#and how i made half the table cry with it and how proud i was of myself

[knivesrey]

The way you win at DnD is making your friends CRY!!!¡

[from-izzy]

[00:05] | nct mark lee

"You're not behind," it prompts the grip on his forearm to tighten, "but you are tired and you deserve to rest now."

pairing » nct mark lee x gn!reader (fast proofread once - lmk if i missed anything!)

trope/au » established relationship au!, non-idol au!

genre » maximum hurt and comfort because i need someone to do this for me AND IT'S EXAM SEASON FOR MEJSDKFJHDF, mwork is a fluffy boyfriend in these angst times, mark holding you tight and telling you that everything is fine, boyfriend mark lee concerned for your wellbeing, mark letting you rest against his chest

word count, estimated reading time » 1707, ~6 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » reader is stressed with academics, reader hasn't slept in a while, mark implied to be physically bigger and taller

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist🤍 'especially to you...'

HEYYYY HIIII! double update in a month which is very rare for me now 😭 and thanks for beta-ing a long time ago @sohnric !!

i def still love writing but life commitments can get heavy sometimes 🥹 and with that, this one is for everyone who is in exam prep or just having a hard time academically but also just anyone who needs comfort right now! good luck on your studies and commitments everyone! you can do this!! 🫂

with that being said, my first exam is tomorrow and i am tired-

Literally from the side, you hear the door creaking open, the click of its button free from the metal that houses it on its frame. As always, you choose to ignore it even though your heart drops slightly closer to your stomach. You don't dare to tear your eyes away from the document on your screen, choosing to look at the scorching white with your tired, slightly red eyes.

He called out for you but the only thing he's greeted with is your fingers rapidly against your keyboard. Mark is no longer surprised by your dismissive actions, sighing when it seems like the rhythm becomes faster. 

Slowly, he approaches your study area, a folded finger rubbing against his eyes in an attempt to blink the tiredness away even if it's just for a little bit. When he's close enough to see what you're working on, he can't help but feel proud of your progress. The title of the document takes him back to just a few days ago when you were crying to sleep in his arms, telling him about how you have no idea and that you have hit a wall in the upcoming assignment that seems to be due so soon. 

In reality, it isn't due for two more months, but it's the weighting of the assignment that has you pondering if you can really bear the burden of sleeping when forty per cent of your grade depends on this one paper.

But seeing your hair messy with an overused coffee cup not too far away from the edge of the table, he isn't sure if he would just rather see you cry yourself to sleep or see the obvious dark shadows surrounding your eyes. What he does know right now though, is that you should just rest your whole body after depriving yourself of a whole twenty-four hours with no sleep—slightly more than that now actually.

Mark arrives behind you, the front of his oversized shirt hitting the backseat of your study chair. His arms fall onto your shoulders, slowly massaging your tension away.

"Dinner?" He tests the topic first, genuinely not knowing if you have eaten today as he was busy outside the house.

You respond with a hum, "I promise, I had it." The typing didn't cease as you continued to speak to him, "Go back to bed, Markie."

If only you could turn back to see the face he makes at your dismissive answer. "Can't," he answers simply for now. "Not when I know that you’re out here tired and sleepless."

You know that this is his way of pulling you away from the technology that is keeping you up but you decide to stand your ground, "Just a bit more."

"That's what you've been saying the past half day, bubs." 

The specific timeframe is what made your fingers freeze and you tuck all your fingers into your palm except for two, scrolling up towards the start of the document. Reality suddenly sinks into you when it doesn't feel like you scrolled up a lot, but the grey bar on the right side of the screen shows that you reached the top of the document. The wave of exhaustion finally hits and your eyelids suddenly fall instantly. Mark immediately encircles his arms around you, pulling your back to rest against his chest.

It doesn't take him another second to realise that you're silently sobbing in his arms, upper body trembling in shame and disappointment with how time has passed yet no real effort is physically seen to the real world. Mark presses multiple kisses on the top of your head, tightening his hold and whispering words of comfort. 

"Mark..." You decide to bury your eyes into Mark's arms, the salty liquid trickling down the safety of his arms. "It feels like time is mocking me right now..."

You've always felt this way. Indeed, time will never wait for anyone or anything, yet as humans, it's ironic that we always wait for the right time. It's annoying and it's infuriating to see the long hand of the clock easily circle while you just sit still and watch it happen. 

Mark pulls away only slightly, pulling your seated body out from the table so that he can spin you around to physically put your work behind you. He then kneels in front of you, his hands enveloping yours on top of your lap. 

He doesn't say anything at first and doesn't even dare to fully let go of you even when he wipes your tears away from your cheeks. Mark just offers you a smile with the crease between his eyebrows evident, letting you cry out your feelings a little bit more.

"You're doing so well," he affirms his thoughts out loud. "You don't give yourself enough credit for that, so I'm here to remind you every time."

And he does. 

Mark Lee has always been great at that even when you were both still friends. You were worried that he only did it when you were both still in the flirting stages too, but four years with Mark Lee and he still says the words sincerely and truthfully. In your darkest times, that's all that you need.

Your legs push your bottoms to the edge of the seat and you practically slump into Mark's embrace as you push the seat rolling away behind you. Your arms swing around Mark's neck for stability, hiding your cries in the crook of his neck. 

"I'm tired, Mark..." suddenly the ground felt wobbly, your knees giving out to keep your posture somewhat upright in his hold, “and I feel so dumb.”

Mark quickly refutes with a series of firm shaking of his head, craning his neck just slightly enough to kiss the trail that your tears leave on the apple of your cheeks. You whimper against the touch of his lips and you hate that you’re worrying the person who has proven to you over and over again that he loves you to the moon and back. His black hair fell over his eyes but it’s not hidden enough for you to miss the reassuring glimpse that his orbs gazed you with. 

"Your past achievements prove you otherwise as well and I promise you that you’re not.”

And he really means that. 

Your tiredness is physically shown further by the way you slump over his figure on the floor. Your knee isn't even supporting you on the ground anymore, slipping you further away from him as the fabric of your longer pants helps you slide on the polished floor to bring you closer to your boyfriend.

