#impending doom drabble

[siriuslysmutty]

Impending Doom - (K.G.) Part 1

Summary: Kyle tries to calm you down when your pinned.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, prettyboy!Kyle, TW!they almost drown.

Up next: Cap kisses you

Other parts

"Come on! Pull!" Kyle shouts, your final, desperate attempt at getting the door open on this literal sinking ship.

You both groan as you heave with everything you both have, willing to risk even a prolapsed anus if it meant survival.

The door slips though, and seals under the pressure of the rising water levels in the cabin. "No!" You cry out at your only way out.

"Fuck!"

And then you feel the water climbing up your leg steadily, already at your knees. "Try again!" You shout and you both yank on the door again, heaving it open only an inch before it's sucked helplessly shut again.

Youre gagged in panic. "Captain!" Gaz shouts over the comms. "Captain you got a read!?"

"Aye, Gaz!" Crackles out your Captain's voice over comms, on the other side of the ship, fighting to get the target off the boat.

"We're trapped. I'm out of blast charges and the cabin is filling with water!" He shouts into the comm, desperation filling his voice, but the water has already reached the garter holster on your thigh.

"Ghost go get 'em-" the ship rocks from an explosion as more chaos breaks loose. You begin to pull at the door again but the water is too high.

Your name gets called, feather soft despite the chaos. And when you look up Kyle's eyes soften on you.

"We need to find a way, Kyle, there's gotta be a way-" His hands grasp your shoulders, eyes filled with resignation. Your words die out and you can hear the distant gunfire, the groaning of the ship's final moments.

Kyle is bathed in the flash of light reflected in the water one moment, a gentle light like a late evening with the lights off, as pretty as a lover. The next its a blinding red emergency lights flashing. Both of your chests heaving under heavy, soaked uniforms.

Price's voice is edged with urgency as they're fighting to get the mission settled, at the chaos topside while part of his team is trapped below...

But your panic rises as Kyle conveys that simple acceptance, even as the water starts climbing over your hips. You both were about to die, but it was comforting to be with him in these final moments.

"It's been an honor serving with you all." Kyle murmurs into the line.

"Don't you two give up yet! We'll get to you!" But there's too much happening. Too much of the mission gone sideways.

"Kyle," you whimper out softly, "please, there's gotta be a way-" and then his mouth is on yours.

Soft, wet, and gentle. Oh, so delicately soaking up everything like a black hole. Silence. Cotton in your ears. Your scooped up to him, held like your precious and - not a bad way to go...

It eats away your panic, because Kyle Garrick was kissing you like it's as simple as breathing. You cling to him all at once. Soft, wet kisses met with gasps and a low groan.

"Wot the 'ell are they doin'?" Ghost groans out, confused on the line.

But another explosion hits as the water reaches up to your chests and its so close the metal shrieks around you, the floor rocks below you and current pulls.

The water is frigid. But youre sucked into the ocean with Gaz when another hole gets blown into the ship.

The Captain finds you two floating in the water just in time for the boat to capsize. "Good to see you both made it out," he announces in relief when your both deposited in rescue blankets, shivering.

Gaz gives a breathless laugh, his eyes dragging up to yours eagerly, lit with excitement. "Yeah, me too." He hums.

[yujensstuff]

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄

pairing: mark grayson x reader

summary: mark and [name] being cuddly ppl, morning cuddles

a/n: english is not my first language. dizis some hc & drabble,interpret [name]'s gender as ur own,, not proofread

tw suggestive themes

Thinking about spending the morning after an intimate night with Mark Grayson.

Both of you were super exhausted, and were practically bedrotting. You would grumble about him being unforgiving the night before, but he'll just hum in acknowledgement.

He felt a little prideful, wearing you down.

"Can you loosen your grip a little, Mark?" You finally said after a long moment of silence. You hated the fact that he had super strength, he always used it to his advantage. He whined, reluctantly loosing up his grip—but just a tad bit. Mark was always so very clingy, more often than not he would refuse to let go of your hand when going out.

You grumbled, "You're gonna crush me, my God." voice muffled against his chest which felt more like a stone wall than anything human.

His arms instinctively tightened. Again.

"But you're so soft," came the sleepy reply, Mark's voice coming out as a deep rumble against your ear. "Like a big, life-sized teddy bear."

"I'm no teddy bear." You hissed.

He was the number one reason why you were cranky most of the day.

Why? Cause of his grip, obviously. The fact that you could do absolutely nothing to resist from his embrace, the impending doom that always awaits you when you have risen from your slumber.

Trying to squirm, you sigh in defeat. No good—superstrength made Mark a leech when cuddling. "I'm your lover." You spell the word 'lover'. "One with ribs. I'd like to have them uncracked."

Mark made a very unreasonable retort. "But you might float away!" He pouts.

"Markus Sebastian Grayson—"

"Fine.."

══════════════════════

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓶𝓮

© yujensstuff, 2025

[acid-ixx]

a birth-day unlived, an afterlife unknown: part one. (again &. again drabble)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

in which your birthday was as lonely as ever, and you're left spending time alone with your thoughts and not a single birthday greeting; and the concept of an afterlife doesn't seem all too scary anymore.

OR — you're not as alone as you think you are. sometimes, even you are clumsy enough to not see through the bigger picture.

your birthdays always come by on a stormy day.

it felt reminiscent of how it's only the surge of raindrops which were your only accompaniment, each pitter-patter of the droplets on the locked windows felt like the tears wetting your cheeks; unrelentingly neverending. the thunder that crackles through the billowing air rupturing outside reminded you of the boisterous, impatient thumps in your chest.

it was cold, but at the same time it was not. every part of you was an insistent dichotomy, truthfully. you wrap yourself in blankets to help soothe your shaky breaths, hide your silent whimpers, and yet sweat entangles itself on your forehead, mingling with dried, salty tears streaking across your cheeks.

it feels like another one of those days once again, probably because it was. the world never really stops itself for you, never applauded you just because you were brought into this world.

alfred wasn't here to greet you during the midnight as he usually does, thinking about it doesn't stop the ache. nothing ever stopped it.

not even a familiar cupcake in sight, not his insistent voice which calls you through thin walls just for you to finally come out of your little cell, not a single presence except you and your noisy thoughts.

your birthday was a rumor to gotham's more curious eyes, a forgotten one, in fact, once nobody could discover just when exactly were you conceived; when the start of your miserable life laid wake. when your mother had to give birth, alone, in a bathtub with nobody to witness her hurried shrieks, tangled hair splashing throughout reddening water, and the way she had to physically feel the rip from across her body because of course, anaesthetics were none such a commodity in this city.

the only one who took enough effort to remember was alfred. he was closer to you, but his efforts weren't enough to crumble past your guarded walls. but you take what you can, take his gracious attempts at trying to bond with you, even if just for a few minutes then at least, at least you could say you were loved; kids like you can never be too greedy anyways.

so even if it meant an unusual shift, even if it meant bearing through a new kind of paranoia sifting through your anxious thoughts that, finally, alfred has had enough dealing with a problem child like you; you sigh and move so your back faces the door, blankets covering your sweating body from head to toe.

maybe if he does visit, the first thing he doesn't have to see is your tear-stricken, pathetic face.

maybe.

yeah, it's just like all the other days—

a painful reminder of your past, truly, and a mockery to your present.

— you just never expected it to still hurt as much as all the previous years. maybe 'cause you had company, maybe because the light shone a bit brighter when there was another person in your room to comfort you.

you never thought it in yourself that it could still hurt as much— this solitary isolation beating through your veins.

you watch outside your tiny room, feel the air tinged with impending doom, yet quite frankly, it seems as if your body refuses to breathe in that feeling, not when it was like you were created from that sole emotion alone. even the moonlight felt uninvited to witness the scene before you: your little body barricaded, starving and quenched, goosebumps littering all over your skin, who could not comprehend the joy in excitedly waiting for a special day. especially not when midnight felt like dread, dread at waiting for dick to come fulfill his promise, light blue, distracted eyes looking elsewhere, at the portraits, at his watch, at the silhouette of damian's glaring eyes down the hall, but down.

down at you, childish wonder still present in your eyes - you'd rather he looks down on you, just so it means you were at least important enough to be hated. how you wish to be acknowledged - pinching the fabric of his loose tee. a lump formed in your throat, you can't afford to lose this moment, not when it this was so rare, so precious to you. this was one of those special days your idol came to visit, you can't.

