sharksnshakes
work in progress
30 posts
laima, she/her, survival horror fanatic, sometimes I write.
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sharksnshakes · 2 months ago
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Matchmaker! Steve Rogers
You've been friends with Steve Rogers for a while now, and he just knows that you'll be a fantastic fit. It's not like he's actively trying to find his best friend, Bucky Barnes, a romantic partner, but he's not not trying to. And hey, who would he be to look a gift horse in the mouth?
If only Steve would take a step back and realize that the warm, fuzzy feeling he's getting in his chest isn't because he's playing matchmaker, but rather because he's the one with the crush on you.
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sharksnshakes · 4 months ago
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Night Out - Miniseries Masterlist
Started; 7/12/24
Finished; 7/31/24
This masterlist is specifically for Night Out, my Tim Drake x Reader miniseries!! Figured I'd compile all three parts rather than cluttering my main masterlist, which can be found here. Hope you enjoy >:)
(all content warnings listed in links)
!!more under the cut!!
Night Out (I)
When out at a dive bar with your friends, you step outside for a breath of fresh air and run into the Red Robin. For some reason, he seems... familiar?
Night Out (II)
You have a crush on Tim... and to your surprise, getting his attention won't be nearly as hard as you thought. But he keeps reminding you of Red Robin? That can't be right.
Night Out (III)
After discovering Tim is the Red Robin, his behavior starts to make a lot more sense. One confession leads to another…
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sharksnshakes · 4 months ago
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Night Out (III) - Tim Drake
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After discovering Tim is the Red Robin, his behavior starts to make a lot more sense. One confession leads to another...
AN; and we are done!! i hope u all enjoy the final installment of the tim drake miniseries. never done anything like this before and very grateful for the support <33 literally wouldn't have written it otherwise
Wordcount; 1k
TW; cursing, choking, minor injuries, tim being a simp
You don't have to puzzle over Tim's strange behavior for too long. Just days after the incident in the alleyway, you're watching a news report on the Red Robin, who was spotted fighting Dr. Freeze with Nightwing's help somewhere in the Diamond District.
The news anchors play a clip of Robin protecting civilians while Nightwing kicks ass in the background, and when Robin pushes an elderly man out of the way of Dr. Freeze's ray gun, you get deja vu; The arm flung in front of the civilian, the reaching for something in his utility belt--the vigilante's motions match Tim's exactly, right down to the damn batarang.
And then Dr. Freeze kicks Tim in the gut, and you can't keep watching.
You're not sure if you're the world's best detective, if Tim's horrible at hiding things, or if it was just plain luck, but ever since you put two and two together things have been making a lot more sense. Namely, why he constantly backs out of plans at the last minute and is busiest at 3am. His vigilante status might also have something to do with the ungodly levels of caffeine he consumes, but you're pretty sure he'd be drinking all that coffee regardless of whether he was Red Robin or not.
Unfortunately, you figured this out days before finals week, and you know that if you don't confront him you'll be distracted the whole time you're taking exams...
...Which is what leads you to where you are now. You're sitting in the passenger seat of Tim's fancy car (it's glossy black with custom upholstery to match--really, the whole 'Batman and Robin' thing should've been way more obvious) and chowing down on Big Belly Burger in a parking garage.
"So," you start, taking a sip of your drink to steel yourself, "I have something to tell you."
He swallows a gulp of food, brow furrowing. "Which is?"
"Y'might wanna put the food down for a second."
Tim huffs out a laugh. "No way it's anything that serious."
"Uh, I know you're Robin?"
He chokes.
Thirty seconds and several gulps of water later, Tim is staring at you with a dumbfounded expression that would be comical if the stakes of the situation weren't so high. Are the stakes high? You're not really sure. While you don't peg Batman as the type to have his vigilantes assassinate randos for figuring out their secret identities, he's a grown man running around dressed up like a bat. Who knows what goes on in his head?
Well. Tim might.
Regardless, Tim doesn't even attempt to dispute you. After sitting in silence for an additional two minutes, he just sort of... shrugs?
"Yeah. You're right."
You blink at him. You're not sure what you expected, exactly, but him owning up to it with zero hesitation was definitely not it. "You're just gonna admit it?"
"I mean-" he shrugs again. "What am I supposed to do? Dispute you? I'm sure you've got evidence."
You say nothing.
"You had no evidence?"
"I had a hunch," you protest, "And you just confirmed it!"
He groans, dropping his head into his hands. "You only had a hunch? No photos? No eyewitnesses?"
"It's almost finals week! What was I supposed to do, drop everything and research you instead of my term paper?"
"No, obviously not. Sorry. I'm just..."
"Shocked? Surprised? Caught off guard?"
"Well, you saw the news," he says dryly. Reaching for the hem of his shirt (also black, it was so obvious), he pulls it up a few inches to reveal a dark bruise splashed across his abdomen.
His incredibly toned abdomen--
You wince. "Ouch."
"Yeah, no kidding." At that moment, Tim's cheeks flush pink, and he quickly pulls his shirt back down. "Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to... you know."
"Nah, it's fine," you say, opting to stare out the window so Tim doesn't catch you blushing, "It's not a bad view, if that makes you feel any better."
Wait, what the fuck did you just say?
Your eyes go wide, and you immediately drop your gaze to your lap. There's a time and place for flirting with your best friend who's also Red Robin, and that time and place is not right after he's shown you his injuries and admitted to having a secret identity.
Except maybe it is, because when you risk a glance at Tim, his lower lip is pulled between his teeth and his eyes look just a touch hazy.
"You think I look good?" He murmurs, and you forget everything that's ever happened, ever.
"Yeah," you admit, looking around his face rather than at it, "And I was gonna tell you about that the other night. But, um, then we got interrupted."
Tim sucks in a small breath.
"So judging by your reaction, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that you feel the same way...?"
