#drabble (ish)

[slippinmickeys]

L’appel du Vide

Nude bra and panty set, rough terry robe, her trotters shoved hastily into stiff penny loafers with the leather heel folded down, probably on the wrong feet. Adrenaline still thrumming, the bites on her back starting to itch. And he’s standing there lit by candle flame, his eyes like bryophyte on oak bark. 

What if she lets him kiss her? It’s the split second thought of jumping off the cliff, of turning into traffic—l'appel du vide—she could just lean forward and sweep her tongue across the pillow of those lips. He’d have her on her back in thirty seconds, those long sweeping fingers three knuckles deep, she knows this intrinsically, can smell it on him like he could smell the crazy off Monty Props. 

Gross misconduct, a career in tatters, but the urge is so compelling she has to squeeze her fingernails into her palm until the pain distracts her. 

“Scully?” he says, bending his knees to get a look at her eyes. His face is open, gentle. He’d be a generous lover, irritatingly eager to please. Probably masochistic. 

“Sorry,” she says, stepping away slightly, averting her gaze from his. She spots the Georgetown hat he wore on his run, a powdery white ring of dried sweat an inch up the canvas like a high water mark.

“Listen, I’d be freaked out too,” he says, and she’s finding his compassion off-putting. She doesn’t want him to think she can’t handle this. She remembers the few cadets at Quantico that tried to help her over the obstacle course wall. It rankles.

“Where’d you get the candle?” she asks, looking for a distraction. A Pottery Barn pillar in a roadside flophouse—where did he get the damn thing?

“Over there,” he gestures vaguely to an end table. “Scully, are you okay?” 

He rests a heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezes. 

One more mental flash of her sitting astride him, pinning him to the bed with her eyes. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, finally looking up. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She lets him tell her about his sister. Follows him into the void. 

[dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes]

W: Both

DP: Both is good.

W: I’m gonna stab you now.

DP: Please, daddy.

both? both is good.

[game-weaver]

Yugi's night started in the darkness. In the pitch nothingness of a dreamless sleep. Such nights were few and far between, his mind preferring to lucid dream or dreamwalk. Even if he didn't rest as much, he preferred to monitor other peoples dreams. Seeing what creative things their subconscious creates, helping to soothe their nightmares.

Any nightmares that weren't his.

He was the dreamwalker, after all, the one that flitted between vibrant dreams or terrifying sequences. With other people, he could often find the underlying root to what caused the nightmares, to pluck the strings and unfurl knots so those horrifying things turned to flowers or cool water.

But his own…

There was no dreamwalker for himself, no warm hands grasping his own and making him look away from the monsters. No soothing voice breaking through the roaring thunder to calm the rocking waves. Here, he might have so much power, and yet, be powerless to help himself when those fears crept in.

Like grasping appendages it groped and curled around him. The void turning into an inky mass as it pulled him down and down…

He didn't land on soft grass like he normally would have. It was cold, it was concrete. The jolt making him gasp and rise when he realized he was no longer peacefully asleep. But even as he opened his eyes, he couldn't see, he was blinded. Scrambling up to his hands and knees, he felt around until he felt those all too familiar bars. Bars that collided from the past and recent events, like mirror images crashing together. A time long forgotten and a moment too soon to bury it down despite his best efforts.

He heard the cackle and it made his blood run cold.

No…

But it was warped, those fingers curling in his hair to yank him up to his feet causing him to let out a startled cry of pain.

"Get off me!" He yelled, struggling, nails dug at the attacker but the feel of fire against his back made his knees weak and tore a scream from his lungs.

His knees didn't hit the ground, instead the scream followed him into the waking world as he shot up in bed, cold sweat clinging to his skin as he looked around wildly. But he wasn't in the cage, there were no attackers, he was safely in bed. Panting, he covered his face for a moment with shaking hands, just trying to calm his breathing before he slipped out of bed, ignoring his aching back, and quietly made his way up to the roof. The walls were too close. Far too close.

Air. He needed air.

