#this was supposed to be a drabble! it's nearly 2K words!

[catboii]

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[Excerpt taken from Agent 23's personal diary]

[Day ####]

Today was much better!

The Overseer ‘approved my request to approach’. It sounds so formal but all I did was sit inside one of the interlocks for a few hours. There were still 2 doors in the way. The glass around and in them is unbreakable. 

The Anomaly seemed much more animated once I was inside and it could see me. It was almost as if it didn’t realise I was actually outside this whole time, like maybe it thought the speaker was connected up from far away and it was still all alone in this place, could explain why it acted weird when shadows passed the window.

Maybe it was just lonely. 

I know I would be if I was shut up in an empty room on my own forever. 

I read it some more articles from the book, and it seemed happy with that. It sat in front of the glass just looking at the pages with me. I would leave it here for it to look at one of the pictures while I’m gone, but I was told to not leave anything, even inside the interlocks, and the decontamination team have to clean it out after I’m done with the daily observations, ‘so there are no hair or skin cells left inside’. There’s no evidence that this Anomaly can interact with anything like that, even if not through the doors, but it’s standard practice. ‘You can’t be too careful with these creatures’. 

~~~~~

[Day ####]

Today is different. 

White noise is playing over the environmental speakers, a gentle, low-pitch static in the background. 

The Overseer asks Agent 23 to sit inside the room with the Anomaly. Face to face. They believe it’s not a threat and there should be enough trust built up by this time. It’s been several weeks now, and there have been no negative observations, not even a ‘decline to interact’. 23 is happy to oblige, as she feels like the Anomaly is lonely and might like some company. She’s been hoping she can get a little closer. She knows she shouldn’t drop her guard too much, but she really can’t see this creature being more than just a mildly intelligent animal. She can’t see why it’s so dangerous. She’s dealt with mostly non-dangerous Anomalies so far, so maybe she is a little biased, but if it was dangerous then it wouldn’t be on this level, and she wouldn’t be allowed near it, surely. 

As they go through the instructions on how to unlock each individual door to the triple interlock system, ‘and most importantly, closing and locking the previous door first’, Agent 23 goes to take the chair, but the Overseer stops her, saying she can’t take it, just in case it tries to use it as a weapon. 23 is confused as the creature is tiny, it can’t possibly lift an entire metal chair. 

She proceeds inside each chamber in turn. Once she’s inside the first and the door is locked behind her, she turns to see the creature, ready and sitting in the same spot when they were reading the book. It tilts its little crow-like head, seeming to be looking toward her empty hands. She looks down and holds them out in an almost shrug, as if to say ‘yep. No book’.

She starts the process of unlocking the next door, and the creature steps back for a moment. 

Once she has the door open and she’s stepped through, it takes a step back toward her. Once she’s sure that that door is closed and locked, she turns back to the next door. While unlocking this one, the creature gets so close to the glass that it’s almost pressing its beak to the glass. 23 thinks it may be trying to see what she’s doing, but luckily the keypad has a shield around the edges, and all the glass is anti-reflective, so nothing can be seen from inside the room. 

She decides to pause in this final chamber. It’s quite a sight to see all of the little rooms within a room. There’s the main door, then the three interlock doors, each with their own little chamber. 

The creature seems to think this is as far as she’s going, and it turns. 23 thinks, dejectedly, that it got bored of her and is now going to sit somewhere else, but it presses its side against the glass, leaning there near her. Leaning down, she reaches out her hand, touching the glass directly between them. The creature twists its head awkwardly to peer at her hand, and it pecks at the glass gently. 23 giggles, out loud, and the creature jumps, moving off from the glass. 

“Oh, I’m sorry little guy… Can you even hear me? Is this glass soundproof?” She reaches out to touch the glass in the same spot again, and the creature makes a quiet warbling sound as it headbutts the glass, right toward the palm of her hand. Since she can hear it, however faintly, she decides it can hear her, and she chuckles quietly to herself. 

Agent 23 takes a deep breath, stands determinedly, and unlocks the final door. It opens slowly, the quiet mechanical whirring sounding a little ragged, as if this door hasn’t been used much for a while. The possibly-crow has hopped back several feet, as if it was scared, but its peering over and appears to be thinking about moving closer. 

She takes a few cautious, slow steps forward, so as not to spook it, and she calmly sits herself on the concrete floor crosslegged. 

The anomaly just looks at her for a while, then very slowly takes a couple of steps toward her, and when it’s close enough, it pecks at one of her shoes, touching it once quickly with its beak, then backing off a few hops, then repeating. As it does this, 23 realises that it’s quite big for a normal crow… Maybe it’s a certain species of large raven or something. 

After a few cycles of peck and run, Agent 23 can’t help laughing, and this time the creature doesn’t seem to jump, but does tilt its head as if it's never heard laughing before. 

“Agent 23. I’m the one who’s been speaking to you. Through that-” she gestures to the intercom speaker, but as she raises her arm, the crow backs off, zooming halfway across the room. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to… um. big?” She makes a wide gesture with her arms again, but much slower and with an apologetic look on her face. Once she drops her hands to her lap, she evaluates the creature's reaction, nods and concludes, “yeah, no more of that.” She emphasises by making a forcibly smaller gesture, hunching over and keeping her elbows pulled in. “Small gestures. Small voice.” 

Agent 23 has been reading and memorising the wildlife book, and looking up different animals on the internet, so she can recite it to the creature, and now is the perfect time, since she wasn’t allowed to bring the book. Eventually the creature makes its way back over to her, but it takes what feels like an hour, and six different animal descriptions and facts, for it to get comfortable enough to get within touching distance. She really wants to try and pet it, but she decides to resist, in case that’s a big no-go and she ruins the whole thing. 

“So do you have a favourite of those animals? Do you like the parrot? Or the fox?” The creature flaps its wings at the ‘fox’, and 23 smiles, and without thinking reaches out to pet it like she would her dog when she does something cute. The creature jerks back, and 23 pasuses, but doesn’t pull away, since the creature didn’t completely run off. She decides to push her luck, just a little… “No pets?” She gives it an almost disappointed look, like she’d be upset if she didn’t get to pet it. Like she does with her dog at home. 

After a moment, the crow drops its head and squints, seemingly investigating her hand. It seems to have made a decision, as it raises its head again, leaning toward her hand and turning so she can get a better angle. She slowly leans down with her hand, gently placing her palm on the top of the bird’s head, which is as large as her palm itself, and only more obvious in this position. She lets her fingers fall to cup the top of its head, slowly smoothing along its tiny head feathers, and it seems to relax after a few seconds. She does too, and she lifts her hand and brings it back up to start over. She pets it like this for a while, telling it more animal facts, and she notices its eyes have closed and it almost sounds like it’s purring. 

When she’s finished for the day, she’s told the animal about twenty different kinds of animals that she could remember from her amateur research, aside from four sea creatures which she thought were really interesting, but the crow stamped its little feet and grumped when she talked about them, so she surmised that it didn’t like hearing about fish. 

After closing up all the doors and returning to the corridor, the Overseer emerges, probably alerted to her leaving the chamber with the first door, and it’s taken this long for them both to get here. The Overseer travelled further, 23 just had more doors to traverse.

The Overseer waves a very executive looking clipboard at her to get her attention, as if it was necessary. “Ah. Agent 23. I was hoping I would catch you.” Yeah, they did get the door alert. “How did you find it?” 

For a moment, 23 isn’t sure how to answer. ‘How did she find it?’ not, ‘How did it go’ or ‘Did everything go as it should’, but a kind of personal angle. Unless she was reading too much into it. She opens her mouth to answer, then realises she has no idea what the answer is. How did she find it? “Do you mean, was it aggressive? Or…” 

“Oh heavens no. If it was aggressive we wouldn’t dare let it near anyone.” 23 smiles uneasily, there’s always something off about the Overseers, her’s less so normally, but right now, they feel as fake as the others. “No,”  they smile, “was it interested in you? Did it act like a normal animal? Pretend it’s just another little Bambi or Thumper?” 

After a moment of consideration, 23 decides to keep it as brief as possible. The cameras will show that she made physical contact with it, if they didn’t already know, but she could play it down. “Yeah”, she nods. “It seemed just like your average garden pigeon.”

The overseer almost bursts out laughing at this for some reason, and 23 just smiles politely. 

“So,” 23 continues, “do I continue to go into the room with it from now on?”

The overseer doesn’t hesitate in nodding enthusiastically, herding her down the hallway with their arm behind her, not quite touching, but close enough to make her uncomfortable. 

When 23 fills out her personal Work Journal that evening, she feels uneasy. She knows next to nothing about the origins of this Anomaly. It seems like it’s just a suspiciously intelligent bird, although the language used in the previous reports are very vague and overcautious, so she’s careful and respectful of procedures. She’s heard stories of Anomalies pretending to be friendly to just earn the trust of the Agents and then stab them in the back. Sometimes literally. 

Still, it’s hard to believe that could happen here.

[kiwriteswords]

THE WAY YOU WRITE HOTCH IS ASDFGHJKL, and it makes me wanna scream because I love him so much lol. Can I request "Using pet names" drabble prompt with shy!reader? <3

Hi!! Thank you!!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I had so much fun writing this one! I hope you enjoy!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: None!

I find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings

It’s you who lets a pet name slip out the first time. 

The warm, aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you and Aaron Hotchner sat across from each other at your favorite corner café. It wasn’t often that the two of you found time for a peaceful moment away from the intensity of the BAU, but today, you both managed to sneak out for a late lunch. The soft hum of conversation around you created a cozy atmosphere, making you feel more relaxed than usual.

You sipped your cappuccino, smiling softly as you watched Aaron flip through the menu. He had a slight furrow in his brow, clearly debating over what to order, which made you smile. The rare moments where he looked just like any other person—calm, laid back, and not buried under mountains of paperwork or the weight of cases—made you appreciate these quiet times even more.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, tilting your head as you glanced over the options yourself. “The sandwich you always get?”

Aaron looked up from the menu, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. “Am I that predictable?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, feeling more comfortable in the easy, casual environment.

He chuckled, setting the menu down. “I suppose I do tend to stick to what I know. What about you?”

You shrugged, staring down at the menu, though you had already decided. “Probably the soup. It’s always good here.”

Aaron nodded, and as you both settled on your orders, the conversation flowed easily. It always did with him, despite the butterflies you couldn’t help but feel when you were around him. Even though you were naturally shy, there was something about Hotch that always made you feel at ease, even if his quiet intensity sometimes made your heart race.

After the waitress took your order and left, you leaned back in your chair, watching the way Aaron absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the table. It was one of his subtle habits that you had grown to notice. It was like he always had to be doing something—thinking, analyzing—even in the most relaxed moments. But now, there was a softness in his expression that made you feel warm inside.

“I’m glad we could get out today,” you said quietly, smiling. “It’s nice to just… take a break with you.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice just as gentle when he replied, “I’m glad too. We don’t get to do this nearly enough.”

Your heart fluttered at the way he said it, like these moments meant just as much to him as they did to you. There was a calmness in his presence that you’d come to cherish. You felt safe, cared for, even in the little things, like how he always made sure your coffee was topped up before getting his own or how he positioned himself in a way that made you feel like the world could disappear for a while.

Before you could think, the words slipped out: “You’re sweet, you know that, babe?”

The second the word left your lips, you froze. Your eyes widened slightly, and your hand came up to cover your mouth in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say it—not “babe.” It wasn’t a word you had ever used with him before, and certainly not in public. It just slipped out, so naturally, as if it had been sitting there, waiting to make its debut.

You braced yourself for his reaction, your cheeks already turning pink from embarrassment, but when you looked up, you were met with a look of pure amusement on Aaron’s face.

“Babe?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow as a slow, teasing smile spread across his lips. His voice was filled with warmth and playfulness. “Did I just hear that right?”

You felt your face heat up, but you weren’t exactly embarrassed, just a little flustered by how easily the word had slipped. “I, uh… I didn’t mean—well, I did, but…”

Aaron chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “No need to backtrack now,” he teased. “I have to admit, I didn’t see that one coming.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hide the shy smile threatening to spill out. “I guess it just… slipped out.”

“Slipped out, huh?” He rested his chin in his hand, watching you with that signature smirk of his. “I think I like it.”

“Really?” You blinked, surprised by his reaction.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “It’s got a nice ring to it. But I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to start with the pet names.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I guess there’s a first for everything.”

Aaron’s gaze softened as he reached across the table and gently placed his hand over yours. His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t need to be so shy about it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I think it’s cute.”

Your blush deepened at his words, but this time, you didn’t shy away. “I’m not shy… just cautious,” you said, feeling more playful than usual.

He chuckled again, the sound deep and soothing. “Well, I’d like to hear it again sometime… babe.” He teased further. 

The way he said the word sent a wave of warmth through you, and you found yourself grinning, unable to contain it any longer. “I think I can manage that.”

The teasing smile never left his face as he held your gaze. “Good, because I think you’re stuck with it now.”

You laughed, feeling more comfortable and at ease than ever. “And what about you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to start calling me pet names too?”

Aaron’s expression softened as he considered it for a moment, then leaned in a little closer. “I think I can manage that,” he said, his voice low and affectionate. “How about ‘sweetheart’? Or maybe ‘honey’? I’ve got a few in mind.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied smile, giving your hand one more gentle squeeze. “Because I plan on using them a lot.”

It wasn’t soon after that, that Aaron began using them more regularly. Something about hearing him say these endearing names still managed to put butterflies in your stomach.

Tonight, the BAU office was quiet. The bustling activity of the day had finally settled down, and most of the team had left for the night. Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating the pile of paperwork he still needed to get through. His focus wavered as he heard a familiar soft knock at his door.

“Come in,” his deep voice called, calm yet commanding, as always.

You peeked your head in, offering a small, shy smile as your eyes met his. You had been working late as well, trying to tie up loose ends from the case you’d just closed. But it wasn’t the case that brought you to his office. It was him.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping inside and closing the door gently behind you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Aaron replied, a warmth spreading through his tone that he only ever used with you. It was one of those things that made your heart flutter, even after all this time together. “What are you still doing here?”

You shrugged, walking over to him as you wrung your hands nervously. You never quite got used to how he looked at you, that mixture of care and admiration, like you were the only person in the world when he set his eyes on you.

“I just... wanted to see you before I left,” you murmured, standing in front of his desk. “And I figured you’d still be here working.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a small smile as he leaned back in his chair, his hand extending toward you. “C’mere, honey.”

You took his hand, your heart speeding up at the simple touch, and he gently pulled you into his lap. You blushed, settling into the familiar warmth of his embrace as his arms wrapped securely around you. The door was closed, and you were alone with him—one of the rare moments when you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing or the walls he kept up as the BAU’s stoic leader.

“You work too hard,” you whispered softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You need to rest.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re always looking after me, aren’t you?”

“I try,” you giggled, your shyness melting away a little in his presence. “Someone has to.”

His thumb stroked gently along your arm, and he kissed the top of your head again, this time lingering just a bit longer. “My sweet girl,” he whispered against your hair, his voice low and affectionate.

The pet name--your favorite pet name--sent a rush of warmth through you, making you hide your face against his neck as your cheeks burned. Aaron chuckled softly, clearly amused by your reaction.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he said quietly, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. “I told you I planned on using these names a lot,” There was a comfortable pause,  “How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. Even after everything you’d been through together—the cases, the danger, the long nights—he always found a way to make you feel like you were the most important thing in his world.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you admitted shyly, your fingers tracing small patterns on his chest. “You’ve always been there for me, Hotch.”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his fingers lifting your chin so that you were looking into his warm brown eyes. “What did I tell you about that? Call me Aaron when we’re like this.”