"c-c'mon, please...?" maybe if you were convincing enough, maybe if you'd cause a scene, maybe throw a tantrum or two, bite at his skin until it rips, until you see the barely conceivable flesh hanging off of skin and exposing bone— maybe he'd come to hate you, then torment you for the rest of your life, but ah, at least that meant you'll be less lonely for this evening.

would dick had love you better if you were less shy, then? would damian hate you less if you'd have put up more of a fight? would jason still see you beyond the curtains of entertainment if you had learned to speak up? would tim, steph, barbara, cass, or duke finally grow the guts to talk to you if you were a bit more like them?

put on a mask, throw in some punches. get some bones broken, lose a tooth or two, twist a limb, gain ugly purple bruises along your body, maybe even die, breathe one last time and yet never once regretting to take the mantle if it meant having one of them look at you proudly.

if you weren't such a coward, you'd like to think that that would be the line you'd have to cross to have bruce at least stare at you.

trapped under lock and key, you could never revisit the pain boiling beneath your skin, you wish it was as easy as it was to do so, similar to how they ignored you, never making an attempt to visit you. a second passes after the tick of the clock reaches 12, then it's lightning striking through the outposts. your heart beats out of its cage at every minute that clicks, but ultimately, the first thing you'd feel was an ever-so familiar disappointment.

'nothing again. not even a knock against the door. i think it's time to move on."

no alfred to greet you a quiet happy birthday, no jason terrorizing your tiny room, no voice other than your hushed whispers, a pathetic attempt at greeting yourself yet ultimately failing to even utter a single word; nobody. not a cupcake, not even a candle to blow on, not a word spoken.

you wish you could say it doesn't affect you as much, but the tears flowing out your eyes were solid evidence that yes, it does hurt, it hurts even more now that you realize you were truly alone right now.

and maybe you could try to convince yourself that cupcakes were so last year, like steph always said under her breath; a joke or two in your crippling mind, but every time you think beyond your silent birthday, all you ever see are their happy faces without you— off to celebrate another achievement that was never yours.

another loud boom! then the faint sound of sizzling passes through the cracks and into your ears; your room was silent enough to pick up even the faintest of noises. maybe if you were lucky enough, then the next lightning bolt would preferably strike you through the windows, causing you to burn. maybe your death could warrant at least a couple of eyes on you?

oh, but what are you even joking about? nothing ever changes in your routine.

you felt eternally cursed in this neverending trap.

that was how your story always went.

the first words you'd said after the clock struck past twelve were curses for this damning family, and yet you all too easily gave up, hiding under blankets as you grab your phone by the bedside table; anything to distract yourself from another failed year, another unspoken birthday as your screen lights up to another unread article, and yet in bold letters, it highlights the title about another one of the wayne's chaotic rendezvous at just a newer gala—

oblivious to the set of eyes just right outside your windows, the pair of ears hearing every disjointed breath, every spastic heartbeat, you scoff at the shifting, beating winds knocking past the frosted glass, unaware that it wasn't caused by natural phenomena, unaware that just outside of your bedroom, was another voice which greets you a happy birthday, a candle of his own lit, untouched by the rain's drizzle.

"if you believed in the afterlife, what would your vision of it be?"

a shudder escaped the back of your throat. the cool air escaping through and into the windows - accompanied by the bluish glow of the moon reflecting off expensive vases - felt crisp against your skin. the tips of your fingers felt slippery as it perspires on the wood of your pencil, tapping carelessly on the ridge of the table as you thoughts drift off to.. well, something.

you, seated on your rickety chair, looked outside, past the burgundy curtains, and onto the imagery of the forests, your mind preoccupied with priorities far exceeding the need to answer your piled assignments. you're thinking of something, meaning them. the wayne's, their associates, batman and his vigilante partners, bruce and his unruly children, without you.

it's one of these days again, patrol night, where the entire family— their little team, you bitterly acknowledge, are out once more. out, meaning they're there, together, huddled in their own world. you can picture it, piece together dick's - nightwing's - smile he offers the little childrens he saves, smiling at them with the same glow he offered you all those years ago. a treasured memory, but just a memory nonetheless that you'd wish to bury.

you heard from alfred: jason decided to hang out with them, too; that's why he wasn't lazing through the library as usual. hearing that information come out from alfred didn't help the pricking jealousy blazing throughout your skin, even when the butler had to stop you from digging nails deep and piercing through your already scarred palms.

sometimes, you feel like an idiot for even thinking you deserve your favorite brother's time. sometimes, you don't even know why you even chose to care about why they chose to spend time without you anyways. why he matter more to you when he's just like all the others.

when, after all, he's already part of their own cocoon, an established nest, a bat with his little robins. a single father with his children, and you— an enigma in their eyes, no less.

but unlike the mysteries tim loved to solve in his free time; you just weren't interesting enough.

detectives like to discard useless details anyways. you're part of the invaluable bunch— a weed, as damian once called you.

these days, quite frankly, had you feeling like a cuckoo bird, too, a lone stranger dropped off into an unfamiliar house, forced to be raised by utter strangers whilst trying to fit in. but instead, your presence felt invasive, leeching off their income; bruce's wealth was at your disposal and yet you fear even spending a single dime; you fear that if he'd had noticed, he'd get the wrong message, mistake you as a thief, throw you away despite the nagging thought that alfred would be there to defend you to his utmost effort.

but that's the point, you're not entirely convinced that you matter as much to the butler anyways.

it's bruce's words over anybody else's. and those rich, dark blue eyes in which you'd use to drown yourself staring at through the television held the same, damning glare as batman.

so then you'll still be forced to live in poverty, right? jumping through dumpsters to find this day's dinner, live off of ripped clothes and rotting cardboard boxes.

then sooner, you'll meet death face to face way too early. it'll pity you for your miserable life, speak empty words like your body would soon be, but it'll inevitably take you away.

so what do you think your afterlife would be?

it's one of these nights again, you stare at your notebook, at your unfinished assignments on the previous page, and you bite the insides of your cheeks, at the question gleaming under the sheer glow of the lights, mocking you, ridiculing you, tempting you to— to die, all about death, all about the afterlife.

what comes after everything? would you at least see your mother past blinding lights?

the question lies forebodingly in your notebook. it was a tuesday, maybe, where it's been last assigned; you can't recall, memories had all been blurred by how intangible your days blended into— but it's already a thursday and yet you have nothing to write on your barren notebook.

your pencil nearly slips through your shaky grip, yet you steel yourself from fully letting panic eat you away, write out in barely legible letters:

'if there was, ma'am, i hope my mother would be there on the other side of the bridge i'd cross. then maybe, in the afterlife, i wouldn't be as lonely anymore.'

'— and i hope i don't see their faces in the afterlife, too. i hope they won't do anything to bring me back; that'll be a fat chance, though.'

you scratch out the last sentences, but it gives you enough euphoria writing that out. makes you feel petty, even if the emotions of triumph don't last as long as it does despair.

knowing that you had to beg alfred on what they planned to do despite his insistence that it will only hurt you further, what they're currently doing this evening; that they're probably out there eating batburgers, laughing at each other for getting a toy of each other, and you're just here: seated on a creaking chair, finishing assignments, being normal.

blearily blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you sigh and shut your eyes, then you close your notebook after and shove it haphazardly inside your bag, splayed clumsily on the floor.

that'll be your outline, for now, all you want is sleep. you'll rush through your essays tomorrow.

after all, this temporary passage of time: sleep, it felt a bit like death, doesn't it?

you jump on your bed, hearing its familiar squeak and feeling its low dip. the thing you lay on feels a bit too small nowadays, a cruel reminder that you were forgotten enough that a bigger bed, at least, is due but never permitted.

ah, but what can you do anyways? it's not like begging could warrant even a single change. you'll just have to make do with what you have, as always. that's how life is to a kid like you. you're born in the slums, you'll still live life like you are in one.

as you throw your too-small blanket upon your shoulders, you shut your eyes, ignore the perspire dripping down your forehead and how your legs buzz with uncomfortable heat. you try to throw away the images of one of bruce's gentle smiles, try to bury the ugly desires that just for once, he'd be the reason your bed dip, not from its age but from his weight— and he'll wipe away the sweat from your head, and kiss the crown of your hair. he'll whisper soft words, tell you sweet dreams, that you'll have them soon enough in your arms, that whatever suffering you'd gone through for a decade would be worth the effort.

that fantasy's enough to make you hope you won't wake up.

at least you'll have a solid answer to give to your teacher if or once it does happen today.

you're too far gone in your dreams to hear your bolted down windows creaking, too far gone in sleep to even question another presence looming over your sleeping body, too far gone in misery to comprehend them sitting in your bed, soon laying down beside you, as they take you and wrap.you around their arms— cooing at the slightest tweak in your lips, the smallest smile your gracious face could offer him.

dedicated to my pookie wookie @neerathebrightstar <3

a/n: y'all leave your suspicions or speculation? this was written in an hour, sooo.... will there be a part two of this? yes! there will be, and it would be focused on the batfam's perspective instead. why did i post this? it's because i wanted to delve deep into just how lonely the reader actually is, but at the same time, not really (also because editing this concept that was rotting in my notes app was easier than dropping a chapter that had over 10k words since my wifi is down). i dropped a lot of hints of the reader being stalked, but it's not obvious so good luck with that!!!