Mark supports your weight against his, untucking his legs from under him and spreading them beside your figure. Slowly and gently, he turns you around and sits you properly on the squared patterns. Similar to before, he makes you rest your head against where his heart beats calmly while he leans backwards slightly so that you're more comfortable in his arms around your middle. Your fingers stiffly grip his forearm, mind still clouded by the next paragraph of your work and Mark picks this up. 

His eyes drift up to the black font against the white electronic paper. "Tell me the next one." Referring to the idea of your work. 

He does this often, repeating the main ideas of your work so that he can store them inside his long-term memory. This way, he can tell it to you tomorrow. His love transcends forgetfulness, his mind jotting down all the main points so that you don't have to go back to doing work without sleep inside your system any longer. Mark gently sways his upper body and the weight of your eyelids becomes more apparent from the hum he lets out. 

"But I just don't think I deserve to rest." It feels like the world is too active for you to do so. "I feel like I'm behind all the time."

"You're not behind," it prompts the grip on his forearm to tighten, "but you are tired and you deserve to rest now."

That's all the validation you need. You just needed to hear someone say, with a mellow voice and the beating of their heart that contrasts your erratic ones, that it's alright for you to rest, even if it's for a while. The affirmation that you're doing well is gratefully received, but you just needed someone to tell you that your eyelids can fall for the next few hours on a well-deserved mattress, in a safe place.

Next, your voice box finally releases the tension to the air and Mark Lee alternates between kisses to the side of your face and whispers to the shell of your ear all the words that would make the tension around your body fade.

That's the thing about Mark Lee. He would let you cry it out audibly, not like the ones you would bury your entire face to your pillow, suffocating and gasping for air as you tried to keep the weight on your shoulders to yourself when you were still living alone.

The tears from your eyes are valid and so did the sobs that did the same from your lips. The world blurs due to the remnants of some of the stubborn ones that didn't drop to your tear-stricken cheeks—but it's fine because Mark would always turn his head to you, the side of his fingers brushing on your lower lid, careful to not hurt the orbs that he finds love and security in.

Mark still holds you close throughout the whole time, eventually seeing how your chest gradually decreases its frequency in taking deep breaths. 

Exhausted and spent, you managed to whisper, "Thanks, Mark." It's croaked and easy to miss if it wasn't for the proximity that you're both sharing.

"Always." His palm rests on your jawline and he softly turns your head, your ear now on his chest. Mark lands a quick peck on your now slightly upturned lips, "I love you."

"I love you more."

Sleeping is easier for him now that the other side of the mattress is occupied and that he can feel your warmth directly on his skin in a well-deserved resting position.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist 🤍 'especially to you...'

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @haneul-and-clouds

[bweeeb]

HATED

Theodore Nott x reader ( Whispered as last name )

Enemies to lovers

Notes: When I wrote this, I didn't realize how dirty it was, I apologize for the shitty writing.

Summary: When the new girl causes Slytherin to lose the House Cup, Theo becomes much more interested in getting her attention—even after acting like a jerk. But maybe with Voldemort's return, it might be too late to make something last.

Warnings: Smut, Theodore being an asshole like every man on earth, reader being a proud slut.🤘❤️‍🔥

Being competitive was always one of Theodore Nott's characteristics that almost no one knew about, and as one of the smartest students in Slytherin, Theodore never had trouble keeping his competitiveness to himself. By the end of the third year, the vast majority of Slytherin's points were consistently earned by Theodore, leading Slytherin to take the top spot in the House Cup every year, until Y/n Whispered transferred from Ilvermorny at the beginning of the fourth year and secured the House Cup for Hufflepuff. Theodore couldn't help but feel intense hatred spread through him from head to toe upon seeing that the person who had taken his place was a new, blonde, five-foot-three Hufflepuff girl, which irritated him even more because the attraction he felt towards her was stronger than the instant hatred that surged in his chest. The first time he saw her celebrating with her peers at the end of the year, Theodore decided he would make Y/n's life much more complicated from the moment she looked at him from across the Great Hall, at the Slytherin table, and sent a gentle smile his way. Theodore didn't understand the reason behind her beautiful smile but interpreted it as mockery; he preferred to imagine that Y/n was mocking him rather than smiling amiably due to the stories she had heard about him, ultimately ending up liking a Muggle-born Hufflepuff.

In the fifth year, Y/n endured a series of provocations from Theodore until she reacted, turning it into a personal game that went beyond the House Cup. In the fifth year, Slytherin once again won the House Cup, and Theodore made sure to send a card to her room with the message 'What can you do if Muggle-borns only get lucky once in a lifetime, dolcezza,' and on the back of the card, probably the phrase that made Y/n cry with anger for the rest of the night, 'Maybe you should go cry to your parents, little baby.' The next day, Y/n put on her tough mask and threw the paper into Nott's plate at breakfast, saying loudly and clearly, 'My parents are dead, so if you tried to offend me, you failed with both the Muggle-born insult and the part about parents, Stupid Nott.' From that day on, Y/n began to hate Theo for being so stupid, and Theo began to observe Y/n more delicately, and partially the provocations decreased. However, with the decrease in provocations, Y/n's approval and visibility over him also decreased. Nott had to find another way to get her attention, even if it meant returning to taunting.

— You smell that? Oh wait, it's just Y/n walking into the hall.

Y/n heard Nott say loudly as she passed by him during breakfast.

— Must be coming from that mouth of yours that only spews garbage, Theodore.

The girl retorted as she walked past him without even looking at him and sat down at her table nearby.

— You should watch what you say to him, Y/n.

Y/n's friend, Violet, said, glancing quickly at the Slytherin table.

— It's just Nott, Vic. If he wants to hate me, I'll hate him back.

The girl shrugged, drawing Penny's gaze from across the table.

— No, Y/n. I heard they know who's back.

— What?