“Aaron,” you corrected with a small smile, loving how his name sounded on your lips in these moments.

“That’s better,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against yours. “My sweet girl.”

You melted into the kiss, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as you felt the familiar comfort and safety of being in his arms. Aaron’s kiss was soft and gentle, his way of showing you how much he cared without words. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing as he held you close.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with sincerity.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied without hesitation, the words leaving his lips easily now after everything you’d been through together. “Always.”

You smiled against his lips as he kissed you once more, longer this time, savoring the peaceful moment between you. There were no worries here, no cases or paperwork—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the sweet nothings that passed between you.

In his arms, you felt like you were home. And with him calling you all those sweet names, you knew this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Tag List

[ween-kitchens]

this started as a little drabble for an au and suddenly it's 2k words oops

in summary, scar is a wizard who was cursed into a statue for millennia, and eventually became the 'secret keeper' because everyone would confide in it. gem was the first to ask scar how it was doing

gem must not have been paying nearly enough attention to where she was walking, because she has somehow found herself in the secret keeper's grove. not that she minds, but- she could have sworn she started walking the complete opposite direction when she left her house. either gem is way worse at directions than she thought she was, or.. well, okay, she can't actually think of another reason, but she wanted to sound spooky. maybe there's some magical fate that has led her to this very spot- or she just doesn’t know her lefts from her rights.

well, whatever reason it ends up being, gem is stood awkwardly beneath the face of the statue, its eyes shut and face relaxed as if asleep. the cracks and vines across its body looks almost like scars, and gem has to appreciate its beauty. she has, of course, heard all the myths about this statue being some- evil wizard who went around killing people left right and centre, and was eventually turned to stone as punishment. whilst she doubts these stories are anything more than fairytales, gem has to admit that it'd be pretty cool if that was actually the case.

resting against one of the stone pillars in front of the secret keeper's statue, gem looks into its face. centuries of people confiding their deepest thoughts to this stone monolith, decades of fears and secrets and accomplishments all told to the resting face of what may or may not be an evil wizard from millennia ago. it's another very interesting thing, gem thinks, about how people will reach for any sense of attachment they can get. maybe that's why the statue was created in the first place; there is something about its face that draws gem to it, in an odd kind of way. 

"you know, I don’t suppose many people have asked how your day is going." gem says aloud, almost startling herself—she hadn't expected to actually say that.

unsurprisingly, the statue doesn’t respond, but something in its face looks- almost curious. is she making that up? she's probably making that up.

"I hope it's good." gem keeps talking anyway, because she honestly doesn't have anything much better to do anyway. "and if it's not, I hope it gets better."

she shifts a little on the earth, getting comfortable. in this new position, gem is instead facing another stone pillar rather than the keeper itself. "you’re a very lovely statue. I imagine it gets boring around here, but I suppose you have a lot of gossip to keep you going."

there's a kind of rustling from beside her, and she chalks it up to a bird of some sort—she is in the woods, after all. although- it might be someone else on the way to the secret keeper. that might be a little embarrassing, if they stumble across her asking a statue questions about its day.

"were you really an evil wizard, or is that just a story?" gem says idly, picking at imperfections in her nail polish.

"oh- i’d say greatly exaggerated." comes an unfamiliar voice.

gem looks up and shrieks in surprise, jumping to her feet. she immediately stumbles, almost falling flat on her face as she processes who just spoke. "you- how the-" 

a figure is now across the glade from her, looking somewhat bemused as it brushes its white hair from its eyes. the shawl over its shoulders is embroidered with sunflowers, and looks as if it'd been worn for quite some time—what with the tears and holes in the fabric. scars run across every visible part of its skin, some akin to the cracks in old stone, and some resembling battle scars.

the secret keeper blinks at her from where it (he?) sits on the grass, underneath the empty gap where the statue used to be. "oh- yeah, long story." it grins, brushing itself off. "I don't suppose you've seen a pair of crutches around here?"

"I- definitely not." gem says, practically frozen in place. what in wrath- how the- the secret keeper is a person now?? "it's- are you-"

the secret keeper scoffs, and gem can’t tell if it's playful or frustrated. maybe both. "oh- they'll have taken them again, no doubt. that's fine- i'll have my revenge!" it calls to the sky, before turning back to gem. "thank you for helping me out there- they've always  enjoyed playing tricks on me like that."

"what- no, I didn’t-" gem starts to say, but the secret keeper interrupts.

"how long was I stone, by the way?" it asks, offhand.

"oh." gem hesitates. "I- I don’t know how to tell you this. um- it's been a while."

the secret keeper pouts, brushing some stray stone dust from its shawl. "has it been a month again? I have things to do, y’know!"

"it's, um. it's been a thousand years, I think." gem says softly. 

she expects a huge reaction—after all, if someone had told gem that she'd been stuck as a statue for millennia, she'd be pretty upset. god- she can't imagine what that would make her feel; losing everything and everyone you know to time, whilst you stay exactly the same.

the secret keeper blinks, drops the pout and shrugs. "could have been worse." it says, voice surprisingly cheery. "oh- I bet my crutches will have disintegrated, or something." it's grinning like this is funny and not just cause for an existential crisis.

"I imagine so, yeah." gem says, as if she's not about to start freaking out over literally everything that's happening right now. "you- what are you gonna do now?"

the secret keeper pauses, and gem feels a little worry in having actually stumped it. "I, uh. that's a good question."

"if you want, you can stay with me and my friend for a while?" gem suggests, hoping that joel won't mind her bringing home a reincarnated statue to live with them. in her defence, he’s done weirder. 

the statue in question snorts. "I hope you're ready to be killed several times over." it grins, and gem's stomach drops. it seems to notice the look on her face and tacks on, "you guys can kill me too."

gem probably looks like she's seen a ghost, based on how the secret keeper frowns a little in concern. "I- how am i supposed to kill you if i’m dead?"

"wh- 'cause you’d come back?" the secret keeper looks as confused as gem feels. "why wouldn't you?"

"what do you mean, come back? if I die that's it." gem grins. "you’re joking, aren't you?"

the secret keeper shakes its head, less confused and more concerned. gem cannot seem to understand what's happening here. "did you- were you not given the blessing?"

"I.. don’t know what you’re talking about." gem says, smile beginning to slip from her face. "what blessing?"

"you don’t- the one that lets you regenerate?" the secret keeper says, almost frantic. when gem doesn’t show any recognition, it continues. "from- when you die? is that- how do you not know?"

gem blinks. "is that a story from when people thought magic was a thing? i’ve never heard of it before."

the secret keeper stares at her. "magic is a thing. i’m- i’m magic. I just got turned into a human from stone- what do you mean magic isn't a thing?"

"that's- yeah." gem pauses. "so- wait, why would we not have that anymore?"

"wh- I have no idea!" the secret keeper throws its arms out. "it's such a simple thing to do- you give the blessing to your baby, and then it grows with the kid! it's perfect! you don’t have to worry about exploding them with too much magic, because it's always just the right amount!"

"that is smart." gem says. "that's so weird- how has that gotten lost?" she tilts her head to the side. "I suppose it has been a thousand years."

"okay, so- I won't kill you." the secret keeper says, and gem remembers what started this whole conversation. "since apparently you guys are mortal. would I still be allowed to come with?"

"'course." gem grins. "I did suggest it. uh- how will we do this?"

the secret keeper looks at her blankly. "well. I assume we'd walk. do you not do that anymore either?"

gem snorts. "no, we do, I just- you said you had crutches. which I assume you would need."

"ohh." gem suppresses another laugh as it seems the secret keeper has apparently completely forgotten about the crutches. "yeah, that's a good point actually."

"I could try carrying you." gem says, and the secret keeper quickly covers its mouth. "what?"

"nothing!" it says, unconvincingly; gem can hear the smile in its voice. she raises an eyebrow. "well- you’re quite a bit smaller than I am."

"wh- I can carry you!" gem says, mildly offended. "i’m strong!"

"I don't doubt that!" the secret keeper says. "but I could just use my magic."

gem pauses, processing. "wait- so why do you need the crutches?"

the secret keeper grins, and it's almost uncannily sharp. did it just laugh? for some reason, it sounded too high pitched. "it's a little exhausting." it says, and suddenly the smile looks normal again. huh. "I can’t do it all the time, or i’d just- pass out. for a short time though, i'll be alright if I rest."

"you can do magic? still?" gem says, suddenly excited to see it happen. she's sure joel can make crutches for it when they get back—that won't be a problem. "how does that even work?"

the secret keeper seems a little flattered by her interest. "i can’t see why I wouldn’t. I might look a little weird though—my skin goes blue, my hair goes white, that kind of thing."

gem tilts her head. "isn’t your hair already white?"

"what?" the secret keeper's eyes widen a bit, pulling a strand of hair in front of its face to inspect. something shifts in its expression. "oh." 

there's a stab of worry in gem's chest. if magic makes its hair go white and also exhausts it, what's going to happen right now? does- is there something that could happen? man, she does not know nearly enough about magic to answer any of those questions for herself.

before she can actually ask, the secret keeper just shrugs. "weird! anyway-"

it closes its eyes, apparently concentrating hard on something. the air in the grove seems to solidify, crackling with unseen energy, and gem can’t tell if she's holding her breath or if she simply can't breathe anymore. the secret keeper doesn’t react as it begins to rise off the floor, a blue sheen spreading from its fingertips throughout its whole body—scars whitening until they're essentially translucent. tattered wings unfold from its back, skin spread so thin, gem thinks a strong wind could tear them into pieces.

the secret keeper opens its eyes, and grins sharply, wings supporting its entire body. "ta da! how's that for magic, huh?"

gem laughs in delight, applauding it. what else is she meant to do in the face of that? "that was incredible! you can fly?"

"too right I can." the secret keeper beams, swelling with pride. "now, lead the way- uh. I don’t know your name, do I?"

"gem." she smiles, gesturing for the secret keeper to follow her as she begins to walk out of the clearing. "I don’t know your name either."

"well, gem, I am the one and only scar!" it announces, floating next to her. "named after my many- oh! oh- what!" 

gem looks over, slightly panicked, and sees it inspecting its arms. more specifically, the scars on its arms that gem had likened to cracks in stone. "are you okay?"

"I didn’t have these before." scar says, tracing them with its finger and nearly floating into a tree as it does so. "they look like-"

"cracks?" gem suggests, and scar nods. "yeah- I think, with how long you’ve been stone.." she trails off, a better explanation escaping her.

scar seems to understand regardless, nodding. "I guess. hey, that's kinda cool." it looks back up at her, grinning again. gem has to wonder why (and how) it's so pointy. "that's a story to tell at parties!"

"I- yeah, I suppose." gem says, slightly unconvinced. she's not sure how scar has managed to completely accept everything she's told it without a single panic attack, but she isn't sure if that's a good sign. she hopes that people from a thousand years ago were just way better at processing their emotions. "I think the whole stone thing is also something to tell at parties."

"oh yeah, you guys don't have magic." scar says. it scoffs. "you must be so boring."

gem makes an indignant noise, and scar laughs. "excuse you! we're not boring. you were stone for millennia- if anything, you’re the boring one."

scar is still laughing. "you say that like you didn't just stare at me while I transformed. i’m so cool."

"okay, i'll admit, you are cool." gem grins, and scar pumps its fist.

[msgexymunson]

Hey!

If your requests are open, may I ask for

Face sitting in the back of eddies van. 😏

Warnings: fem!oral receiving, obviously, slight fluff to smut, best friends to something

A/n: so I got this ages ago, then Rumour took my attention so I do apologise! But here it is, supposed to be a drabble but turned into 2k words Haha. Not as proof read as I would like!

Masterlist

Smoke hangs in the air; a hazy cloud seeps through and around the small space, stinging your eyes. You slouch languidly, back propped up on a worn out cushion, sitting cross legged on the floor of Eddie's van with a multitude of musty blankets beneath you. A miasma of weed clung to the pair of you.

Eddie's laying on his back with his head in your lap, one leg up and bent at the knee swaying back and forth. Ever the fidget, he always had to be moving.

There's a comfortable calm in the air, one that encompasses you both each time you smoke like this. It's as if the world outside doesn't exist; it's just you and your best friend Eddie.

Humming along to the metal playing in the background, you run your hand through Eddie's hair. You can tell he's enjoying it, closing his eyes at the feeling of your soft fingers.

"Sweetheart you have to stop that, I'm gonna fall asleep."

"Fine," you smile mischievously, and thread your hand into his hair, giving it a sharp tug instead. He jumps up in shock.

"Holy shit don't do that princess!"

"Sorry did it hurt?"

Eddie blushes pink. "Actually it felt kinda nice." He chuckles, running his hand to the back of his neck.

"You're such a perv."

"Well, you're the one getting all handsy sweetheart, I never asked to have my hair pulled." He winks at you, throwing you one of those disarming grins that turns your stomach into a fluttering mess of butterflies.

"I know, we should play a game!"

You roll your eyes "if you suggest I Spy I swear to God Eds-"

"I was actually gonna say Never Have I Ever."

"Eddie I'm not playing that, it doesn't work with two people! And you just want to find out freaky sex stuff."

Eddie looks shocked, dramatically holding his hand to his mouth. "Well I never! I wouldn't possibly do something like that!"

You laugh at him, hitting him playfully on the arm. "You're such a weirdo."

He opens his arms, gesturing at himself "uh, what gave me away?" You shake your head at him, but you cant help the smile that creeps across your face.

"How about Truth or Dare?"

"What possible dares can we do in the van Eddie?"

He raises his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can think of one or two..." Smug smirk spreading across his face.

You know that look, you'd seen it before. There was the time at Gareth's party when you had both gotten wasted and made out in the closet. Then there was the time at Jeff's house when you were so stoned you needed to be touched and had basically forced Eddie's hands onto your tits, not that he needed much encouragement.

This seems different though. You had been smoking, sure, but not excessively so. The atmosphere had changed. It felt charged, like a storm was brewing out of sight and you were waiting for the rain to start.

"Don't look at me like that Eds." You deflect, looking away, eyes settling on the tobacco and papers laying haphazardly on the floor. Grabbing them you start to roll, grateful to have something to distract you from those wide brown eyes of his.

"I'm just looking at you!" He shrugs his shoulders; you see the movement out of the corner of your eye. He shuffles closer, crossed legged in front of you so your knees are nearly touching. Blood rushes to your cheeks and reaches the tips of your ears, trying desperately to focus on rolling.

"I just, I had a question."

You look up, sparking the joint, and take a few drags before you finally return his eye contact.

"If you wanna ask something just ask Eds, we don't have to play a game."

You steel yourself for whatever the hell is about to come out of his mouth.

"Have you ever sat on a guy's face?" 

But you certainly weren't prepared for that.

Coughing in shock, smoke trickles out your nose in a burning puff. Your eyes water, trying to clear your sinuses from the sudden onslaught.

"Eddie what the fuck."

"You said just ask! I just, I never had anyone do that to me before, I was curious."

Blushing crimson, you manage to say quietly "I've never, had a guy, do that. Ever."

"You've never had a guy go down on you?!" He looks shocked, eyebrows raised so high they disappear into his fringe.

"Guys aren't exactly keen to do that Eds, they usually only want one thing." 

"Well I am, I mean, I could." Honest soft eyes gaze into your own.

"Are you seriously offering to-"

"Eat you out? Yeah."

"Fuck Eddie so poetic." You can't help but laugh at his crude language.

"It's just, I'll do you a favour, you do me a favour, you know?"

Of all the things you thought would happen tonight, this certainly wasn't one of them. Suddenly feeling far too sober, you take a couple more drags and pass the smoke to Eddie.

