#triple drabble

[ya-zz]

Alsooo wondered if you could do hanzo, genji and ram finding out reader loves a particular part of their body/turns them on. With the boys either realising when they’re intimate or another way..but reader is too shy to tell them directly but they figure it out?

Sorry not sure if I explained that in the best way!

-💜

HANZO

The archer thought nothing of it at first, but the way your hands trailed up his arms, tracing every curved and line of his tattoo sparked something hot within his stomach.

He just believed it was from the lack of touch.

However, each time that your fingers would graze up his forearm and over his bicep, he would shudder. Even in the least of intimate situations, it would always make his body run warm.

Hanzo would try his best to keep it hidden, but he knew that you knew. You knew the effect your touch was having on the archer at your side.

Neither of you would admit it, however, too stubborn to say anything and not wanting to be the first one to speak about it. Though, whenever the two of you got closer in more ways than one, it was always the first thing you would do to let him know that he's yours.

GENJI

The first time you and Genji were intimate, you were careful not to touch where you believed he was most uncomfortable. The scars of his past marred his body, memories and nightmares that still haunt him even years later.

There was a time, however, where your fingers grazed over a scar on his hip. At first, the sharp intake of breath from the ninja made you pull away, afraid you hurt him.

But, when your fingers ghosted over the scar again, Genji shuddered. Part of him hoped you didn't see the way his cheeks flushed or felt the way his heartbeat would rise. But, you knew.

Oh, you knew.

And you were going to exploit it until he broke.

RAMATTRA

His systems stutter, glitching momentarily when your hands smooth over the plating on his torso. Be it between the metal bracing or covering his midsection.

Thanks to his model, thanks to him being an omnic, he's able to hide it pretty well.

Or so he thought.

You caught the way the lights on his forehead would flicker each time your fingers would glide over the plating. The subtle static that became more prominent was also a give away. It was something you'd keep to yourself, a secret that you could and certainly would use against him in the more... worst of moments.

And when Ramattra catches that glint in your eyes, the awareness of his weakness, he'll be sure to get you back in his own little way.

---

KOFI

[a--clockwork--lemon]

17th December 2025 || @drarrymicrofic || prompt : "overdue" || word count : 300

Harry woke up to fingers running through his hair. Manicured nails gently scratched his scalp sending pleasure rippling through him. It was lovely. And so astonishingly familiar now. Prying his eyes open, Harry shifted to look at his partner, who- not having noticed that Harry was awake- continued to play with his curls whilst flicking through a book. Draco always looked gorgeous in the mornings- his platinum hair all out of place, his scars not glamoured away. Harry got to see Draco as he was. Smart, and flawed, and beautiful, and his. Harry's favourite of Draco's expressions appeared: the furrowed eyebrows with creases between them. Sometimes it came with rage, sometimes with concentration, sometimes when Draco got a bit too 'Malfoy'. But Harry loved it all the same, because after the expression always came the softening of Draco's gaze, like mercury. And it was always so intimate, vulnerable and loving. "I love you." Draco's expression remained still and unreactive. Perhaps he didn't... love Harry back? It had been a few months, but it felt right. Not too soon, if anything, he said it too late. The creases between Draco's brows vanished as he turned to Harry, his eyes sparkling with... something. "Well Potter, that was long overdue." "What?" Harry refused to let his jaw fall open, the way Draco often teased him for ('you'll catch flies if you don't stop that, darling'). But as it always did, Draco's metallic stare melted into utter affection. The book was set aside, and the men lay face to face. "You've been telling me in your sleep, you know.” Telling Draco what? Shit, this was not going to plan. "I've been telling you..?" Draco smiled gently at him, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth. "I love you too, you idiot."

[infiniteeight8]

Stiles is a fox charmer or foxes consider him their leader

Since the association between Stiles and foxes is because of the Nogitsune (at least, to my knowledge), I’m using that as an inciting incident.

-

It takes Stiles a while to notice. Things are so fucked up after the Nogitsune that odd wildlife behavior doesn’t register. But eventually it calms down enough that his eye for patterns notices them. The foxes. Whenever Stiles is within a hundred yards of the Preserve, at least one fox can be found in the brush, watching him. Usually more than one.

He tells Deaton, who brushes him off, and the pack, but Scott just shrugs and says to let them know if the foxes do more than follow him. Peter seems more interested than the others, but he doesn’t speak up. 

For weeks, nothing changes. Then a witch kidnaps Peter.

No one can track him, the witches have gone to ground, and Scott seems like he’s looking for an excuse to stop searching, though he goes along with the plans the others propose. Stiles is furious, and maybe a little scared, when he storms out of a pack meeting and into the Preserve.