Y/n's eyes widened slightly, her body trembling. Her parents died in a suspicious and brutal manner while on a trip to the Ministry of Magic in London through dark magic, her uncles, born with pure blood, confirmed that probably some attacks on half-blood wizards are happening all of a result of among them

A week passed, and the news of Voldemort's return turned out to be true, making the seventh year more unsettling than ever. Gradually, half-blood students began disappearing, the common room grew emptier, classrooms quieter and less lively. Y/n had lost all focus on her studies. Dark days were casting a shadow over the wizarding world, and while all her classmates fled to safety with their families, she remained at Hogwarts, surrounded mostly by Slytherins who seemed unaffected.

On a rainy night, Y/n lingered longer than usual in the library, finishing her assignments. As she hurried back to her dorm, she noticed Draco Malfoy, Mattheo Riddle, and Theodore Nott standing casually against a wall, engaged in conversation. She lowered her head, bit her lip, and rolled her eyes, her heart racing. "Stupid, stop being silly, Y/n," she scolded herself silently, trying to slip by unnoticed. But Theodore, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette, chuckled and began to follow her. — No house to go back to, Y/n? Theodore's voice was mocking, prompting laughter from the three Slytherins echoing down the corridor. Theo couldn't help but wish Y/n would turn around, march over with that cute angry expression he secretly admired, and look him in the eye. — Your family didn't want you because you're a Mudblood?He taunted again, not bothering to face her.

— Fuck you, Theodore. Y/n muttered, stung by his words for the first time because deep down, she knew there was truth in them. Her pureblood uncles' allegiance to Voldemort left her with no safe haven at Hogwarts, just the hope of avoiding a grim fate. Without looking back, Whispered strode on, leaving Theodore to stew in his irritation at her avoidance. It had been over a month since she last met his gaze, and he hated how much he missed their confrontations.

— What did you say?

— What's this bablood still doing here?

Y/n heard Draco ask, his laughter joining Matteo's teasing remark: — Maybe the little lioness needs a cigarette to calm down. Meanwhile, she still heard Theodore's footsteps behind her.

— Hey, I'm talking to you, Mudblood. Theodore quickened his pace, grabbing her wrist, the first time their skin touched and it felt like she was burning against his.

— I said, FUCK YOU, NOTT, and don't fucking touch me. Y/n spun around so forcefully that her ponytail whipped across his face. In that instant, regret surged through her chest. Their eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, she glimpsed a different side of him. — I'm sorry.

Her voice was barely a whisper as Y/n stumbled backwards, fleeing from the sight of the Slytherins as swiftly as the wind. She was scared, and Theodore saw it in her eyes, as clear as day. What Y/n didn't realize was that he was scared too.

In the days that passed, the school's security changed, which meant there was no security at all, not for her. This meant she felt safer inside her room than walking the corridors. Dumbledore was dead, teachers were as concerned as the remaining students at the school, and all this meant Y/n no longer appreciated meals, only eating when necessary. Theodore had noticed this minimal frequency, and the girl's tired appearance, who seemed not to sleep, began to worry him. He yelled at himself that he shouldn't be concerned.

One night, the Hufflepuff common room was completely deserted, doors wide open, and as Y/n repeated in her letters to her friends far away, there was no security at all. A strange noise from the other side of Whispered's room door made her rise from the bed where she was sitting and grip her wand tightly. When she was sure no one was there, she opened the door and looked at the plate of food on the floor, grabbed it, and placed it on her desk. She picked up the card beside it and read, 'I noticed you haven't been eating properly. It's important that you eat, bella.' Y/n stared at the plate for a few long minutes, afraid it might be poisoned, but when her stomach rumbled at the smell emanating from the food, her resistance was broken, and she quickly devoured the plate.

Over the next two weeks, similar things happened with several meals feeding Y/n when she didn't show up in the main hall. Over thirty cards accumulated in her drawer, and Y/n couldn't decipher all the Italian nicknames at the end of the notes, wondering who could be doing this.

Late one night, three days since Y/n had eaten anything, a knock on her door echoed, and without fear, Y/n opened it quickly, eager to see who was entering the Hufflepuff common room at such an hour. To her surprise, she saw Theodore Nott's figure quickly disappearing down the corridor.

— Hey! She shouted, running after him and grabbing his wrist just as he had done to her on several previous occasions. Her gaze fell upon him, looking unsure there.

— What are you doing? Y/n asked suspiciously.

— I can't be seen here — he murmured. Y/n stood still briefly until Nott pushed her back into the room.

— So what are you doing here? she asked again.

— You haven't been eating...

Theo said, pointing to the untouched food.

— That's not true. It was, but she didn't want to admit it to him.

— I know it is, dolcezza. Theo said, almost desperate, leaving Y/n confused.

— What are you still doing here, Y/n? Theodore asked, concerned, moving closer to Y/n, who for the first time didn't pull away from him in fear.

— I should be asking you what you were doing in my room. She said, ignoring his question. Theodore moved closer again, almost touching their noses.

— I'm serious, Y/n.

— I have nowhere else to go, Theodore. You were right, my family doesn't want me, so I'll stay. Is that okay with you? Y/n turned away from his gaze, walking away. — Thanks for the food, but you can go now.

— You have to leave. He whispered. Y/n shook her head, briefly glancing towards him without really meeting his eyes.

— Why are you worried?

— Because... because, I... He stuttered, unsure of what to say. — I... I want you to be okay, Y/n.

— Why? I'm a badblood,' as you all say, why does it matter? You never liked me, Theodore, I don't understand.

— Don't call yourself that way.

— Theodore.

The girl moaned and Theodore sighed worried.

— If they find you, they'll kill you. I...I...

— Theodore, you're not answering what I'm asking. Why are you worried?

— I don't know, Y/n. — Theo sat on the bed with his hands on his head and his arms on his knees, his eyes closed, and Y/n stood still in front of him. — I shouldn't, but I care about you.

— That doesn't make sense, you hate me, Theodore...

— No! I don't hate you. Theodore stood up quickly and approached her, almost touching their noses.

— But you always...

— I've always been an idiot because I wanted to get your attention. I wanted you to look at me. Theo said, closing his eyes and sighing in frustration.

— That makes no sense, Nott.

— No! It doesn't, but I don't know a better way to do it...

— Maybe act like a normal person?

