#drabble roulette

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: Not the Type to Ask

Warning: nothing explicit.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Wow,” you utter as you look up at the grand chandelier.

You’re so dumbfounded by the sheer extravagance that you stop without thinking. You’re jostled by the other guests as they try to get past. Oops, you’re not the only one here.

You step out of the way and take it all in. You’ve never been to a wedding so fancy. Your sister had a backyard wedding and your best friend forwent the whole debacle for the courthouse. Speaking of, it was so cheesy of Riley to skip out on you.

You can’t help but feel even more out of place. Solo and lost amid the sea of mostly strangers. You’re super excited for Clarissa. Oops, she goes as Clare now. You keep forgetting. Back in college, she hated when anyone shortened her name but she said her fiance, now husband, prefers it.

You don’t think you could change that much for a man. Or anyone. You have a hard time sticking to anything really. You’d be like a puppy that doesn’t know their name yet.

You reel in your wandering thoughts as you approach the table with the seating plan. You look at the diagram then up at the dining area. There’s so many tables and chairs and still room for dancing. Holy guacamole.

As you search for your name, a man steps up next to you. He leans in slightly to read the chart. Another man bookends you and you squirm between them, panicking as you struggle to find your name. The letters all move around as you search for your place in this elaborate affair.

The man to your left leaves but the other lingers. You peek over and find him staring at you. You blink. He’s tall, blond, blue-eyed. You noticed him in the wedding party. The white rose on his lapel confirms his role. A groomsman. He wears sleek black, cut perfectly to his figure.

He doesn’t say a word before he turns away. That was strange. Or you’re just awkward. You look down and your eyes zero in on your name. Thank the fates!

You memorise your table number and set off to find your seat. You’re with the second and third cousins. You know because Clarissa used to complain about Mindy, sat to your left, opposite the empty seat left by your absent plus one.

It’s all very proper. The guests find their seats. The bridal and groom’s party sat either side of the table set above the rest. The two seats of honour remain vacant as bodies continue to shuffle in.

The chatter stirs around you and deepens your dejection. You know it’s all in your head. You’re just a nervous mess with no courage.

The voices quiet as the pluck of harp strings cuts through. The bride and groom emerge from the double doors and strut proudly to the centre of the floor. Oohs and ahs escape several guests as Clare reveals a second dress. If you ever take that plunge, you don’t know if you could do all this.

The music shifts and a man announces the bride and groom. As they begin their first dance, the lights dim. You watch, twitchy as you long to take out your phone and shield yourself in a mindless matching game. That would be rude. It’s just so awkward sitting there staring at them as they dance so intimately.

When the dance ends, the bride and groom take the microphone to welcome their guests and to your relief, announce that dinner will be served. Well, at least the food should be good.

Your glass is filled with wine before you can decline. You’ll stick to water but the complimentary alcohol is a nice gesture. The first course is tiny mushroom tarts that kind of smell like a basement. So much for the food. Well, the lobster bisque is alright…

After dinner, your attention is snagged by the man with the microphone again. He once more congratulates the couple then hands off the microphone for the first speech. First? How many could there be?

Eight. Eight speeches. Each longer than the last. By the end, you taste the wine. It’s too bitter.

When at last, the talking is done, the father/daughter dance has you ready to nod off. It’s all very nice but it’s taking forever. Then the mother/son dance. You wonder how anyone can stand all these people just staring at them.

When that’s over, the dance floor is opened for all. Guests stream out as the music picks up tempo. You once more curse Riley for ditching you.

You sit and watch the dancing. It’s not too bad. You hear whispers of the cake being cut soon. That would at least be worth it. What are you even thinking? You’re here to support Clare.

You glance over at the married couple’s table. The groom stands amid his groomsmen. How odd. They look very suspicious, as if conspiring.

There’s little things you’ve noticed. Whispers between them, hands shaking a bit too many times. Well, maybe it’s just been a while since they saw each other.

You look down at the dark wine and turn the glass. It would be rude to dip out. And you do want some of that cake. You glance over at the eight-tiered monstrosity. It looks too much even for the hordes here.

Your vision of the perfectly scalloped icing is suddenly blocked. The chair next to you slides out and a man sits calmly at your side. Your eyes refocus on the same blond man who stood beside you at the seating chart.

He takes the name card from in front of you and reads it aloud. You watch him, more nervous than curious. He slides the tented cardstock into his pocket then holds out his hand.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself.