[seumyo]

pregnancy cravings with miya atsumu.

Pregnancy cravings never really made sense to Atsumu. Then again, he never got to the part of anatomy and physiology when he was studying physical therapy before he decided to go pro as a volleyball player.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t supportive; no, he prided himself on being a great husband. And now, with you, his wife, pregnant with your first child, he was determined to be the most supportive, loving, and accommodating partner ever.

Nothing was going to stand in his way—not distance, not logic, and certainly not impossible cravings.

It started simple. Like it always did.

You wanted a specific pastry from a bakery on the other side of Japan? Done. He booked the fastest delivery service he could find, and when that wasn’t an option, he flew there himself, picked it up, and brought it back.

Talk about rich.

Homemade food? Good thing Osamu had drilled the basics of cooking into him, though he still got yelled at by his twin when he accidentally burned rice. But hey, effort counted, right?

Then, the cravings started getting weird.

You’re sitting on the couch with a blanket over your lap when you look up at him with serious eyes. “I want Osamu’s cooking.”

Atsumu blinked. “Alright, I can ask him—”

“But I don’t want to eat it. You eat it.”

He frowned, confused.

“Huh? Ya want me to eat ‘Samu’s cookin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Atsumu scratched his head, wondering if this was some kind of test. “And that’s gonna make ya feel better?”

“Yes.”

“… Even if ya don’ eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu blinked. “That doesn’t make no sense.”

“Atsumu, please don’t question me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Osamu. “Oi, ‘Samu, I need ya to cook somethin’—no, not for [Name]—for me.” There was silence on the other end before Osamu sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed.

That night, Atsumu sat at the dining table, stuffing his face with his brother’s food while you sat across from him, smiling in satisfaction as you watched. Osamu just did his part as a supportive brother for his twin.

The next day was even worse.

“A seedless mango,” you murmured, rubbing your belly.

...

“A what?”

“A seedless mango. I want it.”

“… [Name], sweetheart, baby, I love ya, but that don’t exist.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I want it.”

Atsumu groaned. “Where am I gonna get a seedless mango?”

“Figure it out, please?”

He spent hours searching online, calling fruit vendors, and even asking Osamu if his suppliers had some secret black market seedless mango (Osamu asked him if a volleyball that was going 120 km/h hit his head).

No luck.

In the end, Atsumu cut up a normal mango, carefully removed every trace of the seed, and handed it to you with a hopeful grin.

You took one look at it and frowned.

“It’s not the same.”

Atsumu wanted to cry.

-

“I need you to wear a face mask.”

Atsumu blinked at you from your bed. “Huh? Why?”

You huffed quietly, fidgeting with the sheets. “Because your face is annoying.”

Atsumu gasped, hand clutching his chest. “My face?! The one ya love so much?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya vowed to look at forever in sickness and in health?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya called ‘beautiful’ when I asked ya if I was hotter than ‘Samu?!”

“I love you, but right now, your face is irritating me.”

Atsumu stared, utterly betrayed, before sighing in defeat. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed one of the disposable masks he’d bought during flu season, and put it on.

“There. Happy now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Atsumu flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, sulking, you scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured.

He grumbled. “Ya sure? Feels like ya hate me sometimes.”

You chuckled. “No, I love you. My hormones just don’t.”

He sighed. “Yer so lucky I love ya more than life.”

“I know. Pregnancy is so weird.”

And the worst has yet to come.

-

Atsumu should be asleep by now, but no, he had to be individually popping popcorn. One kernel at a time, as per your request.

He initially told you, “Yer kiddin’.”

You were not.

And that was how Atsumu found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, painstakingly popping one kernel at a time in a tiny pan. Every time he accidentally popped more than one, you, who were sitting on a stool with your hands on your belly, would click your tongue disapprovingly.

“You put in two, Atsumu.”

“This is torture,” he grumbled, but he kept going.

-

“I want ice cream,” you said.

Atsumu perked up. “Oh, easy. What flavor?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Uh… okay. I can get a few different kinds?”