[justarkive]

THE JEONS | 15

15: Too Much Love

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics + smut sometimes!

• chapter contents: tender domesticity, overwhelming love, parental vulnerability, soft angst. fluff with a gritty, aching undercurrent + strange sense of impending doom. emotional overload, insecurity, and a moment of stepping back before stepping forward. jungkook washes hana, but it becomes too much. love that hurts in its softness.

• warnings: emotional intensity, self-worth struggles, one (1) grown man crying in a hallway. parental softness that may destroy you.

a/n: idk this drabble doesnt even have anything that sad in it but i was so sad while writing it, this is also my attempt at writing smth poetic and gritty hehe, im vry proud of it ( prob my fav drabble out of all of them )

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking @pinkpunkdynamite @angie-x3 @bgfdcvbnjk @starlight-1010 (check pinned to be added)

series masterlist

It’s late.

Not late in the way the clock says—though it’s well past midnight—but in that way the house feels. Everything quiet, soft, suspended. Lights off in every room except the bathroom, where a single yellow lamp hums like it’s dreaming. The light is dim and sleepy, casting the room in that strange glow that only happens past midnight, when the world forgets how to be loud.

The water’s warm, not hot. Just enough to steam the mirror a little, just enough to make her lashes damp at the tips.

Hana’s in the tub, knees drawn up, toes wiggling under the bubbles. She’s talking—something about a sea monster and a rubber duck who fell in love—but he’s only half-hearing it. Not because he’s not listening. He is.

She’s all pink cheeks and wet lashes, her laugh like windchimes, her body small and wiggly with joy, still unbothered by the world. Still untouched by shame or fear or anything heavy. And she’s looking at him like he invented every good thing. Like he’s the sun and gravity and all her favorite colors in one body.

It’s just hard to breathe.

He brushes her hair slowly, rhythmically. Like it’s a ritual. One hand gathering the light strands from the nape of her neck, the other tugging gently from scalp to end. Repeat. The brush stutters now and then on a tangle, and she flinches like she wants to protest, but doesn’t. She’s warm and heavy-limbed with sleep, her cheeks pink with heat, her breath fogging the mirror just a little.

His sleeves are wet past the elbows, one hand steady under her chin, the other smoothing more shampoo into her scalp. She tilts her head back when he says so, closes her eyes, lets the water rinse through her hair like she trusts him with everything. And she does. That’s the part that makes his chest ache.

She trusts him.

More than anything else in the world.

And she’s so small.

His fingers cup the curve of her head like he’s holding a bird. His palm covers her entire back when she leans forward to rinse. Her wrists disappear under the wrap of his hands. He’d like to think he could fold her up into his chest and carry her forever.

And he wants to.

Jungkook looks at her—really looks—and his chest aches.

Because his whole world is right there. In the tub. With her flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes and the toy that keeps capsizing and the hair that tangles faster than he can smooth it. That’s it. That’s the whole purpose. That’s the whole goddamn point of everything he’s ever done right.

But then she blinks up at him with that stupid gummy smile and those eyelashes that stick together in stars, and she giggles just because he scrubs behind her ears a little too hard, and it happens—something in his throat stings. The kind of ache you only get when love feels like too much for the body you’re in.

He swallows it down. Or tries to.

Keeps washing her shoulders. Quietly.

But the sight of her little spine. Her soft skin. The way she leans back into his hand without even thinking. It’s unbearable. It’s perfect. It’s terrifying.

Because how did he get this?

How did someone like him—someone who messes things up, someone who still flinches at the thought of not being enough—how did he end up here? With this tiny, beautiful, trusting human leaning back into his hands like he’s the only safe place she’s ever known?

It’s too much.

He feels it rising in his chest like heat, like a wave, like something is about to crack open, and he has to step back.

He puts down the washcloth. Carefully. Not fast, not sharp, just… careful.

“Baby,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Mama’s gonna finish, okay?”

Hana pouts. “But I want—”

“Shhh,” you murmur, stepping in without missing a beat, your voice the calm to every storm. “He’ll be right back, bun.”

You kiss her wet forehead and take the cloth from his hand. He brushes past you. Not rushed, but not slow either. Just enough to not fall apart in front of her.

He leans against the wall just outside the door.

One breath. Then another.

The air out here feels colder. Less magical.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Doesn’t even bother hiding it.

Inside, he hears you humming. Nothing special. Just something soft, familiar. The way you always do when it’s late and everyone’s tired and there’s not a single thing in the world that needs fixing.

And he turns just enough to see.

You’re kneeling at the edge of the tub, sleeves pushed up, eyes low and warm. Hana’s voice is sticky with giggles, high and bubbling like something effervescent, and it bounces off the tile and into the corners of the room. You’re washing her arms, small and slippery with soap, and she kicks water at you when you try to rinse her back. You don’t flinch. You just smile. That kind of smile that curves your whole mouth, that he never gets tired of watching. Hana is looking at you like you’re her whole sun.

And you are.

And this time, it doesn’t break him.

It rebuilds him.

He stands there quietly, watching the two of you.

His world. All of it.

And this time, the tears don’t sting—they warm.

You’re not talking much. Just murmuring little things to her. Compliments. Warnings. Soft scolds disguised as lullabies. The kind of voice you use only with her. And she’s not paying attention to the words, really—just the tone. The tenderness. The safety in it.

He stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame, arms crossed but loose, heavy eyes tracking both of you like he’s afraid to blink. Like if he does, this moment might glitch and vanish.

You’re so beautiful. Not in the stupid, glossy way. Not like a picture or a promise. You’re beautiful in the way breath is beautiful. In the way the moon never asks to be looked at, but always is.

He exhales, slow and full.

Two people. That’s it. Just two people.

And yet, somehow, his whole fucking universe is right there. Slippery and soft and splashing.

After, he watches you towel her off, warm her little limbs, lotion her tiny knees while she pretends not to like it. She makes a face at the cold cream, and you flick her forehead gently, and she grins like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Then you carry her to her room, even though she’s getting too big, and he hears you groan dramatically about your back and she tells you that you’re old, and the two of you are laughing again, in whispers.

You dry her hair with the towel, patting gently, while she wiggles on the bed like she’s got ants in her pajamas. He’s sitting on the floor just by her doorway, elbows to knees, head bowed.

You sit her on the bed, tuck her in with too many blankets like you always do, and smooth her hair back from her forehead. He sees you hesitate before turning off the lamp, reaching instead for the brush.

She whines a little, but you hush her with something sweet and mindless. The bristles move through her hair. She’s half-asleep, head bobbing with each pass.

Two people. One brushing the other’s hair.

But to him, it looks like the whole goddamn meaning of life.

“Dada?” she mumbles, eyes half-lidded, twisting the hem of her sleeve in her fingers. “Where’s Dada?”

You glance at her. Then at him.

He hasn’t moved. Like the words didn’t quite reach him.

So you turn slightly, raise your voice just enough to find him in the quiet.

“She’s asking for you,” you say, gentle but firm.

“I—can’t,” he says softly. Quiet enough that only you hear it.

Your hand stills on her head. You look over your shoulder.

“I know,” you say, and it’s not a question. It’s not disappointment. It’s not pressure.

It’s just… knowing.

And then you reach for him—your fingers, open, palm up.

“Come on,” you say. Just that.

And he doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t. Not because he doesn’t love her. But because he loves her so much that it hurts. And right now that ache feels bigger than he can carry alone.

But you’re not letting him do it alone.

So he takes your hand.