"Eddie, that's more than a favour, like seriously."

"Well, then you can pay me back sometime." He laughs, biting his bottom lip. You feel your pulse travel down to your pussy at his words.

"Eds, I don't want this to, get weird."

"News flash princess, we are weird. I see the way you look at me. Plus remember that time you flashed me in the park?" Shit forgot about that one.

"Fair point. But this is like, the point of no return." 

He throws his head back with laughter, "shit princess you don't have to be so fucking dramatic, it's just head." He wipes moisture out the corner of his eye.

"That did sound like a movie poster line." You smile, glad that he can put you at ease so simply.

"So, is that a yes or a no? If you don't want to you can pretend that this conversation never happened." He reaches to you, hand stroking your knee.

"I suppose we could try it." He beams at you.

"Is that a yes then? I don't want an 'I suppose'"

"Yes Eddie. I will sit on your face."

He chuckles and reaches out to touch your face. "Can I- can I kiss you?"

You nod, breath catching in your throat.

Hesitantly he touches your chin, leaning slowly forward, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, giving you every opportunity to back out. You move closer to him, hand coming to rest on his waist.

Lips crush against yours, chapped but soft, slight brush of stubble against your skin. His tongue pushes into your mouth and you grip at his shirt, amazed at how strongly he's making you feel just from a simple kiss.

He reaches for your hips, pulling you towards him. Straddling his lap its evident that you're not the only one getting turned on; his hard length is practically straining to pop out of his jeans.

"Excited are we?" You roll your hips against him and he groans loudly.

"Fuck off, I've had a hard on since you pulled my hair." You laugh, but it transforms into a moan when Eddie starts mouthing at your neck, setting loose zings of pleasure.

"Fuck, Eds."

"Yeah? That good princess?" He sucks a bruise into your skin, pulling a gasp from you, feeling the blood collect and blossom.

"Can I take these off?" His hands reaching to your jeans, fingers dipping in the waistband.

You clamber off him in an ungainly manner, stripping off your bottom half, pulling your pants down in the process. Eddie sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sight of you naked from the waist down.

"Fuck, princess, ok so this is really happening, ok ok-"

You place a hand on his chest "Eds you're rambling."

"Sorry, I didn't think you were really gonna let me" he chuckles and lays down, grabbing your cushion to put under his head. "Whenever you're ready princess."

Taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm your jangling nerves, you straddle him, hovering over the top of his chest, knees either side of his head.

"Fuck me, sweetheart you smell really good."

"Eddie you're such a perv!"

"Its true!" You laugh, hiding your face in your hands, heart racing.

"Come on, sit." You inch closer to him, afraid to put your weight down, when he grows impatient and grabs your hips, forcing you down.

Eddie immediately pushes his tongue into you, wiggling muscle diving straight into your clenching hole. Your reaction is immediate, grinding against him with a broken moan flying out of your mouth. You can feel him groaning, the vibrations sending jolts through your cunt, electric pleasure grounding into your core.

His nose is pushing into your clit, flicking against you with each movement of his head. He licks a wide belt up your pussy, the flat of his tongue pressing against your collection of nerves.

"Oh my God, Eddie!" You screech into the van, entirely taken with the way he's making you feel, the world outside a hazy memory.

Struggling to keep yourself upright, you lean one hand against the side of the van, the other makes it's way into Eddie's hair, pulling softly, nails scratching at his scalp.

This only serves to compel Eddie, doubling his efforts, fingers pushing into the dough of your hips, massaging into you firmly. The noise of him slurping and sucking echoes; it's so loud it nearly drowns out your cries.

You're grinding against him freely now, unable to restrain the burning arousal collecting deep within you.

"Oh Eddie, fuck you're gonna make me cum."

He moves his head away briefly, just enough to speak.

"Please, please come for me. Come on my face." And he's pressing his plush lips to your clit, sucking on it, while his hand reaches to your heat, pushing his thick thumb inside you.

You weren't expecting the thunderbolt of fervour rushing through you when his digit breached your cunt. You buck into it, feeling every movement of his thumb, lips, tongue, hands; a wave crashing down through you.

You cry out his name almost silently, mouth hanging open in a wordless gape. Your release rushes out, ripping out of you, stripping away everything, all doubt, all pain, leaving just pleasure, and Eddie. The shock of it wrenches your muscles, forces you to fall to the side, legs trembling with revelation. Never had an orgasm felt like this. Never had you been left a shaking, whimpering mess.

You try to remember to breathe, but it comes out in ragged pants. Part of your brain is trying to tell you to cover up but your body does not care. You lie there, a shell, empty of purpose and thought, staring mindlessly at the ceiling of the van.

A face comes into view above you, shining with your slick, curtained with soft brown curls. You've never seen such a smug grin in all your life.

"That good, princess?"

You open your mouth to make a snarky comment, but it dies on your tongue. The noise you make is soft, and nonsensical.

Eddie laughs and wipes his mouth before kissing you on the forehead. He lights the half a joint that was left over from earlier, takes a couple of drags and hands it to you. You clutch it with trembling fingers, taking a shaky hit, then another.

Eventually you sit up, pulling a blanket over your legs.

"So, you ok princess?" 

"Yeah just about. Fucking hell."

He chuckles, bringing you into his arms for a cuddle. "Fucking hell good?"

"Fucking hell we are doing other stuff."

He bursts out laughing, kissing your cheek.

"Whatever you say princess."

[dwaekkicidal]

1k Celebration Post + Gift![repost because the poll was supposed to be a week long >.<]

This is a little late but hi! I just wanted to make a regular post to thank you guys :'''') I hit 1,000 followers yesterday and I'm genuinely so happy about it lol (ive actually been kicking my feet and giggling throughout the day over it)

Thank you so much😭😭 My first post actual post was literally May 4th so I'm mind boggled that there's so many of you already :')) ily guys

I literally only started posting because of an ask that @chvnlix got that made me feral enough to write something and now I have them, all of you guys, and some amazing mutuals ashdjhaksdj :')))

also i wanna thank max in particular because if it wasnt for them egging on my horniness or chatting with me throughout the unmotivated moments i had (also just keeping me company in general), i probably wouldn't have posted nearly as much as i have and i honestly might not have posted anymore than those first 2 fics lol (everybody say thank you max)

okok enough yapping onto the fun stuff! I wanted to give back to you guys, so I want to know how you guys want to celebrate! Some ideas i had in mind:

1. New (Mini) Series

a shorter fic/drabble for each member (<2k words most likely) about the boys favorite sex toy to use on you in bed

2. Technically still a new series (^)

I was thinking of doing something similar to kinktober (which i do also plan to do hehe) but a lot shorter (only 8 days) where i would write about 1 kink with 1 member for each day (the kinks would be randomized)

3. Nothing new; just work on the current series

if you guys would rather me just continue working on the things i already have going, then I can do that as well!

my only series at the moment are 'Sharing is Caring' & 'The Incidents' BUT i was most likely gonna turn the munch hcs ive been doing into a mini series, and just making the rest of the members that havent been requested yet, so that would be a third series to look forward to. :)

anyways thank you again :') i love u guys so much and seeing all the love only pushes me to keep writing

have a good rest of your day/night and make sure to eat + drink water <3

(also I'll add my taglist in the comments because i feel like your opinions matter a lot with this <3)

[anony-man]

Chubformers extended drabble #1!

As a separate part of my drabble requests, I also offer the opportunity to lengthen any of my previously written drabbles into 2k fics for the small price of $5! If you’re interested, feel free to send me a DM. But that out of the way, here’s a drabble turned fic based off of the request for Cliffjumper!

Original drabble: #41 for Cliffjumper (G1)

Word count: 2,013

Cliffjumper had always prided himself on his dedication to slowing the Decepticons down in whatever ways he could. Without the Decepticons lingering on Earth, steps to heading back home could be made! It was easier said than done, however, and recently, Cliffjumper had run into quite a few hurdles.

Earth was... different. He didn't much care for the unique flora and fauna like some of his fellow 'bots, but Cliffjumper managed. He didn't have much of a choice, after all. Few of their teammates remained, however, and though he did his best to adapt to what he hoped was a temporary way of life, things tended to get a little stale after a while.

When there wasn't action to be had (and said action was mainly putting an end to any Decepticon activity, since... well, that was what they were there for), Cliffjumper found life on earth rather dull. Little remained of their traditions and history, and in a way, it was almost isolating. He pulled his weight here and there, but when push came to shove, Cliffjumper was forced to make his own entertainment.

Thus began the spiral of stress eating... and excitement eating, he supposed. Bored eating, too. Slag, whenever there was energon to be had, Cliffjumper was happy to indulge. It felt wrong at first, taking from the dwindling rations of their faction, but he reminded himself that a proper soldier was to remain well-fueled and well-rested at all times. The former wasn't an issue, of course, and before long, neither was the latter.

Cliffjumper's berth creaked under his weight as he shimmied himself closer to the edge, his movements impaired by his massive size. A hobby that relied on fuel to keep it up had quickly turned into a sort of coping mechanism, and though Cliffjumper hated to make things any worse, it was hard not to feed into the habits he'd created—literally and figuratively.

He was bigger now, nearly too big to make it much farther than the distance between his berth and the fuel pump that had been relocated to his quarters for easy access. The walk was agonizing, but the rewards were so, so worth it.

Using the cane Wheeljack had designed for him after a recent increase in his mass, Cliffjumper slowly wobbled his way towards the pump. It was a long, arduous process, and by the time he'd reached the machine, he was already feeling out of breath.

The first cube of the day was always the sweetest, he’d say. Cliffjumper was quick to fill up an empty glass and drain it in one go before filling it up again, the struggle of sleeping soundly through the night having left him feeling famished. His legs creaked beneath him as he leaned against the machine, frame strained and shaking from the weight of his gut.

“Just… one more glass,” he reasoned aloud, puffing and panting between the words.

He needed to hobble back to his berth before he ended up on the floor, for Primus’ sake. It would make quite the distress call to whoever was in the area, a frantic cry for help over the comms that ended in him awkwardly explaining away how he’d gotten himself stuck in the most ridiculous way. It’d happened before, and it would happen again, but he needed the extra fuel.

A berthside snack was always useful. Cliffjumper wasn’t about to make another trip across the room any time soon, after all, and he wanted something on hand for when his belly started getting noisy.

With one servo bracing himself up against the machine and the other setting the cube beneath the pump before reaching for the latch, Cliffjumper struggled to stay standing long enough to pour his third glass. Stubby limbs were fat and swollen over his pedes, strained by the pressure of carrying so much weight around. The fat of his arms jiggled as he gave the latch a tug, a grunt of effort accompanying his attempts.

He listened patiently for the sound of fuel filling his cube, but there was nothing. No gushing, no hiss, no dribble. Cliffjumper huffed and steadied himself against the machine before grabbing ahold of the latch and tugging it down with both servos, arms still jiggling and frame still trembling with the effort.

Still nothing.

“What…” Cliffjumper said, risking a sidelong glance over to the front of the machine.

There was nothing more than a small puddle of energon at the bottom of the cube, a teasing show of his failed attempts to do something as simple as fill up his container with another round of fuel.

“Come on,” he whined into his arms as he slumped forward against the side of the machine.

He had only been standing for a few minutes, but he was already feeling exhausted. The pressure of putting so much weight on his pedes left him feeling shaky and sore, and he was desperate for relief. However, he was also desperate for fuel.

Cliffjumper closed his optics and panted into his arms, struggling to think past the urge to sit his aft down on the floor and wait it out. He couldn’t get back up if he sat down, though—not at this size. Even so, he was tired and hungry, exhausted by the agonizing trek over to the pump.

He could call Wheeljack over, he supposed. But no, that wasn’t doable. Wheeljack had already come to assist him over three times in the past month, and Cliffjumper wasn’t keen on there being a fourth.

He supposed he could waddle back to the berth and wait things out, but the pump he’d received was manual. If he didn’t fill it, he wouldn’t have energon to drink.

Why was this so difficult? The answer was obvious—he would have to go out to the lounge like the rest of his teammates and get his fuel there. No matter the impossible journey down the hall or the fact that he’d have to do it all over again. If he wanted more energon, he would simply have to get up off his aft and go get some.

Cliffjumper steadied himself against the cane and used the machine for leverage, careful not to topple himself over as he stood up straight. Each step away from the support was hobbled and slow, and the panic of teetering one way or another came and went with every rocking sway of his hanging belly.

He could do this. He just needed to make it to the door, then to the hall, then to the lounge. There were chairs galore, fuel pumps for his convenience, and maybe even Wheeljack for support. He could do this… he just needed to get out of the room.

Cliffjumper was huffing and wheezing by the time he’d reached the door. The cane trembled under his servo as he braced himself against it, desperate for the extra support as he punched in the door code and stumbled into the hall.

The halls were fairly empty, to his relief, and the only stares Cliffjumper received as he hobbled his way towards the lounge were worried glances and bots who stopped to watch him go by. His condition was known by most the base at that point, as he’d gotten rather popular after the incident in Ratchet’s medibay during a routine checkup.

“Wasn’t my fault their tables were due for maintenance,” Cliffjumper mumbled to himself, breathless and wheezing. “Just… hoof. Just sped up the process a bit, that’s all.”

Who knew a minibot could weigh enough to break a medical-grade exam table was exactly what Ratchet had said after the initial shock wore off. If you asked Cliffjumper, that just meant whoever initially designed the machinery wasn’t paying enough attention in their safety courses.

The lights of the lounge filtered through the cracks of the doorway, illuminating the entrance like his own personal haven calling him home. Even after the exhaustion of making it that far, Cliffjumper found the strength in himself to hobble that much faster. He was desperate to break through those swinging doors and sit his fat aft down on the couch with a nice hefty serving of energon.

Maybe, if it was served this early in the morning, he’d indulge in a glass of bubbly engex to go alongside his morning’s refueling. He needed all the help he could get to fuel his trip back to the berthroom.

Nearly the entire room had grown silent as Cliffjumper walked through the doors, the click of his cane against the tile and his heavy vents puffing out hot air the only audible sound amongst the typically bustling crowds. Cliffjumper paid them no mind, focused only on making it to a seat before his shaky legs gave out on him.

“Mornin’, Cliff,” he heard a bot to his left say. “Glad to see you joining us for breakfast!”

Cliffjumper tried to respond, but the only sound he could make past the huffing and panting was a long, weary groan. He held a servo up to stop the group of bots from jumping into a panic as he slumped into the nearest chair.

“Just… just give me—give me a second,” the minibot wheezed as he propped his cane against the table and leaned back in his chair. “I need to… I need to catch my breath.”

He was no Optimus, but his arrival had seemed to cause quite the stir. Autobots around him hesitantly returned to their companions and prior conversations as Cliffjumper struggled not to wheeze aloud.

He was far too big to be doing this again anytime soon, that was for sure.

“Next time I run low on energon,” Cliffjumper grumbled to himself, finally managing to speak past the panting breaths, “I’m calling someone in to help me fill it back up.”

“Should’ve called someone in the first place,” that familiar voice said, and Cliffjumper had to crane his helm to see Ratchet standing by his side, holding out a glass of energon. “You know what I said about leaving your room without assistance.”

“The cane works fine,” Cliffjumper quickly said, happy to take the cube from Ratchet’s servos. “I wasn’t going far.”

Never mind the fact that he nearly didn’t make it there in the first place. Cliffjumper sighed in relief before guzzling the fuel down, his free servo rubbing circles into his belly as he drank. It was the refreshing reward he needed after an arduous journey, and nothing felt better than finally sitting down to rest his achy frame with a rich, cool cube of fuel.