"No," he deadpans, "I'm just staring at you like you hung the moon because I'm bored."
You blink at him. "You better be fucking joking--"
Tim reaches across the console, cups your jaw in his hand, and pulls your lips onto his.
You gasp. He swallows up the noise, moving slowly, deliberately, like he's been thinking about this moment for a long time; his fingers tremble but he guides your movements regardless, pulling you as close as he can manage with the console in the way.
Tim makes a small, muted noise when you slide your fingers into his hair. It shocks both of you enough to break the kiss--you stare at each other, unblinking. Then someone moves and the cup of ketchup you'd been sharing tips over and launches itself all over Tim's lap.
Both of you burst into laughter.
"You know," Tim says a few moments later, "You figuring out that I'm Robin is, um... really hot," he confesses, cheeks turning the same shade as the ketchup he's wiping off of his pants.
"Really?" you ask, still trying to catch your breath between giggles.
He looks you dead in the eye. "Really."
You dissolve into laughter again, and somehow you just know that your relationship with Tim--whatever form it takes--is right.
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sharksnshakes · 4 months ago
Note
Hi I'm doing this on anon bcs I'm embarassed of how fast i'm asking this lmao butttttttt
...will you write a part two to the tim drake x reader?
PLS I BEG
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You have a crush on Tim... and to your surprise, getting his attention won't be nearly as hard as you thought. But he keeps reminding you of Red Robin? That can't be right.
AN; part one can be found here. not sure where i'm going with this yet BUT expect a part three. and maybe something else with kon. in my titans era
Wordcount; 1.1k
TW; some cursing, mentions of drinking, making out (you'll see)
As luck would have it, you're at the same hole-in-the-wall bar the next weekend. Red Robin sighting aside, cheap drinks are cheap drinks, and now you're crowded around a rickety table with the same friends as last time. Plus Tim.
A week's worth of deliberation has lead you to the conclusion that you have honest to God romantic feelings for him. Sure, Red Robin turned your head, but chances are slim to none that you'll ever see the dark haired vigilante again. Even if you did, you know nothing about his personal life! You don't even know his name! How could a relationship possibly work out?
You're doubling down your efforts, which is why you're wedged up against Tim's side, nursing a cool drink in your hands and refusing to feel bashful about the outfit you've got on tonight. Tim never goes out, ergo, he's only ever seen you in the baggy sweats and oversized tees you show up to lecture in. It's the perfect opportunity for you to dress up and flaunt your assets. If it worked on Robin, it'll work on Tim.
Right?
"Havin' fun?" You ask, glancing over at him.
Tim looks out of place, to put it mildly. He is the heir to Wayne Enterprises, after all, and you love him dearly, but his vintage sneakers and expensive-smelling cologne don't exactly fit in with the sweaty crowd of coeds.
"I think so?"
You smother a laugh. "Hey, at least you're not holed up in your apartment cramming for another test."
Tim frowns gently. "Yeah. You're right."
It feels like his comment holds some second meaning that's flying right over your head. You'd ask him about it, but before you get the chance, one of your mutual friends is grabbing you both by the wrists and dragging you into the makeshift dance floor.
After about fifteen minutes of bouncing and singing and laughing, the fragrant smoke and crush of bodies start to get to you. The music's pounding. The air is heavy. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the uncomfortable, oppressive feeling away.
"Hey." Tim appears at your side. He's got a steadying hand on your shoulder and his lips are practically on your ear. "Y'okay?"
If you weren't short of breath before, you definitely are now.
"Need some air," you shout back, fighting to be heard over the speakers. "I'll be back in a minute."
Tim's hand stays on your shoulder. "Let me come with you."
You want to tell him he doesn't have to. This is his first night out in ages, and the last thing you want to do is throw a wrench in it by dragging him outside; when you look at his face, though, there's genuine concern and care in his eyes. You nod.
"Lead the way," Tim shouts, and you reach for his hand as you push through the crowd. His fingers wrap firmly around yours, steady but not overbearing, and a horde of butterflies descend on your stomach.
Tim doesn't drop your hand until you're outside, sucking in the nighttime air. It's sticky and humid outside, a thunderstorm can be heard in the distance, but it's heavenly compared to inside.
You pace up and down the alleyway for a moment. Just like last week, there's nobody out here but you and the dumpster. And Tim.
Involuntarily, you glance up at the rooftops that loom above.
"I saw Red Robin here last week," you say absentmindedly, turning back to look at Tim.
"Oh really?" He clears his throat, following your gaze. "Was he, like... up there?"
"You don't seem particularly excited."
"Well, I mean... it's just Red Robin?"
You gape at him. "Just Red Robin? Tim, he's cool as fuck."
"He's literally just another Robin. There's been, what, like... five?"
"Three," you correct, walking back over to Tim, "And he's literally a superhero."
"Sidekick."
You laugh out loud. "What, you got beef with him?"
"No," Tim protests, a flush crawling up his cheeks. "He's just no Batman, is all."
"He's not supposed to be Batman. That's his whole thing. He's Robin, and he's cool as fuck," you reply, leaving no room for argument. You lean against the brick wall, gazing up at the clouded sky. "...Think he's out there somewhere?"
"Maybe."
You glance at Tim, but he's already staring at you.
"You look... really pretty tonight," he murmurs.
Your cheeks prickle with heat. "Thanks. You, ah, look good too."
At that moment, it hits you that you're alone with Tim Drake Wayne, the guy you're pining over, and that he's just called you pretty. A smile tugs as your lips. Red Robin hit on you in this very alleyway, and now Tim is hitting on you, too, and your confidence surges.
"Um, actually," you say, looking at Tim, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you--"
BANG!
A gasp dies in your throat as a couple stumbles through the back door. They're attached at the lips and deserving of an NC-17 rating. Your shock is quickly replaced with amusement (and, albeit, a healthy level of disgust) and you laugh in shock, your heart still pounding in your throat. The door rattles on its hinges, freshly scraped up from being slammed against the wall.