You pull him up gently, guide him back into the room like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. He swears he can’t breathe right, but you’re calm. And she’s calm. And the night is calm too.

Together, you sit her down at the edge of the bed. You kneel in front of her and start brushing her hair with slow, even strokes, while he sits behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. He watches your hands. Watches the way you twist the strands, smooth the flyaways, tuck the pieces behind her ear with such care.

She’s almost asleep before the braid’s even finished.

He swallows hard. Touches her ankle.

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft it barely counts as sound.

She hums through her sleepiness. “I love you… more.”

And he just blinks. Swallows again.

You never could, he thinks. Not even close.

He glances at you, and you smile—not the wide kind, but the small, knowing kind. The kind that says, we’ve got her. Even when you don’t say it out loud.

And the thing is, he can’t do this alone. He doesn’t want to.

The braid is crooked again. A few strands already falling loose. The nightlight glows orange against the curve of her cheek. Her mouth is slack, her lashes curled, her fingers curled around the hem of her blanket.

His chest aches again, but this time it doesn’t scare him.

It softens him.

You kiss Hana’s temple, then gesture for him to do the same. He does. Carefully. Right between her brows.

And when she exhales a little sigh like it’s the last thing she needed before surrendering to sleep, you take his hand again. Guide him back down the hallway. Lights off, doors closed.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, once the world is hushed behind you.

And he believes you.

He really does.

[gumigirl]

define the relationship ft. megumi f. x fem!reader

an: apologies for disappearing again, but here's a quick drabble before i sleep. all characters are aged up and in college.

from the moment you met in highschool, you could tell you weren't going to be too fond of fushiguro. it started with kugisaki introducing you to him at lunch, and then finding out you had classes together, then it was being sent on missions together. there wasn't anything wrong with him, but he just felt so.. glum. like there was just a big grey cloud looming over his head at all times. though, it seemed like with every lunch you ate, class you had, and mission you accomplished with him— you began to understand him better.

you understood that he wasn't really angry, it was just his severe case of rbf, that he actually didn't mind itadori's stupid jokes as much as it seemed. however, he'd never reveal any part of himself willingly, you had to work to pry it out of him. it was like cooing at a stray cat (you would find out that yes, he did this often. more often than he's willing to admit), praying to whatever higher power there was that it'd let you get close enough to pet it. you would learn that he took an interest in botany and marine life from the various books cluttered on his shelf.

megumi wasn't used to having someone adapt to him, to someone reading his timely routine and making it apart of their own schedule. he wasn't used to someone picking the red bell peppers out of his salad, or memorizing how much sugar cubes he put in his coffee. but he would tell himself that it was purely platonic. he was sure you did the same for the others, maybe you were just that kind. you both were just young, impressionable teenagers— love was out of the equation, right?

fast forward a couple years, everyone was still as close as ever. you, megumi and yuuji were basking in the essence of being a step away from attaining the title of fully-fledged sorcerers— and well, nobara was doing well with her side gig as a model, considering taking it up full-time. over the years, megumi came to realize that the stupid thumping in his chest that would happen whenever your hand brushed against his wasn't completely normal. yes, he aknowledged that he may have a small, itsy bitsy crush on you. but he'd never tell you that. simply, you both have been friends for way too long, if you were to reject him now, he'd crumple like paper and curl up into a ball on his xl twin mattress. he didn't tell anyone, not even yuuji. he knew his best friend well enough, he'd probably let out a completely over-exaggerated gasp and then start talking talking about it way too loudly..

slight issue— the feeling of impending doom whenever you got close to another guy that wasn't him. megumi never saw himself as the jealous type, but he couldn't stop the way his jaw clenched whenever he heard you and nobara gossiping about some guy that slid in your dms, or that one time some guy barista was definitely checking you out at eight in the morning. as much as he hated to admit it, he slowly started to feel this way around yuuji, too. he cared about his best friend deeply, yes, that wouldn't change. but he couldn't stop himself from reading into your friendship with him too closely, picking at distant memories of whenever you added an extra piece of sushi onto his plate, or bandaged one of his wounds after a mission. god, you were so compassionate, and now he couldn't tell whether it was for better or worse. not when you're in the front seat with his best friend, screaming partynextdoor lyrics (who was definitely sleezy in his opinion) while he was stuck in the backseat with nobara, a small scowl etched onto his lips as he pretended to scroll through his feed, his mind racing a mile a minute.

he would have to tell you eventually, wouldn't he?

[fernpetals]

Boogeyman

Imagine being kidnapped by Yandere John Wick.

Inspired by THIS post by @gea-chan96

Masterlist

Yandere John Wick x Reader Drabble

Part II

Warning: Kidnapping, restraints,

The Boogeyman.

That's what the man had uttered to you before he fled. Well, tried to flee. He was shot in the head, right in front of you. You would not have felt bad for him, otherwise---he was simply doing what he was told to. Delivering those 'gifts' at your doorstep. But one night you caught him, because the police could not, would not.

You have been pissed at the system, the police did nothing to help. But maybe now you understand why. But it is too late. Looking at your bound feet while your wrists rub against the ropes in your futile attempt to free them, you know you are fucked. The ropes do not dig into your skin, there is a smoothness to them, surprisingly. Despite so much struggle, there is only redness, irritated skin, and no sharp stings.

All you remember was the man being shot at from the side, while you stood frozen before he finally appeared in front of you. The Boogeyman, you assume. You wish you had run faster, you wish you were not frozen, but you were petrified, and he was quick.

The bed feels soft, but that does not stop you from shaking like a leaf, terrified as you hear the distinct muffled footsteps approaching towards the room. You whimper but nothing escapes through the tape.

So that is how the victims in those horror movies felt? Frozen, petrified, heart in mouth, barely breathing?

You wait with bated breath---each moment feels like closer to an impending doom, and finally, the door knob twists.

You notice his eyes first--nothing striking on the surface but his eyes have a vacuum that pulls you, there is no cruelty that you have been anticipating, neither mirth nor anger. You are simply staring at a pair of soulful brown eyes with so much depth you think you would have staggered on your feet if you were standing.

You let out a quivering breath through the tape and try to blink your tears away. Your wrists twist against the ropes with a new-found vigour but nothing happens, they remain firm, it is only your heartbeat that spikes, now thundering until you hear it drum against your ears.

So this is how you die? Does he have a gun? Or a butcher knife?

With each step he takes, you drag yourself further away, despite knowing well that you can go nowhere.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, see?"

As if reading your mind, he raises his hands. They are big, you notice. So he is going to strangle you instead. The thought makes the tears finally escape your eyes. You try to regulate your breath, and you really do, but it is getting worse.

"It's okay. Breathe, slow down, breathe in, breathe out." His voice nears before you feel his cold hand on your shoulder, making you flinch.

But he does not take his hand off, if anything, he holds you firmer. it is grounding, but also terrifying. You focus on regulating your breathing while your head throbs and your years ring. His voice turns muffled for a moment before you feel his hand rubbing your back, your heart rating lowering, nearing normalcy.

Snivelling, you peer up at the man looming over you, something you dare to think of as concern is itched on his face as he cups your cheek. You gasp, feeling the cool air on your chapped lips.

When did he take the tape off?

"It will be okay. You are safe now."

Now?

Now?

"I was safe in my home."

Your mouth moves in its own accord but faster than you can regret, mirth dances in his deep dark eyes, the corners of lips lips ticking up.

"And this is your home now."

He declares with finality before his lips align with yours.

****

Happy Halloween everyone!

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Your stories have definitely scratched that Astarion itch that I've had since I started the game!

One thing that's diffently not sat right with me at the end of the game, is how tav and the gang don't run after astarion after he loses his immunity to the sun. I would imagine that if the player character was romantically involved with the guy they would atleast try to shield or comfort the poor guy. A short drabble on that would be awesome!

That's so sad, I heard that's what happens 😭😭 I'm in act 3 and haven't had to see it for myself yet so yes, let's do some preemptive therapy there! And just warning since I haven't beaten the game yet I'm sure this will be inaccurate as fuck, but also with spoilers somehow ~

~

It was an exhilarating feeling, to win against all odds. One that Astarion had never been confident he would experience. It felt good, final. The official beginning of his new free life, even if it was bittersweet.

This was the bitter part, the end of his illithid protection. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and the burn was already starting. He was being an idiot, standing there with the rest of you like he belonged, waiting for the last possible second before he had to scuttle down in the darkness. But he wanted to see this out. Hadn't he earned that right?