— My mother would hate me for what I did to you and say I'm foolish. Theo muttered more to himself and ran his hands through his now longer hair.

— I think I've loved you since the first day you smiled at me, Bella. You have this thing, that pulls me to you. Theo whispered, and Y/n widened her eyes, expecting to find a prank.

— But you ran away...that's nonsense, how? Me and you, Theodore? What the hell are you talking about, my God. She laughed humorlessly and rushed away from the Italian's body, agitated. — Where's Matheo and Malfoy? Okay, YOU CAN COME IN NOW! I UNDERSTAND. She shouted at the door, desperate, and Theodore pulled her by the shoulders to look at him again.

— It's not a prank, Whispered. There's no one there, they know that, and it was them who told me to talk to you.

— You were about to run when I saw you, Theodore. She repeated. — I can't believe you could ever love a 'mudblood. She made air quotes with her fingers, and Theodore closed his eyes, groaning. — H-h-how could y-you love me, Theodore? She stuttered, feeling vulnerable, and suddenly Theodore's lips pressed against hers, the girl from her first day at Hogwarts was enchanted by Theo's beauty and intelligence, but when she realized he would never feel the same besides the eternal teasing resolved to slap her in chest of, now, doesn't

— Believe me, bella. Y/n nodded, getting lost in those deep blue eyes, and leaned in to kiss him once again, more harder. Their size difference didn't help at all, so Theo grabbed the girl's waist and set her on the desk in a way that she opened her legs to accommodate his body between them.

— The world is going to end, isn't it? — Y/n asked, placing kisses on Theodore's neck and fighting for the dominance he had previously taken, starting to distribute kisses along her neck.

— If no one stop this crazy wizard, yes, my princess. He said, giving wet kisses on Y/n's skin, making her moan and tilt her hips closer to his, seeking some friction against his pants.

— Fuck — she moaned once more, and Theodore found her lips again. His hand on her waist pulled her body closer to his, and Theodore groaned as he rubbed against the wet fabric of Y/n's panties with his hard erection.

— Shit, Y/n, you're so wet — He groaned this time, and Y/n nodded, clinging to him.

— Do you want to fuck me? Please do it, Teddy. She whimpered into Theodore's neck, who opened his mouth in ecstasy at the girl's words begging for him.

— Mia bellissima principessa, ti scoperò così bene. The Italian in Theo's voice made Y/n spread her legs wider in anticipation, seeking some friction against her clitoris.

— Please. — With that, Theo removed the girl's green lace panties, his provocative gaze falling on her form.

— Green panties? I think someone was longing for me. He said, biting the girl's shoulder, making her laugh.

— What can I do if... — Before she could finish her sentence, Theodore inserted two fingers inside her.

— So wet for me. — He groaned as he moved his fingers against her. — Such a good girl.

He repeated as she reached her peak, knowing she was close because he felt her tighten around his fingers. Just before she came, Theodore pulled his fingers out, provoking a frustrated moan from her, and removed his pants, revealing his erect cock with a red tip. Y/n's eyes shone in anticipation, and without him noticing, she got on her knees, grabbing his cock and pumping it before taking it into her mouth like a lollipop. After a few sucks, he pulled her back up, kissing her lips and smiling at her shiny lips. — I want to be inside you, principessa.

— Do it. — With that, Theodore spread her legs on the desk and plunged his cock into her.

— Damn, so tight. He moaned together with her as she smiled. Theo began to move at a fast pace, but not fast enough, making Y/n move her hips forward, trying to go faster. — So impatient. He said, then started to fuck her at a much quicker pace.

— Such a tight pussy for me. Theo moaned into her ear as the wet sounds filled the room.

— Fuck, Teddy, yes, uh-huh, fuck me like that. — She moaned loudly, and Theodore smiled with his neck buried in her neck, feeling her walls tighten around him.

— Are you going to cum for me, princess? Nott asked, and Y/n grunted, nodding. — Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock, I know you want to.

As he said those words, Y/n reached her climax, moaning loudly and panting, smiling, still feeling Theodore's release above her as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm. Y/n leaned into his ear and did what he did to her.

— Cum inside me, Teddy. — She moaned, and Theodore opened his mouth, obsessed with this girl. — Cum inside my pussy. Please. Put your babies inside me. She said, and with that, Theodore pushed in several times with erratic but deep thrusts, spilling all his cum inside the girl who was now drenched.

— Why did i never admit what i want, fuck Y/n. Theo groaned and hugged Y/n's tired body, pulling her close.

— You're an idiot.

— Totally, come on, let's clean you up.

As days went by, Y/n and Theo's secret rendezvous became more frequent: stolen kisses, clandestine meetings in their room unnoticed by Professor Snape. Y/n brought calm to Theo, and he brought solace to her. Until today.

A chilling laugh echoed through the Slytherin common room, and Blaise burst in, his face grave.

— They're here... Death Eaters have arrived at Hogwarts, and that spells trouble for Y/n.

—They're looking for her, Theo. Blaise added, and Theodore pushed the girl behind him protectively. — You need to hide, Y/n.

— WHO'S GOING TO CATCH THAT LITTLE RAT WHO WAS RUNNING AROUND? Bellatrix's voice boomed from the stairs, and Blaise shook his head before departing.

— I'll try to stall them. Figure out your next move, Theodore. With that, he left the room.

— Theo... Y/n called to him, but his focus was on strategizing how to save her.

— Theodore Nott. They'll kill you if they find out I'm here. Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders as he hyperventilated.

— They'll kill you, Y/n.

— They know I'm here, Theo. They want me because of my family's history.

— I can't let them take you. Theo shook his head, pulling the blonde into a tight embrace.

— It's going to be okay. She murmured, looking into his eyes.

— Apparate with me to my room and take me as if you found me. It'll be suspicious if they find you up here. She said resolutely until Theo looked at her face, realizing too late how much he loved her, and apparated to the ruined Hufflepuff common room.

They walked to the dungeons, and before proceeding, Theo turned to her, kissing her, resting his forehead against hers, and sighed.

— I'm sorry for being foolish for so long.