“Right,” the medic said with a roll of his optics. He snatched up the cube the moment Cliffjumper had finished, earning himself a startled hey! from the minibot.

“Sit tight while I go get you another refill,” Ratchet told him, giving the minibot a pat on the shoulder. “Primus knows what would happen if you tried to stand up on your own.”

“I’m perfectly capable of getting my own energon,” Cliffjumper huffed. “I walked all the way out here, didn’t I?”

Ratchet paused, already turning to leave for the dispenser. A small smile twitched against the corner of his lips as he glanced back at the indignant minibot.

“Sure did,” he said. “Maybe try focusing on fueling that energy into our next mission, huh?”

Oh, he most certainly would, because despite everything, Cliffjumper was no quitter. He could hardly move these days, let alone transform, but when the day came to put the Decepticons in their place, he would be ready. He’d walked all the way to the lounge, after all.

It might take him some more time to around to things these days, but Cliffjumper knew the filthy 'cons would rue the day they ever crossed paths with such a fearsome Autobot as himself. Nothing was out of his reach for long—not even a morning’s cube of energon.

“Just wait,” he muttered to himself, servos still rubbing soothing circles into his hungry belly. “This old frame will come in handy when they least expect it.”

[loganlostitall]

Better Off Dead

Rating: ehh… I’ll go with 13+

Word count: 2k

Characters: Rick Grimes x Gender neutral reader

Setting: Alexandria, after TOWL ep 1 (SPOILERS!!!)

Content warnings: HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE NEW EPISODE!!!!!!!! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN READING!!! That’s two warnings don’t blame me. Self harm and suicidal ideation, this is an almost entirely mental health related drabble. Heavy talk of cutting and scars. Typical TWD themes.

Summary: FINAL SPOILER WARNING! Rick hasn’t even been back for a full day. He is also not the only one who suffered a psychiatric decline over the years you spent apart. Both you and him are unaware that the other was in a similar spot. Hurt/comfort ensues.

Author’s note: Did NOT expect to be writing a Rick x reader in the middle of the goddamn night but my theory about Rick’s hand got proven right within not even five minutes and I was losing my shit. I started trying to think of plot immediately and once I saw more on mental health I was gone. Me and my love for mentally ill men <3

I wanted to post this the same night as release it fought me hard 😭 never expected to be doing Rick x reader and wanted to be perfect. Once again, the title is linked to the songspo so you can listen along.

Unbeta’d again, hope this is decent for u guys :3

The very moment you woke up, the first thing you became aware of was the fact that you found yourself in bed alone. Not unlike all the other nights. It was routine by now. The occasional, unique circumstance of this particular morning though, was the urge. Unshakable. All encompassing. It crashed through your brain and down into your body, pulsing through your veins, begging to be drawn out and released. Trapped under your skin. Grief.

It was almost completely overwhelming, tears flooding your lower eyelids and venturing down to your lips just as a strangled sob ripped from between them, the sound a little hoarse from your voice being unused during sleep.

You reached out blindly to the nightstand, your fingers grasping for the knife you always kept at your bedside in case of waking up to a walker breach or anything similar. Even through blurred vision, you found the handle, and brought the blade to the criss-crossed skin of your arm.

What a way to start off the morning with a bang.

Inflicting harm over previously healed scars always made you flinch harder. But you didn’t care that it hurt more. If anything, you appreciated it. It was more effective, faster. You never felt the need to leave quite as many.

Hissing through your teeth, you sat the knife down on your knee and brought your pointer and middle fingers to either side of the new wound and spread it open, luring more blood to flow out. It tickled as the thick crimson rolled down your wrist and came to a stop right where the skin curves to the heel of your palm, and you grabbed the handle once more to start the process over again.

Halfway through the next was when the door creaked.

You practically jumped out of your skin, throwing the reddened blade to clatter on the floor and snatching the covers to pull back over yourself, press them to your arm. Your free hand wiped the tears from your face as you sniffled, clearing up your sight well enough to see….

Rick. Blue eyes darkened by confusion and worry.

He stepped in cautiously, taking care to slowly and quietly shut the door behind himself and return his attention back to you. “Hey, what are you doing that for?”

“Wh— what the fuck?”

It left you as no more than a whisper, and you knew that same confusion was reflected on your own face. Rick wasn’t supposed to be here. ‘Am I hallucinating?’

“No, you’re not hallucinating. I’m right here.” Rick had nearly asked if you were okay, but stopped himself short. He’d just walked in on you cutting yourself, there was only one answer that you would, or could, give him.

You were apparently not fully awake yet, or you were still reeling from the self harm, because you’d seemingly asked the question out loud and not in your head.

His manufactured arm piece remained immobile at his side while his real hand patted himself absently in various locations, the pockets of his shirt as well as on each side of his jeans, searching for something although knowing that it wasn’t there. Rather than stand there idiotically, Rick held up a finger to signal ‘one second’ and made his way further into the room, dropping to one knee to pick up the knife you’d flung down carelessly and wiping the blood onto his shirt. And then, while he was down there, he pulled open each drawer of your nightstand until he actually found what he was looking for. Bandages. Or, more specifically, a small med kit with bandages in it. Packed full of random, useful supplies.

He remained kneeling at your bedside and spoke as he opened it. “Already forgot that you have me back?” His smile had an odd edge to it, like he was happy to see you but simultaneously disheartened by the state you were in, and concerned about the fact you’d forgotten. There was so much emotion on his face your eyes filled again.

“Yeah, I guess, I-”

You jumped when Rick pulled the blanket away from your arm and instinctively drew it back toward your chest, shielding the mess of dried blood from his worried gaze, but he simply reached for it again and coaxed it back to himself. Tentatively, not one sign of upset visible on him.

As he assessed the damage, you ashamedly looked elsewhere and returned to what you had previously been saying. “When Siddiq was still around, he diagnosed me with C-PTSD. Honestly, I think we all have something like that by now.” Laughing weakly, you bit the inside of your cheek for a few moments as Rick took care to clean the area with a small, square cloth soaked with witch hazel. It wasn’t the medication that burned, just the contact. You carried on. “He told me one of the side-effects would be my memory. Short-term, long-term, or even both… so, probably that and the fact I dreamed about finding you as a walker and having to put that knife between your eyes.”

A flare of insecurity sparked in your chest when that last statement had Rick’s eyes flitting to yours. Suddenly you found yourself critically self-conscious that he’d decide you were too much work now and leave to find better. Memory problems? Who would bother dealing with that?

“Okay,” he said surely, his voice steady. “That’s okay.” You were overwhelmed with the urge to hug him, but it would have to wait until you had your arm back. After a moment of eye contact for a second time, Rick patted the skin dry with a square of gauze and shook a small bottle of bactine before spraying a thin layer on top of the area.

The tingle of numbness was immediate. You sighed in relief as he rolled a Q-tip covered in Vaseline over each laceration and used that same last piece of gauze to delicately wipe up the excess surrounding them. And then to preserve resources, Rick opted not to open another and instead flipped that pad over to lay the dry side on your wrist; wrapped a length of blue self adherent cohesive bandage around it a few times to keep the wound dressing in place. Brought the heel of your palm to his lips, only to pause when his eyes wandered to find the array of scars littering your inner forearm. There was one in particular that he couldn’t take his attention off of.

Trailing the pad of his thumb down the length of your arm, you glanced down to see what he was looking at.

And felt nauseous.

“This one?” he asked faintly, voice barely discernible. Jagged, raised skin followed your radial artery vertically. Perpetrated on yourself while you’d searched for him.

You shrugged in an attempt to play it off as a lot calmer than you actually were. “Didn’t go deep enough.” Shame, once again, enveloped you. You felt fucking pathetic.

“Me either.”

The words felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped right over your head. Freezing your entire body, soaking your flesh and seeping beneath it to chill your bones. Your eyes found his natural fingers to discover that they were pulling his shirt collar away from his neck to reveal a slash that scabbed very recently going about a fourth of the way across his throat. Your vision swam again.

“You’re here now,” you tried. It was a lousy consolation, but you still weren’t… entirely grounded yet. Pushing yourself up to sit on your knees, Rick muttering ‘careful’ under his breath as you put weight on the hand connected to your injured arm to lean the upper half of your body off the edge of the bed, you nestled your lips just above the new scar and kissed his thrumming pulse. “We’re both here.” The two of you were equally as anxious; the way his heart was racing proved that fact. Perhaps even for the same reasons. Feeling exposed.

It was hardly a long journey from Philadelphia to Virginia. You made it back with Rick before the day was over. Subsequently, he had barely been here for twelve hours. Perhaps you hadn’t spent enough time together yet for the fact that Rick was home to truly register with you.

It seemed he may have had the same idea.

He offered you a tired half-smile and stood, closing up the med kit and returning it to its previous location only to round to the other side of the bed, make quick work of kicking off his boots, and climb in beneath the blanket. Rolling to face him, you sidled up to rest your forehead on his chest immediately, and his genuine arm fell over your side whilst the sculpted metal one lie idle beneath the pillows. The numbing from bactine was still a thing to revel over because it meant you could throw your arm over his bicep and card your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. You did not miss Rick’s short hair. His fingers soothed up and down your back in a comforting manner and you both laid utterly still, breathing the same air, sharing the same body heat.

“I’m grateful I didn’t go deep enough,” he whispered once the silence stretched uncomfortably. “You found me.”

For what was probably not the last time today, your eyes stung again. And yet, you opted to lift the spirits of him and yourself with a joke. It was the first thing that came to mind. “Well, you do seem to fail at slitting throats, Rick.”

You grinned up at him when he scoffed; giggled when he started to chuckle himself. The pair of you sounded as exhausted as you both looked, and when the laughter died out, you absorbed each other again. His presence was so consoling to your brain that had successfully convinced itself he was still gone, that after a length of time you realized you’d fall back asleep soon. And Rick would probably ensure you didn’t wake up alone again.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to do something, though.

Propping yourself up on your right elbow, you blinked sleep out of your heavy eyes while pulling weakly at his new arm attachment; more as a question rather than an unpermitted attempt to uncover it. “Can… can I look?”

Unease cast a shadow over his blue eyes, despite the trust in them, and he nodded. Which you’d only half expected him to do. You’d braced yourself for a no.

You would see it eventually, so he figured it was best to do it now and get it out of the way rather than prolong it.

Sitting your pillow off to lean it against the headboard, Rick adjusted and repositioned to lay on his back instead, which gave you a better opportunity to look at his hand. It was strapped on in two different places; one at the elbow, and one at the shoulder. The fingers were hyper-realistic, yet closed into a fist with no opening for a weapon to be gripped. It was almost as if he could read your mind, because Rick drew his arm away from you to demonstrate the release of a blade triggered in the wrist.

You lifted a finger to trail it along the sharp edge of the custom weaponized extension and hissed through grit teeth when it left a thin, shallow cut on your fingertip.

“I’m not getting the med kit back out.” He finished saying it with a playfully chastising call of your name.

No need to bother. You sucked the blood from the pad of your finger and threw him a drowsy smirk. “This is hot.”

That definitely caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” Rick shook his head with a dampened smile. “Well, I’m glad you see my suffering as an upgrade.”

The greatest salve for your pain was his lips on yours. Maybe it would do the same for his wounded pride.

Quite the valid reason to try it.

“Shut up.”

Your smile met his, and they stayed there even after you fell asleep again. This time, dreaming of the future.

National suicide and crisis hotline: call or text 988

Help with self harm: text CONNECT to 741741

LGBTQ+ inclusive resource: https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/article/support-for-self-harm-recovery/

Numbers for different parts of the world: https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/

[capmackie]

coming soon to a theater near you!

At no point in any of his three lifetimes did Bucky plan on his life turning into a fucking romantic comedy. 

Not as James, the dutiful soldier or as The Winter Soldier, Hydra's best asset or as Bucky, a regular civilian but here he is, begrudgingly.

It's all Sam's fault. 

***

Bucky just doesn’t understand the fascination with romantic comedies, ahem rom coms, as Sam points out; finds himself frequently complaining about the overused tropes, calling out the plot of each one Sam forces him to watch much to Sam’s displeasure. It’s not his fault that the conclusion is often telegraphed out so plainly that even a child knows that at some point, Harry’s gonna marry Sally. And if Sam really had a problem with Bucky's commentary, maybe he'll stop adding the genre to their Wednesday movie nights or stop cuddling up to him as soon as the movie starts - Bucky hopes, prays that Sam never stops cuddling up to him as soon as the movie starts-. But anyways. Each movie, no matter how much it tries to differentiate itself from the millions of others like it, follows all of the same beats: 1) Guy meets Girl 2) They fall in love but are too stupid to realize it 3) Guy performs some grand gesture of love, tells the girl how he feels and then they kiss and people applaud around them as doves fly into the night’s sky 4) Happily. Ever. After. It’s stupid and dumb and Bucky just doesn’t understand the fascination with such nonsense. He doesn’t understand it until he falls in love with Sam. The same Sam who loves romantic comedies and claps — he actually fucking claps — when the protagonist manages to bypass airport security to confess his love on the tarmac. The very same Sam who gets teary-eyed whenever he hears the first notes of ‘My Heart Will Go On’. Granted, Titanic isn’t a romantic comedy but you get the point. Sam’s a lover at heart, loves everything about love itself. Loves how love can heal someone whole, how it can pick someone up, loves how love can knock someone off their feet. Sam’s love is reminiscent of him, loud and bold and bright. Sam’s love is the truth; an oasis in the middle of a hot desert. Anyone who has ever come within a ten-mile radius of Sam has fallen in love with him; friends, colleagues, even people in passing find themselves smitten at the handsome guy with a smile that could light up a planet. Bucky’s no exception. It's for that reason and that reason only that he lets himself be subjected to whatever tearjerker Sam's so insistent on watching, and if he buys a copy of 'The Notebook' for his own collection, stashing it between 'Terminator' and 'The Incredibles', well, that's no one's business. ** Bucky doesn't even realize that he is indeed starring in his own romantic comedy -why are they called comedies? No one even tells a joke- until the next movie night. The movie's queued, something with Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis, and Bucky's finding it hard to pay attention to the plot when Sam's pressed so close to him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Bucky's proud of himself, watches about 20 minutes of the movie -something about friends with benefits -before he's making a move on Sam, effectively distracting him too. They don't come up for air until the credits are rolling and Bucky counts the night as a win until Sam is restating the movie and moving to the other end of the couch so they can actually get through it this time. Well fuck. Now that he's practically being forced to watch 'No Strings Attached', no wait, that's the other movie that came out in the same year with the exact same plot, Bucky can't help but draw parallels to the protagonists and him and Sam's own tryst. But there's nothing there, it's not like some kind of relationship is gonna bloom from two friends casually hooking up, that's absurd. That exists solely in movies and this is real life and he and Sam have more restraint than that, right? They barely like each other, just enough to fuck, there's no way they'd fall in love. Bucky's almost convinced himself that it's beyond the realm of possibility that anything more can come out of their situationship when Sam, who put the movie back on out of spite, barely paying any attention to it as his eyes slowly start to close, snaps him out of his thoughts, asking if Bucky is ready to go to bed. "To your, uh, bed?", Bucky sputters. "To the bed that we've been sharing for the past six months, Frozone", Sam quips. Oh. Right. *** They’ve completed step one of the rom-com trope list, meeting each other, and even something as simple as that wasn’t so simple at all. Nothing ever really is between them. Now Bucky finds himself straddling a weird line regarding the second trope; he knows he loves Sam, realizes that Sam *probably* loves him back, given how much he puts up with Bucky's dramatics and the way he hogs all of the blankets and never drinks out a glass, preferring to sully the entire jug of orange juice instead. But can it really count if they've never said those three little words to each other? It's not like Bucky hasn't thought about that before, he thinks about saying it at least 500 times a day, when he and Sam are being weirdly domestic, when they're bantering with each other, when Sam's the big spoon providing body heat when even the blankets aren't enough for Bucky. Those words are on the tip of his tongue when he wakes up in the morning and sees Sam illuminated by the sunshine streaming through the window, soft and angelic. They're on the tip of his tongue in the dead of night when Sam's rolling over into his arms, seeking comfort after another nightmare. They're on the tip of his tongue when Sam's looking at him softly, affectionately; when Sam expresses his love without even saying a word. They've been in love for a while now and Bucky's been too stupid to realize it. *** It’s the third trope on the list that keeps Bucky up at night. Bucky’s seen enough rom-coms to know him and Sam have reached the point where the grand gesture of love is supposed to happen. That he’s supposed to confess his feelings in the middle of torrential rain, and he and Sam would kiss as the rain pours down on them. Or make Sam a mixtape and play it on a boom box under their bedroom window.

