#i will probably make this a proper drabble at some point

[stupidlittlespirit]

feel free to play with the context in which this happens hehe but imagine: hand cradling ford’s jaw, your thumb moving to press gently into the plush of his lips in a very polite cue of ‘shut up’. for whatever reason, maybe ford’s feeling cheeky or maybe the gesture simply sparks some baser desire to life, but his lips part and he takes it into his mouth.

maybe it happens already in the middle of some fun, maybe you were just having a conversation and tried to playfully yet affectionately shut him up that way in midst some banter and now his own reaction leaves him flustered and stumbling whooooo knowwwwwsss

a-anon..... I don't know how you knew this but this is one of my Top Things.....

Because like now I'm thinking about being kinda tipsy with Ford. It's late evening, you're both out on the porch together. Stan has long since retired to bed and left the two of you unsupervised, under the warm glow of the fairy lights that are strung up out there.

You're both halfway through a couple bottles of your drink of choice, curled up on the garden couch, talking quietly and being silly together. And you're sitting apart from one another, trying to maintain reasonable distance just in case someone comes back and catches you, but you're both clearly leaning in a little more than you ought to.

And you're arguing about something stupid, because you're drunk. Let's say you're putting forth your case on why a scientific theory is, actually, just a fancy word for a guess, and Ford is absolutely disagreeing. (an argument I have had myself before)

You're trying to maintain your point and Ford is just not having it. He's (good naturedly) interrupting and correcting you all the time, and you're totally having a back and forth about it all, shuffling closer to each other as things get more intense/as you get more worked up. He's super close, right in your face almost. Ford is just not gonna let you win your case; he's totally convinced about his point of view, he's making smart ass remarks, he's being a dick and riling you up in a strangely attractive way.

You recognise that, so you laugh and roll your eyes, and you reach up to push his face away gently. You cup the side of his cheek to do it because you're both only playing, you don't want to actually push him away, and (just as you said) you press your thumb to his lip.

"Shut up already, mister scientist," you tell him, smirking.

Ford is surprised. He's caught off guard by the contact, but he's playing his favourite role (know it all), so he presses into your hand and says against your thumb "actually, that's doctor scientist to you...."

And the two of you just sort of look at each other for a little while. Like it's only a moment, barely a few seconds, but it's full of something meaningful and you both know it.

Ford's mouth is still slightly parted from his words. Only a bit, but enough that when you swipe the pad of your thumb along his lower lip again, the tip just slightly presses against the innermost part, and Ford doesn't even think. His brain just makes him do it before he can reconsider. He tilts his head a bit and takes your thumb into his mouth. It's very slow, very deliberate, and he watches you the entire time.

It's super bold, especially for him, but he's equally as tipsy so what does he care right this second?

And you make a soft sound of surprise. You're startled by it, but you don't move away. You let him do it. You can feel your face get warm and you can definitely feel another heat spark up in your lower belly..... So, you watch with rapt attention as he draws your thumb into his mouth until it meets his tongue.

You can feel it brush against his taste buds, you can feel it lave away at the pad. And you bite your own lower lip to stifle your arousal because there's no way you're letting Ford get the upper hand here. You draw your thumb out halfway and then slowly, you push it back in again. And again. And again.

Ford's turning red (doesn't he always in times like this?) but he isn't stopping. He lets you do it, enjoys you doing it, and when you draw your thumb all the way out, he whines like a disappointed dog at the loss.

And poor Ford turns an undiscovered shade of pink when he makes the noise. It's completely unintended and involuntary. But he does it and you hear it, and he knows you hear it.

Your thumb slips from his mouth with a trail of drool following it, and you let yourself grin at Ford's display of desperation. He opens his mouth to stutter out an apology, or an excuse, whatever he thinks of first, but you cut him off by pressing your thumb back over his lip so he has to shut up. Smirking, you tell him "oh, don't look so disappointed, doctor scientist.... I just wondered if you'd like to test a new theory....?"

And Ford, being a man of science, can't help himself. He says, whispers, chokes out, a "yes", and you smile. You replace your thumb with your index and middle finger, bringing them up to rest on his lower lip. Ford, sweetly, obediently, opens his mouth and you slide them past his lips and into his mouth.

"I've been wondering if that smart mouth of yours is good for anything other than correcting me," you tell him with a smirk. "My scientific theory is that it is....." and Ford is so struck by the moment that he just does what he's told.

Ford takes them perfectly, accommodating them in his mouth with a soft little hitching sigh that whistles through his nose, and his eyes flutter shut momentarily. He's so cooperative with barely even an instructing word from you that you can't help the automatic, genuine "good boy" that slips out.

And Ford groans, shy but so hot for whatever the fuck is going on right now. His eyes open and he meets your gaze, and he's so fucking red, he's so evidently embarrassed by his own carnal reactions, but he's not about to stop. Not if it means getting to hear that again......

aaaaaaaand uh that was the not really necessarily in the ask you gave me, I went a bit off topic there but uh. yeah. I like that. I like fingers in mouth. It is nice. I am. normal about this.

[madschiavelique]

Hi! Could I request a drabble about some spawn!Astarion x reader cuddles? Our favorite vampire deserves some quality cuddle time. Thank you! ❤️❤️

thank u anon for ur request !! YESS some cuddle time for astarion <3

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : spawn!astarion x reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : just fluff, tooth rotting fluff actually, gn!reader (i think ? correct me if i accidentally put some fem!reader stuff), no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 709

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

When Astarion discovers that bodies can do other things than being here for the pleasure of another only and that he has power over his own body, believe me, he won’t go of you.

In public I can see him being a bit more reserved, which probably derives from the fact that for so many years he simply couldn’t allow himself to show that he could express love in case Cazador would find a way to use it against him.

He wants to take your hand in public, wants to kiss you on the forehead while you’re looking at a stand of weapons and deciphering which one would be better for your party, but he always fears he is being watched and that because of him you could be a target.

You respect his points of view, even if you wish it could be otherwise.

But when you get back to camp, that’s a completely different story.

Astarion would be sitting as his back rested against a huge cut tree trunk, listening to whatever conversation was happening between Gale and Lae’zel as the wizard asked more about that astral plane of hers. You’d walk up from behind him, his gaze laying on you with a soft smile as you sat on the trunk behind him, his head falling back in your lap.

You’d place your hands on his head, combing his hair with your fingertips.

He’d close his eyes as the pieces of any nearby chatter blurred away, your caresses making him forget where he was. It felt so good to untense under your fingers, to have this attention just for himself and no one else.

You lowered your head to kiss his forehead, making him smile while keeping his eyes close. He grabbed both of your wrists, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as you whispered “I have to go help with dinner, want anything ?”

He knew you were aware about vampire’s specific diet, although you had made meticulous care in finding proper blood within any fight victims or animals that could have suited his palate. 

He hummed, opening his eyes as he exhaled with a smile, “You.” 

Hearing your laugh made him open his eyes softly, “You can’t have the desert for your only meal.”

He closed his eyes again, replacing his head a bit better and shifting his position on the hard ground - your caresses had made him forget how stiff his original position felt.

“That’s a stupid rule,” he managed to sigh.

You were about to remove your hands but he tightened his grip the slightest bit, his ruby eyes pleading.

“Stay a bit longer,” he asked, leaning his cheek in one of your palms.

You eyed for a moment the other companions on dinner duty prepare the fire for the night, and turned back to astarion, “five more minutes.”

He didn’t battle, didn’t bargain for more of your time, and just relished in the feeling of you.

Later that night, as candles in the tents were put out one by one, he came to yours.

There was no words needed, you simply opened your cover for him to come lay with you.

You’d take him in your arms, caressing his back as he placed soft pecks in the crook of your neck which made you giggle. He’d whisper sweet nothings in your ears, kiss your cheeks and try not to bite them as if they were the sweetest fruits he wanted the juices of.

He’d hug you so tight, would spoon you when you sleep as he’d stay awake just to admire you

But one feeling was irreplaceable, and he did it every night he had the opportunity to do it.

He’d lay on top of you, his ear pressing against your warm chest as he listened to the sounds of your heart.

He sometimes had the realization at times that your heart was beating for him. This thing that could be held in his hand, so easily crushable by anyone. He had one at a time, and if it was still alive it’d beat hard for you.

He wished he could just take your hand and say “can you feel it ? can you feel how loud my love is for you ?”

[hells-wasabii]

Hey!! I had an Adam request for Hazbin Hotel. If possible, could it be a mixture of headcanon and drabble? If not, just drabble, please!!

So imagine if Adam had escaped before being killed by Nifty, and is still incredibly hurt. The angels had left, thinking he had died, leaving him behind. Then demon reader finds him bleeding out, and despite knowing who he is and what he's done to their kind, they still help him and let him stay at their apartment to heal properly, and hopefully tries to change his mind on Hell and other demons.

Gn reader would be great, if you could please! - 🍋

Howdy hey! I'm really glad you asked for a half and half, I don't think i'd be able to delve into this request proper. Also, adam is seriously growing on me. I got to work on my requests today later than i would've liked though, so I'll try to make up for lost time

Character: Adam

Type: Headcanons+Drabble (injured!Adam x sinner!reader, Angst, Fluff)

Adam, despite what you might think, fully understands the severity of the situation. He knows that he's royally fucked, especially if he happens across the wrong demon. He also knows that heaven’s not coming for him. The fact that what was left of his army had retreated was testament enough that they believed him to be dead.

Yeah, he might’ve escaped with his life but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Could you imagine what could happen if he ran into somebody with a grudge against him specifically? It wasn't like he was subtle about his identity at the moment, covered in golden blood, oh, and of course, the wings were a dead giveaway. 

So when the very first man collapsed in some dirty alley way he thought he was done for. That was where he met you. You were an anomaly to Adam. Why would you, a sinner, help him of all people? He figured that you just didn’t know who he was as you took him back to your home to help him heal. That assumption didn’t last long, though, you called him by his name so you definitely knew who he was.

When you’re helping him heal, offering up your apartment as a place for him to recuperate, he’s gonna be bitching about it the whole time. You knew who he was, so now there was no way he’d let you forget he was the first man and how absurd it was that he was left like this. He’d complain about any little thing too, he’s used to a life of comfort, used to getting what he wants when he wants it. And you’d best believe you’re going to hear about how he hasn’t gotten laid since getting stuck down in hell.

Adam couldn’t believe it as he stared at the calendar hung on the wall of your dingy apartment. Despite all the slack he’s given you, the first man had long since decided that maybe you weren’t so bad for some loser sinner. The last of his wounds were healed now, something he had you to thank for. Bones were set properly, and he’d even been able to stave off infections under your care.

The angel was grateful. He really was. And as uncommon as it was, he wanted to show you just how grateful he was. You had gone off somewhere, work you said, but he wasn’t sure what you did for work now that he thought about it. You had probably mentioned it early on in his stay, but at that point, he didn’t really listen to much of what you said.

So, he decided to make you something to eat, you should be back in an hour anyway.

Simple enough, right? There was some pasta in the cupboards, he’d start with that.

Oh, you were gonna be so impressed! After all, you were going to eat a meal prepared by the first man here! This surprise totally-not-a-date-even-though-he-maybe-wanted-it-to-be dinner was going to rock!

...

In his defense, he had been left alone. You were pretty lucky to have gotten home when you did, or you were sure your kitchen would've been burnt down. You sighed, turning to the angel who was making a rather convincing impression of a kicked puppy. Instead of scolding him, you offer a small smile. "Why don't we just get takeout?"