— I love you, Theodore Nott. I spent six weeks with you and it was enough to know that you have a much bigger heart than everyone said, And I know I was right when I fell in love with you since the day I first saw you at fourteen years old. It's going to be okay.

Those were her last words before being handed over to the Death Eaters.

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

Requests are open💞

[inoreuct]

i actually desperately need 40y/o zoro with reading glasses. thin wire frames with teensy rectangular lenses perched on his nose as he peers down at one of sanji’s french romance novels to see what all the fuss is about— after so many years with his husband he’s picked up a bit of the language and sanji has a stack of them on the nightstand and he’s bored, alright? sanji has something to wrap up at the restaurant and he might as well. he’s farsighted and squints at everything near him and it makes him look even grouchier than usual and the fact that he’s graying at the temples doesn’t help. he looks terrifyingly severe with all his scars and his frowning, until he smiles— he’s been doing that a lot more lately, and then people realise that’s why he has crow’s feet around his eyes. i need him to have a collection of bottles that he’s fiercely protective over; they’re all empty and the labels are faded to hell, but point to any one and he can tell you where it had been drunk. there’s a beer bottle from the first night he’d sailed with luffy. a sweet rum they’d popped to celebrate usopp’s return. the champagne from when he and sanji had gotten married.

i need 40y/o sanji with long, long hair that he ties and pins and styles differently every day. sometimes he makes decorative sourdough and he matches his braids to the patterns. i need him taking on protégés in his restaurant, guiding a new generation of culinary genius even though teenagers are fucking terrifying and annoying and argumentative, because he remembers being exactly like them and at the end of it they’re good kids. they listen to him (…to an extent). they’re sweet and talented and they do absolutely crazy shit in the process of trying to push their boundaries; sometimes they trip and fall, but it’s fine. that’s how they learn. that’s what sanji’s for, as their safety net and their mentor— he’ll give them shit for it and pick them up anyway, nag them while brusquely brushing off their knees. but sometimes, sometimes, they come up with something extraordinary, and sanji gets so proud he could cry. zeff drops by and nags at him for everything under the damn roof. sanji doesn’t mind it.

i need them in their kitchen, in the morning, when sanji’s far too chipper and zoro’s not awake enough, nursing a cup of coffee and half-asleep again at the table as sanji fries their eggs. i need zoro to have one of those old man rocking chairs that he settles into to watch the sunset and drink tea, because sanji’s managed to get him into tea of all things. he’d have never imagined liking matcha a decade ago. i need that rocking chair to be big enough for two so that sanji can curl into his side and thumb through yet another of his novels. i need zoro braiding his hair and falling asleep halfway. i need sanji pulling his glasses off when they slip down his nose and dragging his husband to bed so that he doesn’t bitch about his back hurting the next day. i need them at sanji’s restaurant, teaching the kids about food and liquor pairings— they’re a little terrified of zoro until he squints and pulls his specs out to read the labels, after which they’re running around calling him old man and grandpa roronoa. zoro fumes because for fuck’s sake, he’s forty, not ninety. he’s not old. he brings a bottle of wine three inches away from his face and sanji does nothing to stop the kids at all.

just— zoro with reading glasses. sanji with long hair. doing mundane, boring things that make them happy because they never expected to live this long anyway. zoro’s down to two earrings and sanji has one. their rings are woven straw pulled from luffy’s hat. they have a little motored dinghy out back that franky made for the times they need to go haul their captain’s ass out of trouble (as usual), but none of the crew are ever very far from each other. they stay at sanji’s restaurant in the all blue and occasionally fend off people from their past looking for revenge. or money. or to eat them out of the house and home, in luffy’s case, which then leads to zoro den den-ing the rest of the lot and sighing that they might as well come over for a cookout.

they’ve all gotten older; a little banged up and scruffed around the edges, but alive and well. nami’s making bank as a mapmaker who caters to the wealthy/insurance agent/financial advisor— zoro scoffs and calls her a swindling witch, to which she smiles at him all sweet before stomping solidly on his foot with her red-bottom heel. out of their conjoining workshops, franky and usopp have started a wildly successful demo-smithing company that specialises in custom explosives and bespoke carpentry. robin owns and maintains the most extensive archive of books any of them have ever heard of, and it’s pretty much lauded as one of the greatest libraries of all time; brook does gigs in jazz lounges and bistro bars, jinbei’s a diplomat who’s well-respected for campaigning for equal rights, and chopper runs his own medical practice. luffy, as usual, is doing whatever he wants, which is a little bit of everything. y’know, taking down corrupt governments and all that.

sanji feeds them like he’s always done and zoro brings out the good alcohol to pass around.

life’s good.

[starphasedd]

Ghost makes sure Graves knows his place.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader drabble (nsfw)

I'm obsessed with the idea that once Ghost finds out that Graves has a thing for you, he toys with him in the worst way. Because Graves is down bad--and he's a slimey punk. He deserves it.

I did not proofread this. Just pure, unfiltered, smut straight from my noggin.

It was an uncontrollable urge.

Your secret relationship with Ghost had only been full-fledged for a few months. But in those few months--you spent an extraordinary amount of time together. You got to know him better than anyone--he opened up to you. Not much, but more than you'd seen him with anyone else. And the sex? It was fucking incredible.

He got to know your body extremely quickly. Anytime you got to be alone, he had you half naked and buried underneath him. His massive hips smashing forward into yours--his big cock splitting your tiny cunt open. He made you feel so fucking good, any chance he got. He learned your body with expertise you'd never seen before. It wasn't experience-per say. Because he wasn't that sexually experienced. But he was an expert in combat techniques. He was good at analyzing and planning his attacks with a one hundred percent follow-through. He did the same with your body.

He loved the feeling of your core wrapped around him. He loved the sound of your sweet mewls as he wrought pleasure on your body that you'd never felt before. He loved the way your face curled into that same cock-drunk expression--how your glossy lips parted to reveal pearly white teeth as you let every sound slip out naturally.

But he especially loved how your tiny hands frantically grabbed for him--how you'd rather hug him close to you than anything else. There was something so intimate about the way you made love to him. And it drove him wild.