You pause then shake his hand. “Hi.”

He squeezes and doesn’t let go. He stands and you look at his grip on you. You frown.

“Pretty girl like you should get at least one dance,” he drawls as he tugs you up to your feet.

“Uh… I don’t… know how…” You counter weakly as he easily guides you away from the table.

“Just follow me, sweetheart.”

He brings you out to the floor as the music slows down. He turns to face you and places one hand on your side as the other leads your hand to his shoulder. He holds you close as your face flushes with heat.

“Ummm,” you blink furiously.

“I’ll lead,” he leans in. “You just relax, doll, and I’ll take care of you.”

You do your best not to step on his feet. You glance around and notice the eyes following you. No, not you, him. You peek down as your toe scuffs against his.

He brings his fingers up under your chin and forces your head up. He keeps you close as he stays on time with the music, swaying with you. He leans down to look into your eyes.

“Doll, don’t look no where but here.” He growls. “It’s only you and me.”

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette 🌻May 2025🌻

Night Fall (August Walker)

Make Up Your Mind (Clark Kent)

Dirty Little Lies (Johnny Storm)

Making a Mess (Lee Bodecker)

Bonfire (Captain Syverson)

Not My Woman (Curtis Everett)

Dirty Clothes (Jake Jensen)

[theragethatisdesire]

fuck it i'm about to go on this generator and find a bunch of random positions and write some drabbles if u guys want to submit some to the ask box for drabble roulette please do

[deviationdivine]

▲ Detroit: Become Human▼

⋘   Angst ☁   Fluff ღ   Smut ۵   | One-Shot ✓   Mini-Series◮   Continuation∆  ⋙

AU ◐   HC ◑ 

Connor (RK800)

Deviant Heat  ✓ ღ ۵ | 300 Follower!

Everlasting You  ✓ ☁

My Deviant Heart | 200 Follower! wip

Wake Up | domestic au  ◮ ☁ ღ ۵

part 1

various other wips 

Connor Headcanons | Deviant & Machine ◑

Machine!Connor

Hardest to Fall  ✓ ☁

My Desecrated Love   ✓ ☁ ۵ | 100 Follower! (tw:suicide)

Strict Machine (cyberlife!wins ending wip)

RK800-60

Consume Me, Electric  ◮ ☁ ღ ۵

part 1 wip

Nightcall  ✓  ☁  ღ   

Only If For a Night ∆ ☁ ۵   

Skin of the Night (DBH After Dark wip) | 400 Follower!

‘Only If For a Night’ 1.5 wip

RK800-60 Analysis/Headcanons ◑

RK900

Is It All An Act  ✓  ☁  ღ  

Not So Secret Admirer  ✓  ☁  ღ

Connor (RK800) x Reader x RK900

Cybernetic Heart Part 1  ◐ 

  | human!Nines & android!Connor (au mini-series wip) 

Connor (RK800) / RK800-60 / RK900

Pet Names  ◑

▲ Requests ▼

⋘   Connor ◬    RK800-60 ∇    RK900 ⊿  ⋙ 

Regular

A Kiss Is a Kiss  ✓ ◬ ღ

Better Understanding  ✓ ⊿  ღ

Bright Like the Sun  ✓ ∇  ღ

Even Until There Is No End  ✓ ⊿ ∇   ☁

Hopelessly, Lay Your Head  ✓ ∇ ◬  ☁

Safe Harbor ✓ ◬ ☁ (tw:depression)

Smooth As Silk, Pure As Ivory  ✓ ⊿  ღ

wip currently (regular requests are closed until queue depletes a bit)

▲ Follower/Reader Appreciation ▼

Drabble Prompt Requests

A Little Misunderstanding  ✓ ◬ ღ

Be The One Destroyed   ✓ ⊿ ☁ ღ ۵

Blue Blush   ✓ ◬ ღ

Blue Is My Color  ✓ ∇  ღ

Caustic Salvation  ✓⊿ ◬ ۵

Nighttime Fear  ✓ ∇ ☁ ۵

The Stoic Prince  ✓⊿ ۵

[diinofayce]

Mirror, Mirror - drabble

Entry Number 2 for my 700 Follower Drabble Roulette! @lady-une asked for an angsty Bruce x Harley with number 45 which was “What if your mirror started talking to you? What would it say?” Hope this lives up to your expectations, Angel!!