[these-written-reveries]

Cuddles with Joker (Ft. Grumpy J)

‣ Pairing: Ledger!Joker/Jack Napier x GN!Reader

‣ Summary: Cuddles with J can be sweet...but quite dangerous too...

‣ Genre: fluff

‣ Warnings: grumpy/soft!J, super tiny suggestive hint somewhere, casual mention of murder, lightly proofread.

‣ Word Count: 947

‣A/N: Was going through my old notes and found this. While I haven't written for Jack in a long time, and probably won't write any new material anytime soon (unless inspiration miraculously hits again), I figure the Joker fandom is always in need of more content, right? So, here you go! (Maybe I'll post some of my other old J notes/drabbles sometime as well?)

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

◆ J would never say it, but he loves cuddling. HUGE cuddler, this one.

◆ He loves to be enveloped by you.

◆ Sometimes he'll come up to you, no words spoken, but distinct intention in his eyes as he crawls into bed, wraps his arms around you, and dives into your neck.

◆ You're not even surprised by this anymore. In fact, you look forward to it. These moments don't happen every day.

◆ When it does happen, you are quick to wrap your arms and legs around him, giving him what he wants.

◆ Each time, he lets out a sigh as his entire body relaxes.

◆ Doesn't matter the position, so long as all of your limbs are wrapped around his body.

◆ You're like his personal weighted blanket, pillow, and teddy bear all in one.

◇ (He's the real teddy bear in this relationship, but you better keep that to yourself.)

◆ You plan to wake up early in the morning to get things done? FORGET IT. Work? HA! AS IF…

◆ No, no, no, YOU are gonna stay right where J wants you to. Safe and sound in his arms.

◇ (More like chained and bound in his arms because there's no way in hell he's letting you go anywhere.)

◆ You try to move and suddenly he's growling a warning into your neck like a predator to its prey.

◇ "Nuh-uh...Don't even think about it."

◆ Sometimes no coherent words are spoken, and all that's heard is a low grumble of annoyance.

◆ Like a python, each time you move, even slightly, his arms grow tighter around you.

◆ Don't worry, though, he makes sure to leave just enough room for you to breathe (barely).

◆ It's a borderline hostage situation, but so long as you give the man what he wants, you'll be just fine.

◆ Now, it is no secret that J is NOT a morning person. At least, not in the usual way…

◆ He does his best work in the darkest hours of the night through early morning, scampering around the city of Gotham and leaving chaos in his wake.

◆ If he happens to be home, the only way he'll ever get to bed is if you physically drag him to it—usually at some ungodly hour of the morning. Otherwise, he'll go for days without sleep until his body completely crashes on its own.

◆ Even when he's asleep, he holds you tightly, almost as if he's afraid you'll go running off during his slumber. He can't have that…

◆ If you do manage to get him to bed, especially if you're lucky enough to get him to bed at somewhat of a reasonable time, you best leave him be.

◆ At this point, there is an unspoken rule between the two of you. You want him to sleep? You're staying with him the whole time. And if you wake him up too early? Be prepared to face the beast that will certainly arise.

◆ See, you may have had your full beauty sleep by the time the morning hours hit, but J certainly hasn't. Waking J up too early is a hornet's nest you don't wanna go poking at.

◆ That said…You secretly love grumpy J…

◆ Grumpy J has been known to kill anyone who disturbs his sleep on the spot. He's ruthless and unforgiving. Downright dangerous.

◆ But to you? To you, he's harmless. Cute, even.

◆ J would NEVER hurt you (minus a few exceptions, *wink, wink*).

◆ He may still be grumpy and growly and demanding. And he may certainly deny your lungs from being filled with the proper amount of oxygen. But he would never hurt you.

◆ In fact, you tell him his grip is too tight, he'll loosen up for you. Not too much, of course. And if you're REALLY lucky, he'll even press a little kiss to your skin, wherever his lips can reach—one of the smallest, yet loudest forms of fondness and care that Grumpy J is capable of showing.

◆ Don't get me started on how much J LOVES your affection during cuddle time. Even Grumpy J would never deny your love, though he may pout and grumble his way through it.

◆ One thing about J is HE'S A LIARRRR… An exceptionally honest man in most cases with you, except for when it comes to how much he adores your love for him—in all of its many forms.

◆ As much as he tries to hide this, his body always gives the truth away.

◆ You pet his hair, or—even better—run those gentle fingers through it? He's already melting into you, borderline purring like a cat.

◆ Kisses? Your lips? Anywhere? He's fucking done for. It may not appear as so on the outside, but so help him, he's spinning out of control on the inside. His heart is racing, his body is tingling, his head is spinning. Only you give him that kind of rush. And, oh, does he love you for that.

◆ Your hands caressing his back, fingertips gently tracing over the scars on his chest and arms, drawing new shapes on his skin. If you've reached this stage, he's already a big pile of mush. There's no hiding it now and he knows it. Your touch makes him go loopy in the best fucking way.

◆ The moments when you wrap yourself around him, encasing him with your entire body are quite literally the only moments he feels truly safe and content. Will he EVER say any of this to you? ABSOLUTELY NOT. But, he doesn't have to. You know. And he knows you know. And that's all that matters.

◆ So please, for his sake and yours, give the man his cuddles. And don't expect to be released for quite some time after…

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

L!Joker/Jack Napier Masterlist

Main Masterlist

‣Taglist: @jslittlebirdie @alittlesmartcookie

‣ If you’d like to join the taglist for Ledger!Joker/Jack, let me know by sending me an ask/message, or comment on this post!

💜 Comments and Reblogs mean the world to me! 💜

[pipwritesoccasionally]

stationary

nanami x colleague college professor! reader drabble

word count: 870

there should be no mention of the reader's gender, if there is please let me know

fluff (so fluffy)

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

-you and nanami were both professors at the same university, in different departments

-you were in the chemistry department, while he was in the literature department

-because of this, you rarely ran into each other on campus, but you met finally when you asked someone from the literature department to help you figure out the best way to make science jargon accessible to new students (you know that reading scientific papers is not easy, and you still wanted to make sure your students got the information from your assigned readings)

-the professors you originally went to all pointed you to nanami, and you politely asked for his help

-he gladly helped, because he was just a nice guy (and not at all to do with the fact that he would get to spend time with the person he’s had his eye on for a while)

-so, you met up at the library near campus, and discussed exactly how he teaches students about analyzing papers and stories

-and you soon realized why he was such a good professor

-he made it so easy for you to understand how to break the papers down and help your students more 

-you left feeling much more confident, and lo and behold, the advice helped! whenever students came to your office hours, you used the techniques he told you about, and the students looked visibly less confused 

-of course, you couldn’t let such a nice thing go without a proper thank you, so you figured you’d find a nice gift to give him 

-and as professors, what better thing to get than a nice notebook? it really helped you organize your schedule, and as a literature professor, he probably wrote a lot anyways

-so, you set out to the closest stationary store, and found a nice, reliable black journal that you thought suited him perfectly

-however, you didn’t stop there

-i mean, how could you not get him some tabs for his books, and if you were getting those, you should probably get him a nice set of pens too, right? -needless to say… you went a little overboard 

-you got a whole gift bag of stuff, and then even wrote him a card to say thank you

-you snuck in to the literature department early the next day, and placed the gift bag in front of his door carefully

 -a few of his colleagues gave you a smirk as you walked away, but you did your best not to mind. after all, it’s not like the gift was romantic, just a nice thank you 

-later that day, after finishing one of your lectures, you received an email from none other than nanami himself

to: you

from: knanami@university.edu

you didn’t have to get a gift. i told you it was no problem. 

however, i did need a new notebook. i just ran out of room in my old one, so thank you. hope you don’t mind that i returned the favor. 

-nanami 

-his last sentence confused you, until you walked into your office

-there, on your desk, was a gift bag, which you soon found out was filled with a chemistry puns book, as well as a gift card to a local bakery

-despite him saying it was a response gift, it did not look nearly as rushed as something put together in less than four hours should have been 

-needless to say, this sparked a bit of a back and forth

-you got him a nice mug to thank him for his gift bag, and he, playing along, got you an erlenmeyer flask mug

-this went on so long that eventually your colleagues in your departments started to catch on

“so what’s in there today?” one of nanami’s graduate students asked as you walked into the literature department.

“some author that he likes just released a book, so i got it for him,” you shrug nonchalantly, hiding the giddiness that this game produces. the graduate student laughed, before waving a goodbye as she headed off to another class. 

you poked your head around the corner, making sure the coast was clear, before inching towards nanami’s office. you’d realized early on that his office is normally unlocked, and began leaving stuff on his desk, so you turned the handle quietly and deposited the book on his desk. 

-things became awkward, at least in your eyes, when after a few days, no return gift made its way to your office

-not that you were upset that he didn’t get you anything, just that you yearned for the small interactions between you two

-when it had been almost a week, you resigned yourself to the idea that maybe it hadn’t meant much to him, when you walked into your office

-on your desk was the exact book you had given nanami, except there was a note attached with your name on it 

-curiously, you pick the book up, and the cover falls open, revealing a handwritten note on a sheet of lined paper

-you unfolded the paper, seeing the six words decorating the page and making your heart pound

“will you go out with me?” 

(carefully written with one of the pens you’d gotten him.)

[kissforyouu]

Can you write a drabble of oc surprising jk with a new tattoo. I’d picture she’d get something cute like a peach or a bunny idkkk but she’d definitely have something small and dainty. She’d probably put it somewhere where only Jk could see too🤭

oc is not that much into tattoos, but she'd sometimes use temporary tattoos on herself and show jk. he'd just keep asking her over and over "when are you getting a real oneeee". he completely doesn't mind tattoos on oc at all, considering how tatted up he is too. but when oc actually does get a tattoo...

"jungkook!" you shout from across his living room, excitedly skipping your way through. he yells back from his room, surprised that you came over. you didn't even tell him beforehand. your boyfriend exits his room to have you jump on his body right after, hugging the man like the world was going to end right now.

you hug him really tight, swaying him from side to side. "hi, baby!" your voice was high pitched as you placed kisses all over your boyfriend's cheek. he loved whenever you acted like this. kisses were his favourite. jungkook liked to get pampered by you a lot. even though he'll probably never admit to it.

"hi, sweetheart." his smile was big and bright, probably even starting to hurt his face at this point. you let go of his body, finally freeing him.

"i got tatted." bombshell.

"like, tatted for real? not temporary?"

"nope! actual tattoo, look."

jungkook was surprised. you swore to yourself to never actually get a proper tattoo because you were afraid that later you might regret it. but you actually did it? okay, where is it? what type of tattoo? jungkook was thrilled.

but the moment you bent over and to strip down, jungkook's draw fully drops. shit. you had a sly smirk on your face, fully aware of what you were doing as you discarded your pants. there revealed your black lace panties.

