight spilled through the large windows, catching the sharp gleam of Y/n’s eyes as she stood by the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Sebastian entered soundlessly, like a shadow come to life. He bowed with his usual mockery of politeness.

“You wished to speak with me, Lady Y/n?”

Y/n said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch and coil between them.

She studied him the impeccable suit, the flawless manners, the thin smile that never reached his eyes. Everything about him felt wrong.

Finally, she spoke, voice low and edged with steel.

“I know what you are,” she said. “Maybe not the name for it, but I know you are not human.”

Sebastian’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“How very observant,” he mused, clasping his hands neatly behind his back. “And what, may I ask, do you intend to do with this knowledge?”

Y/n stepped closer, her boots whispering against the rug. She tilted her head slightly, the fire casting half her face in shadow.

“Nothing,” she said. “Because Ciel trusts you. For now.”

Her eyes hardened.

“But know this, Sebastian Michaelis: if you harm him if you let him slip further into whatever darkness is trying to swallow him I will tear you apart myself. Piece by piece.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and amused, like a cat toying with a mouse.

“You are quite ferocious for someone so…fragile.”

Y/n didn’t flinch. She stepped even closer, close enough to smell the unnatural, cold clean scent of him.

“You think I’m fragile?” she whispered. “Try me. You’ll find out exactly how far a sister will go for her brother.”

For the first time, something flickered in Sebastian’s gaze interest, perhaps. Amusement tinged with a thread of caution.

“Noted,” he said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. “I shall continue to serve the Young Master with the utmost…care.”

Y/n stared him down a moment longer before turning away, her heart pounding.

“See that you do,” she said coldly. “Because if you don’t hell won’t be the only place you’ll answer to.”

As she left the room, Sebastian stood still, a gloved hand resting lightly on his chest where, for a brief, strange moment, he thought he might have felt something almost human: respect.

݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙ The hem of your dress swirled around your ankles as you hurried through the entrance hall, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and new paint.

The rebuilt Phantomhive Manor loomed above you, so pristine it almost mocked the memory of ashes and ruin still seared into your heart.

You clutched the sides of your gown an elegant deep navy silk dress with delicate lace sleeves, a gift from Aunt Angelina. But you hardly noticed its weight now.

All you could hear was the hammering of your heart.

Ciel.

Your little brother your baby was alive.

You had been staying with Aunt Angelina ever since the fire, trapped in a haze of grief and guilt, believing there was nothing left. When the letter arrived, hastily penned with shaking hands by your aunt herself, you thought it a cruel dream. But now standing here the heavy doors of the manor open, the world spinning in your ears he was truly here.

A butler you didn’t recognize bowed you inside. His voice was smooth.

“Welcome home, Lady Y/n. The Young Master is awaiting you in the drawing room.”

You barely heard him. Your body moved of its own accord, feet flying across the marble, ignoring decorum, ignoring appearances. You needed to see him.The door to the drawing room creaked as you pushed it open.

And there he was. Ciel stood by the window, framed in silver light. He was wearing a black velvet suit, a rich blue eye staring outward only one eye. The other hidden behind a black eyepatch.

His posture was perfect, his chin tilted up in practiced nobility.

But he was still so small.

Still just a boy.

Your throat closed. A sob broke free before you could contain it. He turned at the sound and his eye widened, just barely.

“Y/n,” he said, voice smooth and measured, as if tasting the word for the first time in years.

Your vision blurred with tears.

Before you knew it, your knees buckled beneath you. You fell. Not out of weakness out of relief. You crashed to the carpeted floor, arms flinging around him, dragging his tiny, stiff body against yours. You pressed your forehead to his stomach, clutching him as if he might vanish again if you let go.

“My Ciel,” you gasped out, voice cracking. “My sweet boy, my precious ”

For a long, breathless moment, he said nothing. You felt the way he tensed, the way he hesitated awkward, uncertain, like a child who no longer knew how to receive love. Then slowly one small, gloved hand touched your head. Not like he used to not with the easy affection of the boy you remembered.

It was a stiff, careful gesture.

“…You’re wrinkling your dress,” he muttered, trying for irritation but failing miserably. His voice shook ever so slightly.

You let out a watery laugh, pulling back just enough to look up at him. He was trying so hard to be composed. To be grown. But you could see it the glimmer of your little brother beneath the armor. The scared, exhausted boy who had come home. You reached up, cupping his cheek gently with your gloved hand.

“You’re home,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re home, and I will never, ever leave you again.”

His eye softened so quick, you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, brushing a hand down his jacket, pretending indifference.

You smiled through your tears, standing finally and straightening your dress. You took a deep, trembling breath, smoothing his hair back with motherly care.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” you said, voice steadying. “Because I plan to be dramatic for the rest of your life, Ciel Phantomhive.”

The corners of his mouth twitched just slightly. A ghost of a smile. And you felt it you knew that somewhere deep inside, he was still your brother. you would love him with every fiber of your soul, no matter how cold he tried to be.

You linked your arm through his before he could protest, guiding him further into the room like you used to when he was a shy toddler hiding behind your skirts.

“Now,” you said brightly, “you’re going to sit with me and tell me everything.”

He sighed, a sound of long suffering patience far too old for his little body.

“…I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he said.

You smiled, squeezing his arm gently.

“Not when it comes to me, dear heart. Never.”

You hadn’t felt this complete in so long.

But then a presence. You felt it like a prickle at the back of your neck, a gentle tug in the air, a ripple where everything should have been still. Your eyes drifted, pulled by instinct toward the doorway.

There he stood. The butler. Tall, impossibly composed, crimson eyes gleaming like molten garnets in the low light. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

The sight of him sent a strange chill along your spine not fear exactly, but something close to wrongness.

And something else, too something painfully familiar. For just a moment, your heart squeezed. He looks like Father.

Not exactly your father’s features had been warmer, his smiles real. there was something in the way this man carried himself, the precise way he tilted his head, the quiet strength wrapped in civility.

You tore your gaze away and turned to Ciel, lowering your voice.

“Who is that?” you asked, smoothing your skirts with trembling hands to hide your nerves.

Ciel followed your gaze casually, as if he hadn’t noticed the butler lingering nearby until now.

“Sebastian Michaelis,” Ciel said. His tone was clipped but neutral. “My butler. He’s been serving me since… I returned.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together.

You wanted to ask more but Ciel’s body language warned you off.

The stiff shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eye. He trusted this man. you had just gotten your brother back. You would not push. Not yet. You turned back toward the butler, offering a polite, practiced smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said softly, inclining your head just slightly, as a lady should. “For taking care of my brother.”

Sebastian’s crimson gaze flickered briefly curiosity, perhaps but his bow was perfect.

“It is my duty and my pleasure, Lady Y/n,” he said smoothly.

How do we know which part of the love story we're in?

Are we in the really difficult part before we get our shit together and it's about to get really fucking good?

Or is our story the one that kicks off my book of falling in love with myself and finding peace or someone else? Is this the story that leads to my story, alone?

If it's the first...how many more chapters until we get to the part where it all makes sense and neither one of us knows how we ever lived for a second without the other?

If it's the second...God, can you just rip my heart out now so we can get on with it?