Paring: Bruce Wayne x Harley Quinn | Word Count: 843 | Warnings: questionable theories that will die over, unedited because NaNoWriMo is murdering me |

Bruce stood in front of his full length mirror, his red smoking jacket tied snug around his waist and his black silk pajama bottoms were long enough that the hems just barely brushed the floor. Should he roll the waist up to preserve the fabric? Would that be comfortable? He decided he didn’t care. He raised the tumbler of scotch to his lips, the ice clinking around inside giving away the shake of his grip. Taking a large gulp he set it down on the side table.

Leaning in closer to the mirror he examined the wrinkles around his dark brown eyes, poking at the dark puffy bags under them. Alfred told him to sleep more, let Gotham take care of itself for a night and rest. But he couldn’t. How could Alfred expect him to sleep when all he heard were the demons in his head screaming? They kept him awake, not this broken, dirty, wretched city.

Reaching out he grabbed the sides of the gilded frame with his large and scarred hands. Gripping it hard, knuckles blaze white, he turned his square jaw from side to side, watching the silver hair at his temples catch the light. It was getting harder to suit up at night, harder to leap from building to building. He could feel it in his bones, his joints screaming in protest every time he grabbed a ledge to pull himself up or pulled his arm back to land what used to be a fight ending punch. Now it took twice as many punches to put the bad guys down and half as many to make him groan when he got out of bed in the morning.

None of the boys were ready, though, there was no one to take his place. The problem was they wanted it too bad, they were thirsty for it just like Bruce had been and he wanted better for his boys. He had screwed up with the first few Robins, to be sure, he wasn’t very good at being a father but he meant well and he tried. God, how he tried. But it seemed like trying wasn’t enough anymore. He and Jason would never have a functioning relationship again. Tim and Dick took their own personas and barely even listened to him anymore and from the moment Damien, his only actual son, appeared on Bruce’s doorstep the kid was already so cock sure he was better than Bruce ever was. It was hard, seeing the young boys Bruce once mentored now be their own obstinate young adults. Bruce tried, the boys were simply trying.

But Bruce couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was off, that something inside of him was fundamentally wrong. Lord help him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was for the life of him.

Bruce turned from his mirror and pulled the curtain away from the window. The sun was setting below the city skyline, he should get ready to go out for patrol.

“Puddin’?” the brash lower Gotham accent grated on Bruce’s ears.

Turning sharply, hand reaching for the bat-a-rang he usually kept in the lining of his smoking jacket only to come up empty. He patted the lining down in confusion before looking up at the intruder.

Harley Quinn stood before him in a black silk negligee and heels, Bud and Lou snuffling at her hands begging for pats. The hyenas whined at Bruce before Bud loped over looking for attention. Bruce pulled his hand away disgusted and Harley whistled the mutt back to her hip.

“Go on, both of ya. Ya know Mista J don’t like ya much,” Harley shooed the hyenas out and looked back at Bruce, a concerned expression on her face.

“You feelin’ alright, Puddin’?” Harley continued, her heels clacking against the hard floors as she approached him.

Bruce leaned away from her with a mixture of confusion and disgust in his gut.

“What are you doing here, Harley?” Bruce ground out, his voice not sounding right in his ears.

“Oh, is it happenin’ again? It’s okay, Puddin’, I just need ya to look at the mirror.”

Harley pressed herself past Bruce’s pushing hands and put her hands on his shoulders, twisting them until he spun around.

Bruce blinked hard before scrubbing his knuckles over his eyes. Surely she must have done something, did she drug him? No, that was never her style. The mutt didn’t bite him. Was it the scotch?

Bruce lifted his long, narrow fingers and carded them through his vibrant green hair before cupping his pointed chin in one hand and rubbing his jaw. Running his finger tips across his thin lips and feeling the scarring underneath he shuddered. Green eyes flashed dangerously at him from the mirror.

No, this was normal. This was how he was supposed to be. He’s not the Bat. How ridiculous. He’s better, smarter, more handsome than that Bat could ever hope to be.

“Better, Puddin’?” Harley simpered behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling at the tie of his jacket, laying soft kisses up the sinewy muscles of his neck.

“Never better, my dear, never better,” Joker affirmed, turning to lift his woman up and lead her to the bedroom.

[kylo-ren-has-an-8pack]

2,8; 4,7

(Kylo/Poe…Hux or Han/Phasma

“Do you like it, Darling?” 