According to the laws of reality, no. No he hadn't, because you had barely opened your mouth before the pain started to overwhelm him. The others would be able to hear it, the sickening sound of his skin crackling.

He was out of time. But before he could make a break for it, you happened. Astarion had been a little preoccupied with his impending doom to pay close attention to what you had been mumbling. But then sudden blackness was blanketing above your heads, opaque enough to make it as dark as night.

Astarion's eyes widened as the pain subsided, surprised beyond belief.

You were looking at him with concern in your eyes, gesturing to the think cloud of darkness above your head, "Will this be dark enough? Can it still get through?"

Astarion stared at you, momentarily confused on why you would do something like that. Before he remembered, oh. Yes. The extended care for his well-being was probably included in the whole love thing. Of course. Obviously.

That was definitely going to take some getting used to.

But the reasoning didn't stop an idiotic smile from blooming on his face.

You grinned back at him, somehow still managing to read his mind even without the tadpoles, "Did you really think I would forget about you?"

He had, but through no fault of your own. One of these days he was going to actually remember that he was worth the effort to keep alive.

"Thank you darling," Astarion said, ignoring the quested as he waltzed up to you. He grabbed your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss, "Just what would I do without you?"

"Speaking of," You turned to the Emperor, a question in your eyes as you vaguely waved upward, "Is there anything we can do about this particular problem?"

"The astral tadpole is still-"

"I'll pass on that, thank you very much," Astarion interrupted, cringing at the very thought of willingly letting another worm into his brain, "But I appreciate the thought."

There were worse things than living his life in darkness. And Astarion was counting becoming a mind flayer in the top three.

He watched, participated even in everyone's final goodbyes, always eyeing you at of the corner of his eye. It's not that he thought you would leave after you both declared your eternal love for each other, but... the two of you hadn't exactly talked about the specifics of the future either.

But that didn't stop you from leaving together. Astarion hadn't expected you to keep the dark cloud above his head as you walked the streets, startling nearly every passerby. But hells, the heroes of Baldur's gate had earned the right to a little strangeness.

You both had decided on going to the nearest, most windowless inn that you could find. Astarion wanted nothing more than to scrub the brain viscera from his skin and sleep for three days. Preferably with you in his arms.

But before all that... he had to know something.

The question was out of him as soon as you both were behind closed doors, "So what happens next to the great hero of Baldur's Gate? I'm sure you have something in mind."

He was just praying those future plans still involved him.

You blinked at him, head cocked like he was asking a silly question, "We go and find you a cure so you can walk in the sun again of course. What else would we do?"

That took Astarion aback, "I-Do you think that's really possible?"

"Well," You started, counting off on your fingers, "We know that illithid powers can do it. As well as devil contacts and ritualistic demon sacrifices. If that's all possible then that means there has to be something else on the other end of the spectrum, right?"

Astarion didn't exactly share your blind confidence. But you did have a point. The two of you had managed so many impossible feats in such a short amount of time. What was one more?

"I suppose there's a chance," Astarion said, hope fluttering in his chest with every word, "And if there is a chance no matter how small, I'm going to take it. But..."

He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know, "Are you sure this is what you want? I would... understand if you wanted to go your own way."

In all honesty, Astarion would not understand. He'd be absolutely furious. Especially after everything you'd been through. This was more of a confirmation for his waning self-confidence than anything else, versus a sincere to desire to let you go your own way. He had no intention of letting you go, not if he could help it.

But his near certainty in your feelings was the only thing that gave him the confidence to ask the question in the first place. And you did not disappoint.

"No, this is what I want," You insisted, reaching out to take his hand in yours, "You're what I want."

That was exactly what Astarion needed to hear. He used your joined hands to tug you closer, face to face.

"Good, because as selfless as I am, I really did not want to let you go," Astarion smiled, leaning in to lightly press a kiss to your lips, "I hope you realize that my love has made me a tad bit obsessed with you my dear."

"I'm sure it's no worse than me," You sighed, resting your forehead against his own, "You've really ruined me for anyone else haven't you?"

Astarion grinned, leaning in for another kiss. He had every intention of making it stay that way, for as long as you would have him.

[losersiren]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳

"𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆'𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆, 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒕, 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆"

CW: GN! reader (if I did use pronouns stone me), implied murder WC: 584

That’s not him.

That’s not your lover.

But how can you voice your problems with a gut feeling that is more than probable to be wrong? Are you overthinking things, or are you too tired? But you can’t just shake off the feeling of impending doom, like the feeling before a storm hits. 

This whole situation bloomed a few months ago. 

It came in when he was supposed to return from work. It was late; the rain had ceased pouring, and the smell lingered in the air; raindrops decorated your bedroom window. Wet work boots that usually would make a mess on the wooden floors didn’t that evening; instead, they sat neatly on the doormat at the house's entrance. He would’ve made his presence known with a loud “I’m home!” However, that thing didn’t; rather than a noisy entrance, it chose to seek you out, slithering around the house, and never made more than a pin drop of noise. Finally, it found you in your shared bed that you and your love would share.

And it just stood there watching you.

Of course, you felt something was off, so you expressed your concern by asking if a situation had happened at work. It shook its head no and finally moved toward you; its body was stiff in the mere act of walking, its touch hesitant yet soft. It caresses your skin so lightly that an outsider would’ve mistaken you for a national treasure; its fingertips are icy and silky in contrast to the calloused warmth your beloved used to have. Its voice almost mocked him in how timid and serene it was versus the strong, confident voice he used to boast on and on about. 

It wasn’t him. 

It came home later than he used to, with more of an iron smell than you can manage. If you ever brought up the smell or the strange stains that would be barely noticeable to the average person, that thing would bush it off, making the conversation about you and pampering you until it suffocated you. You would forget about the incident for a few hours. 

 It wasn’t him 

But… 

It looked at you with so much love and devotion, as if you were the only thing in this galaxy– you swear you saw stars forming in those eyes once you caught it staring at you. It almost makes up for the lack of life behind those dark abysses you call eyes; if the eyes were a window inside the soul, it didn’t have one.  

 It wasn’t him 

 But… 

How it kissed you, like it was its life's purpose, took your breath away but, in the same breath, pulled you closer to life. Its lips were his, but not at the same time; his lips were chapped and rough, but they were gentle, passionate, and soft. A feather-like sensation that would warm up your entire body more than any fireplace or warm bath could. It knew what you wanted.

It tasted sweet. Maybe that’s why the sweetness the creature would whisper in your ear whenever it could take ahold of you was tooth-rotting. It was your old lover’s deep voice but coated in much more affection than he could ever muster. It’s arms wrapped around you in possessive tenderness that couldn’t escape, but you didn’t want to anymore; even though it was cold, weirdly, it emanated the warmth you yearned for. 

It wasn’t your lover. 

But it is now whether you had a choice or not.

End notes: Would it be cheating if I loved the same person who killed you and took your form? Just a quick drabble to get this idea out of my head! Hope y'all like this little snack of a fic :)

[saeamy]

OCHAZUKE

platonic! itoshi rin x reader / sae x reader

summary ۫ ꣑ৎ rin is never really alone when you're here. content: fluff :3 itoshi brothers have a good relationship, reader is sae's gf and a sisterly figure to rin ^^ reader is same age as sae! wc: 769 a/n: i'm really busy with exams so i can't write much rn! but anyways i wish to make this into a small drabble series kinda :) there are no romantic feelings between rin and reader btw, entirely platonic x

rin could feel it. a sense of impending doom, lurking in the vicinity, close to him. 

he waits for a moment, and then he hears it. the familiar pattern of knocks on the door. his heart drops to his stomach when he gets up to open the door. rin finds you standing there, a plastic bag in your hand, the other hand still raised from knocking on the door.