So when he started catching on to Graves--he had to physically contain himself.

On one occasion, he came around a corner to see Graves nearly boxing you in against a table. You had your arms crossed, a blank expression on your face as you tried your best not to snap at him. Ghost knew you had a particular dislike for Graves--you were annoyed by his presence alone. Graves was, again, trying to convince you to go on a date with him.

You and him went way back--all the way to the academy. He's had a thing for you since then. But you never gave him the time or day. And with your growing liking of Ghost, Graves knew his time was limited.

He tried every time he saw you. And you gave him the same response every time. Well, a lack there of, actually. You blatantly ignored him--like he didn't exist. And when Ghost was around, you always gave all your attention to him. Graves was threatened by this, and it showed.

Ghost was so fucking proud of you for this.

He wanted to make a lasting impression. So every night Graves was around, Ghost marked you. The two of you never had loud sex--your relationship was kept private. And Ghost didn't want any other man to have the pleasure of hearing your sweet moans. But he found his ways to mark his territory. He would leave little bite marks on your neck, or fuck you particularly hard so you wobbled a bit the next day. And Graves knew. Fuck yeah, he knew alright.

Graves got more aggressive after that started. He even put his hands on you on one occasion. Ghost's fingers twitched at his side as he watched Graves slide his hand up the curve of your spine. Only to see you pull away and give him a mean look before walking towards Ghost. He couldn't help but grin under his mask.

That night, he fucks you hard. Whispering sweet praises to you in the dark.

"This little cunt belongs to me. Yeah, sweetheart?" He groans in your ear, his thrusts are hard and unfaultering.

All you can do is cry out for him, eyes screwed tightly shut as your hands reach for him. But he isn't there, when you grab for him. You open your eyes to see him leaning up. Now he's sitting up straight on his knees, cock still thrusting into your wet heat as he reaches into his pocket.

He pulls out his phone.

His free hand comes down to lift your shirt over your breasts, revealing the swollen lumps bouncing harmoniously under your black sports bra. He keeps fucking you like this, and the flash from his phone turns on.

It isn't a picture--it didn't flash once. No, he's taking a video.

You blush at the thought--but can't help the sweet moans that tumble from your lips as Ghost keeps fucking you. His free hand moves your panties to cover what he can of your sweet pussy.

You imagine the camera can see his big cock filling you repeatedly, but he only moved your panties to the side this time--not ripping them off per usual. Now you can tell his true intentions.

You thought for a moment this may be for him--but no. If it were for him, he'd have you bare assed like he usually does. No, your important bits are all covered. Your plump breasts are concealed under your bra. The naughtiest part of your cunt is covered by your panties. The only thing he can see is his big cock thrusting into your wet cavern.

He continues recording as he fucks you, and his free hand comes up to slip his thumb into your mouth. You close your eyes, closing your lips around the digit to suck down hard.

"Perfect little minx, just for me, yeah?" He groans out.

The camera light on his phone nearly blinds you when your eyes snap open. You cum hard and he quickly follows after.

You lay there, his cock still burried inside you. He drops his phone, bracing his arms on either side of you as he catches his breath.

"He'll regret the next time he puts his hands on you."

[pxuvalentinx]

ahh something about aventurine with a gunplay kink. by now we’ve probably all seen 'the final victor' lightcone, and oh my god, it has awakened something inside of me. (i wrote this at 2am, have mercy. its also not proofread.)

just aventurine shoving a gun into your mouth while you’re kneeling in front of him. arms tied behind your back. he has one hand on your chin, making you look up at him while the other moves the gun inside of your mouth, making you lick and choke on it. the metallic taste being rather unpleasant, but you’d bear with it. he knew that. the gun was loaded, and you were aware of that, but that only added to the excitement you were feeling.

it was a 'silly idea' aventurine brought up a while ago, wondering if you might be into the more crazy stuff and god, who were you to deny such a hot idea? it actually took him a while to finally initiate this situation in the bedroom.

but now you were drooling all over the gun, putting on a show as you kept your eyes on him, not having any shame whatsoever. “Look at you princess, licking and choking on this gun like you’d die otherwise.” he chuckled. "Could pull the trigger at any moment, ya know that?" oh, the cocky grin that you loved so much. ever since you met him, your brain turned into absolute mush. he fucked you stupid on the daily, and the once so proud and feared girl turned into aventurine’s personal fucktoy. it went so far that instead of making you cry and shiver out of fear, his words only made the dripping mess between your legs worse. so far that only sucking on a gun for him got you so close to the edge. "Such a good girl, taking anything I give you~" a low purr escaped his lips, "But so pathetic.." a rather empathetic look formed on his face, not sincere in any way though. you both knew that he'd never actually hurt you, but the simple control he had over you by doing this, the control over your life. a couple of seconds later, your mouth was empty, the metallic taste still clinging to your mouth. he put the gun on the table next to you. the sound of a belt unbuckling could be heard and your eyes quickly made their way to his lower half. "Now let's see, if your slutty little brain still remembers how to suck the real thing."

[httplilyyy]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 || 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: sam carpenter x reader

request: 'can i please request reader living with sam and tara at their apartment and one night she finds sam quietly crying in the kitchen all alone late at night (you choose why, because of a nightmare, because of everything that happened, because of those rumours) and after a little resistance from sam she finally allows herself to be comforted and reader just holds her close until the tears stop.... maybe later sam doesn't want to go back to her lonely bed and ends up cuddling with reader on her bed... thank you, love your writing'

summary: sometimes even the strongest people need a break

warnings: nothing but fluff

word count: 1.5k

a/n: not the most proud of this but i am running on four hours of sleep so its the best it can be, so sorry about that

scream masterlist

Street lights flickered as storm clouds gathered on the horizon, an angry rumble echoing off the buildings. The streets were completely empty, which was out of the ordinary for that time of night, seeing as it was the city that never sleeps.

It was around one in the morning, the sky being pitch black and you had just finished your shift at work. The faint sound of raindrops and the odd crunch of glass underfoot was all that was heard as you made your way home.