"Holy shit," you exhale. Only then do you notice that Tim pushed you behind him: an arm is protectively flung out in front of you, the other hand is pulling something out of his pocket. His thumb and forefinger are pinched around a small, sharp-looking object--it's black, it glints in the light, you don't know what it is. He stuffs it back into his jeans, huffing out a sigh of relief.
"Hey, you okay?" Tim asks, turning back around to face you.
"Fine." You nod. "Startled... but, uh, fine."
"Good," he says, eyes still tracking the couple. "Anyways. You were saying?"
There's a muffled moan from the other end of the alley.
"Another time," you say, grabbing Tim and pulling him inside before either of you see more than you want to.
As you rejoin the group, you wonder distantly what he was holding. A knife, maybe? But Tim's dead last on your list of people who'd walk around Gotham carrying a weapon. Then again, his net worth is staggeringly high, so maybe he does carry something...?
If you didn't know better, you'd say he acted like a vigilante.
You're not sure what to think.
But the bar's loud music leaves no room for thought, and you push your musings to the back of your mind. You're having fun with your friends, Tim called you pretty, and you just had the shit scared out of you by strangers--tonight's been eventful as is, so it looks like your detective work will just have to wait.
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sharksnshakes · 4 months ago
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Night Out - Tim Drake
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image source: batboyblog on tumblr
When out at a dive bar with your friends, you step outside for a breath of fresh air and run into the Red Robin. For some reason, he seems... familiar?
AN; writers block is brutal and disgusting and horrible. also. i am suffering from batfamily brainrot so expect more of this (part two can be found here!)
Wordcount; 787
TW; some cursing, mentions of drinking
It's a damp spring night when you meet the Red Robin. You're out with your friends at some college dive bar on the East Side. The area's a far cry from Gotham U's campus, but with free entry and cheap drinks, it's worth the elevated risk of mugging.
"Besides," one of your friends had declared on the way to the bar, "It just means we're more likely to see Nightwing's hot ass."
You're pretty sure the dark-haired vigilante operates exclusively in Bludhaven these days, but you're not a party pooper.
The music was good, the crowd was fun, but a small room of drunk co-eds had a way of heating up quicker than Firefly's flamethrower, and so you'd retreated out the side door for a breath of fresh air. You weren't stupid; you'd taken your small can of mace with you. This was Gotham, after all.
The alleyway was blissfully empty, save for a dumpster--quite the relief, seeing as the last time you'd been here, you'd stumbled upon a couple deep in the throes of a heated make out session. Taking a breath, you leaned up against the cool bricks in the alleyway and let yourself decompress.
"There's definitely better places to hang out around here than dark alleys," a voice says from somewhere behind you.
Living in the city has taught you many things. Most importantly, how to turn off potential predators by acting downright crazier than they do.
You spin on your heel and hold the mace like it's a pistol, coming face-to-face with none other than--
"Holy shit, you're Robin," you gasp, eyes widening.
Thank god you didn't actually mace him.
"That I am," he says, warily eyeing the can in your hand.
"Like... the Red Robin," you continue. You're blinking at him, openly gaping, and it occurs to you that you should probably stop pointing the can at his eyes. You stow the makeshift weapon in your back pocket. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were a mugger or something!"
"Hey, it's fine," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it's any consolation, you definitely would've scared the shit out of a mugger."
You laugh, but it's mostly in disbelief. Red Robin is standing mere feet away from you, domino mask and yellow cloak and green pants and all, and you're suddenly very thankful you'd gotten dressed up to go out tonight. For a split second, you swear you see him give you a quick once over. But no, there's no way Robin's checking you out.
He glances around the alleyway for a moment, almost awkwardly, before speaking again. "...Any reason you're out here?"
"I'm out with my friends," you say, motioning to the building behind you, where the bar's logo is printed in peeling white vinyl. "Needed some air. Somehow, smoke and asthma don't make a good combination," you joke.
"Can't imagine why," he grins, and holy shit Red Robin thinks you're funny.
"You got any fun, exciting plans tonight?"
He hesitates.
"Wait, you don't have to answer. I know, top secret Batman stuff--"
"Nah, not that secret." It's dark in the alleyway so maybe you're not seeing things right, but you swear you can see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Just patrolling. Y'know. Keeping an eye out for muggers and mace-wielding asthmatics."
You laugh. "Sounds boring."
"Definitely could use a drink." He glances at the side door with an unreadable expression.
"Rough start to the night?"
"You could say that."
A brief silence stretches between the two of you. Traffic and the faint pounding of the bar's music fill the space, and for some reason, despite never having met Robin and likely never meeting him again, it feels... almost familiar.
"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one stuck at work tonight. One of my best friends, Tim, had to bail last minute since he's got an exam to study for. So, like, you're not suffering alone!" you add, thinking back to the guy you've kind of been maybe having romantic feelings for lately.
Robin chokes.
"Shit, you okay? Need me to, like, slap you on the back or something?"
"Nope," he says, voice raspy.
"You're sure?"
"Positive." He gives you an awkward thumbs-up.
"I should probably let you get back to work, then," you sigh, turning back to the side door and grasping the handle. "And I should get back in there. Don't need my friends worried about me."
When you turn back around, it's just you and the dumpster.
"Fuckin' impressive," you mutter to nobody but yourself. "See ya, Robin."
You step back inside. The door closes behind you and... fuck.
You forgot to ask for a picture.
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sharksnshakes · 6 months ago
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New Perspective- Leon Kennedy
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After losing a bet with friend and fellow DSO agent Leon Kennedy, he takes you for a ride on his motorcycle. Unforeseen consequences include windburn, watery eyes, and maybe developing a crush on him. Maybe.