The foxes come boiling out of the bushes as if summoned, at least a dozen of them. “I need to find Peter,” he tells them. Really he’s just venting his frustration. How could the foxes do anything if werewolf noses can’t find him?

But they draw closer. The underbrush continues to rustle as more join the gathering. “I need to find Peter Hale,” Stiles repeats, heart pounding. This is stupid He doesn’t even have anything of Peter’s with him to share with them.

Apparently, it doesn’t matter. After a breathless pause, the foxes scatter into the Preserve.

Stiles waits.

Sixteen minutes later, one of them returns. 

It leads him straight to Peter.

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Peter murmurs.

“Secrets,” Stiles corrects. This doesn’t feel like something he should share. Not yet.

Peter smiles. “Of course.”

[outtoshatter]

Big Spoon, Little Spoon

Rating: T | Characters: Flambae | Chad/Robert Robertson | Mecha Man Tags: cuddling, spooning, fluff, alternate universe, established relationship, triple drabble, robert makes some assumptions and is wrong in the best way

Snippet, and the rest under the cut:

“Mm, just stay.” The words were mumbled into the small of Robert’s back as he was bracing himself to hunt down his pants. Teeth grazed the skin. “What?” Chad sighed heavily and tugged at his hip. “Don’t act like my bed isn’t superior, bitch, and get back in here.” “I don’t have a toothbrush.” He repeated him in a falsetto and rolled over. “There are spares in the cabinet.” Another deep, sleepy sigh. “Bitch.” “You barely meant that.” “I’ll work on it.”

Robert snorted and climbed back into bed; it wasn’t like he preferred to leave, just what he figured they both expected. When he tried to curl down under the blankets, their limbs tangled. He shuffled back and down, and bumped his chin on Chad’s shoulder, took an elbow to the ribs and a knee to the thigh. “What the hell is the problem?” he huffed after his fifth try. Chad’s head came up to glare over his shoulder. “Cuddle me, bitch.” He wiggled his hips, snugging his ass back into Robert’s lap. “Oh.” He didn’t lie down yet, propped up on one arm. “I thought you’d want-” He made an impatient sound and pressed more firmly into him. “I called dibs.” “How? When?” “Right now. Dibs on little spoon. Come here.” He reached back to pull Robert’s arm around his waist, pushing and nudging him into position like a body pillow. Robert tightened his arm around him and pressed his face between his shoulders, sighing deeply. The old, constant ache in his ribs faded to nearly nothing, pressed against Chad’s higher body temperature like this. That his firm ass was tucked up against him, slotting just right in the cup of his hips, was just a bonus. He supposed he could get used to being the big spoon.

[beyond-andromeda]

overdressed

Star Wars | Teen | Luke x reader | 300 words | AO3 link

Triple drabble, domestic fluff, comfort, cuddling, spooning

If you're not fully clothed, Luke doesn't want to be either.

Full text below.

Your choice of sleepwear was more minimal than usual on this warm night— undergarments and a comfortable shirt you’d stolen from your partner. Settling into bed you closed your eyes, content to finally end the day.

It wasn’t long before Luke joined you, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling himself flush against your back. He buried his nose in your hair, planted a kiss behind your ear. One of his hands slid across your stomach and over the curve of your hip where he found the hem of your shirt. “Is this mine?” He mumbled with a breathy chuckle, pinching and feeling the fabric. 

“No,” you replied, unable to conceal a smile.

“Liar,” Luke teased, trailing his hand over your thigh, your skin responding with tingling goosebumps at his light touches. “I see you couldn’t be bothered to subject a pair of my pants to your thievery.”

You shook your head. “Too warm.” 

With another brief kiss to your ear, you felt Luke remove himself from you, then the bed. A small groan of protest left your throat but you were too tired to truly complain. Before you knew it though, he had returned to his spot under the covers. As he once again drew your back to his chest, molding the contours of his body to yours, you noticed that the previous sensation of his clothes against your legs was now absent, replaced by soft, warm skin. 

Your face warmed and a grin crossed your lips at the realization that Luke had stripped out of not only his pants but his shirt too, his bare arms wrapped securely around you. “Felt a little overdressed,” he explained.

You huffed a laugh before sinking fully into him, comfortable and happy as you drifted off to sleep in his hold.

[annarobots]

But Healer

The face of the stranger was hidden beneath his hood, but in those peaceful days, any Man or Elf in need of healing was welcome in Imladris.    

“What seems to be the trouble?” asked Elrond.  “Need a little something for the arthritis?”  He nodded toward the stranger’s gnarled hand.