"here." you turn around your upper body to point at the small (very small) red heart tattoo on your ass cheek. it was right below your waist near your hips. cute, he thought. very small though, very. but jungkook wasn't surprised at how small it was. the little tattoo complimented your ass well, and your whole personality itself. it suits you. but it wasn't the tattoo that had him mermerised, it was definitely your ass. lol.

ever since then, man's been obsessed with doggy style just to see your dainty tattoo bounce on his cock over and over again. he makes sure kiss it every time whenever you guys had sex. the obsession was real.

in addition to that little tattoo was another dainty heart but this time on the side of your middle finger and some other sparkles. and not necessarily a tattoo, but a belly piercing you got when you were around 16 and (totally legal!) a bunch of other piercings in your ears.

taglist : @fungie2332 @wintertxt @wheexine @hyunjinswifeee @ohsweetmimosa @canyon-txt @kooreo @rrosiitas @goldenjeonkoo

[charlottesbookclub]

rest – a 'time after time' bonus chapter (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist – (this chapter is set between chapters 29 and 30)

Summary: hux is working late, but you try to convince him to get some rest

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; established relationship; mentions of a prior injury; a little bit suggestive at times but nothing too wild; very soft hux in this one; I fear we shall all need to go to the dentist after this on account of the tooth-rotting levels of fluff 🥰; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 3146

Author’s Note: so this is a little outtake from 'time after time' that I'm actually posting before that story goes live, as a little treat ☺️ in the longer story, it's situated somewhere between chapters 29 and 30! ultimately, I really liked this scene, but I just couldn't get it to meld into the narrative of the longer story, so I'm posting it separately instead! I think it should still read totally fine as a little drabble – there are a few moments where I reference events from the larger story, so if you feel like there's a little detail that lacks context, that's probably why 😅 also, this scene takes place very late in the timeline of 'time after time,' so the relationship between hux and the reader is very well established by this point. I really hope y'all enjoy and I would lovelovelove to hear your thoughts! 🥰🥰

Armitage barely noticed the buzz at the door as he leaned over his desk, eyesight beginning to go a little fuzzy as he attempted to focus on the forms and diagrams on his data screens. Then he came back to himself. You were sleeping. Kriff, he hoped the noise hadn’t woken you. He pushed himself from the chair and stumbled a little unsteadily to the door, muscles stiff after hours of not remembering to move. He peered at the tiny screen for the cam that was trained to the exterior of the door. It was just a transport droid, no doubt delivering a freshly pressed set of uniforms. Pushing the button and sending door sliding open before the droid could buzz again, he collected the clothing and dismissed the droid.

He pivoted on his heel back into the room, uniforms in hand. It never failed to send a little thrill through him when both his and yours were delivered to what used to be only his quarters. Maybe it was silly, but it was another treasured reminder that you really were together. With that pleasant thought in mind, he set the crisply folded general’s and captain’s uniforms on the low table in the living area. He didn’t want to risk waking you by placing them in their proper location in the bedroom closet.

He had settled back down at his desk, mind already puzzling through the problems in front of him when he heard a soft sound from the direction of the bedroom. Then he heard you speak.

“Armitage…” Your voice was still thick with sleep, but the sound of his name on your lips was always impossibly sweet. He turned toward you instantly to find you leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes. He was about to try and convince you to go back to bed when he noticed something that caused a faint heat to begin rising in his body. You were wearing his sleep clothes. He had gotten back frustratingly late from a meeting that went far longer than necessary, and you had already been asleep when he quietly entered your shared quarters, so he wouldn’t have seen. But the tiny silver bands near the edges of the short sleeves and the hems of the shorts marked the otherwise unassuming black garments as unmistakably belonging to part of a general’s clothing allotment. Armitage swallowed thickly.

“Are… are you wearing my sleeping clothes?” he asked quietly, feeling the internal heat in his body begin to externalize itself in the form of an embarrassing blush. You nodded sleepily, beginning to make your way to him. He still watched your footsteps carefully in case you might become unstable, but you crossed the floor without incident, even if he could tell that you still favored your uninjured leg slightly. 

“Mmhmm…” you confirmed as you reached him, resting your hands on the back of his chair. “You weren’t there to hold me, so I had to opt for the next best thing.” Your fingers wandered to his shoulders. Armitage’s blush had increased to a veritable blaze, and with the way the warmth of your hands was soaking into his skin, he was beginning to find it very difficult to breathe. “Although I must admit,” you whispered, lips at the shell of his now very reddened ear, “they’re a very poor replacement.” 

Armitage was feeling quite faint indeed. Even if he had wanted to say something, he doubted any words would have made it past his lips. Your fingers pressed into his shoulders, finding all the places where his stress was tied in tense knots and slowly massaging them away. He suppressed a small groan at the heavenly feeling.

“You never wear the short ones anyway,” you murmured. It was true; Armitage had spent too much of his life feeling cold, first on rainy Arkanis and then on the desolate ships of the Imperial remnant. His wiry frame had never held onto heat well. Now that he had the choice to be warm, he wasn’t going to waste the privilege. You helped with that too, he mused as the places where your hands met his shoulders radiated with liquid warmth that was seeping into the rest of his body. “You don’t mind, do you?” There was maybe just the barest hint of hesitation in your question, like you weren’t perfectly certain. He reached one hand up to clasp over yours, momentarily stilling your rhythmic movement on his strained muscles. 

“Not at all,” he assured you. He was so far past not minding. In fact, the thought of it was causing very… distracting images to begin to form in his mind. You hummed lightly in response to his answer, and he could feel the gentle press of your lips against his disheveled hair. Your fingers began kneading at his shoulders again, and he let himself relax more fully into your tender touch. Then he caught a glimpse of the time on his data screen.

“Love,” he said softly, reveling in the way the term of endearment could fall so easily from his lips now. “It’s late – you should go back to bed.” As much as he wanted you to stay, he was determined not to let his own bad habits affect you, especially not while you were still healing.

“Not without you,” came the soft but stubborn reply. A small smile pulled at his lips. Your sleepiness seemed to have made you more endearingly uninhibited.

“You need your rest,” he reminded you, gently pulling one of your hands from his shoulder and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. 

“So do you,” you responded, your other hand now carding through his hair, sending a pleasant humming sensation along his scalp as you freed the last of the orderly orange strands from their gelled attention. He realized his resolve was weakening.

“I have work to do…” he said softly, trying to convince himself as much as you. Reluctantly, he dropped your hand, placing his arm back on the armrest of his chair as he once again pulled himself toward the desk. He hoped that the action of returning to work would shake the tiredness he could feel steadily growing in his body. It seemed you weren’t having any of that though.

You trailed your hand over his shoulder and down the length of his arm, your touch setting off sparks on his skin even through the rumpled fabric of his uniform top. He struggled to regulate his breathing. You came into view then as you moved between him and his data screens, letting your fingers linger on the back of his wrist as you leaned back against the edge of his desk. The sight of you still soft and languid from sleep, clad in his sleep clothes, was almost more than he could bear. He bit down hard as he struggled with both the exhaustion and sudden heat that were steadily rising in his body. 

“Armitage, you can work next cycle,” you told him gently as you leaned toward him. His breath stuttered in his lungs.

“I— I really should try to get this finished,” he stammered out, even though everything in him wanted to give into you. You seemed to search his face for a moment before coming to some kind of conclusion. What you had decided Armitage could not guess.

“Alright,” you whispered, but there was less defeat in your voice than he would have expected. He watched as you pushed yourself from his desk, hoping to steal a kiss as you passed back behind his chair to return to the bedroom. But that was not the motion you made.

Armitage had to grip the armrests of his chair in surprise as you instead moved forward and slid onto his lap, easily slotting yourself against him. Your head was tucked into his neck, your hands curled up against his chest, legs swung sideways across him. It was a long moment before he could breathe again. The warm, comforting weight of your body against him was such a familiar, welcome feeling that he instinctively began to melt into you. 

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, his lips against your forehead.

“You said you needed to work and that I needed to rest,” you murmured back. He could feel your quiet words vibrating against his chest. “But I sleep better when you hold me. So I’m compromising.” Even through the sleepiness in your voice, Armitage could hear the light teasing that threaded through your words. Kriff, he was so in love with you.

“You’re not going to be able to sleep like this,” he told you, unable to keep the smile from his voice. You shrugged against him.

“How do you know?” you responded, adjusting your position on his lap and snuggling closer to him. He gritted his teeth, only too aware that he was losing this battle. When he remained still for a moment, you spoke again: “You can work. I’ll just be here.”

Armitage let out a huff of affectionate amusement at your words. Nevertheless, he pulled himself back toward his desk, trying to train his attention on the data screens. He was not particularly successful in that endeavor. Every instinct in his body was telling him to wrap his arms around you, to pull you closer. You were literally in his lap, pressed against his chest, and he was focused on work that was seeming less and less important by the minute as he became more and more aware of your body against his. He was struggling mightily to read over a diagram when he felt you move.

Your hands had found their way to his uniform collar and were slowly loosening the dark fabric from around his throat, undoing some of the topmost fastenings. His skin flushed, reacting immediately to the soft brush of your fingers.

“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” he reminded you, his lightly scolding tone no doubt getting lost in the rush of affection that he couldn’t suppress from his voice.

“You seemed uncomfortable,” you offered by way of explanation as you pulled the high collar away from his neck. “I was just trying to help.” Before he could respond, he was suddenly frozen in place by the feeling of your warm lips pressed tenderly to the revealed skin of his neck. He gripped the armrest as his breathing became fevered and uneven. He knew the battle was lost.

When your lips fell from his skin, he pulled back, letting you lean slightly into the support of his arms so that he could see your face.

“What?” you asked with a bright smile, the question suffused with false innocence. 

“You are incorrigible,” he responded, tilting forward to press his forehead against yours, brushing your noses together. The action caused a spiral of sleepy giggles to bubble from your lips. Despite his attempt to affect mock disapproval, Armitage couldn’t help the way his face pulled into a smile at your reaction.

“I learned from the best,” you retorted happily, planting a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. There was no way to hide the way his whole face went pink.

“Well, now I see why you were so good at your work, Captain,” he teased, still surprised at how easily such a response came to him when he was around you, “you can be very convincing indeed.”

“I’m not sure how good it made me at my work,” you replied, and Armitage could hear the laughter in your voice, “since this manner of persuasion is saved for you alone, General.” Your eyes were glittering and so, so soft as you looked at him. If he hadn’t already admitted defeat, this would have been the moment he would have happily given in. There was something about knowing that there was a side of you reserved solely for him that never failed to make warmth bloom in his chest.

“Hmmm… a brilliant tactician then,” he mused as he brought your head to where he could press a kiss to your temple. You hummed happily in response. 

“Does this mean you’ll come to bed then?” you asked with a small yawn. Armitage was all too aware of the way your fingers had found his collar again and were slowly opening more and more of his uniform top, revealing the black shirt beneath. The skin of his chest was no doubt a humiliating shade of pink under the thin fabric as his body reacted to your gentle touch.

“Fine,” he acquiesced with an exaggerated sigh of mock-resignment. From the way you laughed, it was clear you heard the affectionate joking in his voice.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, General,” you teased back. The way your fingers were idly tracing patterns across his chest was making him feel quite dizzy.

“Far from a sacrifice,” he whispered against your temple, the joking gone from his voice, “I consider it a privilege.” You ducked your head in slight embarrassment at his words as he pressed another kiss to your hairline.

“Then why did it take so much convincing?” you murmured against his chest. There were a hundred ways Armitage could have answered that question, most of them coming down to the fact that he had gotten good at denying himself the things he wanted. This was not the time to delve into that particular subject; he wanted to keep the conversation light, aware of the fact that you seemed to be growing sleepier by the minute as you curled against him.

“Well, your methods of persuasion were perfectly attuned to your intended target,” he mused, tracing a finger along your cheek. “Perhaps I found the process of being convinced… enjoyable.” He could feel the way your skin warmed at his words. 