“I need to taste them all.”

Atsumu frowned. “Like… all the flavors?”

“Yes.”

“… Babe, there are like fifty flavors at the ice cream shop.”

You nodded. “And I need to taste all of them before I decide which one I want.”

Atsumu let out a long, suffering sigh, but being the devoted husband he was, he marched straight to the ice cream parlor and ordered a ridiculous amount of sample cups. The poor employee stared at him in disbelief.

“You… want every flavor?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir, that’s—”

“My wife is pregnant, and if I don’t do this, I might not make it to the end of the week.”

The employee, upon hearing this, immediately started getting to work.

When Atsumu got home, you took one spoonful of each, nodded, and, after going through every single cup, announced:

“I don’t want ice cream anymore.”

Atsumu fell to his knees. Defeated.

-

“I need you to stand in the corner for a while.”

Atsumu looked up from his phone, confused. “Huh?”

“The corner. Stand there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like you should.”

Atsumu squinted. “Babe, are ya makin’ me into a damn decoration?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Atsumu sighed but did it anyway. He stood in the corner of your living room for a full ten minutes while you sat on the couch, happily watching TV. At some point, Osamu FaceTimed him, took one look at the scene, and hung up.

-

The next day, you called him while he was at practice, which was rare in itself because you did just leave messages whenever you knew he was practicing.

“Babe,” you said in a tone that made his stomach drop.

“… Yeah?”

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger.”

He let out a relieved laugh, wiping the sweat off his brow. “That’s easy! I’ll grab ya one on my way ho—“

“But replace the buns with pancakes.”

Atsumu froze. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I dunno if I did, sweetheart.”

“Pancakes. Instead of buns. Oh, and I want honey to go with it.”

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone.

“Yer messin’ with me.”

“I’m really not.”

And you weren’t. That evening, he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the precision of a professional chef before assembling the most unholy creation he’d ever laid eyes on—a cheeseburger with pancake buns, honey drizzled over the meat.

You took a bite and hummed softly. “Oh my god, this is better than sex.”

Atsumu, who had spent hours perfecting his technique in the bedroom, felt personally offended by that.

-

“Atsumu,” you murmur. “I need you to switch sides of the bed with me.”

He sighed. “No.”

“Atsumu.”

“[Name], baby, darlin’—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my side is closer to the door in case of an intruder.”

You chuckled quietly. “Tsumu, please. I need to sleep on that side.”

Atsumu stared at you, conflicted. He had never—not once—slept on the other side. It was unnatural. Wrong. It went against the very foundations of your marriage.

But you were looking at him with those tired, hormonal, pleading eyes. And he was sure you’d tell him you could barely see your feet now and often experience heartburn, all because of his unborn baby.

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu switched sides with you.

“You’re a good husband,” you whispered, patting his cheek.

Atsumu, lying in the unfamiliar position, staring at the wrong wall, whispered, “I’m a broken man.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

[bbyg4rl]

thinkin abt . . . oldman!jj that feels you up through your panties because its too wrong to want someone as young as you, but he just can’t help himself.

he calls you “kid” while circling your cunny like it isnt icky that a man that’s old enough to be your father is talking dirty to you, like he gets off on how bad he is, how wrong he thinks this is.

he never touches you directly, no. its torture but its jj. he rubs against you through your panties like it defends his morality, like he isnt thinking about bending you over and fucking your senses out of you every time you pass him.

but then he asks you to bend over in front of him, stick your ass up as high as you can. convinces you to spread your lips apart, stretch your hole the tiniest bit, enough to make you whine and ache. watches as you expose yourself in hopes he’ll finally give you what you need. hoping he’ll come along and shove his cock, fingers or tongue. but he never does.

he’s too busy lying to himself, pretending watching you spread out like this is enough but you know its only a matter of time before you break him. you know its only a matter of time before he snaps and fucks you. and you can’t wait to break him.

read more concepts here !

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?

[quitesins]

Edit: Heyyy wrote a little drabble from this idea yay!!! | And more!! | And even more!!