“I’m depressed,” said the stranger.  His head remained bowed.  His voice was low, muffled.  Whether from sorrow or an attempt to conceal his identity, Elrond neither knew nor cared.  No creature of evil could penetrate the sanctuary of the valley.

“Many are the woes of the world,” said Elrond in sympathy.    

“Another year ends, a new year begins, and I wander still in pain and regret.  The long life of the Eldar seems cruel, as I have lost all who once loved me.  I walk my path alone.  Defeated.  Doomed.”

“Well, are you a Noldo?”

The stranger carried on.  “The Light has failed, and the Darkness that followed is more than loss of light.  The tides of Time will sweep away all that is fair and wonderful.  Ah, woe!  That we should live on, in this place of foul death!  Woe, woe and grief!”

“Look,” said Elrond, “I can see you’re troubled.  Despair not.  I’m not that kind of Healer, but I know what you can do.  A great bard is scheduled to perform tonight.  In fact, he’s meant to arrive any moment now.  Go and see him.  That should lift your heart.”

The stranger did not speak for a long moment.

Then he pulled back his hood.

Elrond drew in a sharp breath.  Long ago, he had given up the search, but never had he given up hope.  He swallowed hard. 

“But Healer,” said the stranger, at last.  An impish smile lit his dim countenance.  “I am the great bard.”

read on ao3

[airas-story]

“Carnage sizzles slow in the aftermath. It’s raining. Despite the blood drizzling from his temple, Tony can’t help but notice how beautiful Doctor Strange is within the storm.”

I’d love them to say “I love you” without a single word. It’s a cute opportunity to play with description. Other characters can witness this if you want to make it funny, but it’s also fine to make it quiet and sweet. Your choice.

I'm not entirely sure I fully got what you wanted. I was understanding that the first part was an example. Not sure this will satisfy.

It was nights like these when Tony truly believed in magic.

Not in the technical sense. In the technical sense, Tony knew that magic existed—even if it could still use a great deal of scientific inquiry—and that it served all number of functions. It was a fact and Tony preferred to acknowledge facts when faced with them.

But that wasn’t the same thing as believing in magic.

But on nights like these…

Stephen hovered in the air at the center of a candle lit circle. The smoke from the candles danced around him, like snakes before their charmer, flowing along with the waves of magic. Tony could feel the power gathering in the room like static electricity. It should frighten Tony, power of such magnitude was supposed to frighten any sensible person.

But Tony was fairly certain that he was incapable of fearing Stephen, now. No power under Stephen’s control would ever hurt Tony.

A non-existent wind caused Stephen’s hair to flutter against his temple, and Tony was brought back—for a brief moment—to their first meeting.

Love twisted in his chest, the memory a fond one, now. Funny how the memory worked. That day had been one terror after another and now…

Now that memory made him smile.

A surge of power brushed against his skin like static in one sharp burst. Tony took that to mean the spell Stephen had been channeling had done its job. Of course, he’d never doubted that it would.

Slowly, Stephen settled on the ground. When he opened his eyes, the remnant of channeled power was still flickering in his eyes, making the storm in them feel a little more literal.

He looked… magical.

It was no wonder that it was nights like these that made Tony believe in magic.

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

March for Raph Day 31: With You to the End

He’d always figured—deep down, hoped—that he would be the first one out. Going down fighting, probably throwing himself in front of a weapon meant for one of his brothers; he couldn’t imagine it happening any other way.

He didn’t have to imagine anymore. Apparently a slow death was the only thing capable of chipping the strongest and most loyal away, one crack at a time.

Sensei first. Respiratory infection. Raph’s hand on his shoulder, shaking with every wet, haggard cough until it stilled.

Leo. Biting a bullet from which Raph was meant to shield him. Showing him up one last time, cutting ahead of him to the honorable death in battle Raph had only wanted to imagine for himself. He’d never forgive him.

Donnie. A blood clot to that big brain they had always suspected would be the making of him or his undoing. Hadn’t Raph always told him to give it a rest? He hadn’t meant it like this.

Under the knowledge that he was older than their brothers ever got the chance to be, Mike sobered. He withered. Day by day he seemed to age decades, until—Well.

Until Raph inhaled as someone’s brother and then exhaled as no one.

Later he would come to realize it was a breath as full of relief as it was of grief. If he couldn’t go first, at least he would be the only one to go alone. Watching their backs until they were out of sight. Don’t ever say I wasn’t there for ya.

One would think the weight of a job well done would finally fall off his shoulders. Not yet.

Only one thing left to do: bring up the rear, slip through the long-drawn cracks and into the shadows after them. He would follow them anywhere.