Quickly nixes that idea because it fucking sucks, thanks John Cusack!

He doesn’t know what his grand gesture ought to be, he’s never had to do something like this before.

Dating in the 40s was easier. What he does know is that Sam loves romantic comedies, knows that Sam probably bases their quasi-relationship off of one and that means Bucky has to deliver. He’s gotta give Sam his fairytale love story or he’ll find his Prince Charming somewhere else. *** They’re in the park when it happens. It’s Sam’s idea of a date, laying out on a blanket watching the stars in the night’s sky. It’s so incredibly soft that Bucky’s heart aches a little, and he knows he has to do something soon. It's probably too short notice to arrange a flash mob to perform 'Closing Time' down at a train station like the stupid movie they watched, but time is of the essence suddenly and he has to do something *right now*. So with no rain on the radar, no boombox, and no flash mob, Bucky uses the only weapon left in his arsenal: words from his heart. Shifting off of his back to face Sam directly, Bucky starts. "I love you." It's simple and straight to the point and Sam's turning to face Bucky now, an incredulous look etched on his face. "I've been going crazy thinking about the most perfect, most over the top way to express how much I - I love you", Bucky confesses. He knows this is a cop-out, that a simple admission of love is *boring* but damn it, if Bucky's learned anything from those stupid ass movies, besides realism doesn't exist, is that you can't sit on your hands when it comes to true love. You have to be proactive. So he continues. "Nothing about this - about us - makes any sense but I'd be lying to you and to myself if I said my heart didn't belong to you." Sam hasn't interrupted him or called him an idiot yet so Bucky figures he's on the right track. There's more, he could practically write a sonnet about how Sam's his first love, his only love. That there's no one else he would rather try this love thing out with. How Sam's a part of him now, a part of his identity. He doesn't know who he would be without Sam here. But Sam's looking up at him, and smiling that *smile* and Bucky can't help himself, leans down and kisses him gently, nipping at his bottom lip. The words he doesn't say get poured into their  kiss; the world could end right now -- and it has twice for Bucky -- but if each point of his life was leading him to this moment, to the arms of the man he adores more than life itself, Bucky would gladly die a thousand times over. Just as long as he gets to make it back to Sam. Just as long as in each lifetime, Sam's still there with his bright eyes and bright smile and bright personality, guiding Bucky back to him like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. They finally pull apart and Bucky takes a deep breath, finally able to breathe with the weight of not telling Sam how he feels off his chest. Despite himself, Bucky's got a smile on his face, wider than Sam's and he can't imagine, not even for a second, of doing this with anyone else. Sam is it. *** Even if there's no spontaneous group of onlookers clapping or if doves aren't materializing out of thin air, he and Sam are still getting their happily ever after. And that's all that matters anyway. 

Come find me on AO3!

[marc-spectorr]

hello! congrats on hitting 2k you deserve it <3

i was wondering if i could request a drabble for “line” from the nsfw prompts with marc spector :)

pairing: marc spector x reader

prompt: [ LINE ] our muses are supposed to only be pretending to be together for a mission or fake dating, but they keep going and neither one of them is stopping which leads to them hiding away to have sex

warnings: implied smut.

---

Red.

It has always been your color. 

It has always been Marc’s favorite color on you.

You settled on wearing a sultry red velvet number for tonight’s recon assignment at a gala, one that clings to your body like a glove and accentuates your curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. 

It’s rare for Marc to see you dressed up this way, and he couldn’t help but stare when he’s you sure weren’t looking, not that he’s trying hard to hide the fact that he is. 

And who could blame him? 

You don’t. You wouldn’t. Not when you’re guilty of doing the same.

“Is something the matter, honey?” you whisper under your breath, low enough that the men around wouldn’t hear. “Your pants are looking a bit too tight. Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

The two of you had been at it for hours. Flirting, teasing, stealing glances and allowing touches to linger. He’d long given up believing that this was all pretend and that this was all for show, solely for this evening’s recon mission. The line between what was real and what wasn’t is now blurred beyond recognition. Marc’s desperation for you is more prominent now than ever, and he realizes at that moment that you desire him just as much.

“Baby,” he warns in a hushed tone. “We have to concentrate. We didn’t come all the way out here to... play.”

Marc feels your light touch on his knee under the table, and he suddenly tenses. His self-control wavers, the air around him becomes thin and lacking. Do not blow your cover, do not fail this mission; you and he could take care of your needs after— not now...

“But what if I wanted to? What if I wanted to play?”

This does it for him.

Red. 

Marc loves you in red. 

Marc had fallen for you in red.

And in red, he’d finally lose control.

“Come with me,” he mutters, nearly a growl to your ears as he slips his hand into yours before abruptly excusing the two of you from the bewildered group at the table.

“Where are we going?” you smirk knowingly, letting him drag you down the maze of halls, far from the crowds.

Marc doesn’t answer you. In fact, he doesn’t say another word until he finds a restroom tucked away from the main hall where you and he should be. 

He’s done pretending.

He’s done with this little game you both are playing.

He’s done lying to himself. To you.

To hell with this mission. Marc needs you, and he couldn’t wait for a second longer.

[lexinympho]

Worth the Risk

Kuroo Tetsuro x gn!reader

Summary: You and Kuroo have a long talk about confessions in the calm ambiance of a cafe.

WC: 1.9k

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, slightest bit of angst, a lot of dialogue, confession, roommates to lovers

A/N: Okay ngl I prematurely posted this but it's more or less done. I wanted to do something better than this (and certainly shorter, this was supposed to be a short drabble, not a nearly 2k word fic)

"What do you do when you like someone but aren't sure if you should tell them?"

You paused in the middle of biting your sandwich to look up and raise an eyebrow at Kuroo's sudden question, though it's not quite as sudden as it could've been since the guy's been in his head all day and clearly mulling over something (you figured it was pertaining to school though based on the beginnings of bags under his eyes). Putting your sandwich down at the heavily inquiring look Kuroo's giving, you glance around the moderately filled cafe for a second to think before you ask in turn, "Why would I be unsure about telling them how I feel?"

"Well obviously you don't know for sure if the person in question likes you back."

"I beg to differ, I know when someone's interested in me," you said confidently.

Kuroo placed an elbow on the table to prop his head up and said with a layer of doubt over his words, "Is that so?"

"What, you don't believe me?"

"It's not that I don't believe you, but you didn't believe me half the time whenever I told you someone in class had a crush on you. Especially that one guy-"

You crossed your arms and countered somewhat defensively, "He was just really good at hiding it. And it's not like we ever talked enough for me to pick up any dead giveaways until he suddenly called me to the schoolyard." The smirk you received from him enticed you to roll your eyes (all while ignoring the arrhythmia said smirk caused in you) and reel the conversation back to his initial question, "Whatever. I get what you're saying, but I don't think uncertainty is a good enough reason for not confessing."

"Not everyone is as confident as you," he commented as he reached with his free hand for his coffee.

"1, you asked me what I would do. And 2, I wouldn't call it confidence but rather...boldness?" You take a second or two to gather your thoughts and properly explain them as he sips, "Of course I'm not going to be confident in the outcome of things, especially on the off chance that I'm in the dark about the other person's feelings, but I'd prefer to confess despite any fears or insecurities of mine."

"So you'd do it even if it seems like you're about to be rejected?"

"Yeah actually."

"You're weird," Kuroo chuckled out as he placed his cup down.

"You're weird. I can do what I want with my feelings, and if I want to tell someone I like them, then I'm doing it."

He let out another small laugh before his gaze drifted to the window you're both sat by, asking a bit somberly afterwards, "Even if they don't seem to like you back?"

"Even then." Your voice remained resolute but softened around the edges at the slight change in his atmosphere. Your food has been long forgotten, but you pay no mind to it as your knees graze his under the table. You push down the urge to hyper fixate on that to ask, "Are you indirectly asking me for advice or something?"

"...Maybe." His visage is neutral as he continues staring outside, but you swear his utterance of that single word held a teasing lilt to it when he dragged out the 'm'.

"'Maybe'? What, do you like someone?"

God yes. "I just wanted your opinion."

You acknowledged his answer with a hum and proceeded to study him for a bit before asking, "What about you?"

That brought his eyes back to you.

"Would you be able to confess when all the odds are against you?"

"Depends, I think. I can kind of understand your logic of speaking up with or without prior knowledge. It's more or less a roll of the dice and hoping they'll say 'yes' or preparing yourself for that 'no'. But...I don't think I could do it if I know they like someone else."

(You don't catch the underlying implications of his last sentence.)

You both sat in silence to let his words digest as the bustle of the world around you runs in the background. It's not uncommon that you find yourself having deep discussions like this with him, be it in the enclosed spaces of your shared apartment or waiting in line for tickets to a film, but your roommate of 5 months has been bringing up the topic of love more than usual recently. There are a number of possibilities you can think of for his interest, one glaringly obvious one you aren't quite ready to look at right now, but you decide to leave your analyses for later and address what he just said. "I think that's all the more reason to say something."

You laugh out loud at the expected look of bewilderment Kuroo gave you.

"Look, I'd honestly be afraid of rejection no matter what, but I'd feel better in the long run knowing I was honest with them and myself most importantly. There's only so much lying and hiding I can do before it starts to feel redundant and unnecessary."

"You'd seriously tell them how you feel at the risk of losing them? Even if they like someone else or they're dating?"

"Yeah actually. I know my logic sounds weird, but as I said before, I don't like being untrue to myself and those around me. Besides, I like the certainty of knowing whether or not they'd reject me, or if they'd still be in my life after that. I'm not gonna live the rest of my life with a bunch of what-ifs floating around in my head."

Kuroo took a few seconds to throw another question at you, "What if they change their mind about liking you, but you already moved on?"

"...It's just how things go unfortunately. But I'd probably come around if I waited a bit instead of moving on. Y'know I don't catch feelings easily, so I think I'd play the waiting game without trying to." You finished with a casual smile and asked, "Anything else you want to know?"

"Not really," he said while leaning back in his chair, "now I know you have an all in mentality when it comes to love."

"You need to have that mentality, love's all about taking chances at the end of the day. It's scary laying all your cards out, but it's worth it because you know you at least tried." You finally bring your attention back to your plate you've been craving all day, "Now stop asking me questions so I can finish eating."

(You're so into your meal that you don't notice his gaze linger on you.)

Kuroo said nothing after that, opting to do the same since you've both been sitting here for quite a while now, though it's not like either of you have places to be today. Small talks transpire as you two finish eating and make your way out the cafe after playing rock-paper-scissors for who'd leave a tip, and they continue on the way back to the apartment. They probably would've kept going on had you not grown restless from Kuroo's oddly distrait disposition.

You stop walking alongside him and ask, "Okay, what's up?"

He poorly feigned nonchalance with a stiff expression when he turned your way to simply say, "Hm?"

"Was that game of 20 questions your way of psyching yourself up for a confession? Or is it some roundabout way of asking me if I like someone?"

"Well now that you bring it up-"

"Hold on, why should I tell you? You didn't tell me if you like someone when I asked."

"I said I was just looking for a second opinion!"

"You didn't say those exact words! And that's not a yes or no!"

"I dunno!"

"Liar." Your frustration is quickly simmered by how flustered he looks trying to talk his way out of it and you find yourself failing to fight off a grin. The list of reasons you considered for his string of inquiries is being shortened by the second and you had to prevent yourself from zeroing in on two particular options in favor of saying, "There's no way you're gonna ask me all that stuff and expect me to believe you don't have a crush."

Rather than refute your statement, he places a hand on the back of his neck and leads with his own question, "Would you say your rationale of handling confessions is the best way to go about confessing?"

The murky swirl of hope and dread constricting your chest made you miss that little nervous tic of his you'd typically point out in your head. You tried to conceal your conflicting emotions by keeping an upbeat expression and saying, "It's just my opinion, it makes more sense to me than whatever cliche bullcrap we see everywhere."

"You're got a point..." Kuroo trailed off before he simply stopped walking alongside you, leading you to do the same with a look of confusion sent his way. It's not until now that you see the tips of his ears burning crimson with the apples of his cheeks tinted similarly. You'd surely feel heat emitting from his face should you so much as hover your hand near it.

When the thought of caressing his jawline unwillingly crosses your mind, you rock back and forth on your feet while averting your gaze to the cracked sidewalk beneath you. "So," you force yourself to break the silence and ask the big money question with a steady voice, "who's the lucky one to be the object of your affections?"

(This time, you catch him take a breath and glance at you from the corner of his eye to gauge your reaction.)

The 6 foot man pauses to formulate his answer and says lowly, "You."

Your head instantly whipped up from the sidewalk and you ask, "...Wait what?" He spoke so quietly that you aren't sure if you heard him right.

A sigh leaves his nose when he brings himself to look you in the eye determinedly yet nervously and say, "I like you."

Oh.

The arrhythmia returned tenfold, this time accompanied by a rush of warmth.

"Oh!" You get over your stunned silence fairly quickly and ask with a giddy smile, "You really did all of that to lead up to a confession? Actually what was the point to all of that?"

"Well if you said you wouldn't be the type to tell someone how you feel when they don't like you then I wouldn't have said anything!"

You started back walking as you responded, "Pfft, you really just took advice, huh? And who said I didn't like you back?"

"Huh? W-Wait," he called out as he caught up with you, "what about Makoto?"

"Mako-who?"

"The guy from uni!" He waved his hands about for emphasis as he added on, "You literally have a class with him and we haven't been hanging out much outside of the apartment because of how busy we've been lately."

"Just because I've been seeing him more than you doesn't mean I like like him. And for your information, he wanted to hang out today, but I cancelled so we could go to the cafe."

"...Oh."

"'Oh' is right you dork," you said as you bumped hips with him. "If anything, I thought you liked someone else-"

"Excuse me!?" he barked out an offended laugh.

"I didn't want to assume-"

"I asked you out on a date today-"

"You didn't say 'date'-"

"And you called me a dork-"

"You are a dork for using the most elongated strategy to confess!"

You don't know when Kuroo slipped his hand in yours during your lighthearted banter, but you allow yourself to take pleasure in the feeling that small action caused to stir in you.

Comfort. That's what it is.

That's what you neglected to tell him, that more than any amount of boldness or believability, you being comfortable with any outcome that involved the one you like is ultimately what gives you all the courage you need. You'll tell him later when he needs to hear it, unlike now where he's so high on cloud 9 that any signs of school life weighing down on him at the start of the day are hardly there now.

©lexinympho 2022, please do not edit or repost my works anywhere on this platform or another

[catboii]

← Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 → Full Thread

[Day ####]

It’s been several days since there were any markable concerns. No breaches, no alerts, no deaths on the clock... Everything has been running smoothly. As it should. 