AN; so i'm back with another installation of bestie leon wanting to be more than besties. you can read as a continuation of this one, anyways post-re2 leon is still on the brain and likely will be forever
Wordcount; 1.1k
TW; mentions of a potential motorcycle crash, mildly suggestive
Never again are you making a bet with Leon Kennedy.
"What were the terms again? Five minutes?" He asks, a shit eating grin on his face.
You speak through gritted teeth. "Yeah. Five."
Leon's grin widens.
"Shut up," you say halfheartedly, warily glancing down at the motorcycle you're both perched on.
"Didn't say anything, sweetheart."
You roll your eyes and zip your jacket up.
You're not sure how Leon's bike is supposed to safely carry you at all, let alone through busy downtown streets, without throwing one of you off or blowing up or spinning out of control or something. Suffice to say, you're not a fan of motorcycles--Leon knew that when you'd made the bet, and you'd only agreed because you'd been so certain that you'd win. Why else risk life and limb on the back of his Ducati?
That was the thing about Leon Kennedy and bets, though, because you've come to realize that he's got a way of winning regardless of how the odds are stacked. It's great for field work, but it's also a massive pain in your ass, because (news flash) you lost and now you'll have to endure a five minute ride on his death trap of a motorcycle.
"Let's get it over with," you sigh, looping your arms around his waist. The engine purrs beneath you, sending a shudder through your body.
"Y'know," he muses, and you can hear the grin in his voice, "I bet I could do a wheelie."
You laugh, you hope he doesn't feel the slight tremble in your hands, you hope he can't hear the nervous twinge to your voice. "Absolutely fucking not."
He drives slowly through the parking garage. Most DSO staff have already left for the night, and it's probably better that way, because the last thing the two of you need is for a hotshot supervisor to call you out on your antics. Meaning Hunnigan. Because if Hunnigan saw that neither of you were working on the literal mounds of paperwork gracing your desks, she'd probably hit you with a Jeep.
"Might wanna hold on tighter than that," Leon says offhandedly, revving the engine as you approach the street entrance.
"I'm not your backpack, Kennedy."
He chuckles. "Didn't think you'd know the lingo."
"You know that nobody says 'lingo' anymore, right? This is why Claire says you sound like an old man."
"Well, suit yourself," he shrugs, and suddenly you're rocketing into traffic.
You curse violently, digging your fingers into Leon's sides hard enough to bruise. You swear you feel him laughing, but you can't hear a damn thing over the engine and you're more focused on not falling into oncoming traffic.
"Fuck you, Kennedy," you mumble against his leather jacket, your eyes tightly shut.
The agent banks around a turn and you just barely hold back another string of curses. As his body shifts in the seat, you can feel the muscles in his sides stretch and shift and move beneath your fingers, and, wow, he's built, and now your cheeks are pricking with heat. You try not to think about it.
"You okay back there?" Leon calls, bringing the bike to a slow stop at a red light.
"Haven't decided yet?"
"Well, lucky for you, we're at-" he stops, glancing quickly at his watch. "-The two minute mark. Only three to go."
"Technically," you say, peeling yourself off of his back, "It's already been five, if you factor in the drive from the parking garage. So I say we head back."
He casts a glance over his shoulder at you, a smile playing across his lips. "That wasn't the deal, sweetheart."
"Would you quit with the 'sweetheart'?"
"You'd prefer 'backpack', then?"
"I'd prefer nothing, actually," you tease back, even though a tiny voice in your head riots at the thought. This banter with Leon is nothing new. You go back and forth like this in the office, on jobs, whenever, but perched on the back of Leon's bike has you feeling like you've crossed a line with the teasing somehow, like maybe he's actually flirting with you and maybe you're not actually minding it.
"Yeah, well..." The light changes to green. "Nevermind. Hang on, yeah?"
This time, you're feeling brave enough to divert some of your attention from clinging to Leon like your life depends on it, and instead you glance to the sides and take in the bustling downtown scene around you.
The sun's just barely set, casting a dusky haze over the streets. Pedestrians clog the sidewalk, passing through pools of golden lamp-post light; some duck into stores, some leave their apartments, some walk their dogs. You pass a restaurant with outdoor seating, a bookstore, a bank, and you've seen all of these places before on your daily commute, but the back of Leon's motorcycle is affording you a new perspective.
You turn your head to look at the other side of the street and catch a waft of Leon's cologne in the process. It's faint, but distinctly him. It's enough to bring the tiny voice in the back of your head to center stage, where it drenches the situation in rosy colors and 'what if's and 'sweethearts', grabbing you by the shoulders and practically injecting fantasized scenarios into your head. Everything from grocery shopping to painting your living room to getting in bed--
Oh, fuck, are you being a creep?
"Just another minute!" Leon shouts.
You nod against his back and swallow with a dry mouth. Your cheeks are flushed, you can feel it, and you hope you'll be able to play it off as windburn. The last minute of your ride is spent not unlike the first: with eyes slammed shut, ignoring Leon's heartbeat at your chest and ignoring the way your own heart whispers that there's more to be had here than just a friendship.
When Leon finally parks the bike in the garage and cuts the engine, your chest unclenches. Your five minutes are over and you are never getting on a motorcycle again.
The blond helps you off, looking far too amused.
"So, sweetheart... you liked the ride, yeah?" He raises his brows at you suggestively, but it's so exaggerated that you're positive he's just doing this on purpose.
You still nearly choke on your spit.
All the way back to the office, the two of you go back and forth over whether the Ducati's evil and dangerous and a horrible investment. He's laughing, insisting it isn't necessarily deadly, and you keep laughing incredulously and saying that's not a strong argument. Things feel normal again, and you've effectively written off the tiny voice in the back of your head as a bizarre, anxiety-induced response to your first and last ride on a motorcycle.
But his hand lingers on your shoulder for a little too long when you say you're heading out for the night, and after the rapid-fire scenarios that flashed through your head on that goddamned bike, you're not so sure you got rid of that tiny voice after all.