“Now who’s being incorrigible?” you rejoined, unable to keep a smile from blooming on your face despite the teasing mock-accusation in your voice.

“You did say you learned from the best,” he reminded you, eliciting a small laugh as you tucked your head against his neck again. Kriff, you made everything in him feel so light. He could have stayed there all rest period, but he was too practical to think that the current position was a viable long-term sleeping option for either of you.

“Love, I hate to say this, but you are going to need to get up so that I can keep my promise,” he whispered against your ear. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your small whine of annoyance. Nevertheless, you crawled from his lap as his hands hovered over you, still anxious that you might become unsteady. He missed the feeling of your body against his immediately.

He stood from his chair as soon as he was certain that you were able to stand without incident. You leaned back against his desk slightly, arms wrapped around yourself as though to ward off the chill in the air that was more apparent on your bared skin now that you weren’t curled against him. Armitage placed his hands on your shoulders as you gazed at him with tired eyes.

“Go to bed,” he urged you softly. “I need to change, but I’ll be right there.”

“You promise?” you asked. Kriff, he couldn’t say no to you when you were looking at him like that – not that he was planning on denying you anything.

“I promise,” he assured you, planting a kiss on your forehead. You hummed lightly as his lips found your skin and offered him a soft smile as you vanished back toward the bedroom. Watching for just a moment to make sure your injured leg didn’t fail you, Armitage then slid into the refresher and finished the work you had been doing to loosen his uniform, the memory of your fingers still lingering against his skin. He pulled on his sleeping clothes – garments he used significantly more now that he was with you. Then he padded through the darkened rooms, turning off his data screens as he made for the bedroom. You were right: his work could wait until next cycle.

He stepped softly into the room, taking a moment to notice the way the starlight streaming in through the window cascaded over your form, bathing you in a silvery glow. His breath skipped a little in his lungs. He crawled under the covers with you, and he could tell that you were already half asleep by the way your breathing had deepened. You blinked your eyes open slightly as he slid onto the mattress next to you, a tired but genuine smile forming on your lips.

“This is so much better than just wearing your sleep clothes,” you murmured as he pulled you into his arms.

“And this is so much better than working,” Armitage sighed. “But you can wear my sleep clothes any time,” he added, the words barely above a whisper. Something about the soft darkness in the room and the way you were folded so happily against him was making him feel a little brave.

“Oh yeah?” He could tell from the hazy quality of your voice that you were on the verge of sleep. “Why?” He stroked a hand down your back, considering his reply. If he confessed now, with you already barely conscious, maybe you would wake up thinking you had dreamed it.

“I find it quite… attractive.” The word was a paltry one for the way heat had suffused his body at the sight, but it conveyed his meaning well enough for the moment. Perhaps there would be another time for him to be more explicit about his feelings on the subject. He blushed deeply in the dark.

“Then… I guess… I’ll have to wear them more often…” It was clear you were struggling to stay awake with the way your stumbling words kept trailing off. Armitage continued the gentle motion of his hand moving lightly up and down your back.

“I find you quite… appealing… no matter what you wear.” Again, the word paled in comparison to the way he felt about you. But the sentiment was true, the proof only too clear on his very reddened cheeks that he was grateful you couldn’t see.

“Armitage… are you saying…?” Your question faded from your lips as your breathing deepened. Armitage was relieved. He wasn’t sure that was a conversation he could have with you without it resulting in you getting far less sleep than you needed. Heat still spread throughout his body at the thought though. He closed his eyes, working to match his breathing to yours. There would be time for that on other nights.

“Sleep well, love,” he murmured, his lips pressed to your forehead in a reverent kiss as he wrapped you even tighter in his embrace. “You need your rest.”

[navstuffs]

Secret Admirer

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GNLibrarian!Reader

Summary: It is fall, and Leon Kennedy has a secret admirer.

Warning tags:  ROOTH TOOTING FLUFF, college au, leon wears glasses, shy!reader&leon, leon self depreciates a bit

Author's Notes: hiii. though where i live fall doesn’t exist (i swear, we are all being cooked alive at this point), im happy to write something to welcome fall! dedicated to @sarahs-secrets2 whose birthday is tomorrow! happy birthday, my friend!! thank you for being such an amazing friend to me, you are the best!! also i won't lie, i might be working on a small drabble for a smutty second part (flannel shirts, all im saying). dividers by @firefly-graphics. images found on pinterest and edited on faceapp.

leon's masterlist

It all starts right at the beginning of fall.

Leon Kennedy never considered himself the type of guy someone could deeply fall in love with. In his own opinion, he has always been an average kind of guy. A little shy, with a pair of black glasses in front of his eyes since he couldn't see long or short distances.

Since entering college and breaking up with his first (and only) girlfriend, romance wasn't clearly in his plans. He had to focus on his studies to become a lawyer and pass the bar exam. Unlike his colleagues, who partied every Friday, Leon was busy with his head inside books—most of the time.

There is also another weighting factor: Leon had a merit-based scholarship. It is not something he would tell someone, but it meant he had worked his ass off to get there, prove himself to stay there every semester. He couldn't waste his time with anything, especially with romance.

Leon enters the already chilly Friday, his scarf close to his face. For some reason, fall had arrived earlier, and he couldn't be more grateful. The library is almost empty, except for a few students here and there. He goes to his usual spot, between two tall bookshelves, a seat at the very end, hidden from the rest of the world. Before he can get there, a smiling familiar face carrying a few books in their arms appears in his path: you, who worked in the library and was always ready to help students whenever needed.

"Back already?" You joke, whispering. Leon feels his blush spread, smiling back.

"You know me, can't stay away too long."

You giggle, seeming equally flustered. There is a moment of silence where you two stare at each other, saying nothing else. Then, you handle Leon one of the books from your arms.

"Here. This just arrived today. I hope it can be helpful."

Before Leon can answer, you leave, waving, without looking directly at his face. Leon walks to his usual spot, removes his jacket, and hangs on the chair before placing the book on the table. He sits, opens the first page, and finds a yellow post-it with something written on it. Leon then takes his glass case out of his backpack, changing his distance ones to the reading ones. Yeah, he was one of those blessed ones who couldn't see far away or close. There it was, written in blue ink:

"Hi! I hope I don't scare you by writing this, but I just wanted to let you know you are adorable!" 

Leon's eyebrows raise as he looks around. Most students in there have their heads on their books. You had given this book to him earlier, so maybe? No, Leon realizes. So many other students have probably read it before. Wait, but didn't you say the book just arrived today? Well, it could have been a donation, and someone left it there.

Without making much noise, Leon gets up to look for you behind your front desk. You seem focused but promptly raise your head when you see Leon coming.

"Hey. Something wrong?" Your face is blurred, and Leon suddenly realizes he didn't change into his long-distance glasses.

"Yeah. Someone left this note in the book. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh." Leon handles the book for you, and he can't quite figure out your expression due to the lack of proper glasses. "I guess it came with the donation."

"Yeah. Probably." You whisper back in a strange tone. Leon gives you a slight nod before returning to his usual spot. Well, that was odd, but he didn't have time to think much about it. He needed to remain focused anyway.

Next Friday comes, and the temperatures slowly start dropping, which comes with a relief to Leon. He hates the heat, despises how the Earth is warming up, and nobody seems to give a damn about it. The view to the campus Library looks so pretty now: straight out from a book, orange leaves on the floor, crunching as Leon walks over them. It was one of his favorite Autumn activities when he was a kid—that and carving pumpkins. The only problem with the sudden chilly weather was his glasses getting fogged, but hey, it seemed like a fair trade.

He arrives near the library's building, finding you outside. You are wearing a deep green sweater with some trees drawn on it. On the top of your head, a cute black hat protects your ears. Leon can't help but smile when he notices you rub your hands and arms.

"It is not even that cold yet." Leon teases as he gets close. You look back at him, startled but happy to see him.

"Says the one with the heavy jacket and a scarf!"

"Hey!" Leon complains, pretending to be insulted. "At least this is better than the heat we had before, right?"

"Yeah."

Before Leon can walk in and leave you alone, he asks, his curiosity peaking.

"Hey, so what about that note from last week? Discovered where it was from?"

"Oh." You seem taken aback by his question before shrugging, "I don't know. I threw it away anyway. Nothing important."

Leon nods before waving and walking into the warmth of the library. It is as empty as last week, which Leon prefers. He goes to his usual spot, noticing the yellow post-it on top of his table. Leon rushes to grab it and read. It is written in the same blue ink as before.

"Just wanted to wish you a good week. I admire you from afar, hoping you achieve all your goals!"

Leon's first reaction is to look for you, show you the new note, and believe again this is a mistake. But then he ponders, his curiosity speaking louder. No, he isn't interested in romance, nor does he have time for it. But, if those notes are really, really meant for him, why? He isn't that special or someone who should have secret admirers. Leon has always been curious, so he places the note in his pocket.

In the weeks following, he ends up receiving more and more notes. They are on top of his desk, under the desk, near the wall, always visible so he can find them. And since the first two ones, they have started to come signed with "Your Secret Admirer." It can't just be a coincidence at this point.

"You are doing amazing, and I hope you continue to do so! - Your secret admirer."

"I wish I could say how much I admire you to your adorable face! - Your secret admirer."

"It makes me so happy to see you pursuing your dream; it gives me the courage to pursue mine! - Your secret admirer."

"One of these days, I will gather the courage to invite you out, but until then, I keep thinking about you as I look at the stars."

Leon's suspicions are towards someone inside the library, of course. His first thought is you, but it simply can't be. You are too bright, too cute, too funny for him. Deep down, Leon wishes it was you; he might have harbored a tiny crush on you since the first time you helped him, but he knows it can't be. His other suspicions are the other people in the library, but he barely knows them, except for an eventual nod or "hello" here and there.

It is finally time for the first week of exams, and the library is getting crowded. Leon arrives earlier that Friday and, for a miracle, can find his spot empty and, sadly, no note this time. He tries not to concentrate on his disappointment, focusing on his studies when, in the corner of his eyes, he comes into the corridor. You look dressed for a freezing winter, rushing toward Leon with something in your hands. When you see him, you stop in your tracks, your eyes slightly going wide. Then you turn around, leaving in the other direction. 

Much later that night, Leon walks to the front desk. You look busy but still manage to give him a tired smile.

"Getting crazy over here, huh."

"Yeah. It is time for the tests, so people can go a little crazy." You explain, shrugging. You look anxious, but Leon presumes it relates to the agitated week. "Hey, do you mhm like pumpkin chocolate brownies?"

"Sure?" Leon's stomach grumbles as you pull out something from your drawer. He hadn't had something to eat since he came to the library three hours ago. Two small pumpkin chocolate brownies, probably from the candy shop near the campus. "Thanks, I haven't eaten anything today."

"Just don't eat here, okay?" You wink, smiling.

Leon holds them, staring at your table as you return your attention to your work. A pile of books is nearby and more on the other side of the table. His attention is drawn to a small yellow paper folded so many times. He gathers his courage and opens his mouth to finally ask you what he has been dying to ask you this whole time.

"Hey, is it you my—?"

"Excuse me, can you help me find this book?" A female student calls your attention, interrupting Leon. You didn't seem to have heard anything, Leon asked, excusing yourself to help the stressed lady. 