The Overseer of the current area leads their Agents through the corridors, writing up directives for the daily observations and handing them to the respective Agent.

The Anomalies here are usually very quiet, although sometimes, one of them will just sort of- change… Wake up… And then they completely flip. You can’t trust them. Sometimes Agents have underestimated what seemed like a normal inanimate object, like the hairbrush that hypnotises people, pulling them with psychic tendrils into its room, so that they'll brush their hair with it, then two weeks later they'll wake up from a coma; or a small animal, like the mouse that turned out to eat concrete and burrowed out by nibbling around the steel reinforcements before anyone noticed. There was so much paperwork...

Most of the chambers look the same, bland, metallic grey inside and out, the only difference being the cautionary and instructional stickers of varying sizes, shapes and colours, on the corridor-side of their doors. Some have more than others, and some seem to tell a story. 'No eye contact', 'No turning your back', 'No auditory interaction', 'Unconfirmed: Inanimate', etc; the list could be endless as more instructions are being discovered and printed every day, although it's not a fast process as the braille needs to be sized and punched correctly. Whenever something is Suspected, they use a medium sized Yellow sticker, with a dashed border for the colourblind. If something is confirmed, then it’s a larger sized Red sticker with a bold border. There are the occasional smaller, Green stickers, with a wavy line as a border; this makes them look more whimsical and friendly, although doesn’t mean that whatever is being contained is safe, just that the action is ‘safe’, such as 'Safe: Eye contact', 'Safe: Slow movement', 'Safe: Liquid exposure'. As it’s quite difficult to confirm that something truly is ‘safe’, there aren’t as many Green stickers as the others, and they’re easy to peel off, in case something turns out to not actually be safe... There are alot of Yellow stickers through the halls, as it’s all too easy to have an unconfirmed suspicion, rather than to prove that something is safe or not. 

After a few Agents are sent on their assignments, the Overseer leads the remaining toward another bland silver door, with the usual square viewing window and several Yellow stickers: the expected, and potentially obvious instructions when approaching any wild animal, ‘maybe don’t touch or feed this thing, it might bite, but we’re not sure’. There are also some White and, some rarer, Black stickers though. The White stickers are confirmed guidelines, Agents normally call the neat little sections of White stickers Biogs, as they’re a bit like summaries, and you need a better name than ‘what do their Whites say?’ when discussing cases with your peers. The Black stickers, however, are important notes to keep in mind if you have to go into the room. These are always very specific, but usually a little cryptic, as if their info is on a need to know basis. Which it sort of is, as they only get explained to you if you’re the one going in. 

Most Anomalies in this section have the White 'Does not eat' sticker, as they’re inanimate objects (less of an instruction, just an observation that it doesn’t need to be fed, although someone must have tried, to be able to confirm it, which summons amusing images of Agents trying to coax mysterious Diaries or amulets to nibble on some fruit or a raw steak), but this one also has this sticker, and it appears to be some kind of small animal. Trying to peer through the door window, Agent 23 thinks it looks like a crow sitting in the middle of the floor, although there are too many layers of thick, toughened glass to get a clear view from this distance. There also appears to be a large, Red, octagonal sticker ,right beside the White one that looks like the 'Do not approach' instruction, based on the size and shape, but it’s covered by a Black sticker frantically scribbled over with what looks like black sharpie? As if someone was trying to take it back, but didn’t have the right sticker to hand. The white text is still easily readable, and says 'Caution level C-3'. The Caution level 'C' stickers are reserved for the Anomalies that have shown cannibalistic traits, which is a rabbit hole of a definition when you consider that these Anomalies aren’t human, and eating other animals is a perfectly normal carnivore activity… for animals. 

But why would a creature that doesn’t eat, according to that White sticker, show interest in eating other creatures..? 

Moreover, the level is a scale, like 1:1 or 1:10 in scale models. 'C-1' is for creatures that will attack and/or eat other creatures the same size as them, 'C-0.5' would mean creatures half their size, etc. So 'C-3' means that it’s 'shown an interest' in attacking and eating something three times its own size. Which, based on how small it is, doesn’t sound too worrisome. And besides, this must have been observed before it was put into containment...

As the Overseer looks over the paperwork left hooked on the door, a couple of the Agents peer through to the chamber. There are three interlock doors, which seems excessive for such a small creature. Two is perfectly fine for most of the other, larger Anomalies. Besides, the extra door space takes away some of the chamber space, leaving it alot smaller, even if the creature inside isn’t very big itself. There aren’t any perches or furniture inside, nothing for enrichment. There are also two chairs outside the doors, one either side, when there are usually just two. Only one is the metal kind with the little document shelf under the seat though, the other doesn’t look like it belongs here, more like it’d been dragged from somewhere else, possibly a staff room on another floor, since the ones on this floor are cushioned. 

“Alright,” the Overseer starts confidently, “have any of you had any experience with this Anomaly?” Two of the six Agents raise their hands, one being Agent 23, a low level Agent who'd been working at the Facility for three years so far. “Perfect. Now please lower your hand if any of those experiences have been negative in any way, if you have verbally expressed any negative thoughts around this doorway, or if you may have been overheard disciplining another Anomaly or member of staff in this hallway, at all”, they slightly raise their voice at the end, as if to emphasise how important this was. Agent 23 keeps her hand raised, but she couldn’t see why any of the staff would do anything like that; however, the other Agent had already lowered his hand, but Agent 23 wasn’t sure at which point of the statement. The Overseer looks down at the clipboard, ‘uh-huh’s to themself a few times, then hangs it back on the designated hook. “Alright. You may lower your hand now. The rest of you, I trust you have jobs to do, you’re dismissed. Agent 23, I’ll instruct you on your tasks for the next…” they pause, as if thinking, “week. If all goes well”. 

The instructions sound like the usual, to observe the Anomaly through the cameras and the door windows, to record everything on the sheet every hour. Although there are also extra, lined sheets to fill in if the Anomaly tries to communicate. Any sign of intelligence should be recorded. It's been reported to react to the verbal greetings given by the Agents through the intercom, and if someone gets close to the glass, sometimes it seems to be looking toward the door. The Overseer has instructed 23 to actually try to get it to respond this time, however she can. If it looks like it’s reacting to the intercom, to continue talking, to see if it’s just the noise, or if it’s the actual speech it recognises. There are the odd notes in the ‘Guide’ that say that it has been observed to obey basic commands such as ‘step away from the door’, ‘stand still’ and such like. 

All of the initial pages in the observation log seem to have been crudely torn out, then the first intact pages have nothing written on them aside from the first boxes having mention of observations being difficult, due to the Anomaly being ‘outside’. 23 decides this must mean before it was put into containment, and was just being observed; because if it had breached containment, then there would be far more paperwork, and more Red stickers on the door. Breachers normally went to a far more secure floor several stories lower, and had their own guards stationed at every checkpoint. The pages documenting the last month or so are all basically uneventful, and nothing of note jumps out at her. 

As 23 turns on the intercom to read the obligatory greeting statement, there’s a slight electrical crackle-buzz as the speaker turns on, and a red LED indicator light at the bottom lights up. The small, crow-like creature turns its head toward the soft sound, its eyes dull and reflectionless, staring slightly off from the main door camera, as the intercom speaker is about a foot underneath. “Greetings. I’m Agent 23,” she begins, trying to sound casual, though professional, as if she doesn’t feel the least bit silly trying to talk to a bird, who probably doesn’t understand anything she’s saying, “I’ll be observing you today. I’ll be here for-” she briefly flicks her eyes down from the monitor to check her notes, quickly counting the start to finish times in her head, “Six hours. Please go about your business as normal.” She lets go of the intercom button, and it makes that same quiet crackle, then silence resumes. 

The creature keeps staring toward the speaker for a moment, then, as 23 observes as instructed, she thinks it glances up to the main camera, but it keeps turning, openly facing one of the side cameras, just staring toward it for what feels like the longest moment. 23 starts to wonder if it can somehow see her, and that its watching her, so she makes a little waving motion with her hand at the monitor to see if it'll react… But then it turns to face the back wall, away from the three cameras pointing toward it, and stays facing that direction.

The rest of the day is relatively uneventful, another Agent nearby makes a breakthrough when they say they got a recording of an inanimate object moving, and they furiously scribble in their observational notes. 23’s ward just sits there, once or twice taking a few slow steps toward one side of the room, a few hours later going to the other side. 

Once it’s time to finish up, she stands, stretching her arms above her head, making a little squeak noise through her nose as her spine pops, and when she turns toward the intercom, she notices the creature on the camera monitor, looking toward the door. Perhaps it could see her shadow move? She pauses briefly before pressing the intercom, there’s no movement at the buzz this time, not even a twitch. “This is Agent 23. I have concluded today’s observations. I will be returning tomorrow. Thankyou for your cooperation.”

[1kook]

skirt chasers - drabble iii

this a skirt chasers drabble in case u couldn't tell uhhh here’s i and ii lol

summary; “I think the alcohol broke my amygdala. Your epidermis looks pretty today— did you use that toner I told you about?” warnings; alcohol mention, tit sucking, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, uhh making out??? ratings; mature (18+) misc; educational abolitionist!jungkook, drunk jk, mentions of throwing up lol, jk is an anatomy frEAK, more skirts, more jk has questionable kinks wc; like barely 2k

notes; i wrote this in like 40 mins bc i couldn't stop thinking about STIMBO jk from skirt chasers and how cool he is enjoy xxxx also i barely rmr shit from anatomy bc it was the worst course of my life so pls bear with me

His first mistake is getting drinks with the boys. You like to think you know your boyfriend pretty well, know what he’s good at, where he excels, where he thrives, and well. Drinking doesn’t rank too high on the list.

Jimin calls a little past midnight. “Kook’s on the table,” he slurs into the phone, too loud and too sloppy for a Wednesday night phonecall.

“Ha?” you mumble back, rubbing your eyes until you see stars. The room is dark, practically spinning from how out of it you are. Chaeyoung is dead asleep in her room, so even whispering feels like a crime. “Where are you guys?”

Some bar on the south side of town, that strip where all the newly turned twenty-one year olds go to get wasted. Jungkook’s supposed to be studying for some big exam he has on Friday— at least, that’s what he told you —so it takes a few minutes of convincing on Jimin’s part until you’re shrugging your coat on, blindly navigating through your apartment for your keys and wallet. You briefly consider taking an Uber, but ultimately decide you’d rather get stabbed to death on a public bus so at least your family can sue the city afterwards.

Jungkook is indeed on the table, except the table has long since tipped over. So now he’s just sprawled across some dirty bar floor, puppy-soft head of curls spilling over his forehead. He’s so cute, so adorable. You want to kill him. “Up,” you command, channeling the strength of twelve football players to haul your beefy boyfriend off the ground.

“Baby,” he beams, looking at you but not actually looking at you. “I think the alcohol broke my amygdala. Your epidermis looks pretty today— did you use that toner I told you about?”

You don’t even know what that means, can’t even question him, because then Jin is angrily yelling at you to cover his tab. You pay with a stiff middle finger, flail the three dollars in your wallet at him, before sweeping away your poor damsel in distress. “You’re supposed to be studying,” you huff, can’t even be mad when he stops to throw up in a bush outside the bar. You’re so embarrassed, pretend you don’t know him as you pull up the bus times on your phone.

He’s huffy by the time you get on the bus, sniffling against your neck as he cries about his common hepatic portal vein thing— you don’t fucking know.

Chaeyoung isn’t too impressed with you when you bring him home, dump him on the couch while she steals your AirPods from your room. “Explain yourself,” you demand, and his head rolls back.

“I hate school,” he complains, slaps a hand down against his forehead. You’re certain he’s concussed himself this time. Then he’s bending over, head held between his hands. “Wanna cry.”

You sigh, kneeling in front of him. “You’re almost done,” you comfort him, hand on the back of his head. He’s so sweaty, and smells like all his friends colognes at the same time. “You’re smart, baby, you can do this.”

Your words have the opposite effect, because then he’s rocking forward childishly, nearly rams your skulls together and kills you. He’s reached the point of his insobriety where he’s too sad and huffy to think, sadly leaning against your shoulder as if that’ll somehow solve all his problems. You doubt it will, but there’s really nothing much you can when Jungkook reaches this point, so you settle on softly patting the back of his head until the fool is fucking snoring against you.

Chaeyoung blesses you with her divine retribution the next morning by using up the last of your body wash, and then you’re left to deal with a hungover Jungkook on a Thursday morning. You’re pretty sure he had a class that morning, but he wakes up too late for you to even try to convince him to still go, and then he’s moping on your couch in last night’s clothes. You’re getting ready for your internship, blouse half buttoned, pencil skirt wiggled up to your waist.

“Abolish exams,” he mutters, numbly staring at the ceiling as you wipe his face with a cleansing towelette. He doesn’t seem remotely interested in the shower or the pancakes you made, which lets you know this is a much more serious issue than just a drunken episode. “Aren’t they stupid?” You nod. “Sure, test me on every damn thing we’re learning right now as if science isn’t always changing and I’ll have to keep learning anyway.”

He looks over at you, under-eye bags absolutely horrendous. “Tests are stupid,” you agree, and it seems to be exactly what he wants to hear as he sinks into your arms, face buried in your chest. “Too stupid for smarty-pants Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook groans, flops over you on the couch all smelly and gross. “They test you for memorization and not comprehension,” he adds, finally wiggling out of his stinky clothes.

With Jungkook, you can never tell where things are going. One minute he’s cursing the education system and the next he’s kissing along your neck in his rambling fury. “As if I these materials will somehow become nonexistent once I’m working,” he huffs, hands on your thighs. Your breath hitches in your throat, fingers digging into his biceps as he mindlessly kisses down the valley between your breasts. “Shit’s so fucking stupid,” he spits, bunching your skirt around your waist.

“Jeon—“

“I’m just trying to be a fuckin’ pediatrician, for fuck’s sake,” he growls, hastily undoes the front buttons on your blouse. Your black bra comes into view, heart pounding in your chest as Jungkook makes quick work of reaching behind and undoing it, pushing it away, and cupping your breasts in his palms. He guides one of your legs around his waist, tucks it around him as he gets to work raining down kisses on your tits. “So pretty, doll,” he murmurs, pretty pink lips leaving smooches down your chest.

You bite down on your lip, watch through hazy eyes as those big doe eyes flick up at you, tongue swirling around your nipple. “N— Not tired anymore?” you pant, hands in his hair. It’s still dry and knotted from last night’s adventures, but you don’t mind. Not when Jungkook’s hard cock is flush against your thigh.

“Nah,” he confirms, rolling his hips forward against your core. Oh he was horny horny this morning. Or was he angry horny? You don’t care, either way you were winning. “I serenaded you last night, y’know?”

You snort, but it morphs into a whimper when he captures your rock hard nipple between his perfect teeth. “Not a serenade,” you whimper, fingernails running along his scalp, “if I’m not there.”

Jungkook leans back, lets you breathe for a second as he unbuckles the front of his pants, jeans pulled down around his thighs. And of course he’s hard as fuck by now; this was Jeon Jungkook you were dealing with. He could get it up and going in two seconds flat at the mere sight of your collarbones. “You were there,” he insists, capturing your hand in his all romantic like until you’re flustered and shaking him off. He levels you with a cheesy grin, presses your palm against his chest. “Here.”

You gag. “That’s disgusting.”

Jungkook laughs, all squeaky and airy because he’s never given a fuck about looking cool in front of you. His next words only prove your point. “Why? Don’t like being nestled against my left lung and esophagus, all sexy like?”