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sharksnshakes · 9 months ago
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I Knew You Would - Leon Kennedy
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Leon Kennedy, your coworker and friend, does not want to just be friends. Too bad he hasn't told you that.
AN; honestly this fits with any post-re2 leon era, but i had death island on the brain. horrible movie. one of my absolute favorites. happy late valentine's
Wordcount; 226
TW; um... use of 'pookie' ig 😭 its ironic guys i swear
Leon's never been one for sappy shit. He doesn't have it in him, not after... well, everything. A lifetime of zombies and paperwork will do that to you. Still, when you set down a teddy bear on his desk with the utmost authority, he finds himself more confused than annoyed.
"His name's Pookie," you say, gesturing to the lettering on the pink ribbon around the bear's neck.
"Good morning to you, too," Leon mutters, leaning back in his chair and looking up at you with furrowed brows.
"For Valentine's Day," you add, pushing the bear closer to Leon. "Since we were both working."
Never mind the fact that you're just friends and nothing more. Just friends, even if Leon's been wanting to be more than friends for a long while now. Not that he's told you.
You lean against his desk, casual, as if you're not on the clock right now. "Was gonna get one for Chris, but I didn't think he'd appreciate it the same way you would."
"You thought I'd appreciate this?" he asks, trying and failing to tamp down the amused grin tugging at his lips.
"Oh, I knew you would."
He huffs out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're too much."
You laugh as you walk away. "You love me, Kennedy."
If only you knew how right you were.
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sharksnshakes · 1 year ago
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Where They Kiss You - Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (Multi)
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source: collinnmckinley on tumblr
Because sometimes a kiss on the lips isn't enough.
AN; screaming and kicking my feet fr.
TW; none!
On your forehead
Simon "Ghost" Riley, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, John Price
The corner of your mouth
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin
The crown of your head
Alejandro Vargas, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Philip Graves
On your cheeks
John "Soap" MacTavish, Philip Graves, Alejandro Vargas, Konig
On your wrists
Simon "Ghost" Riley, Philip Graves
On your palms
Konig, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
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sharksnshakes · 1 year ago
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Just A Scratch - Alejandro Vargas
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You pull your stitches when getting a late night glass of water. Alejandro's up, too, and insists on giving you a hand.
A/N; okay so this can be romantic or platonic it's up to you. reader is gn as per usual. anyways i love alejandro and so should you
Wordcount; 470
TW; brief mention and description of injury, mentions of blood, improper use of a kitchen sink </3
It's just past two in the morning when you hear the kitchen door creak open.
You're huddled by the sink, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, your hair mussed and wild and still damp from the shower. Tears bead in your eyes. Vision blurred, you turn around to see whoever's interrupting your impromptu first aid session.
"You're hurt."
Alejandro stands in the doorway. He'd been running the mission with you, had seen the attacker slash at your shoulder with the knife, had seen the medics stitch you back up on the ride home.
"I thought you had been fixed?" He asks, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe.
"Tore my stitches," you grit out, taking short, sharp breaths. "Medics are sleeping. Didn't wanna wake 'em."
"You realize that taking care of you is their job, yes?"
You wave a dismissive hand, return your attention to your injured shoulder.
Alejandro sighs. The floor creaks under his feet as he steps closer, coming to a stop at your side. He leans against the countertop, glances at your arm. Then to the glass you'd plucked from the upper shelf of a nearby cabinet, the door still wide open, just as you'd left it.
"This is probably so unsanitary," you laugh, vision blurry with tears. "Fuck."
"Eh, I do not know about that." Alejandro gestures to the fridge. "It is still full of protein bars. Not an egg, a fruit, or a piece of meat in sight."
You laugh again, sniffling slightly.
"Cariña," Alejandro says quietly, "Please. Let me help you."
"I'm fine."
"You are clutching your arm like it will fall off if you let go. I would not call that... what did you say? Fine?"
"Can handle it by myself."
"Ah, but just because you can do something on your own does not mean you should."
You fall quiet for a moment.
"You are stubborn," Alejandro continues, "And that is a good thing to be. Tonight, though, you may want to reconsider."
"You're one to talk," you mumble, staring into the sink.
"Which is why you should take me seriously." He shifts, turning to face you with a pointed expression. "It is not easy for me to see you like this."
You exhale, pulling the towel away from your arm. "I know."
"You do not have to do this alone."
"I know."
"So don't," he urges.
After a moment's hesitation, you groan in defeat, holding the bloodied towel out to Alejandro, silently giving him permission to tend to you. If he's bothered by the blood on the cloth, he doesn't show it, taking it from you and reaching past you to wring out some of the blood and rewet the towel.
"Thanks," you mutter.
He begins to clean the wound, fingertips gentle and warm on your skin. "Any time, cariña."
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sharksnshakes · 1 year ago
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Open Arms - John "Soap" MacTavish
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Soap might be the tiniest bit jealous of the throw pillows you nap with. You might just have to do something about that.
A/N; can someone please give soap a hug
Wordcount; 605
TW; none... but beware of tooth rotting fluff
"Why don' you hold me like that, huh?"
You blink a few times, swallow twice. Freshly awoken from a nap, your mind is still foggy, and you glance halfheartedly towards the sound of the voice--your boyfriend, Johnny MacTavish--with bleary eyes.
As you fully come to, you see him sitting at the opposite end of the couch, an amused expression on his face.
It takes you a moment to speak. "Huh?"
"I said," he repeats, leaning back on the cushions and giving you a sideways glance, "Why can' you hold me like that?"
Your brows furrow.
He rolls his eyes teasingly in response, gesturing to the throw pillow you have clutched in your grip. It's drawn close to your chest, chin hooked over the edge.
"You're talking about the pillow?" You ask drowsily, voice equal parts teasing and confused. "You're jealous of a pillow? I didn't take you for the type."