Hux practically purred out the words. He was fully clothed in his uniform, everything about it crisp and pristine as if he were strolling the bridge. His arms were crossed behind him as he paced casually, watching with an eagle eye as Ren steadily worked at tying both of Poe’s hands behind his back in a beautifully extensive knot. He’d learned from him well. Good. 

“Being trussed up like a little tart for us?” 

The Resistance pilot was naked and resting on splayed knees, bent over slightly to allow Ren room to work. The position he was in might appear threatening or non-consensual were someone to happen upon them there in the throne room, but the pilot’s cheeks were flushed and his teeth were biting into his lower lip as the ropes tightened around his wrists and forearms. Hands still working, Ren leaned in to kiss sloppily at his past lover’s neck, nipping until the pilot closed his eyes, muffling a small moan.

“Mhmm. He likes it,” Ren murmured, making eye contact with Hux while trailing his mouth up to Poe’s ear, tugging at his earlobe and then licking a slow stripe along his jaw. 

Hux stopped his pacing, landing directly front and center to Poe, his parade rest and overall appearance immaculate other than the obvious bulge tenting the front of his trousers. 

“Does he?” He paused, pondering. “What else does he like?”

Send me numbers to play Drabble Roulette and get a 3-5 sentence fic!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: For Your Consideration

Warning: none.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Sherlock Holmes

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Miss Enola, don’t you look wonderful,” you praise the young woman as she beams in a gown of canary yellow. She has just the perfect colouring for it.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” she preens. “I do hate the lace.”

“Oh?” You feel around your belt and pull out a small pair of sewing scissors. 

She tilts her head and grins. “I fear I’ve taut you some bad habits.”

“Or I, you,” you challenge as you trim the lace from her collar. “Better, Miss?”

“My brother will detest it,” she snickers. “It’s perfect.”

“Don’t worry about him. It is your day. Lace is lace. You are off to university tomorrow and that is something to be proud of.” You squeeze her arm gently. “Now go off, be with your friends and be merry.”

Her eyelashes flick and her cheeks tinge pink, “I will miss you, ma’am. Are you certain you cannot come?”

“Miss Enola, you are grown. Go and be as free as you can.” You take her hand and pat her knuckles.

“But what will you do now?” She asks.

“Don’t fret for me. I’m grown too,” you laugh and gently nudge her. “Go now.”

She pauses then pulls you into an embrace. She holds you a moment before she goes. You turn and watch her skirts ripple through the door. She leaves it open as you linger. It is a good question. You’ve a few leads for other governess positions. Most will be a step down from the Holmes’ household but women like you don’t often get to choose.

You wince as a figure appears in the open doorway. You force a smile as Sherlock’s eyes find yours. He dips his head slightly.

“Busy?” He asks.

“No, sir. I’ve the lady’s luggage packed as it were.” You assure him.

“You have a moment?” He puts his hand on the door handle and watches you.

“If you require, sir.” You reply plainly.

He nods and slides the door shut. He turns to you and his shoulders rise and fall. His square chin dimples.

“My sister leaves in the morning and you will no longer be employed.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, I understand that,” you reply, slightly confounded. It’s obvious and you had this conversation already.

“And you’ve found employment elsewhere?”

You swallow and fold your hands. “I’ve some interviews, yes.

He hums and sucks his teeth. He nears the back of the embroidered settee. He gestures across to the loveseat nearest you. “Will you sit?”

“Yes, sir,” you skirt around and lower yourself to the stiff cushions. “I am thankful to have worked for Miss Enola for so long. She has blossomed into a very clever young lady.”

“Yes, she will find trouble wherever she goes,” he grips the wooden frame of the settee and leans forward. “I don’t worry for her, she is capable.” He stares at you as his throat bobs. “I would like to discuss… your future.”

“Well, sir, as I said–”

“If you would kindly allow me to lay out my thoughts,” he interjects. “I do believe I’ve found an opening so you might remain here.”

You clamp your lips shut. You didn’t mean to be uppity. You only thought he would be eager to be rid of the expense of your employment, especially with school fees to pay.

“This house will be rather empty without my sister.” He begins. “And I find that prospect less… desirable than it once was.”

You’re silent. Sherlock has never been very forthright in his emotions, only in his demands. He mostly gave the order that you keep his sister in line.

“You are older. I believe in your third decade. For a woman, that is near ancient.” He says.

You flick your lashes and raise your brows. He clears his throat and sniffs.