“rin! it’s been a while!” 

it’s only been less than a week. you walk in and toe your shoes off, making your way to the kitchen like you lived in the place. 

how long has rin known you for now? 

before you and sae had officially started dating, which has been quite some time, you would often follow sae around while also treating rin like a little baby, despite you being the same age as sae.

and as you grew older and entered your relationship, you never stopped doting on rin. you’re frequently visiting the itoshi household, even though sae was away in spain most of the times, and you’d facetime him with rin excitedly talking about the things you did and how you both can’t wait for him to return (rin rarely spoke and never said how he couldn’t wait for sae to return).

rin had begrudgingly come to view you as a big sister figure, sometimes even motherly, but he wouldn’t say that out loud, never in a million years. rin sits down at the kitchen island, watching you unpack the plastic bag. “what are you doing?” 

you turn around to face him and smile. “i’m making some ochazuke with bream!”

and rin can’t help the way his face contorts into a little grimace. while ochazuke is his favourite dish, you weren’t the most… competent in the kitchen, yet he doesn’t have the heart to stop you, so he lets you be. 

it takes around 25 minutes for you to finish cooking, and rin straightens up once you put the hot bowl in front of him, and you sit down next to him with your own. you give him a little grin and start digging into your food. rin mutters a thank you, and starts eating as well. 

it wasn’t bad. rin has had far much tastier and better made ochazuke, however this one probably remains his favourite by far. the rice was a bit overcooked and you put too much tea, except there was something in it that no restaurant or professional chef could recreate. homey, full of comfort maybe?

rin is thankful he can maintain his stoic composure at the corny thoughts on his head. “you don’t know how to cook.” blunt and straight, just as always.

“yet you eat it everytime, rin.”

once you’re both finished, he helps you with the dishes, and then you settle in the living room. you sit on the couch and turn some random shitty thriller on the TV, and rin sits on the floor in front of you. 

“if it were earlier, we could have called sae, but it’s too late for him now, wouldn’t want to wake him from his beauty sleep. he’d get grouchy like you.” 

rin just scoffs. “i don’t get grouchy.”

“sure you don’t rin. sure you don’t.”

a beat of silence hangs in the air as the movie continues on the TV, even though none of you were really paying attention to it. 

“do you miss him?” “hm?” 

rin doesn’t turn around to face you, keeping his gaze attached to the screen. “do you miss sae?”

you sigh dramatically and ruffle his hair, messing up the dark silky strands. “what kind of question is that? of course i do. he left me to take care of you alllll alone… i feel like a military wife waiting for her husband with her son!” 

a smirk dons your face as you hear rin’s huffing and his futile attempt to fix his mussed hair. “do you miss him rin?” 

he stays quiet for a moment. realistically, he should feel lonely without sae. there's nobody good enough to play football with him. nobody who could understand his determination and the discipline he had towards his sport. but you did. you were no replacement for his brother. 

you were somebody else who was here for him despite being busy with your own work at university, despite also missing sae. just like his brother, you’ve become irreplaceable. rin is content he has someone here with him. he’s grateful you chose sae because rin really doesn't mind having you as a sister. 

“i do.”

rin misses sae, but he isn’t lonely.

© saeamy 2025 - do not repost, translate, copy or modify my works on any other platform!

[klonnieshippersclub]

A Taste of Trouble

Here's the last little drabble before Klonnie Weekend (starts May 2!). Dinner was supposed to be about negotiations. Bonnie showed up with a plan. Klaus showed up with a different kind of appetite.

The restaurant was empty, candlelight flickering against the polished glass. It should have felt romantic, but Bonnie sat stiff as a board across from Klaus. Her arms were crossed, and she glared at the Original Hybrid before her.

"I'm doing this to help keep my friends safe, not because I like you," she snapped. She accepted his dinner invitation to negotiate a truce, and yet Klaus was more interested in discussing her personal life

Klaus leaned back lazily in his chair, swirling the blood-red wine in his glass. His eyes dragged over her, slowly, appreciatively.

"I think you do like me. Why else would you wear such a dress?" he said.

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "You wanted to talk over dinner. I wanted to dress appropriately."

"Well, I am very impressed," he said, voice low and heavy.

"I didn't wear this to impress you."

"Yes, but I can still appreciate the view."

Bonnie ground her teeth together. "You should focus on your girlfriend." She remembered the foolish Martin witch, Greta, who looked at Klaus like he hung the moon and giggled each time Klaus made eye contact with her.

He waved a dismissive hand. "I already told you she is not my girlfriend. Terms like that mean nothing in the supernatural world."

Bonnie scowled. "Vampires don't have girlfriends or boyfriends?"

"Dating is for humans," Klaus said, leaning forward. "For witches, wolves, and vampires, there are spouses, partners, or mates. And that is why I do not take your relationship seriously."

"That is enough," Bonnie snapped as she closed her fist.

Klaus smirked, unbothered. "Have I hit a nerve? Suggesting you belong with a real man?"

"No, you are..." she spluttered.

"I am what? Making you believe you deserve more?"

Bonnie shook her head frantically. "I can't stay."

"No, please," Klaus said, his voice soft. "All of this is for you."

"This is not a good idea," Bonnie muttered. "And I am not a cheater."

"You would not be thinking of cheating if you did not feel something."

"Goodbye, Klaus," she hissed.

Before she could leave, Klaus blurred forward, snatching her phone off the table. Bonnie gasped, lunging for it, but he was already texting.

"KLAUS!" she shouted.

He raised his brows innocently. "There. You are single."

Her phone buzzed, Jeremy's name flashing across the screen. Why are you breaking up with me? it read.

Bonnie's mouth dropped open. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

"Saved you from impending doom," Klaus said, utterly unapologetic.

"Why would you ruin my relationship?" she cried.

"You wanted this," Klaus said with a devilish smile. "Secretly."

"I barely even know you!" Bonnie protested.

"If you want to fix it," Klaus said, tossing the phone onto the table, "call him. Apologize."

"You call him!" she snapped.

Klaus shrugged. "Do you really want me to tell that boy we are having dinner alone?"

Bonnie's eyes lit with fury. "He does not need to know about this."

Too late. Klaus picked up her phone again and dialed.

"Hello, Gilbert," Klaus drawled when Jeremy answered. "You are not good enough for Bonnie. She is moving on. With me. And I can't wait to taste her." Before Jeremy could respond, Klaus hung up and blocked the number.

Bonnie was trembling with fury and something worse, something hotter.

"You are impossible!" she hissed.

Klaus smiled, showing his fangs. "You will thank me later."

Bonnie barely had time to react. One second, she was pissed beyond belief and the next, Klaus had crossed the space between them and crashed his mouth against hers.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, greedy, and devastating. His hands gripped her waist, dragging her flush against him. Bonnie gasped into the kiss, and Klaus used the moment to deepen it, his tongue sliding against hers.

Before she knew it, Klaus hoisted her up effortlessly and sat her right on the edge of their table as a couple of empty glasses crashed to the floor. She barely noticed, too overwhelmed by the way his hands roamed her thighs and hips. Klaus kissed her like he was starving and she was the only thing that could satisfy him.

Bonnie was supposed to hate him and walk away like a good little witch. Instead, she found herself wrapping her legs around his waist to close the distance between them.

"You drive me insane," the Bennett witch breathed between kisses.

Klaus just smiled against her mouth.

"And yet, you still can't let me go," he whispered back. “Do you want me to let you go?”

Bonnie should say no, pull herself away from the hybrid but instead something inside of her burned. “No, don’t let me go,”

“Allow me to serve you, little witch.” Klaus purred, lowering down as he squeezed her hips.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Bonnie said, she gasped at Klaus’s soft kisses on her legs.

“All I ask is to hear my name.”

[siriuslysmutty]

Impending Doom - (J.M.) Part 2

Other parts

Summary: Being told you're both about to die, you throw caution to the wind.

Warnings: Angst, smoochin', you and Johnny go mwah, mwah, mwah... (now kith, I whisper as I make my reader and Johnny dolls smooch)

Your ears ring as Johnny's shoulders slump. A look of defeat as you come to a dead end. Stealth blown. "LT, do ye see any exits?" The scot hisses desperately, his hand locked around your wrist.

You weren't supposed to be in situations like this. Your job was to patch people up. But the team insisted it'd be fine. That you'd be safe.

But you hadn't been anticipating just how many bodies they had. Infultration had been easy. Exfil though.... "No, Johnny. Find a place to hunker down." The lieutenant's voice rasps.

Its condemning.

Your brain is fuzzy when Johnny drags you into the only room not locked, an office and ducks you both under the desk with a curse. One person would struggle to fit, two is a little more than cramped by Johnny's across you, covering you and all you can think is that the sun and the stars revolve around Johnny.

He's talking into the comms, not meeting your eyes boring into his as he desperately listens to the comms, expression twisting with frustration and-

You can't help it. Something compelling you to do it. The way it bubbles up before you can stop it. Kissing the Sergeant.