The rain started to pick up which made you quicken your pace. Walking up the stairs to the fourth floor and along a hallway, you reached your apartment, one that you shared with Sam and Tara. 

Hurriedly, you grabbed the house keys from your pocket and opened the front door. Letting out a sigh as your back hit the door as it closed, you were finally home. You kicked off your shoes and placed your coat upon the hanger.

The apartment was silent apart from the faint sound of the tv playing in the background. Looking to your right, you saw plates and cups littering the coffee table as well as hearing soft snores coming from the sofa.

You made your way further into the living room and spotted Tara sleeping soundly, occasionally getting a shiver ripple through her body.

A small smile made its way onto your face at the look of Sam’s younger sister, she finally looked content and you hated the fact that you had to break it.

You crouched in front of the sofa, gently moving Tara’s hair out of her eyes as you softly woke her up.

Tara opened her eyes slowly, lazily bringing up a hand to rub her eyes as she tried to shake off her sleepiness.

“Hey,�� you whispered, rubbing a hand up and down her arm, “come on sleepyhead, let's get you to bed.”

Still in a sleepy haze, Tara nodded and groggily got up. You followed her to her room, making sure she was alright before walking back to the living room.

You turned the tv off, picking up the plates and cups that were scattered around the room. You threw all the rubbish into the bin and began to do the washing up.

As you were half way through cleaning, you heard sounds of shuffling coming towards you. Moving your head to the side, you watched as Sam padded into the kitchen, her face was blotchy as if she had been crying.

Sam stopped in her tracks when she saw you, her fingers tugging at the sleeves of her- your jumper, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

Your heart seemed to crack at the sight of her, the person who was always so strong for her sister, for you, seemed to be breaking at the seams. 

You had completely forgotten the cleaning up, Sam taking over your mind as you dried off your hands and pulled her further into the kitchen.

Sam trudged after you, her hand sitting loosely in yours. You wordlessly patted the top of the counter, telling Sam to sit there whilst you rummaged around in the cupboards.

You pulled some hot chocolate powder from the cupboard and put the kettle on to boil, taking two cups and placing them on the side.

As you poured Sam’s hot chocolate, you finally let yourself take in her appearance. It was a mystery to you how she could be so gorgeous even with tear marks on her cheeks. 

Her hair was tied up in a bun, a few strands clinging onto her forehead and neck as her eyes followed you around the kitchen. 

Handing the mug to Sam, she let out an appreciative hum after the first sip, warmth and sweetness flooding her body. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You questioned, your voice just above a whisper as you placed your cup to the side.

“Not really.” Sam replied, her voice cracking as she tightened her grip on the mug. 

You placed a comforting hand on her thigh, feeling as she tensed up under your touch. Sighing to yourself, you gave her a tight lipped smile, knowing she wasn’t in the mood to talk before continuing with the washing up.

As soon as your hand left Sam’s thigh, she missed the warmth that had encompassed her body. 

Sam averted her gaze to the floor, her fingers ghosting the rim of her cup which was now empty. 

She jumped off the counter top and stood behind you, contemplating on what to do for a minute until she turned you around and pulled you into a hug.

Shocked at the sudden movement, you stood there stunned as she hugged you, using all her force to bring you as close as possible. She buried herself into you, hot tears rolling down her cheeks and wetting your shirt.

“I keep having the same dream.” Sam sniffled, her voice raw as it broke towards the end. “And I- I can’t seem to shake it.”

You wrapped your arms around her, one around her waist and the other cradling her head. The two of you swayed together, Sam’s sobs never ceasing. 

“That’s all it is though, Sam.” You said quietly, pulling her off you so you could look in her eyes. “It’s only a dream.”

“I just wish it would all go away.” Sam said, looking between your eyes, her bottom lip quivering.

“I know.” You sighed, your heart heavy as you pulled her back into your embrace. “If I could take away your pain, I would. You know I would.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, the feeling of it all finally crashing down on her and she couldn't take it.

“It’s all too much, I just want to be normal.”

“You are, Sam.” You said, a frown forming on your face at her thoughts. “Don’t think like that.”

The warmth of your body and the gentle pressure of your arms created a cocoon of safety that enveloped Sam.

Her heart, which had been racing with fear due to her nightmare just moments before, began to slow down as she breathed in and let the tension in her shoulders melt away, feeling herself surrender to the moment.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” You whispered, slowly pulling out of her embrace.

“Can I- can I stay with you tonight?” Sam asked, staring down at her feet.

“Of course.” You smiled, rubbing your hands up and down her arms comfortingly. 

The two of you walked to your room where the sound of raindrops tapped against your window, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the sky.

You were quick to change out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable, crawling into your bed beside Sam.

Your shoulders brushed together and you opened your arm to her, allowing for her to get closer to you.

Sam smiled, tucking herself under your arm with a little hesitation. Her cheek rested just above your heart, the steady beating calming her down. 

The two of you laid in silence, the sound of raindrops hammering on your window created a sense of tranquillity amidst the storm outside.

The two of you enjoy being in each other’s presence without having to say a word.

You looked down at Sam, unknowingly making your way closer to one another and you could soon feel Sam’s breath against your lips.

You reached your hand down to Sam’s face, gently, you raised your hand to cup her cheek, your thumb softly traced along her cheekbone. 

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into your touch. A small smile adorning her face.

Sam didn’t know what had come over her and with a small but impulsive movement, her lips were on yours.

As Sam’s lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, she felt all of her fears and doubts melt away. 

She savoured the sensation of your lips moving against hers, struck by how perfectly they fit together, like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. 

Your body tingled with electricity as she pressed closer to you. A shiver ran down your spine as she hummed into your mouth.

You pulled away softly for a breath of air, and Sam chased your lips with hers, kissing you softly once again. 

“Sam.” You breathed, her forehead pressed against yours. “What are we doing?”

“I- I don’t-”

You let the seconds go by without saying a word and Sam almost wanted to run away. That was until you gave her a soft smile, pulling her into you once more.

“You’re telling Tara.” You mumbled, pressing your lips back on hers.

Sam’s heart was practically pumping out of her chest when you pulled away for the last time. She melted into your hold, her body on top of yours as her arms wrapped around your waist.