“I don’t see it as such myself but you are… mature. You’ve shown integrity. Responsibility.” He stands and gestures as he speaks. “And you are diligent.”

“Thank… you, sir,” you hesitate.

“So I thought…” he combs his thick fingers through his curls. “It mightn’t be such a stark change as it would to relocate and acquaint yourself with a new family…” His hands move as he unfurls his thoughts, “than it would be to stay… and assume a new role.”

“Are you sending Vicky away?” You ask.

“Vicky? The maid?” His eyes drift. “No, no. I still have need of a maid.” He coughs and crosses his arms. “It would be an advantageous arrangement for both of us. I myself am also… mature.” His cheek ticks and he makes himself look at you. “We would be in similar… need.” 

He seems to struggle as he makes circles with two fingers in the air. He brings his fingertips to his cheek and traces down to his chin. He takes another deep breath.

“We are well matched, yes?” He tweaks a brow. “You are not too young and I am not too old.” He purses his lips and wets them with his tongue. “It makes most sense, as I’ve put my logic to the matter and it does hold water, that we should be married.”

You don’t move or speak. You can’t quite process the word. Married? Your mouth falls open.

“You see, as rationality guides me in all, the conclusion is clear. You would stay, you would get to be close to Enola as before, to maintain that relationship, and you wouldn’t need to risk your income. And I would have…” he searches for his next word. “Company.”

You stare at him. It’s not what you were expecting at all. Not in all your life could you have followed that logic. He watches you, the lines around his eyes deepening in concern.

“You are… considering?” He prompts.

“Oh… yes, I…” You squeeze your hands together. “I think I will need time for… consideration, Mr. Holmes.”

“As I figured,” he pushes his shoulders back as his hand opens and closes at his side. “Please, think so long as you need. I know you will see common sense.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Benefits Outweigh the Risk

Note: I'm bored and have to go see my family.

Prompt + Character: "I dare you. No, seriously—I dare you." + Matt Murdock 

Please leave a comment and or feedback in the replies. Please reblog and share for other people! Love you all.

“Matt, please. Just let me go.” You go to step around Matt but find yourself blocked by the extension of the white can. You sigh and step back, tilting your head. “You know, it was funny the first time. Maybe the second. But now it’s getting old. And late.”

Matt smirks and drags the end of the cane around until he hits your toe. “You’re really going to ditch the blind guy, huh?”

You’re glad he can’t see your face. He isn’t the guy to use that as an excuse. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s never let the lack of sight slow him down.

“Don’t with that.” You warn.

He chuckles and grips the cane with two hands. “Alright. Deal. If you can get past me, you can go home.”

“You are so– I gotta work tomorrow. You do too.” You huff.

“I told you, sleep here. It’s late. I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone.” He insists.

“It never bothered you before,” you tut.

“It bothers me now,” he counters. “Come on. You can do it. Really. You got a leg up on me. So–”

“Matt,” you click your tongue.

“Come onnnn,” he drawls and chuckles. “You don’t gotta hold back. I can handle it. Go for it. See if you can get by.”

“This is getting… strange.”

He tilts his head. "I dare you. No, seriously—I dare you."

“Alright, if you insist,” you hiss.

You step around the other side of him. He drops the cane and the way it hits the floor makes you jump. You stumble and before you know it, your purse is on the floor and Matt’s hands are on your wrists. He pins them to the walls and smiles.

Your heart pumps as you stare into his eyes. He can’t see you, you know that, but how could be that fast? How could he have done that?

“Matt?” You utter.

His grin grows. “You’re staying the night.”

“Not fair, you scared me–”

“I didn’t break any rules,” he argues.

You exhale. “Oh my god, you are such a… lawyer.”

He snorts. “You know, that’s usually a plus with pretty girls.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I’m sure it works wonders with them.”

“Usually,” he lowers his voice as he steps closer. “They don’t usually make me work this hard.”

You press yourself to the wall. You giggle nervously. “Matt,” you say quietly, “we’re friends.”

He blinks and flicks his lashes. He pulls your wrists from against the wall and places your hands on his shoulders. “We can be friends and other things.”

You shiver and push on him gently. “I don’t think… I… no, it would mess this up.”

“Mess it up? How?” He breathes as he leans in.

“Matt,” you press your palms against him. He slides his hands up around yours and squeezes them.

“I think I already messed it up ‘cause I won’t go back now,” he brings your hands up to his hair and purrs. “But you can keep trying to get past me… see if you get it this time.”