Non Mc!Reader who finds out she isn’t human, but a dragon, as her beastly features start to come in. She’s confused and scared by the sudden burn in her skull, the foreign skin growing on top of her own. And Sylus who finds her first, either through rumours or chance, looking at the pitiful thing and deciding to take her in, despite all his conflicting feelings.

Naturally, he is curious. He is meant to be the last of his kind. Beyond himself, he has never seen a dragon before. You confuse him a little.

Another part is protective, how quickly would you become a subject, threatening his existence just by being studied for yours.

And a soft part of him becomes a child again. Seeing himself alone to the changes of his body, alone to becoming a monster, alone to live out the rest of his days…

He can’t just leave you here. It wouldn’t be fair.

[hanafubukki]

Summary: You never expected your cute bunny costume to elicit this type of reaction from Lilia Vanrouge.

After returning from Deuce’s hometown, you and Silver decided to show off your costumes to Lilia and the others.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the time. Lilia commented how cute the outfits were while taking a bunch of pictures.

But you knew something was off as you spoke to Malleus, seeing those magenta eyes watching your every move.

A shiver went up your spine.

You swore you saw a fanged smirk from the corner of your eye.

Breath in.

Breathe out.

Melodic laughter fill the air as you ran.

You remember how Lilia cornered you right before this game of his.

Hand cupping your face as he leaned into you, “Run, my cute rabbit, run as fast as you can.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You knew he was playing with you.

Could catch you any minute.

The light touch at your back or your ears teased how close he is to you this whole time.

How it was his choice to allow you to run.

But if you turned this corner…

A stream of water came to view.

“Oh?”

You flung yourself into the water as quick as you could.

The air stilled.

Before laughter broke out.

“Clever little prey. I went too easy on you.”

“I caught you~”

Fuck.

You were so close.

Gasps filled the air.

Clawed fingers wipes the tears clinging to your lashes.

Your outfit in tatters around you.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle escape him.

You were such a cunning prey.

And now? Such a delicious one.

He wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

You had his blood pumping during the hunt and he planned on using this extra energy on you.

“Lilia…”

“Hm?”

“Plea- Ah!”

“Not yet Beloved, I’m far from done.”

His hunger was far from satisfied.

Oh Bunny event, how you entice me so with bunnies💞💞💚💚

[champagnetommy]

AU where Chim and Maddie own a coffee shop and Buck’s just there to study for his fire academy exam or something. Tommy, a regular and Chim’s bestie comes in for much needed caffeine while on call, one day. He mistakes Buck for an employee and instead of clarifying that he doesn’t work there, attempts to make Tommy’s coffee. What comes out is an abomination and maybe Tommy’s a little grumpy, running on fumes so he says something snarky. And see the thing is, Buck is intrigued, mesmerized even so he hangs around the shop and every time Tommy comes in, he’s there. The next attempt at making his coffee isn’t much better. They both make snarky comments and over the weeks, it turns into flirting. One day, Tommy “complains” to Chim about his new employee and Chim’s all, what new employee??

“The guy with the curls and the birthmark? Adorable pout.” Tommy blushes at the slip.

“Ohh yeah that’s my brother in law. He doesn’t work here though. I was wondering why he kept making your order and why you continued to drink such ghastly coffee. Thought it was some weird flirting, to be honest.”

Tommy’s mortified because he’d been kind of rude to Buck at the beginning, a little bitchy, if he’s honest.

Chim laughs at his predicament, shaking his head. “You know he’s been mooning over you too. Just ask him out already! He’ll say yes.”

Buck blushes adorably when Tommy tells him he knows he doesn’t actually work there, and then he asks him on a date-not coffee though!

A year later, Buck proposes at the shop, makes Tommy’s coffee just the way he likes it and tells him, “I want to spend the rest of my life making your coffee.”