Leon watches his surroundings. He shouldn't think about that, but his body works faster than his mind. Leon grabs the yellow folded paper and runs away without looking back, his whole face red. Did he just steal something? 

When he is out of the library range, he stops near a street light and frantically opens the post-it, his hands shaking, not due to the cold. Could it be you? Could it be really you? Leon reads it once. Then twice.

"Hey, I know you have been studying so hard. Here, have some pumpkin chocolate brownies to sweeten your night and give you some luck for the tests!- Your Secret Admirer."

So, it is you. Leon re-reads the sentence over and over again, thinking of different possibilities. It could have been an accident, right? Someone else could have brownies for him, some other secret admirer. But so specific like that?

"Stop. You are overreacting." Leon whispers to himself, placing the note in his jacket pocket. He looks back towards the library, half of him demanding for him to go back in there and face you. Wasn't Leon that wanted to have been you this whole time? Keeping all the notes even though they might not be for him? Wasn't he even considering opening an exception for this rule just because of you?

Leon will make a decision. Not tonight, no. Tonight, he will enjoy the feeling of knowing you are his secret admirer. 

Two weeks pass, and you don't see Leon. You wonder where he is since the last time he almost caught you placing the brownies and the note on his desk. You should have known he would arrive earlier since Leon has been so responsible about his studies (something you admired about him). Not coming for two weeks? You wonder if he was sick. Or maybe Leon chose to study in his dorm since the library had been so crowded lately.

After helping an agitated first-year who couldn't find a Math book, you walk back to your table and find a Pumpkin bookmark there. You turn it around, finding a sentence in beautiful handwriting: "Some say Autumn isn't the season of love, but I disagree when I have Fallen for you. - Your Not-So-Secret-Admirer?"

You feel your cheeks heating up, immediately thinking about Leon and finding him right before you, his entire face red as a tomato. You open your mouth and close it, unsure what to say.

"Sorry. I hope that didn't scare you."

"N-no! You didn't!" You reply loud enough to get some "sshhh." You shut your mouth, looking apologetic towards Leon, who smiles.

"Would you like to go out with me? There is a harvest fair nearby, and I was wondering if we could..."

"I would love to." You rush to answer, whispering. "If I don't disturb your studies, of course."

"Nope, not a problem."

Some might say nothing grows during Autumn. The leaves fall as the plants prepare for another winter until spring gives them life again, and the cycle repeats. Well, some things can bloom during Autumn, as Leon Kennedy's smile to you is enough proof of that.

[pearlescentparade]

hear me outt guys. killer!reader x 007n7 toxic yaoi ok ok I NEED to get this out of my system

killer who's deadass obsessed with him . I'm not sure why, maybe it's the sopping wet cat aura or the fact he's a dilf /hj but they WANT him - they just don't know proper ways to show affection. probably initially mistook it for some unreasonably potent hatred but then realized the mere idea of killing him put them in agony and went "wtf". prior to the spectre they would stalk him , watching him in his own home to learn what he likes and needs and have those things on hand to 'gift' to him (place conveniently in his home when he isn't looking). forget to turn on the coffee maker while getting C00lk1dd ready for school? suddenly there's a ten dollar bill to pay for some at the gas station,,

probably also tried to leave a gift that was heartfelt to them, but scared the shit out of 007n7. decapitated head in the windowsill eeeYIKESS!!!!!!!

by the time both reader and him are in the spectre I think it'd have been years possibly of him having No Idea they were there (except for a very prominent feeling of being watched that he'd brushed off,,) before they see him in a match and finally try to introduce themself. and it probably goes something like "hiii dear!!!!!!!" "who the fuck are you". at some point they explain they love him and offhandedly mention the stalking and gifts and he is horrified. because what do you mean he was getting stalked by a murderer while he was just trying to survive with his baby boy. what do you mean that murderer was obsessed with him.

I think at first he'd be terrified and especially avoidant, not at all reciprocal of the feelings(which would utterly destroy the killer for a while btw), but with how outcast he is amongst the survivors and the constant feeling they'd leave him for dead if it benefitted them,,, the idea of someone so dangerous being so obsessed grows gradually more appealing, the idea of being so wanted, so needed. at some point he gives in and indulges them!! which leads to Something.

the killer blatantly avoids killing him, chasing anyone else; if he's the last one left, they try to be as lenient and lazy about their attacks as they can. their justification? Elliot heals, builderman can heal and build defense, shed and guest and chance stun, noob can function as a meat shield for those with low hp, and two time is annoying. 007n7 is hardly as important to slaughter !!

i think I heard somewhere that while survivors are put in the cabins in between rounds killers go to their own personal limbos but I'm ignoring that for the sake of this next one. they sometimes (as often as possible really) sneak into his cabin just to spend time with him. After seeing his,, rather adverse reaction to finding out you stalked him, and all the gifts, you'd avoided doing so and instead made your presence very known. 007n7 has his own scary dog privilege kinda sorta. He knows you would kill for him, that you'd do anything he asked, and it's just about the only comfort he has in this place. killer!reader is like an obedient guard dog. sometimes he berates himself for being selfish and continuing to reciprocate, lashing out at reader and telling them to go away. the two sheepishly meet again days later, act like nothing happened, back to a somewhat lovey-dovey relationship, repeat

oh and they like sitting at 007n7 feet and lying their head on his lap. like a doggy. however, 007n7 likes it when he's surrounded by them. their arms around him, legs entangled with his, chin tucked atop of his head, his face in their neck. it makes him feel safe.

when reqs are open best believe I will send one related to this.. as long as i'm not too late tbh because I feel like your reqs would fill up so fast YOU WRITE SO WELL!!!

anyway I want feedback helgp did I cook or should I never be allowed in the kitchen again

HOLY SHIT ANON THIS IS LITERALLY ALMOST A DRABBLE IN OF ITSELF. wrap it up everyone fkin shakespeare in mny inbox GODDD DAMNNN BRO THIS IS SO GAS .... i esp like 007n7 having to confide in killer! reader bc nobody else likes his ass so he has no other choice but the freak whos obsessed with him.... and him crawling back even after they fight ...... its so pathetic i love it ohh my ogoognndess I WANT TO WRITE TOXIC RELATIO NBSHIPS SO BAD... THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS IDEA !! AND THANK U FOR LIKING MY WRITINGG keep staying tuned for when requests open again!! i was initially afraid that nobody checked my blog anymore because i dont upload as often as i used to when i first started, and that itd be funny and sad if i opened requests again and nobody sent anything in HASDHS but after opening my inbox i realize u guys are all still here AND come back frequently so thank you all :']

[cas-kingdom]

I’m in love with your criminal minds Drabbles!! If possible I’d love to see some bonding between hotch and Reid’s sister <333

You sleeping in arbitrary places wasn't exactly a rarity around the BAU. Not quite yet an official member of the team—though somehow Hotch had enrolled you in some sort of experience programme you were pretty sure he'd made up for your benefit—you had to make do with stiff seats and tucked away corners on the daily as you waited for Spencer to finish his work. Surprisingly, the long days and even longer nights hadn't seemed to sway your wish to join the team just yet, though no one had placed any bets that it would.

Even so, said arbitrary places weren't exactly made use of at nearing midnight on a Friday. Having returned from Gideon's case just that evening, Hotch had sent everyone home with their promises of sleep before hiding himself away in his office to complete some work before the weekend. By the time he'd finished, the bureau had settled into the usual ambience consisting of the few late night workers and janitors.

He headed into the break room with the intention of grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and heading straight home, but the sudden sight of you and yet another of your arbitrary sleeping spots told him that might not be achievable just yet.

You were curled up on the break room couch, a stack of pillows under your head and what looked to be your brother's tweed jacket doing its best to act as a blanket. Hotch stared for a moment, concern slowly pushing away his brief amusement at the situation, and rose a brow when one of your eyes opened to stare at him.

"Hotch," you greeted, not at all groggily, which told him you probably hadn't slept.

Hotch put his bag down and seated himself on the end of the couch. "Y/N, what’re you still doing here?" he asked gently. He put a comforting hand on your ankle under the jacket and you sat up, tucking your frizzy hair behind your ears.

You yawned and shrugged. "Sleeping. Or, lying down, rather."

“I mean in the building." He smiled at your belated look of realisation. "Is Spencer still here?"

The expression on your face grew from tired to exhausted at the mere mention of your brother. Hotch sat back and crossed his arms, an instinctive movement when he figured some profiling may have to come into play. Those lines settled against his brow as he waited for your response.

You picked at a loose thread in the couch. “Playing chess," you said, then looked knowingly up at him. "I know what you’re gonna say, Hotch, but it’s easier to just leave him and let him do his thing. Gideon’s death hit him hard.”

Hotch nodded slowly. “I know. But what about you?”

“I don’t remember Gideon much.”

A corner of his lips curved upwards. Trust you to worry the least about yourself.

"I don’t mean that," he said gently, wondering how his next words would be taken. "Spencer has a tendency to forget about the people around him when he gets himself into one of these states. Now—" He pointed a finger at you before you could rise to your brother's defense "—that's not his fault, and he'll come out of it soon enough. But in the meantime, I don’t want you sleeping here until morning, Y/N." His fatherly instincts long having kicked in, his eyebrows rose in solemnity. "You need some proper rest in your own bed. The couch isn't going to cut it.”

You breathed a dubious laugh, still pulling at the thread. “Spencer has no plans on coming home tonight. Rossi’s already tried.”

“Then let me drive you home?" Your fingers paused and your mouth twisted in thought. Your face was hidden by a curtain of hair, but Hotch dipped his head enough to see your expression. He smiled knowingly. You didn't want to be alone. "Or…I can set up the spare room at mine?”

You peered up at him and for the first time he noted your level of exhaustion. Not only had you been kept physically awake by Spencer's turmoil, but your anxiety about the situation had mentally drained you, too. With your mother states away in a facility and your father completely written out of the picture, Spencer was your person and had been since he'd taken custody of you at four years old. When he wasn't himself, neither were you, and Hotch had always known it.

You took a second to respond, looking past him and out the open door for a moment before returning your gaze to his. "You don't mind?"

Hotch smiled and squeezed your shoulder in reassurance. The end of your storm was near, he was sure.

"Of course not," he said. "You get yourself ready and I'll tell Spencer."

Criminal Minds Masterpost

[daenysx]

Hi!! First of all, I want to tell you that I love your writings! Your portrayal of Aemond is just *chef's kiss*. I would like to request some hurt/comfort with Aemond x reader if possible. Thank you in advance! <3

thank you for your request, angel, i'm so happy that you like my writing!! i hope you like this one too, i picked a plot which is a little too relatable to me, so here we go. ♡

send me your requests for drabbles

pins and needles. pins and needles. pins and needles.

people talk but the words are not clear. they laugh, they have endless conversations about their lives, they share funny memories with each other.

all you can do is sitting at the table and giving them fake smiles.

they are your friends, surely a dinner with them must feel good, right? you have plenty you'd like to share, you want to laugh at their jokes, you want to make them smile. your hands shake, your breathing's uneven, you're sure at some point you'll feel the world spin. you don't want to be here. you don't know how to leave the restaurant. will they talk after you leave? will they say how you can't even form a proper sentence without your voice shaking?

you hold onto your glass, you take a slow sip from it. the liquid tastes weird in your mouth. a friend next to you says something, then turns to you and asks, "right?"

risky question. you didn't even hear the story. you don't know how to answer. fuck. no, that's- no. you grab your phone and stand up. you try to smile but it's fake. "uhm, excuse me, i just have to call someone, i'll be back."

you don't want to come back.

you walk away, thankfully they are a big group, not all of them will notice your absence. the fresh air feels nice as you step outside. you take a few more steps and sit on the sidewalk. you try to take a deep breath, you fail. you look at your phone, fingers shaking as you search aemond's name.

aemond picks up the phone at the first ring. "sweetheart?"

you have to find your voice. "hey."

he knows what happens the moment he hears the little word. "are you okay?"