"Och, shut up," he chuckles, waving a dismissive hand in mock irritation.
You take a breath, momentarily shut your eyes, and stretch out on the cushions like a cat in sunshine. When you look up at Johnny again, his attention is elsewhere, looking at something on his phone. Frowning softly at the sight, you nudge the edge of his thigh with your foot.
He glances over at you, a brow raised. "Yeah, lass?"
You wordlessly pat the empty space on the cushion beside you.
This time, your boyfriend's the confused one. "What?"
"C'mere," you say, dropping the throw pillow to the ground and making a show of stretching your arms open.
His eyes glitter with amusement. That familiar, easy smile is tugging at the corner of his lips again. "Y'really don' have to. I was just jokin' with you."
"Lucky for you, I take everything seriously," you banter back, patting the cushion once more.
After a moment's hesitation, Johnny shifts to face you fully. "And... you're sure about this?" He asks, biting the inside of his lip. His gaze catches on your open arms, your sleepily determined expression. "You're positive?"
You don't miss his hesitance. When you speak again, you're mindful to keep your tone soft and inviting. "I wouldn't offer unless I wanted it."
You watch him swallow, Adam's Apple bobbing before he finally bridges the gap and settles himself within your open arms. There's not enough room for the two of you to lay side by side, so you lay flat on your back, Johnny sprawling overtop of you like some sort of weighted blanket. His head falls to rest on your chest. Almost instinctively, you reach up and card your hands through his hair.
You swear you hear him purr.
"Good?" You ask quietly as his arms wrap snugly around your waist. The hand that's not playing with his hair rubs gentle circles on his upper back, almost imitating the way you'd hold a stuffed animal.
"Mhm," he mumbled.
Leaning down an inch or so, you press a kiss to the crown of his head and relish his contented sigh.
For a while, there's nothing but a calm, slow quiet. There's the distant sound of the ventilation system kicking on; the faint scent of dish soap hanging in the air from when you'd worked together on chores earlier in the day. Johnny's chest rises and falls in time with your own.
After several minutes of muted hums and soft breaths, he speaks up, voice slightly muffled. "So," he murmurs, "You're tellin' me this is how you treat our pillows every time you settle in for a nap?"
You shrug. "Basically."
He groans quietly, burying his face in your chest. "...Lucky fuckin' bastards."
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sharksnshakes · 1 year ago
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Oooo hello!! I'd like to request some headcanons for Karl Heisenberg with a boyfriend who's always tired and super touch starved? The kind of guy to beg Karl to come lay down with him so Karl can be his big spoon. I'm literally struggling to keep my eyes open as I type this lmao ( By the way, your anon asks are turned off! )
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So what if the most dangerous Lord in the village could use a nap every once in a while?
A/N; yes ofc i gotchu. ty for requesting heisenberg, there's not nearly enough fluff content for him......... i'm so normal abt him i SWEAR. also ty for letting me know about the anon asks, that should be fixed now!!
Wordcount; 310
TW; none. unless you need to be warned about semi-domestic fluff
You've said it once and you'll say it again, there's no better place for a nap than Heisenberg's factory
It's warm, and the constant rumble of machinery is the perfect white noise, and there's a comfortingly smoky scent to the place--almost like a campfire--and really, it's no surprise that you get drowsy
Obviously Karl will never let you hear the end of it ("Am I boring you, buttercup?") and if he's not teasing you about your exhaustion, he's trying to ignore you. Keyword trying, because for someone who's ignoring you, he's quick to turn around and glance at you with an amused expression on his face
Eventually he'll say something along the lines of "if you're really that tired, you oughta go lay down" which usually results in you saying "not without you!"
Karl's endlessly stubborn, but you're endlessly stubborn as well, it's one of the traits that he likes about you, after all. So the two of you go back and forth: you plead with Karl to take a break and nap with you, Karl pretends to ignore you and makes sarcastic comments every time you yawn
This back and forth battle between the two of you can last anywhere from a minute to an hour, but when you hear Karl sigh deeply you know that you've won. It also probably helps that you're perched on one of his stools and lying facedown on a nearby tabletop, half-asleep already
He walks over to you with a slightly grudging look on his face (but there's a fond warmth in his eyes) and he claps his hand on your shoulder because he knows you appreciate the physical touch
Grumbles something about this being a "one-time thing" as you lead his out of his workshop... but you both know it's a lie
I mean. How could he ever say no to you?
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sharksnshakes · 1 year ago
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Killers' Big Spoon vs. Little Spoon! HCs
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Everybody has a soft spot. Even killers in the fog... right?
AN; still very conflicted over some of 'em but fuck it we ball. monstercuddlers, your time is now
TW; none i can think of
Big spoon
CALEB QUINN, Frank Morrison, Ji-Woon Hak, Albert Wesker, Herman Carter, Pinhead
Little spoon
Philip Ojomo, Max Thompson Jr.
Both
EVAN MACMILLAN, JOEY, Pyramid Head, Danny Johnson, Kazan Yamaoka
Would never be caught dead cuddling with anybody (or so they say)
ALBERT WESKER, Danny Johnson, Kazan Yamaoka, Evan MacMillan
...What do spoons have to do with cuddling?
Freddy Kreuger, Michael Myers, Pinhead, Max Thompson Jr.
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sharksnshakes · 1 year ago
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Bad Dream? - Stephen Strange
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Gn! reader wakes up from a nightmare when taking a midday nap. Good thing a certain sorcerer (and a certain cloak) is around to ground them.
A/N; as a throwback to my very first post on this blog pls enjoy some stephen strange hurt/comfort that's been in my drafts for an actual eternity!! use of (y/n)
Wordcount; 542
TW; none i can think of! other than (some) mutual pining and stephen being emotionally constipated but what's new.
You jerked awake with a start, a strangled sound ripping itself from your throat.