[fishyvamp]

18+ NSFW MDNI mind the tags

You whimpered as the S.C.R.E.A.M unit pinned you down. It's gears whirling and whining as it ground into you. It was strange in how it was like it was seeking gratification in a sexual way. Rubbing where it's dick would be against the curve of your ass. You clenched your fist, teeth gritted heavily, the scent of fresh oil you had just applied to it's joints in the air of the workshop. This must've been some sick joke someone was playing on you. Maybe some kind of hazing ritual to welcome the new technician.

"You got a boyfriend?" The bot seemed to tease. It's icy mechanical hand pressing against your throat pulling you flush against it's cold frame. The coveralls you wore doing very little to protect you. You could feel a scream building in your throat as none of this made sense. It had walked in of it's own free will, or at least the equivalent of free will for a android, requesting maintenance and when you had finished diagnosis everything was clear; No anomalies, not even signs of code tampering, yet when the bot was turned back on it began behaving unnaturally. All you knew for sure is If you made it out of this alive you will be looking through its code piece by piece to find out who tampered with your unit. Surely there would be a digital signature in there. Something to indicate who last touched the code.

"Stop!" You screamed out feeling it's other hand beginning to palm the front of your pants, "initiate command slash S!" The kill phrase coming out desperate the bolder it got practically crushing you against the table; it's hips picking up speed. Before stuttering to a stop, grip loosening just enough for you to slide out; breathing heavily you clutched your chest looking up at the machine that had you caged just moment ago. The fact that it didn't halt right away felt a bit unnerving but the nightmare was over. Clawing at the rough sandpaper like carpet you moved into the light of your dimly lit office. It felt like an eternity as you begged yourself to calm down long enough to plug in the diagnostic computer.

Your eyes shut tightly, you count backwards from ten, listening to the clicks and beeps as it dug whatever info it could, name after name appearing on the screen before you. The unit behaved too purposely to be a true malfunction. Your eyes darting across the screen, the only name catching your eye was that of Danny Johnson. You had to think on why that name sounded familiar despite no one currently working in your shop with that name. Who was Danny? Maybe it was a placeholder name?

It wouldn't be till later that you'd realize Danny was the name of the technician who was killed by a S.C.R.E.A.M unit a year earlier, that in of itself would explain the name, thinking maybe someone in your shop got ahold of his old login information to prank you... It wasn't unusual for the company to not care about removing the permissions of the dead. At least that was until discovering that Danny was the only deceased employee to have their profile completely removed from the system. Even his past work history and general employee file was completely null, as if he never existed. Not even old logs were accessible.

You know he was real the older employees talked about how sweet he was, how he could charm the pants off just about anyone. Well loved and respected, but he didn't exist according to the system. So how the hell did someone use Danny Johnson's information to modify code? Danny doesn't have authorization. Danny shouldn't be able to modify code. Danny technically doesn't exist. So why does it say "Danny wants you"?

[venustrvck]

the christian yukimiya brain rot is not leaving, thinking you two meet in church bc u frequent the same one, and you meet young — him as an altar server and you on the choir.

he's taken in by your voice, the way it carries through the church, how clear it is... how beautiful you look when you sing.

& you both volunteer frequently. it's a small, tight-knit community after all, and not many people consistently attend, it really needs all the help it can get.

he's teasing and playful when you make communion wafers, and you eat the left over scarps together.

one time as young teens, after helping out with bible studies, you snuck wine together. the priest scolded you two so hard... but it's still a fun memory to look back on.

his first gift to you, as lovers, is a silver cross necklace. it's elegant and dainty, and he'd saved up a lot from his modelling gig to be able to get you genuine silver. you wear it all the time.