"can you- can you please come and get me?"

he grabbed the car keys already. "i'm on my way."

you try to stay calm as you wait for him. it's a short distance, all you have to do is waiting for him. he'll be here. he'll be here.

9 minutes 37 seconds, and aemond is here. he rushes when he sees you, you realize the image must be a little terrifying. he kneels in front of you, careful hands on your face. "hey, i'm here. you're with me, pretty girl."

you hold onto him, he holds you the best he can. the angle's weird but he doesn't care. you cry into his neck, you can't breathe. you don't wanna be like this, there's no reason and look at you, crying in your lover's arms. aemond rubs your back, his knees must hurt. he kisses your forehead, just keeps his warm lips on your skin. "i got you. you're safe, hmm? you know i'm here, i'm with you."

you nod, you feel better. you are not alone. he's here, with you. "my friends- they're inside, i just-" you mumble, the words lost in your mouth.

"do you have your things with you? yeah, you have, baby. let me take you home, i'll just call them and tell them you got sick." he kisses your head. "it's okay. everything's okay. i'll make sure everything's fine, let's go back to car."

he helps you to the car, never lets go of your hand. he buckles your seatbelt. you just feel tired, the loud voices and your fake smiles carve a space in your mind. you close your eyes, teardrops fall. it's okay, it's just okay.

aemond takes you home. he keeps his hands on you all the time. a hand on your thigh as he drives and his arm around your waist as he leads you inside. the bedroom is quiet, you walk towards bed and let yourself relax for a minute. you can hear aemond's muffled voice, he's in the kitchen, talks to one of your friends who he knows and probably tells them you're sick but safe with him. you close your eyes, you don't even want to remember how you felt.

he comes next to you, sits on the edge of the bed. "can i hold your hand?" he asks, with a cautious tone. you give him your hand and he squeezes it, helps you remember you're safe. you're with him, you're safe, everything's okay.

"do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks, almost whispers.

you shrug. "i'm not sure i know what happened."

he shakes his head. "baby-" he collects his words. "you know what? we don't have to talk about it. we don't have to talk at all."

"aemond," you say, pull his hand closer to your lips and press a little kiss on the back of it. "thank you for coming. thank you for- for being with me."

he cups your cheek, gathering his thoughts again with a smile. "you don't have to thank me. you call, i come to you, that's our deal."

a teardrop falls. "i just felt like i didn't belong there. they were- they are so confident, so happy with their lives, and i don't even know if i do things right with mine."

he lays on bed silently, pulls you on his body so that you can use him like a pillow. now you can tell everything to him without worrying about having an eye contact. "they're my friends but it's like there's a distance between us. i thought i'd have fun, i didn't, i just felt terrible instead." you continue, sobbing.

aemond forces himself to stay calm. he should stay calm for you, he should help you feel like yourself again. he just rubs your back, the physical contact always works the best.

"i shouldn't doubt myself so much, should i? i'm doing the things i want but none of them seems worthy enough to have a conversation about." you whisper, too lost in your own thoughts and tears.

aemond lifts you suddenly, he sits on bed, and you're on his lap. he takes off your sweater with confident fingers, leaving you with a small tank top, freeing you from the heat that makes your cheeks flush. he pulls your hair from your face, brushes away your tears, and kisses your lips.

the kiss goes on, you find it easy to move your lips against his. the act of taking a deep breath is not so hard now, he shares his breaths with you. you kiss him for what feels like hours, your head not spinning now. your heartbeat turns normal slowly, you hold onto his hair, your shaky fingers become sure of the movement after each second.

he ends the kiss by holding the back of your head gently. foreheads pressed together, you are okay. you are okay, he's here. he kisses you better. he just knows how to kiss you better.

"you're allowed to feel bad even when you're with the people you like, sweetheart. you're allowed to be nervous, to not enjoy conversations around you, to not feel the best all the time." he kisses your forehead after each sentence.

"everything's okay, you didn't do anything wrong." he wants you to make sure you know the obvious fact, "you did good, leaving the place you're uncomfortable in and calling me to get you."

you nod, "thank you for saying these."

he squeezes your hand. "sweet thing." he kisses the back of your hand. "i just want you to feel good."

"i'm good." you say. "i'll be good."

aemond nods, "i was watching that tarantino movie you love so much before you called. would you like to join me? you can tell me everything i don't know about it."

you know he's lying, he wasn't watching your comfort movie before you called. he just wants you to feel better, offering something he knows you won't resist. you nod, give him a smile.

"come on, change your clothes. i'll make us some tea." aemond says, watching you take your jeans off with a longing smile on his lips.

[serbarris]

Be Still My Foolish Heart

Dragon Age: the Veilguard Pairing: F!Rook (Mourn Watch) x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: T   Summary: giving this a proper title was generous, this is just some drabble expanding on a scene from 'I'll Crawl Home to Her' and I was just having fun Read on ao3 here! 

Calliope Ingellvar closed the door to Emmrich’s room, leaned back against it, closed her eyes and wanted the world to swallow her whole. 

Calliope was, also, prone to dramatics.  

On the one hand, she was very happy that the Professor was too busy unpacking with Manfred to accept her invitation for a tour. Since she inevitably would have made a fool of herself. On the other, she felt like she must have done something terribly wrong to have been snubbed, or did she seem too keen? Too needy looking? Too much like her teenage self? Did the Professor – Emmrich, he said she should call him Emmrich- know she was once one of his students? One that grew up in the Necropolis hearing stories of the fantastic Emmrich Volkarin from other Watchers, only ever seeing him in passing around the Necropolis on rare occasions until, finally, she was accepted into his advanced class. Where she proceeded to develop a rather strong crush on him, that, apparently, hadn’t gone away. If their weird sanctuary in the Fade could swallow her whole right now, she’d probably be at peace with it. At least she wouldn’t have to pretend, obfuscate, lie. 

As she made her way to her rooms, she considered maybe she wouldn’t be lying. The sight of Emmrich, hearing his voice, just made her regress into her teenage self. That would make sense, she hasn’t seen the Prof- Emmrich in the best part of the decade, she was now thirty. She’s changed and he must have changed too. He was... more attractive. No, that wasn’t helping the situation. So, how has she changed in 10 years? Well; 

She wasn’t a young woman anymore. 

She had changed her hairstyle (slightly). 

She had a really cool tattoo. 

She went by a different name (Rook) because she was mortified by the thought that someone in the arse end of Tevinter would know of Calliope Ingellvar who stopped the War of the Banners but was disgraced and sent away from her home of 29 years.  

She was apparently the leader of this team who was going to take down the gods.  

This last point didn’t actually give her much confidence in her assessment. There were currently only 5 fit and ready people, and she didn’t really have a plan in mind. 

As if her thoughts weren’t already chaotic enough, she really didn’t need to bring the whole ‘saving the world’ aspect into it. So, deciding she had enough of listening to her inner monologue, Calliope headed to the kitchens in search of alcohol. Strong alcohol. That would numb the constant rant ongoing in her head, right? Or at least she’d pass out and be able to sleep. And hopefully, another elven god wasn’t going to interrupt that sleep. Win. Win. 

In the dining hall, she found Bellara, Neve and Harding. They turned and looked at her wide-eyed as if they could see the anxiety war that was going on in her head. Well, that’s what Calliope thought, they were actually just shocked at how aggressively she had opened the door. “Hey, Rook. Want to join us?” Harding asked, smiling and lifting her deck of Wicked Grace to show what the group was playing. 

“Oh, hi everyone, yes. Sure. Do you have any bottles open – it's what I came here for.” 

Neve, beholder of the sweet nectar that would solve Calliope’s issues, poured Calliope a shot of the dark liquid. As she took a seat around the dining table she knocked it back without pause, not even tasting the harsh liquor, she really needed this. “So, what’s got you searching for alcohol Rook, I’ve barely seen you drink since we got here.” Neve enquired. Calliope probably should have expected conversation. That’s what happens when you sit down with people who have agreed to help you save the world from elven gods. She had been staring at the bottle, hoping another shot would be coming her way, or that the group would let her sit in silence as they carried on their game, and then Neve’s question was processed by her brain. 

“Oh, me, sorry. The past few days have caught up to me?” 

“Was that a question?” Neve chuckled. Pouring Calliope another shot. 

“No. Yes. I don't know.” Calliope whined as she took the shot and put her face in her hands. Noting that everyone else’s cards were no longer in their hands, but put to the side. 

“You have been acting kinda strange Rook, even for you.” Harding conceded. “Ever since those other Mourn Watchers came here.” 

“Yes!” Bellara exclaimed, “And then this morning I complimented your makeup as it was really very pretty Rook, I would love it if you could show me what you did, oh and then I can show you –“ 

“Bell.” Neve cut in, keeping Bellara from going off on a tangent. 

“Right, but then you wiped it off with your hands! Just as we were about to leave!” 

At this point, Calliope had taken charge of the bottle herself. She would definitely need to be at least a bit drunk to deal with these questions. She could have just left, yes, but she wanted to drink, and not being alone would stop the stream of consciousness in her head that wouldn’t shut up. Also, she was hoping by holding the bottle that the alcohol would transmit into her blood by osmosis. She could only hope. She was also trying to think of a way to hide the massive crush she has on their new Fade expert. 

“It was the first time I’ve been back after being sort of banished from the Necropolis.” 

Shot.  

“So you must have known Emmrich, growing up at the Necropolis, he seems very well respected.” How on earth did Neve do that? She just went straight to the topic Calliope did not want to talk about! Could she read minds? That would explain how she sorted so many cases! At least she could do this, it’s just answering some questions about a fellow Watcher. Easy. 

“Of course, everyone knows Professor Volkarin, he’s an icon, everyone wanted to be in his classes or even be blessed enough to speak to him!” By now the alcohol had started to warm Calliope’s belly, making her limbs feel loose, and also, apparently, her mouth.  

“So, why do you keep calling him ‘Professor?’ ”  

This stopped Calliope in her tracks, her already pink cheeks slowly turning very red. And so was the rest of her face. 

Shot. 

“It’s... just a habit.” Yes, Calliope smiled, pleased with herself. That doesn’t give anything away at all. 

“Ah, so he was your teacher,” Neve mused. Bellara’s eyes instantly lit up, “Wow... taught by Emmrich Volkarin, what was he like? Why didn’t you mention you knew him? Was he strict? Did he set lots of reading? Does that mean you’ve read his books?” 

“He was my favourite teacher,” Calliope said very quickly, almost shocked that those words left her mouth. She tried to cover it up with hopefully some answers to Bellara’s questions, but at this point her plight for alcohol was, in fact, betraying her. “So, he was my teacher 10 years ago are you all happy?” 

“I get it,” Harding smirked, “you liked him.” 