He grunts in surprise, eyes meeting yours in confusion as you reach your hands up to cradle his face. "Whot are...?" He starts to ask but trails off as you encourage him closer. Soft and gentle and willing, you kiss him with what may be you last breath.

At least you mean for it to be soft and gentle. Figuring, hey, if I'm gonna die, might as well kiss this gorgeous man trying to save me.

Johnny blinks at you with an intense frown when you draw back. The comms chatter with directives to stay low, but it fades to just noise when Johnny's back on you, crushing you down into the tiny space below the desk with his mouth on yours, tongue already mapping out the inside of your mouth eagerly.

Theres a few faint thumps from the room your in as Johnny kisses you until there's tears filling your eyes (a little oxygen might be nice, Johnny-) Neither of you bother to care. Too busy wrapped in kissing each other stupid and ignoring the encroachment of death.

"Johnny?" Ghost rumbles and then a little more desperate, "Johnny!? How copy-"

"Lil' busy, Ghost," Johnny rasps out.

"Well get a move on, just cleared the path for you both."

Johnny groans in annoyance, like its an inconvenience now that neither of you perished while he was trying to tongue fuck you.

And when you make your way out from the desk you find the snipered targets on the floor of the office.

"'M not done with ye yet, Bonnie. Cannae go kissin' a man like tha' n' expect to get away with it." Johnny grumbles.

"Kissing?" Kyle bawks over the line. "The hell you kissing him for?"

"It was, er, tactical." You squeak.

"Right," Ghost grunts, bone dry.

"Oh, Ahm gonna get real tactical with ye later."

"Move, Sergeant," Price rumbles irately.

[a-spes]

{NATASHA ROMANOFF MASTERLIST }

❝ At some point, we all have to choose between what the world wants you to be and who you are. ❞

( ✿ ) fluff/comfort — ( ❆ ) angst — ( ☣ ) dark ( ❦ ) adults only — ( ✴︎ ) people's favorite (golden trio) — ( ♡ ) requests

{ Series }

➺ Before the Storm, 8.354 words. ( ✿ ❆ ) warnings : mentions of suicidal and depressive thoughts, typical canon violence, panic attack, strangulation.

From the ashes of a fallen kingdom, a threat that everyone thought was defeated shall rise once more, sentencing a second realm to the same fate. The prophecy foretells that the apparition of a young woman where she never belonged will herald the end of everything. Can the impending doom be forestalled, or will the destruction of Earth become inevitable?

➺ Devious Lies, 30.157 words. ( ❆ ♡ ) warnings : mental healh issues, suidical ideation, mentions of SA&SH, revenge porn, severe injuries.

When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It may have been two years since the events, but you still can't stop think about what you've lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

➺ Driving Past the Red Lights, 0 words. ( ✿ ❆ ) warnings : none for now.

when yelena accidentally kills their driver, the women have to find a new one, and quick. natasha has found one, you, and it's safe to say she won't take no for an answer, determined to draw you into her world. one that is made out of violence and blood. one that's unforgiving and will force you to face your demons.

➺ Pretty faces, dark souls, 10.417 words. ( ✿ ❆ ☣ ) part one. part two. part three. part four. warnings : kidnapping, starvation.

you robbed the wrong person, and she makes sure that you pay your debts, willingly or not.

➺ The place we've been dreaming of, 2.252 words. ( ✿ ❆ ☣ ) part one. part two. part three. warnings : human pet, past abuses.

when Natasha enventually gives in, and accept her wife's demand to adopt a pet.

{ One-shots and drabbles }

➺ All the things I am not, 3.097 words. ( ✿ ❆ ✴︎ ) warnings : self-hatred, severe injuries, insecurities.

Since Peter Parker joined the team, things aren't the same anymore. Why does everyone seem to prefer him to you?

➺ Rise of the darkness, 2.000 words. ( ❆ ) warnings : major character death, past suicide attempt.

your family is cursed but you thought you were better, that you could keep the Beast away so you told no one about it. It turns out you can't.

➺ Six feet away, 2.600 words. ( ❆ ) warnings : none.

you were Natasha's girlfriend. It has been a year since she died and you still can't accept it, visiting her grave whenever you can.

➺ Stained hearts, 1.400 words. ( ✿ ) warnings : none.

Fury sent you and Natasha on a mission even if he knows you are in a relationship.

➺ Stolen freedom, 5.100 words. ( ❆ ♡ ) warnings : none for now.

Natasha became the most feared assassin yet again and a ruthless criminal, while you are working for the government, trying to take her down. You eventually face Nat' for the first time in years.

➺ The blood on my hands, 3.200 words. ( ✿ ❆ ) warnings : form of self-harm.

when you kill someone on duty for the first time, Natasha is the one being here to stop you from falling.

➺ The dog's fall, 5.200 words. ( ✿ ❆ ☣ ✴︎ ) warnings : human trafficking, past abuses.

anyone that can beat her in a fight will earn her, and Natasha intends to be the one, working hard to get what she thinks is hers. A dog can't fight for eternity, can it?

➺ The shot you missed, 3.000 words. ( ✿ ✴︎ ) warnings : panic attack, guns.

you're spending a day at the fair with your girlfriend, the sweetest mob boss that possibly exists, and she makes sure that you've a good day.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Forever

Sylus x Y/N - drabble - 492 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: so much fluff, tiny pinch of angst, illusion to smut

-----------------------------

You woke up to the sun on your skin and something tickling your thighs. When you shifted slightly you felt slender fingers moving across your soft skin. You lifted the blanket slightly, red eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t help but blush seeing Sylus laying against your naked body, his head resting on your hip. His fingers drew gentle circles over you making you shiver. You shuffled slightly, Sylus groaned as he made his way back to the top of the bed. You pulled the blanket close to your chest, feeling embarrassed. 

“What is it sweetie?” he asked, fingers caressing your cheek deftly. 

You looked down, shrugging. Last night was the first time you two had slept together. It was wonderful but you felt anxious. You couldn’t help but feel like something was going to go wrong. An awful impending sense of doom. Sylus saw this in your face, you were never good at hiding things from him. 

“Honey?”  he said, his face growing slightly more serious and worried. “Last night… do you regret it?” he asked.

Your eyes shot up, “Of course not! Last night was… the most beautiful night of my life.” you blushed.

Sylus let out a small sigh of relief, “Then what is it?” he asked, holding your hand.

“I don’t know… I just feel like something bad is gonna happen.” you said, a saddened expression taking over your face.

“I’d never let anything bad happen to you. I’m not going anywhere. We can stay like this…” he said, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Like what? In bed naked?” you chuckled.

“Happy.” he said, his eyes full of hope. 

“I’d like that… Let’s be happy.” you said, smiling at him with a toothy grin.

“Forever.” he said, his evol making a ring appear on your finger.

You felt like your face might crack, you straddled him as you showered his face with kisses.

He laughed for a moment before pulling you into a deep kiss, it felt different from all the others you’d shared. Intimate, as if it was sealing a promise.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

You leaned back as if you were thinking about it, “Hmmmm…” 

He grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks together so your lips puckered. You stifled a laugh as he kissed you once more. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’ll never worry about anything, I promise.” he said, loosening his grip so he could cradle your face. 

“I never worry when I’m with you.” you said sitting up and letting the blanket fall, exposing your naked body to him.

His eyes never left your face, “How would you like to celebrate?” he asked, his hands ghosting over your thighs to your hips. 

“I’m sure we can find something to do.” you smiled wickedly as you pulled one of his hands from your hip, trailing it down between your legs where you wanted him most.

_______________________

Naboo's Note:

Hello all! Very short fic before I head to work. Sorry for the lack of fics lately, work has been so draining and when im not at work all i want to do is sleep but I'm hoping to publish a few this weekend :) XOXOXOXOXOXO

[miyoooki]

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: He finds out that you’ve been drawing him way too much

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: Miyuki Kazuya x artist!reader, short fluffy drabble, no y/n, Kazuya is annoying, not proofread

a/n - This one is for you @bunndemia

He wonders what could be so damn important on that iPad of yours that you haven’t so much as talked to him this morning. Every time your eyes would meet, you’d quickly look back down at your device, seemingly avoiding him.

Kazuya huffs out, sucks in his pride, and marches over to the bed where you’ve been sitting for an hour or so.

“What’cha got there?”

You failed to notice how quickly he got close to you, practically talking into your ear. It was too late before you could clutch the screen against your chest. You knew he had seen it all with the growing smirk on his face.