"(y/n)?" Stephen's voice called.
Chest heaving, you pawed at your eyes, wiping away hot tears and cold sweat.
"Hey," Stephen said, louder this time. Your surroundings started coming back into focus--you were on the couch, you must've drifted off, and the cushion you were sitting on sagged slightly as the sorcerer sat down beside you. "(y/n)? Breathe, alright? Breathe."
You followed his instructions, attempting to steady your semi-hyperventilating. As you came down from your rude awakening, you looked around once more: you were in the Sanctum Sanctorum, curled up on the couch in the library. The grandfather clock boasted the time, it was just after three in the afternoon.
"Breathe," Stephen repeated.
Though you'd seen Stephen sit down beside you before, it took you until this moment to actually realize it.
He watched you with concern. The Cloak had wrapped itself around your shoulders--How did it get there? You sure didn't remember. You were clutching Stephen's hands in a clammy, shaky death grip.
Dropping his hands like they were hot stones, you stared into the oriental rug on the floor. This was not the way you wanted to end your nap.
"Sorry," you mumbled, voice raspy from sleep. "I didn't mean to... you know."
"Are you alright?"
You sighed. "Not really."
A steaming mug appeared in Stephen's hands a moment later, and he handed it to you. It was filled with a sweet-smelling tea.
"Rose," he supplemented, gesturing to the mug. "Good for nerves."
"Thanks," you echoed, taking a small sip. The near-scalding liquid was at an ideal temperature to warm up the cold that had buried itself deep within you. "...Sorry."
"For what?"
You glanced up at Stephen, confused as to why he seemed so nonchalant.
"For using your hands like a stress ball and making you go our of your way to get me tea?"
He chuckled, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "For starters, it wasn't so bad. And, secondly, conjuring tea is hardly going out of my way--though I certainly would've. For you."
"Did I interrupt anything important?"
"No."
"You, uh, don't have to stay-"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You frowned. "Huh?"
"You're... not the only one who has nightmares," he supplemented, shrugging. "I've found that getting them out makes them a bit less intimidating."
You sighed, taking another sip of tea.
"It's up to you, though."
After another beat of silence, you explained the bad dream. Stephen nodded along as you explained. The Cloak rubbed your shoulders soothingly, and you found yourself leaning into its warmth.
"You're right, you know," you finally said, "I do feel marginally better."
"Told you so."
"Uh-huh. Rub it in, Doctor Strange."
You met his eyes. He was smiling at you, you were smiling at him... and you were instantly aware of just how close he was to you. Your thighs were touching, the Cloak drawing you closer together, the two of you sharing its warmth-
"I'll be in the study if you need anything," Stephen said, quickly standing up. He swallowed, shaking his head as if to clear it.
"I... yeah," you nodded, feeling warmth crawl up your neck. "Yeah. Thanks."
He gave you a nod, and disappeared through the door without another word.
It was safe to say you wouldn't be taking any naps for a while.
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sharksnshakes · 2 years ago
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Foggy Mirrors - Jervis Tetch
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You can never have too much of a good thing.
AN; more jervis tetch fluff becuase i said so
Wordcount; 507
TW; bathing (reader washes jervis's hair), tooth-rotting fluff, levels of intimacy the likes of which jervis has never experienced
You run your fingers through his damp hair, taking care not to scratch or scrape at his scalp. Below you, Jervis shivers; each pass of your hands has him melting into your touch, though it’s clear he’s trying to stay at least a little on guard. He teeters on the edge of comfort and caution, oscillating between the two as you wet his hair. 
Worrying your lip between your teeth, you lean forward slightly, let your hands fall to his shoulders. 
“Jervis?” 
You’re facing him now, watching his side profile. His eyes are closed. Slammed shut, really, tiny wrinkles feathering out from the corners, like he can’t bear to take a look at the world around him. 
“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft. “Is this… okay? I can stop. Just say the word.” 
It takes a moment, but he shakes his head softly. Steam rises around you in the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror, casting a chalky sheen on the small window that runs along the seam of the ceiling. 
“No, my dear,” he says, voice rough. “It’s quite alright.” 
“Are you sure?” 
“Positive.” His voice is quiet, yes, but not the same quiet as late at night or early in the morning once you’ve both woken up. It’s small. Unsure. 
“Try to relax. I’ll make this quick,” you reply, tracing a small circle into the skin where his shoulder and neck meet. 
Jervis shudders. Water laps at the sides of the tub, spraying warm droplets onto your jeans. 
“No- uh, t-take your time,” he stammers, eyes shut. “Please.” 
“You let me know,” you murmur, tucking a stray piece of damp hair behind his ear. With that, you lean back, reaching for the shampoo bottle and depositing a generous amount in your palms. 
After working it into a sudsy lather, you gently place your hands back on Jervis’ head. He shivers again, this time softly, and you slowly begin to spread the shampoo throughout his hair. 
After a few moments, you notice that his shudders are closer to purrs--a glance at his face tells you his eyes, while shut, are no longer full of tension. His lashes flutter softly, the backs of your nails scraping gently at the base of his neck. When he groans softly, his eyes snap open, a red flush blooming on his cheeks. 
You pretend not to notice. It’s more for his sake than yours, and you wordlessly continue your ministrations.
When you start in on the conditioner, gently spreading it along the ends of his hair, you feel him lean into your hand. There’s a comforting weight to him, a familiar scent of spices and firework smoke, but also a trace of perfumed hair product.
The process doesn’t take long. Once you’re sure the product is rinsed from Jervis’ hair, you give his shoulders a final, comforting squeeze, then move to leave. 
His hand finds your wrist and you turn, blinking at him owlishly. 
“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice soft. 
“I… of course.” You glance at the door, clear your throat. "Anytime."
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sharksnshakes · 2 years ago
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Random Traits Gotham Villains Find Attractive! HC's
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Love's hard to come by in Gotham City, but that doesn't mean people stop looking--even villains.