[minimujina]

in pursuit of truth and companionship

xiangli yao is a smart, smart man. he has done a lot of growing and maturing in the course of his life, but not so much at once as he did when he met one particular person. see, something he has parsed out for himself is that he need not sever his pursuit of truth from the companionship of others—though it took much more than just personal intuition to learn that lesson.

it started with the old friend of yao’s youth, who, though he is long gone, has left perhaps the deepest impact on the man’s heart. the rover, then, ignited a particular warmth in him which soothed the leftover ache—it was comforting, all-encompassing affection that opened his heart to the kind of companionship he longed for. it was pleasant. yao looked at himself and saw not just an academic, but a human amongst other humans; he felt his heart beating in sync with the rover’s, with mortefi’s, with baizhi’s, with zhezhi’s. he realized he did not want to live in neglect of the softness that he inevitably possessed; he believed there must be a way to both pursue the truth of the world—finding groundbreaking solutions and engineering new technologies to sustain civilization—and also leave room for other people in his heart. there had to be a way. without connection to humanity, scientists would risk losing sight of the real goal.

you offered yao an apple; he declined with a reserved smile. you shrugged and bit into the sweet fruit yourself, humming in delight, swaying your feet, resting your head on xiangli yao’s shoulder. it was quiet, it was good. despite it all—the lament, the imminent destruction of human civilization—somewhere, birds were singing and bugs were thriving; the grass was green under your picnic blanket, and you sat beneath a healthy tree next to someone with whom near anything could be enjoyed. meanwhile, xiangli yao tuned in to the crunch of the apple as you bit into it, and he visualized the waves in the air, visualized your humming and the shuffling rustling bustling of your clothes and the grass and the leaves. the world, in his eyes, seemed so much more alive in your presence.

you were no resonator, but yao liked to imagine you must emit some kind of special frequency. you were too good, too pure. he could see it in his imagination when he looked at you—like an angelic halo of light, enveloping your form with the delicate hand of some otherworldly, divine power. you may not resonate the same way he does, no, but yao was certain that your very existence harmonized with the ebb and flow of solaris iii’s vibrations.

with locked pinkies, yao and his muse sat in silence, savoring the peace and contentment derived from the presence of another soul so alike in nature. it was quiet love, unassuming, forgiving, patient; you were all small smiles and gentle touches, and he was all the same.

yao liked to tie your shoes for you, since you had a lazy streak; as it turns out, carelessly throwing shoestrings into a loose knot is not enough to make it through the day, but you could not be bothered. so it was becoming a challenge for him to tie them in such a way that your rowdiness could not undo the work. and, say, perhaps you had schemed the lazy shoe-tying, so that he would develop such an intimate and domestic habit—but ah, well, some secrets are best kept as they are.

you liked to bring him lunch—for xiangli yao, the man that he was, had a horrible habit of forgetting to eat. with a blindness to time, poor interoceptive awareness, and the pinpoint focus of a laser, he hardly noticed when he grew hungry in the midst of his work; it was like his body was completely incognizant of its own needs. so you took it upon yourself to check in at lunchtime, very forcefully “suggesting” that he eat. as a result, his coworkers had grown very fond of you in all the time you spent around them.

and truly, there were none so taken with xiangli yao as you—his other half, as he liked to call you. he possessed a certain charm, and anyone who met the man could attest to his humble smile and quiet strength, those qualities that drew people in much more than he realized. but none were so fortunate as you to wake up every day and melt over the man all over again. internally, you could not fathom his existence, could not process his love for you, could not cope with the fact that you belonged to each other. all you could do was trace the lines of his handsome face with your hands, studying each groove and blemish, burning the image of his smile into your retinas so you may never part from the warmth you felt upon seeing it. to be away from him felt almost painful at times, if only because his presence alone was soothing and regulating, and perhaps you’d gotten too used to the privilege. he enjoyed teasing you about that, too.

if anything, xiangli yao has found that deep human connection can only serve to further motivate him in his search for truth, certainly not to hold him back, as he previously feared.

with his abilities, he had felt a sense of duty from a young age to put himself to work, to be a leader among the brilliant minds at the forefront of science. he could not be distracted, he could not let anything hinder his progress. he felt he would somewhat fail humanity otherwise—much too big a burden for just one man to bear.

all this time, that fear has clashed with something deep inside of him that could not shake the desire for companionship. he practically tore himself into shreds, afraid it would disservice the progress of humanity for him to do anything other than put his brain to work. but at the same time, his heart was so soft, and he longed so inexplicably much for someone to just see him.