“It’s nothing,” you blatantly lie to his face. It only served to make that shit eating grin wider.

He hums. “Pretty sure I saw something there… maybe even a drawing of me?” Kazuya chuckles a bit. “No, I meant to say drawings of me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

As much as you try to gaslight him. There was no escape knowing that you’d been doodling the same person with the same fluffy shaded hair, same black rimmed glasses, and the same charming pout.

“Show it to me then—what you’ve been so busy with.”

You narrow your eyes at him, sensing your impending doom—that doom being relentless teasing coming from none other than your menace of a boyfriend.

But you clutch the device tighter. “I know you’re gonna make fun of me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will though.”

“When have I lied?”

“Are you saying I don’t know you that well?”

“Are you saying I’m a liar?”

“Fine.”

You let him take it from you, not daring to look at this reaction. But curiosity gets the best of you and you slowly pan your gaze to him.

A small smile graced his features. It wasn’t his usual I’m-gonna-annoy-the-heck-out-of-you smile; it was a genuine one.

“Wow… you are obsessed with me huh?”

That makes your brows furrow. “Oh please.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “I’m obsessed with you too, aren’t I?”

Kazuya looks up at you momentarily with the kind of smile that makes his eyes disappear and small dips form on his cheeks.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to show him your stuff.

…

Until he scrolled the canvas.

“Why are there so many sketches of me shirtless?”

Oh. You’ve drawn him so much this morning you forgot about the short period of time your mind strayed to that place…

…

…

“Um… for science?”

miyoooki 2024 | do not copy, repost, translate

[morganas-pendragons]

The Prophecy | Celebrimbor

Guys. The brainrot is all consuming. Send help.

I was listening to the Tortured Poets Department the other day and felt like this really fits with what I’ve written for him so far. I know I’m writing this plot out of order, but it will eventually all make sense. I am still training at work, and while that constitutes nothing for me, it means I have too much time on my hands.

This will fit into the 3 part fic called Where Are You? that will cover 2x06-2x08. I haven't rewatched 2x08 yet, but that's coming. I have so many ideas for you guys that I may just start rapid fire releasing the drabbles first.

next fic is for High King Gil-Galad

Secondly, this concept is turning into an OC fic. It will be on Ao3 by the end of this year!

Tag: @pentaghasm @celebrimbormylove @thesolarangel @wild-typo-turtle @ladyoflindon @sandwichmustbetasty

Song inspiration: The Prophecy - Taylor Swift

Prompt: You ruminate on what little you remember in your purpose of being in Eregion while Celebrimbor sleeps at your side. The Valar may grant mercy on occasion, but you wonder if this ends in doom for you both.

***

Things are beginning to come back in pieces. You aren’t exactly sure why. There are flashes of gentle eyes and gray hair. Whispered words in Quenya as you perfect your natural healing ability. Your name, the real one given to you, but you don’t remember by who. Not yet.

You prefer the name given to you by Celebrimbor.

Said elf lays beneath your palm, breathing steady even as he sleeps. You had been the one to seek him out for comfort this time. It was a rare night of him succumbing to sleep early, and so you had sought him out in desperation, aching for the comfort of Celebrimbor’s embrace to shelter you from your memories.

You’d forgotten until you’d fallen into his bed how far away he was. It didn’t matter that you could feel his heartbeat, or touch his skin. He was worlds away from you.

And all because of Annatar.

Now you lay here, head pillowed against his chest, fingers tracing shapes against his abdomen, too distracted by your racing thoughts to sleep. Annatar’s constant demands and high expectations in the crafting of the Rings had put you both on edge. Celebrimbor had been elusive as well. So much of his time was spent locked away in The Forge, just out of reach.

He’d never deny you. Not even with the distance between you both.

No one but you could feel the dark magic in that room. The shadows that shrouded the elf you love, even now, so suffocating that it remains difficult to breathe.

“Please,” You whisper. No one may be listening. You have no idea. You would beg whatever entity did listen for this. “Please do not let this end in doom.”

With the trajectory of what was occurring, you had been trying to fight the impending sense of doom lingering in your heart for weeks. The nagging feeling in the back of your head that you are to be preparing for a funeral for you or Celebrimbor by the conclusion.

Or both of you.

You shiver at the thought and bury your face in Celebrimbor’s shoulder. His arm tightens around you instinctively, like the elf you’ve fallen in love with still resides deep within the recesses of the mind he’s been made prisoner in.

Please, I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

“He’s so good,” You whisper. “Everything he does is from the goodness of his heart. A kind heart.” You hold your breath as your tears collide with Celebrimbor’s skin, causing him to shift beneath you and press his face into your hair with a quiet grumble. You don’t dare speak again until you’re sure he’s asleep. “All of Celebrimbor’s intentions have been pure. He wants to do right by his people and rectify the sins and shortcomings of the House of Fëanor. This should not end in ruin. Not his.”

Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company

Let it once be me

You wish you could pull him out. Use your magic to break through the darkness that has settled upon this city, settled upon him, and force your way through the walls Annatar has erected to keep him complacent. It is Celebrimbor’s own chains that keep him prisoner.

Chains built by pride and ambition.

No. If anything, Celebrimbor will have to awaken from the depths of this illusion when the stakes are too high and he has something to lose.

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo the prophecy??

You run your free hand to rest your fingertips against his temple, smiling against the curve of his cheek as Celebrimbor begins to stir beneath you. Heavy lidded eyes flutter open to meet your own. In those few moments of silence, you can see him.

“Why-“ Celebrimbor starts, cut off by a yawn as he buries his face in your neck and rolls to slot a leg between yours. The action has you blushing as you raise your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. The action usually puts him right back to sleep. “It isn’t even dawn yet, love. Why are you awake?”

You contemplate an answer for several seconds. Part of you wants to tell him, to confide in him about that underlying fear of ruin, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’ll say if you directly mention Annatar.

You don’t even know if you could trust in him not repeating what you’ve said to Annatar.

So you instead allow him to place a lingering kiss at the corner of your jaw, humming softly as his fingers soothe your body's aches by massaging at your hip.

You’re so tired.

“Too much to ruminate on. My mind will not let me rest.” You reply. Celebrimbor frowns, the furrow in his brow deepening as concern flashes behind his eyes. “I will be fine. You sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

Celebrimbor does not complain. He can't. Too many times have you been the one to hold him, to shelter him from the storm of his own mind as he wakes briefly enough to seek you out. Too many times have you been the one to leave food at his table, to bring him tea, to offer him your company when his solitude becomes too great to bear.

Too many times have you fallen back asleep while Celebrimbor wept in the silence.

You hear Celebrimbor whisper his, "I love you." before settling again, this time with his hand pressed against your stomach and his hair tickling your nose. The sheer vulnerability of being so willing to sleep in a position like this when you've been apart for weeks has tears burning the back of your eyes.

Who do I have to speak to To change the prophecy?

You hold him there on the precipice of sleep and allow, for just this moment, your fear to breach the surface.

"Please," You whisper. "Please, just this once, grant us mercy."

***

And far above the reaches of Middle Earth, she heard you.

The Lady of Mercy and Grief did not ignore the suffering of those who dared to reach for her.

[syofrelief]

death AU - 141 headcanon drabble-ish

kind of wanna make this a series but not sure what it would look like. i see guardian angel AUs all the time but never a lot of death AUs.

Simon isn't Death. I think he's more of an omen; he'd be commissioned by Death to warn people of their impending doom or threaten them away from harmful paths. He's a big black dog typically, but he also enjoys ravens. Mostly bribing the correct number of them with trinkets to show up as a warning. (y'all know the rhyme, right? One for sorrow, two for mirth...)

Soap for sure guides the dead to the underworld or wherever they go. He'd have a grand time, hunting around for any wandering souls and herding them to the beyond. If Simon is the black dog of death, Soap is the fluffy silver collie running in circles at his feet.

Price has potential to be the big man. He'd do well as Death, planning out each passing and the complicated web of lives that have to be clipped at very precise moments. He never really shows up like Omens, but if there's a sticky situation he might appear.

Gaz is a right hand man. Weighs the scales, provides guidance over a difficult fate. I think he'd be the only one that takes a human form, preferring to feel as he did in life. Also it calms the dead, seeing one of their own instead of a hulking black mass. (I think Gaz is the one who persuades Price to wear the hat in court. Big shadow figures are less scary with a bucket hat.)

dunno, might make a poly 141 fic or a reader fic or idk man. I like it though.