A/N; gotham has a special place in my heart and i'm making it everyone else's problem!! but yeah idk these are just my Hot Takes, hope y'all enjoy (gif via giphy)
Wordcount; 139
TW; none i can think of!
Jeremiah Valeska: innovation, craftiness, unpredictability, someone who knows what they want
Edward Nygma: self-awareness, spontaneity, the kind of person who gets up after being knocked down and will keep chasing their goals regardless of what's in their way
Jerome Valeska: grit, persistence, someone who has a unique worldview, like an artist who can see beauty in the mundane
Victor Zsasz: independence, somebody who's unapologetically themselves, isn't afraid to speak their mind, and isn't easily shaken
Jonathan Crane: introspectiveness, someone who's their own person first, the black sheep of a group
Jervis Tetch: individuality and open-mindedness, the kind of person who's a good listener and doesn't easily blend in with a crowd
Oswald Cobblepot: reliability, the friend who waits for you to finish tying their shoes while the rest of the group walks away, imagination
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sharksnshakes · 2 years ago
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Dinner? - Albert Wesker
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Wesker keeps calling you into his office to run point. It's definitely not anything deeper than that, right?
A/N; wesker? with a crush? unspeakable. gn!reader
Wordcount; 629
TW; one singular curse word, use of (y/n) and (l/n)
"(l/n)," Wesker calls, "A word?"
Startled, you glance up from your paperwork and cast a glance behind you. your captain's sticking his head out of his office door, watching you expectantly. You hadn't even heard it open.
It felt like Wesker was calling you into his office to run point every three seconds, and while Jill and Chris had reassured you the action was complimentary, you had your doubts. Even so, you set down your pen and shuffled your paperwork, nodding at the captain.
"Sure. Of course," you reply, meeting Wesker's eyes. The door shuts before you can finish speaking, and you resist sighing out loud.
It's not that you don't respect Captain Wesker: you do, really! No, you just feel like a bug under a microscope whenever you're in that office. You two compare notes--or, rather, Wesker asks your opinion, and you give it to him--and you leave feeling like you've either said the wrong thing, been too honest, or some combination of both.
It doesn't help that his added attention always made your cheeks flush. When he's hanging onto your every word and looking at you like that? It only made you even more hesitant to face him... he's attractive, and he knows it.
You passed Chris on your way to the office, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs-up. That was the other thing: Chris was practically Wesker's right hand man, and yet, you are the one who's constantly being called into his office. You tried not to think too hard about it as you pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Wesker was seated at his desk, focusing intently on a map of sorts, and you knocked softly on the doorframe.
The blond glanced up. "Come in. Shut the door behind you."
You nodded, closing it with a soft click. Your footfalls were quiet on the carpeted floor, and as you approached the desk, you waited for his inevitable questions.
"Dinner."
Your brow furrowed. "What about it?"
"Should I pick you up at seven?"
You blinked owlishly, shaking your head as if to physically clear it. "I'm sorry," you said, "Are you asking me on a date right now?"
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Seven, then?"
Holy shit.
Wesker was asking you on a date. Like... actually.
"I... is that, like, against S.T.A.R.S. protocol? Dating my supervisor?" you asked, mouth moving faster than your brain. You wanted to take the words back the second they left your mouth, but when Wesker chuckled, amused, and leaned forward, chin in his palms, all of your self-doubts shriveled up and died.
"Would you like to go to dinner with me, or not?"
That is the question, isn't it? You'd been so certain of his dislike for you, but now? You prided yourself on being able to read people, but considering current circumstances, it was an ability you'd have to re-evaluate.
Well... how bad could it be?
"Uh. I'd--I think it could be fun," you finally answered, grasping for the right words. "Sure. I mean, yes! Yes, I'd like to go to dinner with you."
"Wonderful. I'll pick you up at seven."
He glanced back down at the map, and you failed to understand how he managed to exude the confidence required to ask people out so casually.
"I'll see you later, then?"
"Yeah. See you," you echoed, stepping out of his office.
The door shut behind you with a slight click, and you stood there, shocked.
You had a date tonight.
Had he always liked you?
"Looking a little pale there, (y/n)," Jill joked from across the room. "You alright?"
Oh, she didn't even know the half of it.
...What were you going to wear?
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sharksnshakes · 2 years ago
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Killers' Love Languages HCs - Danny Johnson, Evan Macmillan
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Hard to believe that even killers could have love languages... but weirder things have happened, right?
AN; would you look at that? two red flags, just in time for valentine's day <3 <3 <3 this was honestly fun to write so if you wanna see other killers lmk. anyways enjoy
Wordcount; 222 (whoa...)
TW; dbd typical violence, mentions of physical violence, suggestive themes, mentions of injury, mentions of stalking, ghostface and trapper are red flags but red is our favorite color
Danny Johnson
Physical Touch
He's clingy, ridiculously so. I mean, he's the Ghostface, he stalks people, and if that doesn't say clingy, I'm not sure what does! Besides, keeping a hand on your shoulder at all times just reinforces that he's yours and nobody else's--and vice versa.
Gift Giving
Danny's never been one for words. After all, isn't a picture worth a thousand of them? That's why his favorite thing to give you are the photos that he takes. Whether they're of him, of you, or of something else entirely, you'll be receiving plenty.
Evan Macmillan
Quality Time
Evan has always been a busy man. Quiet, peaceful moments are hard to come by, especially in the Entity's realm, and so, Evan finds himself leaning into any time he gets to spend with you. Doesn't matter if it's in or out of trial, he'll value being around you all the same.
Acts of Service
Where words fail, Evan's actions speak. If he catches sight of you in a trial, he turns the opposite direction. If you get caught in a bear trap, he stalks over and wrenches the metal teeth from your ankle without a second thought. But, like, if you ask him about it, don’t expect an answer.
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