“No! He was just my teacher and a very senior Watcher! I just... admired him, he’s very smart and an expert in his field, his corpse whispering is well respected across Nevarra.” He’s also unbelievably handsome. She thought in her head. Unfortunately for Calliope, the now quite drunk Calliope, didn’t in fact, only think that last sentence. She had said it out loud. Seeing her companions look at her with matching looks, like a cat that got the leftover fried fish, made her question what she had said. She didn’t say that out loud, did she? She was trying to not admit that she liked Emmrich. That was the whole point. 

“What was that Rook?” 

“Fuck.” 

It was fair to say that the next day Calliope felt worse for wear, also, that bringing along any combination of her companions was a recipe for disaster. Except for Emmrich and Lucanis, who didn’t know anything. Except Lucanis kept giving Rook weird looks in between their snippets of conversations and adventuring through Treviso. Then she remembered Lucanis doesn’t sleep. And he hangs out in the pantry. Next to the kitchen. Where the women were sat last night. 

Fuck. 

[golden-boy-of-the-gazette]

Um um um some Danny Johnson drabble. Head canons? Idk. this is my first time writing please dont hurt me. I'm ashamed that it's a stupid coffee shop thing but yk. These are Gender Neutral btw!! Mildly suggestive? Not really?

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So first off his coffee order is either super simple or super extravagant, no inbetween. Hes pretentious about it either way. You order something simple? God that's boring. Order something super complicated? Can you just fucking hurry up? And that's IF he goes to a proper coffee shop, I imagine this prick goes to a gas station if he's just ordering for himself.

With that said though, he wouldnt drink just straight black coffee. It would at least have cream and sugar, when hes feeling particularly fancy he would put in like... I dont know, hazelnut flavoured creamer? And that would be as special as it gets.

If you worked at the coffee shop he visits and he was into you he would either try and make your job easier or more difficult to make sure he can spend as much time with you as he can. He's a selfish bitch though so expect the latter rather than the former.

You dont like him? Spit in his coffee? He will try desperately to act like he didnt notice and drink it normally in the shop, trying not to seem like a freak. His eyebrows furrowed and biting his lip a bit as he contemplates whether he should even drink it in the store but as soon as he leaves and he is in his car he is all over that cup. Drinking it like hes never had a drop to drink in his life, licking and biting the rim of the cup as if it were your bottom lip like the fucking freak he is.

Someone is taking too long in line? Hes contemplating their murder while he waits but he wouldnt necessarily act on those thoughts. Just something to feed the brain while he's forced to sit still. The person in front of him typically never sparks any inspiration for his design anyway.

He will end up becoming a regular. If he were to order strictly simple orders like coffee with just sugar and creamer for months he would eventually order longer orders, just to sit and be around you for longer. If you comment on it with something like "Wow, Jed. I didnt take you for a frozen peppermint mocha coffee kinda guy." He would say something along the lines of "Just trying to branch out a little." Giving an almost dry laugh, edging on being genuine just because it's you he's being fake to. He doesnt drink that sugar coffee by the way. Just. Pours it out. At some point he did try it but he didn't like how sugary it was.

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Um that's all I have for now. I know it's super unorganized and the punctuation and grammar probably isnt the best but I'll work on that. I'll also work on my aesthetic I guess? Idk.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Info Dump

Title: Info Dump Day: 30 Days of Drabbles, Day Prompt:  Info dump Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 298  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K/G  Characters: Donatello, Splinter Warning: NA Summary: Intelligence is one thing. Wisdom is another. Splinter exercises some wisdom with a young Donatello.    Notes: I wanna know how many of you know what movie Donnie is going on about.    ffn || AO3

________________________________

The Info Dump

“—but those movies are actually wrong because that’s not the names of the dinosaurs. It’s not even the types of dinosaurs. There’s a whole classification system to it the movie doesn’t get close--”

Splinter understood that he was not as intelligent as his son, Donatello. Even at the age of seven, his son knew and understood more than he. He had an innate gift that allowed him to understand the world and to absorb and retain knowledge.

“—‘long-neck’ isn’t a classification! It could be a descriptor, but it’s not a classification. ‘Three-horn’ and ‘flyer’ and ‘duckbill’ aren’t either! Well, duckbill is closer, but its still not correct—"

However, although Splinter wasn’t as intelligent as Donatello, he did have the benefit of experience, and therefore wisdom and insight.

“—it wouldn’t have taken much research to find the proper names! I can find them easy in my books! I bet they have a lot more books than I do—"

Insight told him that the reason this movie did not use the scientific names of the dinosaurs was that it was a children’s movie (although the death of the mother seemed quite heavy for a children’s movie) and the creators had probably wanted to use more child-friendly terms.

“—some of the names can be a little hard, but not if you practice! But I don’t think the people who made it knew what they were doing, because those dinosaurs aren’t accurate either. Look, it’s here in my book—”

Wisdom told him that it was for the best not to point that out to his son right now, and let the child go on about the inaccuracies of this movie. Instead, he would continue making dinner, and let Donatello tell him all about dinosaurs.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Starting Traditions

Two short drabbles, one angsty & one fluffy, as both a treat for Halloween & to celebrate reaching 250 followers. This was briefly looked over for mistakes & written in two sittings. Happy reading!

Dream steps through his portal & shivers at how still everything feels, the cold of the season not helping at all. Regardless, he shuts the portal behind him as he stares down at the grave in front of him.

In honor of Nightmare, it reads. It's a scrappy little thing, made by Dream in a fit of grief after he discovered what had happened to his brother.

Taken over by the corruption of the black apples, Dream hopes that Nightmare is dead. At least then his brother wouldn't have to deal with his body being controlled.

Dream shakes himself & begins to clean up the tiny grave, clearing away the plants that had started to grow over it in the time since he last visited.

Despite his earlier thinking, the grave was alright for something his age & skill set at the time could make. It wasn't long after he was freed from the stone, his shaky carving of the letters that made up the words evidence of his growing knowledge.

The grave itself wasn't anything special, just a rock that was big enough & soft enough to carve a message into placed into a clearing. It probably didn't even count as a proper grave, considering there was no dust to spread over Nightmare's favorite items.

The area was quickly cleaned up & Dream hesitates. He really should leave, he had things he could be doing. Was there a reason to stick around?

After debating with himself for a few moments, Dream slowly sinks to the ground in front of the gravestone, cross legged. "Hey Nighty..."

Dream's voice trailed off as he considered what he should say next. Maybe he could... "Did you know that people dress up & try to get candy? Apparently you sparked a tradition."

Leaning back on his hands, Dream reminisces as he continues to speak. "I remember the first time you did it, too. Covering yourself in branches & leaves & whatever foresty things you could find until you weren't recognizable at all. You even surprised me the first time I saw you!"

Dream pauses his story to laugh softly, sighing fondly after. "The villagers were terrified. Dropped everything they were carrying & ran at the sight of you. Not that you were that scary. Not to me."

Dream stops briefly to take a few deep breaths, blinking to clear the tears that were trying to gather. He clears his throat before continuing.

"Of course, being as clever as you were, you took the opportunity to take whatever sweets & goodies that they dropped until you couldn't carry any more! Then you would bring it home to share with me & we would giggle at how oblivious the villagers were."

Dream giggles quietly to himself with a smile on his face, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees. "Hey Nighty?"

There's silence for a few moments before Dream leans forward even more, whispering as if sharing a secret. "I miss you..."

Bonus Scene!

"Seriously, I did it once, or maybe a few times, I don't see why it became such a big deal." Nightmare complains, Ccino nodding along as if agreeing with the other.

The gang had been busy, having heard of the tradition of dressing up to receive candy & latching onto the idea. Who would turn down the idea of free candy after all?

Unfortunately, he couldn't trust them all in one place by themselves, & had to come along as supervision. So Nightmare watched from afar, seeing them running around & taking whatever they wanted, not just candy.

At some point he had called it a night & taken them to Ccino's cafe so they could wind down from all the excitement & exercise. Unfortunately...

Nightmare sighed as he heard Killer & Dust begin to wrestle on the ground, grappling with each other for some reason that he didn't care to know. Wondering why the other two were being so quiet, Nightmare looked over his shoulder & huffed out a soft laugh. That certainly explained things.

Cross was sitting at the table they had dumped their loot on, trying to subtly switch out sweets that he didn't like for chocolate from the other's piles. Horror, meanwhile, was lying on the ground with several cats on top of him with his eye sockets closed.

Nightmare shook his head, definitely not in a fond way, as he turned back to look at Ccino. Ccino, however, was attempting to hold back his snickering, causing Nightmare to scowl & wiping the smile that had unknowingly grown across his face.

This sent Ccino into actual laughter, a soft sound that made Nightmare scoff & roll his eyes, scowl softening. In the background, Cross let out a scream as he began to get chased by Killer & Dust, who had finally noticed Cross' attempted deception.

As Nightmare began to rant to Ccino once more, Cross tripped over Horror as he attempted to jump over him, sending cats scattering & causing the two chasing him to fall on top of each other, creating a dogpile. Despite the chaotic atmosphere, everyone was having a good time.

Except for maybe the cats who had their nap interrupted.

[himbopunk]

drabble i did of thorne and emmrich. dialogue heavy like all my datv stuff is for some reason. its not crazy long so you can go to the ao3 or just. read under the cut

CW: child death

“No, Manfred, this is a journal, not a memoir. It belongs in its proper section with the others.”

Emmrich picked a small hand-bound book from his shelf and handed it to his skeletal assistant, gesturing towards the correct section. Manfred made an affirmative hissing sound, before shambling towards the correct spot in the library. He had been giving a once-over to some of the shelves, making sure they were in proper order. While Manfred was fairly good at following organizational instructions, sometimes he needed a bit of a nudge or reminder. He was still learning, after all.

There was a soft knock on the door, causing Emmrich to turn his attention from the shelves. A large, red-bearded Qunari man stood in the doorframe, holding a small tray with a teapot and two cups in one hand. Iktom– or Rook, as the team all knew him– meets Emmrich’s eyes with his own singular functioning eye, and smiles.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Though the other man’s voice came from a place deep in his chest, it was often much softer than most expect from a man of his stature. 

“Not at all! Manfred and I were simply doing some re-organizing. I can take a moment.”

“Good, ‘cause I brought you that tea from Rivain you asked about.” Iktom stepped into the room with the tray. Emmrich swiftly moved a couple of texts from his side table from his morning reading so that Iktom could set it down. He could smell cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and other spices in the unique Rivaini blend wafting up as he did.

“Oh, wonderful. I cannot wait to try this! I’d had something similar in a Tevinter blend once, but the teas in Rivain are simply unparalleled.”

“True. I can’t say much, though, I only grew up with the medicinal stuff that tastes awful. My father would swear by this terrible tea with a shot of whiskey every time I caught a cold. I…don’t actually know the trade language word for the plant, it only grows in the mountains.”

“Would you be able to point it out if you saw it?”

“Hm… probably?”

“That’s perfect, then! I have a series on plants and herbs of the High Anderfels and the Donnarks, perhaps we can take a look later. I’d be curious to find out.”

“Long as you don’t ask me to take any once you do.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Good.” He smiles, as Emmrich pours himself a cup of tea. “This should be much better than that, though. If I brewed it right, anyhow. Maker knows Lucanis was no help.”

“Ah yes. As I’ve come to learn, the man detests tea, unfortunately. I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

“True. And I won’t lie, I like coffee too, but he takes it a bit far for me. Not sure if that’s an Antivan thing, a Crow thing, or a Lucanis thing.”