You roll your eyes, tug your panties aside to give him a full view of what his dorky anatomical talk has done to you. “Dick me down or go away,” you say, pointer finger nudging his chin up when he stares too long

He snaps his teeth at you, almost bites your finger, the fuckin’ weirdo. “Sassy today,” he teases, presses the tip of his cock against you. Both of you groan, watch as he glides himself up and down your folds, angry mushroom head pushing against your clit. “Always so wet for me,” he mumbles shakily, eyes zeroed in on your wet folds and how slick they feel against him. “Didn’t stretch you out again.”

“Yo— You’re mean about that anyway,” you pant, pulling him closer by those firm ass cheeks of his. “I can tell when you’re using me as a reference model.”

Jungkook gasps as if he’s genuinely scandalized by your claim, follows your wordless command and finally lines himself up with your quivering entrance. “I’m a hands-on learner,” he offers, his cheeky smile still on his face until he finally sinks into you and his features twist up all pretty. “Your pussy’s just so pretty, baby,” he grunts, hand on your hip.

Your face feels warm, from the pleasure that rolls over your body and the vulgarity of his words. “Shush now,” you say, try to sound strict and in command, but he’s got his other hand cupping your jaw, looking at you like you’re a goddess and not some dorky college student in their even dorkier internship uniform.

“Temptress,” he mumbles, pushes past your clenching lips until he’s flush against you, your walls spasming around his cock because he just feels so good. “Tried to sneak past me in that tiny skirt.” He draws back, lets his swollen head catch at the entrance before sliding back in, pace slow and sensual, too intimate for some random Thursday morning. “Little doll just needs to be fucked in the morning, doesn’t she?” A pitiful whimper catches in your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head with every glide of his dick back inside of you.

“N- Not my fault you have naughty eyes,” you whimper, hand coming up to bite at your knuckles as Jungkook continues to fuck you so sweetly. “Fuck.”

Jungkook ducks over you, wavy hair tickling your forehead as his hot breath fans across you. Smells like the mouthwash you made him take and hints of last night’s alcohol. “Can’t help it,” he husks, capturing your lips in his. Sloppy and wet, tongue clashing with yours as he guides you along, hips slowing to rhythmic ruts that have you moaning after each roll.

A few drawn-out thrusts later and you’re coming, body so sensitive this early in the morning, and it certainly doesn’t help that Jungkook looks like that (sweaty and worn, dark eyes watching you writhe beneath him). Surprisingly, it takes him a few more rushed thrusts before he follows, barely managing to pull out in time before his sparkling cum is splattering over your tummy and the skirt bunched around it. “No,” you whine, melting into the couch. “Jeon, this is my only one,” you complain, rubbing a hand over your eyes as if that’ll somehow make your legs work again enough to push him off.

Jungkook says nothing as he tucks himself back into his boxers, chest heaving from exertion as he crashes back onto the couch. “Liar,” he responds after a moment, out of breath and half asleep again. He’s still technically hungover. Hand lazily drawing circles on your knee as you sit up, wiggling your skirt back down. He gives you this indecipherable look. “I hid the other one under your dresser.”

You smack his arm. “Why the hell would you—“

He tackles you back into the couch, presses the stain into your skirt. It must feel gross against his naked tummy, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care. “Makes me too horny,” he announces, pout pressed against your neck. “I had a teacher fantasy the other day. Did I tell you?” You roll your eyes, resigning yourself to this new life squashed beneath your boyfriend. “You were my high school anatomy teacher and I failed, so you made me stay after school for supplemental lessons—“

“That’s an abuse of power,” you point out, back to carding your hands through his now sweaty and greasy hair. “And you would never fail an anatomy class, that’s literally your comfort area of study.”

“Listen,” he stresses, lifts his head until he’s peering at you with these humongous Bambi eyes. “You spanked me and—“

“Go get my skirt.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

[anony-man]

Chubformers extended drabble #2!

Based off of #60 for IDW Overlord, this is the drabble written into a 2k fic! Feel free to read it on ao3 or under the cut!

Original drabble: #60 for Overlord (IDW)

Word count: 2,046

(TW: vore, implied fatal vore)

It was bad manners to play with his food, he’d been told, but there was something so alluring about watching his freshly picked captives shiver and squirm in his presence. What could he say? Their palpable terror always added to the flavor to every dish, even before he swallowed them whole.

Speaking of swallowing them whole… Overlord was pretty sure tonight’s choice of a meal was one of the biggest to date. He was no prude when it came to size—the bigger the better is how he saw it. Still, the fat Decepticon could hardly wait to have such a hunk of a mech lodged in his throat. It was almost arousing, dare he say.

The poor, terrified thing had been quiet nearly the entire night. His fellow Decepticons swore the mech had been cursing up a storm, blaming Megatron for the failure of their kind and calling up gaping maws from Primus himself to break open the core of their world and swallow the nasty scum of a faction whole.

Oddly enough, there was no sign of the fiery, passionate spirit now, not even a drop… not even a word.

Well, Overlord couldn’t toy with everyone. Sometimes his food seemed to liked to sit pretty and wait for the inevitable as opposed to putting up a struggle, and he supposed that was just fine. The flavor was in the fear, after all, and oh, did tonight’s guest reek of it.

Painted blue lips curled into a cruel smile before opening wide for the next bite of his first course. The Autobot across from his was silent as ever, his optics wide as he quivered against the table.

This was always one of his favorite parts, just below getting to swallow up his prey. It was tradition for Overlord, forcing his evening’s captive to sit and watch as he prepared himself for the final dish. Struggling bots never felt so good in his tanks like they did following a big, hearty feast, and Overlord loved setting them up for a cushiony fall into his well-fed belly.

"Delicious," the fat Con said as he swallowed, reaching down to the table to grab a napkin.

The mech across the table flinched away, a gasp of fear escaping him. It was as if he expected those cruel talons to close around his throat at any moment, Overlord could tell. Lucky mech, getting to live for a few more minutes in the confines of the delightful dinner before them.

“Mm... I've truly outdone myself tonight,” Overlord continued, delicately wiping at the corners of his lips. “But I worry about you, you poor, poor soul. Aren’t you hungry?”

The mech didn’t respond, save for another shudder as Overlord dug his fork into the meat of his dish. Another delightful moan worked its way around the bountiful as he shoveled it past his lips, and this time Overlord did little to hide his satisfaction at the outcome of his meal.

Delicious as usual, he thought with a lick of his lips. Even so, it was nothing compared to the dessert that awaited him.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said between a few extra dabs at his lips with the napkin. “I never did ask if you wanted something to eat. Please, help yourself.”

The bot didn’t move, and he hardly breathed. The room fell silent for a time, save for the clink of chains and the tremble of the mech as they hid their face behind shackled servos.

Overlord frowned at the sight. The poor creature looked absolutely pitiful, all curled into on himself in a desperate attempt at appearing small against the grand display of foods laid out over the dinner table. Still, there was a script to follow if he wanted to enjoy every last second of his evening’s entertainment.

He waited patiently until the mech had gained the courage to glance up from the spaces between his fingers, his optics bright with fear. By then the air had begun to stink from their panic, and Overlord loved it. He took in a deep breath and sighed, a contented smile replacing the agitated frown he’d worn prior.

Oh, this was starting to become a positively scrumptious night.

"Enjoy yourself," Overlord pressed. "It would be selfish of me to keep you from having a bite, don’t you think?"

Overlord slid an empty plate across the table to where the mech sat. A small, delicate pastry was plucked up from its display between sharp fingers and dropped onto the porcelain platter. Overlord watched as the mech's gaze drifted to the offered treat, then to him, then back again.

It was risky, accepting the kind morsel. Without fail, though, his captives always accepted. It just took time is all.

“Go on,” he urged, plucking another bite off of his own plate as he waited for the mech to give in. “I’m playing nice tonight, I assure you.”

The mech hesitated, his servo outstretched. It certainly looked appetizing, and he couldn’t deny the way his tanks groaned for food…

"There you go," Overlord said, clapping his servos together as the shivering mech finally took the bait. "That’s a good mech."

One bite quickly turned into two as the mech eased into the flow of stuffing his face. No longer satisfied with the simple dishes available for snacking, Overlord settled for sipping at his glass of engex as he watched the mech gorge himself on as many foods as he could reach.

The frantic, desperate need to keep his mouth full and his belly fuller was almost as entertaining as the climax of the dinner’s final course. Overlord sneered behind the rim of his glass as the pathetic bot slurped and groaned, too caught up in the temporary bliss of a free-for-all feast made just for him—and for Overlord, of course.

“Eager thing, you are,” the Con mused, his frown twisting back into an amused smile at the way the mech stopped to scoff at the ridiculous statement. “Have I made enough to satisfy your appetite?”

It would be such a delightful reward to stuff his belly full with such an obnoxious Autobot. The cowardly terror that had kept him frozen in place was beginning to wane, and the more the bot ate the more he seemed to grow comfortable in his enemy’s presence.

“I’ll say,” the bot said between mouthfuls. He wiped at his face with the back of his servo. “Got enough here to feed a fraggin’ army if you ask me.”

“An army of two, perhaps,” Overlord said as he sipped at his engex.

His evening’s prisoner was getting far too comfortable for his own liking. A little snark was always welcome, but Overlord could hardly stand the shift from shivering fear to cocky and comfortable. The spread of cakes and dishes had been a good appetizer, but the entertainment was coming to an end, and Overlord's patience was running thin.

“I apologize for being so abrupt,” he said, slowly rising from his seat, “but I’m afraid it’s getting a bit late, and I’m dying for dessert.”

The mech’s optics practically bulged from his helm like an earthen creature once he finally looked up from his plate. Overlord was an imposing sight from the start, and the tons of mesh that hung in rolls from his frame merely added to the terror.

Beneath the rumbling purr in the background of Overlord's throat, his belly roared with hunger as he leaned across the table to pluck the terrified mech out from his seat. The dinner was nice, but he was still hungry—hungry for more than just a few little oil cakes.

There was only one solution to his ravenous appetite, and the shrieking mech that fought to flee from his grasp seemed to know it.

“No no no no no!” the mech squealed. “Please, no! I—I can help! I can… I can find a way!”

Playing with big prey meant dealing with a bigger struggle, and Overlord was almost straining to drag the Autobot across the table and into his lap. Dishes clashed and plates broke, the silverware and feast crashing to the floor as the mech sunk his claws into the bunched tablecloth in a feeble attempt at saving him from his fate.

It didn’t take experience to know exactly how this was going to end. Most Autobots who survived a visit with Overlord had heard plenty of horror stories about dining with the Con for the evening.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Overlord said as he held the struggling bot up in the air. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal just as much as I’ll be enjoying mine.”

The squirming, screaming mech kicked and flailed, but to no avail. Painted blue lips opened wide, revealing a gaping maw, pearly fangs, and the rumble of a needy gut. Before he could make any further attempts at an escape, Overlord was lowering him down atop his tongue and swallowing against the intrusion of kicking legs.

The mech was immediately engulfed by sticky, hot air and a saliva-coated tongue, his attempts at screaming for help and begging for release silenced by the threat of being chewed up and swallowed. Overlord toyed with the whimpering mech for some time, delighting in the wails that would escape every time his gentle nibbles became too much for the delicate shell of the bot’s chest.

There was no room for speaking when half of the bot was already bulging in his throat, the slick walls working to work him down into the starving, bubbly pits of his tanks, but Overlord did his best to moan his approval around the bot’s frame as it slid over his tongue. He took his time in swallowing, allowing his systems to do most of the work as he suckled against his fingers and licked at the trembling bots frame.

The scent of fear was palpable again, and almost intoxicating. The fat Con’s free servo immediately drifting down to grope and pinch at his rumbling belly, his frame growing hot from the mere thought of digesting another Autobot alongside the delicious meal. His engines purred and his tanks growled as the bot’s helm slid into his throat before quickly slipping past his bobbing throat and dropping into his bubbling tanks below.

The bot sat heavy amongst the spread of dishes Overlord had indulged in that night, but the stretch of overstuffed tanks around the struggle of an unwilling meal made his final course twice as delicious. He leaned back with a groan, both servos rubbing at his massive belly now as he felt for the firm outline of the bot inside of him around the half-digested foods.

He was unconscious now, Overlord could tell. The squirming and whimpers had ceased for the moment being. Still, digestion took time. If he was patient and waited for his prey to reawaken, then—

There was a gasp from across the room. The choked, startled sound caught Overlord by surprise. He wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight. Upon lifting his gaze from the swollen, stuffed dome that spilled out over his lap, the fat Con met the gaze of a small, terrified looking minibot.

He hardly had to look for the obviously placed Autobot insignia on the bot’s chest to know the scared thing was another one of their prisoners. How he’d managed to escape past the rest of the Decepticons was unclear to him, but Overlord was hardly about to let this prime opportunity go to waste.

“Oh, hello there,” Overlord said. “Fancy running into someone like you so late in the night.”

The minibot didn’t respond, his attention fixated on the mess of a dining table left from the previous victim’s struggle. Overlord made a dismissive gesture with one servo as he reached down to straighten out the table cloth, then beckoned the bot forward.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he said. “I’m quite known for my unruly table manners… you know how it is.”

The minibot seemed hesitant, but there was no backing out now. Not now that Overlord had seen him. The fat Con’s face split into an affectionate smile, and beneath the table he soothed the rumble of awakening prey with a servo against his belly.

“Come,” he said. “Have a seat.”

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Clause in the Will

I never planned to write a Ransom story. And then @eurynome827 posted her 2K Celebration and the opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was one of the prompts. I’m a whore for anything Pride and Prejudice... and my brain automatically connected the quote with Ransom. And would not let go.

To make an already complicated drabble even harder... I decided to write it with each section being exactly 100 words. It was both a blessing (this story could have SNOWBALLED quickly) and a curse (if you’ve written a 100 word drabble, you get it).

But it’s finished and I love how it turned out! And I was quite proud of myself for the very-Eury way I ended it.

So to @eurynome827​ congrats again on 2,000 followers!

Title: The Clause in the Will

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, some minor violence/threats, suggestive

Note: This is AU and it uses the characters from Knives Out but doesn’t follow the story.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Ransom Drysdale muttered as he wadded up another of his late grandfather's marriage-related quote notecards. They were hidden everywhere.

It had been nearly a year since his grandfather, the famed author Harlan Thrombey, had passed away, leaving Ransom as the head of Blood Like Wine Publishing. A role that he had spent the last twenty years being groomed for.

Ransom had worked his way through the ranks of the company following college and had been prepared when the time had come.

Well, prepared for everything except his grandfather's cluttered office.

At least the houses weren't his problem.

-- -- -- --

You’d started at BLW Publishing as an marketing intern after college and you’d climbed your way to the vice president of that department in the twelve years that had followed.

You loved every single part of your job.

Or at least you had until Mr. “Call Me Ransom” Drysdale had taken over the running of the company.

He had spent his years at the company floating between departments, to learn everything he could. Which meant the two of you had worked together multiple times.

But he seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons. And knew exactly what buttons to push when.

-- -- -- --

"You told me months ago that the marriage clause wasn't legally binding," Ransom fumed. "And now you're telling me it is?!"

His lawyers avoided his gaze.

"Get out!" Ransom shouted and they scurried out.

He had seven days to find a wife and marry her.

If he didn't, he lost the company.

It was just like his grandfather to pull a stunt like this. Even from the grave.

He should just let his prick of an uncle have the company. Just to prove a point.

But he knew he couldn't.

His uncle would ruin everything.

Ransom wouldn't let that happen.

-- -- -- --

"You're not the pizza guy," you said, opening your front door to find Ransom standing on the other side with a bouquet of roses and your pizza.

"Met him in the elevator. Can I come in?"

Stepping aside, you let him in. Only noticing as he passed that his normal confident aura was missing.

"What's wrong?"