and then, just like that, yao’s innermost wish had been granted. the war waging in his mind, body, and soul finally came to a standstill—he made friends, and he felt wanted for something other than his abilities. he had not felt such a feeling since his youth.

further, he found that having dear companions boosted his mood and health, which in turn benefitted his research. he could no longer remember why he had always believed so adamantly that relationships were distractions, and something to be feared. perhaps it was an idea he gleaned from his father, whether intentional from the man or not.

as it turns out, some of the most profound truths can be found within the human soul. xiangli yao has discovered this to be true just knowing you; he has found it to be true in the crevices of your palm, in the wrinkles of your skin, in the color of your eyes. he has come to know so much more about the world since knowing you. and he finds himself all the more eager to search for answers, knowing he has someone so dear to love and protect in this world.

[on1knee4marksmen]

Gregory House as a long-term friend

(Blurb/hcs)

Dividers by @/hyuneskkami <3

• Okay so I'm like half-asleep so idk how coherent this will be, but I'm currently imagining what it would be like to be close friends with House. Like the type to constantly tease one another, maybe get on each others' nerves occasionally, have a mini fight/argument every now and then, but fast forward 20 minutes and you're in McDonalds and he's stealing from your fries and you're slapping his hand before you both snort or chuckle.

• And he'd totally be the usual asshole too, only difference is that you match his energy and god, it feels refreshing for him. Especially if you're big on dirty jokes or immature humour cuz he's free to make whatever jokes he wants to with that oh so typical dry sarcastic tone and you're always there to stiffle a snicker.

• Oh and he'd totally be that one friend that you could not risk looking at while a teacher is yelling at you cuz you'd end up laughing and getting even more in trouble because of his stupid ass. Like Cuddy could be scolding you for something super serious and you could actually be feeling bad about it, but if Greg's there? Throw one glance at him and you're getting the "Oh, you think this is funny??" line thrown at you just because you're giving it your all not to let yourself smile.

• House is definitely the type of person to cover up his own problems with humour or turn them into jokes so I don't really know about how comfortable he'd be with being vulnerable (we all know he rarely is), but one thing I know for sure is that he loves hearing gossip or listening to you vent. He could be checking up on a patient and hastily tell you he's busy when you call, but the only thing he needs is a "Guess what just happened" and he's s a t. I'm talking leaving the patient mid throat check for his supposed "lunch break" type sat.

• He also isn't the best at comfort, I kinda see him as a pretty awkward guy when it comes to being open about stuff, just doesn't know how to react if it doesn't include sarcasm or teasing. But if you ever come to him for comfort, he'd be all about the little things and gestures. He might not be big on physical touch, but he'd listen without interrupting (and make sure not to offend you by teasing too which is kinda rare) and let you stay over if you don't wanna be alone for the night. If you brighten up later he'd make sure to throw in a little remark or two to try and make you laugh. And if not? Well, he'd order whatever you wanted to eat for dinner, put on an episode of his soap and let you watch with him and trash talk the characters for being stupid or overly clichéd.

• If you ask for company but with silence he'd give it to you but he wouldn't be sure how to keep that silence comfortable. So he'd probably start playing piano at some point, something slow and nice to listen to, nothing really intense. Wouldn't mind if you fell asleep to him playing either, he'd just sigh when he notices and drape a blanket over your body, curled up on his couch. He'd even smile to himself if he was absolutely sure you were asleep - just by looking your way, he feels a little better about his life. Only because you're in it.

Half a season in and I already love this guy 10/10 show

[surdino]

can you do 31 with Steve x Eddie x Billy please 🫣

Send me drabble requests here!

Of course I can!

This is a little long, but oh well. It happens.

---

Eddie walks into Steve's house and immediately knows something isn't right. It's eerily quiet, even though he knows both Steve and Billy are here. Two cars parked in the driveway.

There's this feeling he gets ever since everything went down. A sense exactly when things aren't supposed to be going the way they should. The doctors call it anxiety. But here's the kicker.

Eddie has never been wrong.