“Hard to say, and I doubt it’d be much easier with his reliance on it to avoid Spite.” Emmrich lifts the cup to his mouth, blowing on it slightly to help cool it before taking a sip.

“S’alright. More for you, right?” Iktom watches carefully as the other man tastes his tea. “How is it?” 

“Absolutely delightful , Rook. You brewed this wonderfully.” Beyond the temperature, the tea tasted warm, comforting, with a slight smokiness to it. The milk used in it was just slightly sweet, unmistakable but not too much as to be obtrusive to the other flavors present. 

“Oh, good. Good.” The other man seemed relieved, finally lifting his own cup to try himself. “Seer Rowan told me how to do it, since you make it over the fire instead of steeping it in the cup. I’d never done it like that before.”

“The qunari seer from the Lords, yes? Taash has mentioned her before, I believe. I’ll have to remember to thank her when we next travel to the Hall of Valor. Perhaps she has more recommendations on Rivaini tea blends, as well!”

“Ha, maybe. I’m sure you two could talk shop a bit too, Seers seem a bit more like the Watchers than most other mages I’ve met. Save maybe some of the ones from Tevinter.”

“True! We’ve had more than our fair share of young Altus mages visit the Necropolis, but truth be told, while I’ve read as many writings out of the Dairsmuid circle as I could find in my studies, I’ve not encountered many Seers myself.”

“They’d be considered abominations back home, probably. Depending where you’re at.” Iktom shrugs a bit. “But we should set up a meeting. I can see if the Lords need any help while we’re out there.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you have an excuse to return to the Halls of Valor.” Emmrich eyebrows raise from over his cup as he takes another sip of his tea.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Emm.” Iktom smirks as he leans back in his chair a bit. Emmrich places his cup back down, giving the other man a knowing glance.

“Well, either way, simply let me know and I’d be delighted to accompany you the next time you leave for Rivain.”

“Will do.” Iktom gives a small nod. “I’ll probably have to head out to Hossberg soon, but after that, we should have a moment.”

“Do let me know if you need any assistance there, as well.”

“‘Course. I’ll see what it is that Antoine and Evka need, first. I’m sure it’ll be mostly fighting darkspawn, maybe taking some notes for Antoine about the blight changes.”

“Such is the life of a Warden, it seems!”

“True. But, hey, I’ll never say no to you watching my back.” Iktom winks, before topping off the tea in Emmrich’s cup. The entendre occurs to Emmrich immediately, but he barely acknowledges it aside from a slight eyebrow raise.

“Well, you know where to find me, Rook.” 

“I do.” Emmrich can see him smiling even behind the cup as he brings his tea to his mouth again. 

The conversation lulls, but there’s no strong need to fill the silence for some time. There wasn’t even the distant eager hissing of Manfred, as he had no current duties to attend to in the library, he left the room awhile ago. Likely to watch the wisps in Neve’s room or to go say hi to Spite. It would be a good while yet before he felt the need to worry about him. Right now, the two men simply enjoy their quiet moment in the library together, drinking their tea. 

While Emmrich understood the team’s need to constantly be pushing forward towards some goal or another, he couldn’t help but appreciate the moments of calm they were able to have from time to time. Iktom’s life was very exciting, as was seeing the man in his element, on the battlefield. But there was something about seeing the large man, all but built for war, speaking softly in the library, taking the time to walk through the gardens with him or brew a pot of tea he’s never made before, simply because he remembered Emmrich’s curiosity towards it. A man whose life is now largely defined by the dreadful end post, slowing down amidst the chaos. It warmed him to Emmrich, much like the tea had.

Eventually the tea would dry up. Emmrich considered opening a book to read while still enjoying the other’s company, when he spoke up.

“Emm, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about, in the gardens. If you have…the place of mind to discuss it.”

Emmrich’s mind wanders for a moment, as they’d talked for a good hour or so that night. He imagines the subject to be one of two things, however. And while he’s not thrilled with the discussion of either, he’s in a state that he could weather it.

“Of course, Rook. May I ask what exactly it is you find yourself revisiting?”

“You asked me about death, what I felt about it, after telling me your…” He pauses for a moment, searching for the best way to describe Emmrich’s thanatophobia. “...Concerns?” It comes out more like a question, is this the polite way to discuss this?

“Ah, yes.” Emmrich nods, inviting him to continue the thought.

“I’ve been thinking about it the past couple days, and well. My answer was kind of bullshit, right?” Well, that is not the line of thought Emmrich had expected here, but he’s learning that he should know better than think he can predict Iktom’s mind. 

“Not intentionally, mind you, I didn’t lie or nothin’. It’s just– You caught me off guard, you know.”

Emmrich’s been aware of the…cultural divide between him and the rest of the team. But…no, Iktom’s been surprisingly accepting of the Necropolis. But he is a Warden, Emmrich realizes, it wouldn’t be unfounded that he would have his own hangups with death. Had he brushed upon a sore spot, without realizing?

“Rook, I apologize if I–” Iktom puts his hand up, cutting him off.

“No need, you did nothing wrong. You asked a very real question, and I just figure you deserved a real answer. Least, one more real than what I’d said then. Especially considering what all you’d shared with me, right?”

“You’re not obligated to answer than you’re able, Rook, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” Iktom momentarily looked confused, as if the idea that he wouldn’t share in the same way Emmrich had was a preposterous suggestion. “But… go on, if you wish. What would your real answer be?”

Iktom re-adjusted himself in the chair, sitting up more straight, taking a breath before he continued. There was an element of practice to it, as if he’d thought very hard or rehearsed what he wanted to say, to make things easier. It was a bit endearing.

“So, alright, yeah. Everything dies, that’s the nature of things, that’s true. Like I said, I didn’t lie, I do feel that way…to some extent. But I don’t think that’s fair, ‘cause that didn’t come to me naturally, right? It took me a long while to get there. Sometimes I half wonder if I’m as there as I think I am. It’s not…consistent, right? Being a Warden, though, it…” He glances at his hands for a moment. “It’s put some things into perspective for me.” He looks back up to Emmrich, meeting his eyes, but there’s something distant in the man’s eye that he hadn’t quite registered before. Emmrich leans forward, placing his hand on Iktom’s.

“From what I’ve heard, the life of a warden is often as short as it is adventurous. Even before the complication of the gods, I would not be surprised if you’d had more than one near brush with death since your Joining. I’ve read and heard many such cases where a Warden finds it completely reframes their outlook on the subject.” There’s a flash of emotion on Iktom’s face, too fast for Emmrich to pick up on most of them. 

“Well… yes, I suppose I have, but no. That’s not exactly it.” Iktom pauses, opening his mouth to speak again, seemingly loses the words again and stops. It’s not until he breaks eye contact that he’s able to say the words stuck in his throat.

“You told me about losing your parents, how it put that fear of death in you. The crushing weight of it that hits you whenever the night feels a bit too dark. I get that, kind of.” He hadn’t described it in as many words, but Emmrich gets the sense that it’s not his feelings that Iktom is describing. 

“And then, you talked about the Watchers, how they saved you, finding others like you or ways to discuss it that makes it– They saved you.” He cuts himself off, as if whatever word he would’ve said there physically hurt to say. “Sure, the dread’s still there, but you’ve got something to hold on to, to focus on, to… I don’t know. But I get that too.” Iktom looks back up, meeting Emmrich’s eyes again. “Kind of.”

“And the Wardens were that for you, I presume?” 

“...Yeah. I…” Iktom took a deep breath, steeling himself. Rehearsed or not, it didn’t seem to make things any easier. It was clear whatever was on his mind was a struggle for him to discuss, and while Emmrich appreciated his dedication to what he felt was honesty, he didn’t want the other man to feel beholden to it, simply because Emmrich discussed his own past. 

“I’m listening, Rook, but please do know that you’re under no obligation to tell me of your own history if you’re not ready. You’re not beholden to that simply because I shared my own. We can get there in good time.” 

“No, it’s alright.” Iktom assured him.

“If you’re absolutely sure.” Emmrich insisted.

“Yeah… yeah.” Iktom let go of his hand, sitting back in his chair somewhat. He seems to soften somewhat, and Emmrich hopes he was able to help even slightly in his reassurance.

“I have–” He nearly winces as he corrects himself. “I had a daughter. Years ago.”

“... Oh.”

“Yeah. Úna was her name. Kal-Sharok for little lamb, I think. My father wanted to give her a proper Ander name, and I half wanted to pick something in Qunlat. But my ex wife– her mother– was the most stubborn out of all of us.” He sighed.

“When she… When I lost her, everything went sideways. Nothing felt right anymore, I became… Well. I’m glad we never met back then.” Iktom laughed half heartedly. “I was even more of an ass then, believe it or not!”

Emmrich’s brow furrowed a bit. He had not even been aware Iktom had been married before, let alone the rest of it. Of course, there was no reason he should have known, but knowing this now… Of course the discussion in the Necropolis gardens stirred something in him. He could think of no greater horror for a parent. 

“You were grieving your child, Rook. I can’t imagine–”

“Sure, but I was still a prick. Oh, you would’ve hated me then.”

Emmrich scoffs, almost offended at the notion. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of smile there as he said it, a twinge of curiosity, and of something Emmrich couldn’t place. 

“Well, still. I fucked up a lot in the process, however you spin it. Wound up getting conscripted ‘cause nobody else would put up with me. Training at Weisshaupt was hard work, it was brutal at times, but… the Wardens saved me. And the nature of it all, there’s this… finality to it. A finish line. None of it made it right, made it any less terrifying. It didn’t make me want to throw up any less when I’d find an abandoned child’s doll in the center of a blight-ridden town. But I could focus again, I could finally learn to make sense of things.” 

Iktom scratched the side of his chin, suddenly aware of his vulnerability and feeling put off by it.

“Anyways, I don’t know if that’s how it was for you, maybe it’s a bit of the opposite since you deal with undead. But I figured it was more of an answer than I gave you before.”

Emmrich wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He had dozens of questions, but none he felt were appropriate to ask currently. He’d have to hold onto them for another time.

“...Thank you, Rook.” He finally said. “For sharing that with me.”

“You shared first. Tit for tat, right?” He said it as if he had only been helping Emmrich with a chore or paying for a meal.

“I…suppose. But I would’ve been satisfied even just with the conversation we had that night. I was satisfied, in fact. But it’s meaningful that you trusted me with this, I know it could not have been easy. I’ve lived decades after becoming an orphan, Rook, but this wound…even if healed, it’s a fresh scar.”

“Yeah well, I…” He trails off a bit, seeming somewhat flustered. “I wanted you to know. You’re good people, Emm.”

“Thank you, Rook. I think much the same of you.” 

“For now.” Iktom gives a sly grin.

“Please.” Emmrich waves him off. “You’re a much better man than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah? How do you figure?” Iktom leans forward on the table.

“I have a keen intuition towards this sort of thing, Rook! And I’m sure everyone else in the lighthouse would agree.”

“I don’t know about that .”

“Give it time, Rook. Give it time.”

They keep eye contact for a moment from across the table. Eventually, Rook stands from his chair, picking up the tray with the empty teapot and cups.

“I should get going, soon. Don’t want to keep Antoine and Evka waiting.” He starts towards the opposite side of the room, tray in hand, before turning back towards Emmrich, leaning once again on the doorframe.

“Certainly not. If you need me, Rook…” 

“I know where to find you. And I’ll make another pot of tea, if you like.”

“I’d be delighted.”