He explained everything while the two of you ate pizza.

"Walt would destroy everything," you commiserated.

"Exactly."

Then he pulled out a ring box.

"Will you marry me and help me save the company we both love from ruin?"

How could you say no?

-- -- -- --

"I got married."

Ransom had chosen a public setting to share his news in hopes that his uncle wouldn't make a scene.

The fact that it was day six of his seven day window was pure coincidence.

Glancing at his wife, he found her staring across the table at his uncle, who, Ransom soon saw, was nearly purple with rage.

"This can't be legal!" his uncle shouted over the congratulations from the others. "It should have been mine! All of it!"

Then Walt pushed his chair back and stormed out of the private dining room, his wife and son following.

-- -- -- --

Logically, you knew marrying Ransom would mean moving into his house, but you'd thought you'd have more time.

But with his uncle looking for any reason to question the legitimacy of the marriage, you and Ransom agreed it had to happen now.

The two of you packed up your apartment and then had everything you were keeping moved to his house.

To his credit, Ransom made as much room for your stuff in the common areas of the house as possible, wanting you to feel at home.

But the only place that truly felt that way was your private bedroom.

-- -- -- --

Ransom sat in the hall with Walt as their lawyers met with a judge behind closed doors following another of Walter's attempts to fight the will.

"I’ve heard rumors," Walt said, his tone was nonchalant, but it was laced with venom. "About how your wife became v-"

Ransom had his hand around his uncle's throat before Walt could make another sound.

"That is my wife," he growled. "You will not say one more fucking thing about her or I will sue you for libel. Do you understand me?"

Walt let out a squeak of acknowledgement and Ransom let him go.

-- -- -- --

You'd known Ransom for years.

But after living with him for a few weeks, you realized you hadn't really known him at all.

Work Ransom demanded the respect and attention owed to the boss.

Home Ransom was softer and wore faded blue jeans instead of three piece suits.

He liked spending Saturday mornings at the market and he loved to cook.

And boy could he cook!

The one on one time with him at home had given you a whole new appreciation for your husband.

He opened up to you about things you were sure he'd never told anyone else.

-- -- -- --

Ball buster.

That's how he'd described her the first time he had worked with her on a project.

It was the reason he had recommended her for the vice president role when it had opened up.

Kind. Funny. Caring. Passionate. 

Those were the words that came to mind now when he thought of her.

She was the type of woman who could tell a dirty joke one minute and then have a serious conversation about his upbringing.

He'd been hesitant to include her at first, but their Saturday morning shopping trips were quickly becoming his favorite activity of the week.

-- -- -- --

You loved Ransom.

It hit you like a ton of bricks as you sat in the middle of a meeting at work, a month later.

You were supposed to be paying attention, but your eyes kept going across the table to where Ransom sat.

You couldn't explain how you knew, you just did.

When had it happened? You didn't know that either.

All you knew was that he was handsome and he was all yours.

At least on paper.

The joy faded from you as you remembered the two of you were roommates. Nothing more.

You wished that could change.

-- -- -- --

Ransom didn't know when it happened, but he realized one Saturday morning, a few months in, that he was in love with his wife.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her. He'd envisioned them being married for a few years, to solidify his role at the publishing company, and then divorcing as quietly as they had married.

Being in love complicated things.

It made him think about her happiness above his own.

Was she happy with him?

If she wasn't, was he prepared to walk away from her and the company to ensure her happiness?

Yes, he decided.

-- -- -- --

"We need to talk," he said, setting a manilla envelope on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?"

"Annulment papers."

"What?!" you asked in complete disbelief.

"I love you," he confessed. "If you're not happy, I'm -"

"I love you, too," you cut him off, joy filling your heart.

Moving around the island, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"An annulment would have cost you everything," you said.

"Your happiness means more to me," he said. "Even if it meant giving everything to Walt."

"The company is yours," you told him. "Forever."

"Ours."

-- -- -- --

"Are you coming in?"

She stood in the doorway to what had been his bedroom.

After their declaration of love, he'd properly courted her.

Taking her out on dates. Sending her flowers just because.

They'd kissed a lot and had made it to all the bases, as they say, except home.

That was the plan tonight, she'd told him.

They'd gone out for dinner and then she'd asked him to take her home.

Home to their home.

To their bedroom.

Her eyes met his as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. Letting it fall to the floor.

[superanimeidiot]

what was supposed to be a teeny tiny drabble (it’s not)

Ok so I was writing Karma’s confrontation with his mother and then THIS scene popped into my head. It doesn’t fit at all in the chapter (it’s supposed to be about Karma and his mom duh) but I really really wanted to write it anyway so I figured I would write the little scene and post it here but THEN it turned into this 2k word monstrosity that was SUPPOSED to be a SMALL SCENE but it decided it was going to make me stay up until 2 AM WRITING IT and it just wouldn’t LEAVE ME ALONE. So yeah I’m kinda sleep deprived and this has only been very lightly proofread and hasn’t gone through nearly as much fine-tuning as I normally put my writing through but it is currently 2:37 AM and I am satisfied with it for now so HERE HAVE THIS SCRAP I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

(also this is set the night Korosensei died. If I’m remembering canon right they killed Korosensei then, like, hid up in their classroom until leaving for graduation? Which is so messed up on so many levels like why did they go straight from a very traumatic event to their graduation without even seeing their families or SLEEPING???? So I hereby declare that, with the whole crisis thing, Kunugigaoka postponed the graduation ceremony and after they killed Korosensei Class E was taken to that government station place I vaguely remember they were taken to in canon and their parents were called to pick them up.)

Karma is curled up in a stiff plastic chair, knees pulled up to his chest, a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and his cellphone clutched between his fingers, when his father finds him. Gakuhou doesn’t say anything. He sits beside Karma in his own stiff plastic chair and watches him, not saying a word.

Karma swallows around the lump that’s been lodged in his throat since Korosensei died. “You don’t have to stay with me,” he says, his voice hoarse from the aforementioned lump. He hasn’t spoken since the mountaintop. That’s why the police wrapped him in the shock blanket. “Mom is on her way.”

“Okay,” his father says, but he doesn’t move. 

Karma is too tired to dredge up the familiar anger. He’s too tired for anything. He thinks he’ll be this tired forever - the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that reaches to the soul and weighs his whole body down. He traces a finger across the edge of his phone. 

“They’re going to get rid of you,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy, or vindictive, or smug - just very matter-of-fact. “The parents will be out for blood, and they can’t go after the government. You make a very nice scapegoat.”

His father gives a soft exhale that could, charitably, be called a laugh. “Yes,” he agrees. “My days at Kunugigaoka are over. Does that make you happy?” he asks, only mildly curious.

Karma taps a finger against his phone, considering. “If I was a nice person,” he says, slowly, “I would say no.”

Gakuhou does laugh at that. “You’re my son,” he says. “You were never going to be a nice person.”

Karma glares from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t contest it. “It serves you right,” he decides. “After all the crap you pulled in this school, you deserve to be kicked out on your ass.”

Gakuhou nods. “A fair assessment.”

They sit in silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Karma’s phone buzzes with a text from his mother, telling him they’re fifteen minutes away but traffic might delay them. Karma wonders what kind of traffic could possibly exist at this hour, then realizes the traffic that occurs after major, life-altering events. He sends back a thumbs up emoji. His hands, unoccupied once more, begin to tap a staccato beat against the back of his cell.

His father remains absolutely still in his chair, no signs of nervous movement or absentminded tics. Clearly, Karma’s restless nature was not inherited from him. He seems content to sit with Karma in silence, but Karma, suddenly, is not.

“Why are you here?” he blurts out, with zero forethought. 

Gakuhou tilts his head. “Do you want me to leave?”

“That’s not an answer.”

His father huffs a quiet laugh, nodding his acknowledgement. “I saw the news,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “The reporter was talking about some monster in Kunugigaoka, and the government wasn’t saying anything. Nobody knew what was going on, just that something was happening and it was bad.” He pauses, and Karma waits, wondering when his father would get to the point that led him to sitting in an uncomfortable chair, keeping his estranged son company in the small hours of the morning.

“And then your mother called me.”

Karma visibly startles in his chair as a bolt of surprise rips through him. He’d been staring at his shoes during his father’s story, but now he turns to openly gape at Gakuhou. Never in a million years would he guess his mother would ever willingly, of her own volition, speak to his father again.

“Was she mad?” He realizes how stupid the question is as soon as it leaves his mouth. 

A wry sort of smile twists Gakuhou’s lips. “I think furious is putting it lightly. I couldn’t understand some of what she said through the screaming, but I got the gist. You had run off to Kunugigaoka on some suicide mission for your class, and if anything happened to you she would string me up herself.”

“She didn’t really say that,” Karma denies, then hesitates. “Did she?”

“No,” Gakuhou says drily, rubbing a tired palm against his eyes. “She was much more graphic.”

Karma’s jaw drops again. He can picture it suddenly, playing clear in his mind like a movie: his mother red-faced and rumpled in her pajamas as she screams at his father through her cell phone, crying and issuing threats in the same breath; his father, sitting at his desk or on his couch, watching the news in blank shock and listening to his ex-wife’s promises to kill him if anything happened to Karma.

Karma swallows roughly. “You deserve that too.”

“Yes,” Gakuhou agrees. “I do.”

Karma nods once, sharply, waiting for Gakuhou to resume his explanation.

“Your mother ran out of steam eventually and hung up. I called Karasuma and asked him what was going on, and he told me what he could. I woke Gakushuu up, told him what was happening and not to answer the door or phone unless it was me, and then I drove here.”

Karma nods again, thoughtfully this time. “That’s still not an answer,” he points out. “Why are you here,” he stresses, “with me, sitting in this stupid chair when you could be literally anywhere else?”

Gakuhou frowns, slumping back in his chair in a casual show of exhaustion Karma has never seen on him. “You’re my son,” he says, a raw edge in his voice, as if that is all the explanation required. “My youngest child.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“No,” his father agrees, almost sadly. “You’re not. You don’t need me to protect you anymore. This is probably more for me than you, anyway. I needed to know you were safe.”

He scoffs. “I didn’t know you cared.”

The wry smile makes a reappearance. “Neither did I. I had convinced myself I didn’t care what happened to you or your mother. At least, until you popped up in the last place I expected to find you.” He sighs softly, head tilting back to watch the ceiling. “I have many things to apologize for, Karma. I messed up with you in so many ways. But I don’t think you want to hear them right now, so I thought I could sit with you until your mother got here and…” he pauses, searching for the right words. He must give up on finding them, though, because he sighs gustily and sinks lower into his chair. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he admits. “I doubt I offer much in the way of comfort. Do you want me to leave?”

Karma considers. “Any other night, I would probably say yes. But tonight…” 

Tonight, they killed Korosensei. Tonight, he scraped his nerves raw during his confrontation with his mother. Tonight, he’d been sitting by himself in a stiff chair, wrapped in a shock blanket, replaying the night in his head and feeling more and more adrift until his father sat down beside him and made him feel less alone. 

“Tonight, you can stay,” he says. It’s still not forgiveness. His father hasn’t apologized yet, and Karma still hasn’t decided whether he’ll grant it. If anything, it’s a white flag - a temporary cease-fire. For now, it’s enough.

Gakuhou nods, and they settle back into silence. 

A while later, his phone buzzes again. It’s another text from his mother. They’re five minutes away now. His time with his father is ticking away. He wonders how he should spend it. Silence is probably safest. Karma is too numb right now to work up enough anger for a fight, but if he opens his mouth and says the wrong thing he might mess up the fragile truce they’ve landed on. He realizes, to his slight consternation, he doesn’t want to mess it up. 

What he does want, he realizes, is the answer to one simple question. If he’s lucky, Gakuhou will answer. If he’s really lucky, he’ll be too numb with shock for the answer to hurt too badly. 

He fiddles with his phone some more, twisting it in his fingers as he considers whether to ask his next question.  “If I ask you something,” he says, haltingly, “will you give me an honest answer?”

“Yes,” is the immediate reply.

“You’ll tell me the truth?” he presses. “Even if it hurts me? Even if it makes me hate you?”

“I thought you already hated me,” Gakuhou says, amused. Then, more serious, “I won’t lie to you, Karma. Even if it hurts. Ask your question.”

Karma nods, still considering. He checks his phone and sees he only has a few minutes before his parents arrive. Whatever, he thinks, metaphorically tossing up his hands. I’ve been torturing myself with this for years. At least now I’ll know. 

“Were you sad when mom took me?”

He’d like to say the room grew quiet after he spoke, but that would be a lie. People are still bustling around them, fielding phone calls and doing whatever government people do after a major crisis. The world moves on, even when you’re falling apart. 

Still, in their corner of the room, Karma feels like a bubble has separated him and Gakuhou from the rest of the world. The noise of other people doesn’t exist anymore. For him, there is only silence and the sound of his heartbeat as he waits for Gakuhou to answer.

It takes a long time. Or maybe it just feels long because he’s holding his breath.

“When I watched her drive away,” his father says, measuring the words out bit by bit, “and realized that was it - when I realized she was taking you and you weren’t coming back…” He sighs, a heavy sound. “Yes. It didn’t feel real until that moment. I watched the car disappear and thought I was having a heart attack. I locked myself in my office and drank an entire bottle of sake until it stopped hurting. I didn’t cry,” he muses aloud. “I think I was too sad to cry. Too sad, and I didn’t think I deserved to. It was my fault, after all. I drove you both away. I didn’t have the right to cry about it.”

Karma rests his chin on top of his knees as he processes. If he was in his right mind, he would probably be angry. That’s his typical response to anything his father says or does. The anger still feels far away right now, but he knows he’ll feel it eventually. Maybe not tomorrow (today?) or even the next day - not with grief for Korosensei still so fresh in his heart. Eventually, though, he’ll replay his father’s confession and feel a blood boiling rage he won’t know what to do with. It’s what he’s been waiting for all these years: his father admitting he loved him, maybe even that he still loves him. It’s every wish he’s ever made since he was a little kid. He’ll feel angry and heartbroken all over again, and he won’t even have Korosensei to help him deal with it (and oh, that thought sends a fresh wave of grief over him, so powerful he almost drowns in it. He latches onto the numbness and sinks further into it. It’s safer there).

He isn’t angry now, though, just numb and a little sad. He lifts his chin from his knees and presses his face against them, wrapping the blanket even tighter around himself. He’s hiding - either from his father or the world in general. He doesn’t know for sure, and he doesn’t feel like analyzing it. 

“If you had told me that six years ago,” he says into his knees, muffled but still audible, “I would’ve forgiven you for anything.”

It’s the truth. Eight year old Karma would have done anything to hear that his father was sad he left, that he loved him enough to be sad. He would have let go of every bitter feeling in his heart and forgiven Gakuhou wholeheartedly for every misdeed. Eight year old Karma, he thinks, was an idiot. 

Not an idiot, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Nagisa chides. Just a child. Just a kid who wanted to hear that his father loved him. That’s not stupid. That’s just how kids are.

His father doesn’t say anything, but Karma didn’t really want him to anyway. They’ve both said their piece. It’s too late to change the past, and neither are even sure if they have a future. Sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. 

His phone buzzes, but this time it keeps buzzing. Twisting his head to the side so his cheek is pressed against his legs, he checks it. It’s his mother. She’s here, presumably, and looking for him. Time to go. He sighs, letting his feet fall to the floor as he stands, the blanket sliding from his shoulders and landing in a heap on his empty chair. He answers the call.

“Hi, mom,” he murmurs as he walks away. “I’m on my way out now.”

He doesn’t say goodbye.