So when he walks into the Harrington house and feels a shiver run down his spine, he knows. Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Steve?" He calls, up the stairs. If they were in the living room the TV would be on, or he'd hear the two of them talking. "Billy?" 

No response. 

Eddie kicks off his shoes before creeping up the stairs. Socks silent and treading carefully. There's no way to tell what he'll find up there.

And he sees it, before he's even made it all the way up the stairs. He can't even be proud of himself for getting it right, yet again.

A bloody handprint, right there on the wall. Smeared like someone had been trying to keep themselves upright while walking. 

His heart thunders in his chest. "Steve?! Billy?!" 

He doesn't care about being heard or seen right now. What he needs is to make sure his boyfriends are okay. And in one piece.

He books it up the stairs, down the hallway and into Steve's bedroom.

"Steve," he sighs, sliding to his knees in front of the bed Steve's sitting on. His pastel polo and khakis are covered in red. Bloody, disgusting, red. 

Eddie reaches out, but Steve flinches back. "Don't touch me," he whispers, his eyes big and scared like he'd seen something he shouldn't.

"Steve, I need to know you're okay. Where are you bleeding, where's the wound? What happened? Steve, where's Billy?" 

"I'm here," Billy says, emerging from Steve's bathroom, holding a wet rag. "He's okay. Not hurt. Just bloody." 

Eddie stands up, turning to his other boyfriend. "What happened?" He needs to know. If he doesn't know his mind is going to make up some crazy story like how Steve got in a fight with a bear or how he went out and killed someone.

"Steve, he," Billy pauses, taking a deep breath through his nose. "He was at home with us. I got here at three, and you got here at four. He was with us watching TV and drinking beers. That's what happened, okay?" 

Eddie stares, mouth agape. Billy has a smear of blood on his otherwise white shirt. Eddie is already nodding before he's even realised what he has agreed to.

"Yeah, okay. He was with us. But what did he do?" He doesn't know whether to turn to Billy or to Steve this time around. 

Steve makes the choice for him. "I killed him," he says. Eddie turns to him, watches his watery eyes snap up to his. "I killed him." Steve's hands are shaking, covered in blood. Red drips from his fingers to the floor.

Eddie is in front of him again, taking those shaking hands in his, not caring he's getting dirty. Not caring that Steve is bringing him into this. "Who, Steve? Who did you kill?"

"Neil," Billy says, taking one of Steve's hands and starting to clean the blood. He shouldn't. Steve should get in the shower. They have to burn the clothes. "He killed my dad."

Eddie turns to Steve. "Why'd you- why did you do that?"

Steve swallows, his throat clicking. His eyes move from Eddie to Billy. "B-Because I'd promised to do anything... To keep you guys safe." 

"You did, sweetheart," Billy says, cupping Steve's cheek. "You did so well, okay? We just have to fix things now, yeah? It'll be okay." 

Steve nods.

"Get him in the shower," Eddie says. "I'm burning his clothes in the woods. Cleaning the house. Where's the body?"

Because he can't turn back time to prevent Steve from doing what he did. But he can make things better. 

Billy understands. They're both scrappy. "The quarry," he says. "He'll be found soon." But that's okay. It's perfect. They'll make sure of it.

[setmeatopthepyre]

Recuperate

[@118dailydrabble day 50] [part of antarct-fic | bucktommy | 118 words]

Soft lips kiss a path down Tommy's back and he huffs a breathless laugh into his pillow. “Evan,” he admonishes. “Give me a second to recuperate.”

The kisses stop, replaced by hot breath on his neck, a big, warm hand ghosting across his heaving flank. “Recuperate? We've barely even started.” Evan's voice is low, gravely, teasing. It sends a pleasant shiver down Tommy's spine.

“Then how am I already out of breath?”

Evan's hands, Evan's weight, disappear. Only his voice remains, right by Tommy's ear. “Because you keep running away from me.”

Tommy jolts awake, gasping for air in the darkness of his dorm room, and with the most confusing morning wood he's had since his army days.