You intertwined your fingers, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head causing Sam to sink further into your embrace.

And in that moment, Sam had never felt more safe.

[poquiii]

 König x reader  /  Ghost x reader  Headcanons

 They are like fathers. 

König

● König grew up in an incomplete family, but he still knows what it is to love.

● But he will never get used to how tiny children are.

● The first time he sees your baby, he can't pick them up. He was so afraid of hurting them.

● König walked around your bed for a long time, looking at the little lump in your hands.

● You insisted that he take them in his hands and he sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, watching you put them in his huge, rough and scarred hands.

● Since then, he has made it his goal to be the best dad ever, to make you and your children proud of him.

● He will learn to cook well. He will tell the baby's breakfast so he doesn't have to do it for you.

● If you have a daughter, he won't be afraid to look silly when your daughter wants to paint his nails with pink nail polish.

● He will also learn how to braid her hair.

● He doesn't think it's anything shameful to play dolls with her and make Troop 141 drink tea with her and her teddy bear. (He doesn't fit at her little table, so he sits on the floor, bent in half.)

● He will always treat her like a princess and fend off her suitors.

● He won't have to try particularly hard, all he has to do is stand next to her when he picks her up from school and everyone will go around them.

● If you have a son, Koenig will do everything he wanted from his father when he wasn't around when he was growing up.

● He will teach him how to play soccer, fight, and handle a knife (which you don't approve of, by the way. But he'll just put his head down and mumble awkwardly about self-defense. However, if you don't take pity, he'll back off and teach your son to defend himself with his fists instead)

● He will gladly buy them a dog and train them as the best defense for his child.

● He will carry them on his shoulders and toss them in the air, enjoying the children's laughter.

● He does not want his children to know what he is doing. He avoids these conversations at family dinner in every way possible, asking you and your children more about their day.

● He likes to take his family on picnics and trips to the amusement park.

● He will in all seriousness cry over Disney cartoons when a child asks to watch it with him. (”Coco” broke him.)

● He will always try.

● And he is ready to protect all of you from any danger at the cost of his own life.

Ghost.

● He didn't want this baby.

● That phrase he threw out in a panic made your heart freeze in your chest and your hands clutch at your stomach.

● He immediately started making excuses: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean- Fuck! I didn't-"

● He'll spend a long time trying to explain to you that he's just afraid.

● He's afraid of being a bad father.

● He's barely learned to show his love for you and he's afraid of hurting you, of hurting you.

● Even more so, he was afraid for a defenseless little creature.

● His child. It took him a long time to come to terms with the thought.

● But when he held the little bundle in his hands and your child's little hands reached out to him, something clicked in his chest.

● He would kill for them.

● He would die for them.

● He will do anything for them. Just like he did for you.

● He'll learn how to change diapers, swaddle the baby, make applesauce, and move around even more quietly than before so he doesn't wake them or you. 

● After all, he knows how tired you are.

● He didn't wear a balaclava at home. He understood that the child was afraid of it.

● For a while he thought he was naked with his face open. But first you started kissing his cheeks every time you ran into him in the hallway of your house, and then the baby started touching his face with his little fingers and smiling.

● And for the first time, he felt comfortable without Ghost. It was just Simon Riley.

● If you have a daughter, he won't be a soft dad. On the contrary. He'll teach her to fight better than any boy. He'll do anything to keep his beautiful, beautiful girl safe.

● And yes, he's the kind of father who demonstratively cleans his gun in front of his daughter's boyfriend when he walks her out on her first date.

● If you have a son, Ghost will treat him like a little warrior. "You have to protect mommy while I'm gone."

● Your son will be a copy of his father in both appearance and personality. He'll even steal Ghost masks from your closet and sneak them on to show he's as tough as Daddy.

● Ghost never objects. and always strokes his son's head affectionately.

● In fact, he's afraid his son will find out the truth about his father and hate him. 

● The ghost doesn't want to be what he used to be. He wants to be the best version of himself for his family.

● And every time you smile at him affectionately while he does your children's homework, you kiss him affectionately on the forehead, he knows he's doing the right thing.

● He will never yell at his children, never hit them or punish them harshly.

● He wants the best for them and knows he can't protect them from everything, so he tries to teach them everything he knows. To prepare them for hardships and make them strong both physically and mentally.

[no-see-um-incorrect]

Things that I’m going to believe happened at the wedding until I am proved wrong



- David specifically requested for Sam to play the guitar and he absolutely nailed it

- Asher and David slow danced together

- Caelum (with freelancers help) wrote notes to David and Asher, and shoved them in their back suit pockets saying how proud he is of them

- Milo was totally not wrapping treats from the dessert table and shoving them in sweetheart‘s bag you didn’t see that he pleads the fifth ✋

- Marie danced with David and they both almost started crying

- the mates dragged Sam onto the dance floor. Asher and Darlin started throwing dollar bills at them (alpha and cowboy eye roll intensifies)

- David gave Angel a necklace that belonged to his mom as a “wedding gift” and they cried

- Asher made it a mission to shove cake in David’s face. He succeeded with the help of Angel however Asher may not be beta by the time they get back from their honeymoon…

- The playlist for the wedding was constructed by Darlin with small critiques from Sam. Something about how “this is a wedding and not a club darlin”

- Darlin gave their “BestWolf” speech and it was very….emotional (half of everybody there started crying David included)

(I have more, but my brain isn’t working right now)





[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part Three)

Ledger! Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of violence

Words: 4.1k

Chapter Summary: The third session with the Joker, and as you try and delve into the man he is, you can't help the connection you feel. Seems he might feel it too...

previous part: part 2 | next part: part 4

Notes: Hello everyone! Apologies for the wait, took a bit longer because of Halloween, was having too much fun to write. But here we are! This series is def picking up the pace now and soon we will dive into some real chaos lol. Please enjoy :) (I love inputting bits of Arkham dialogue in these because i can >:) )

_____________________________________________

On your way to work, it seems Gotham is in shambles. 

There seems to be some type of announcement going on, by someone from the GPD. You could care less, honestly, especially since you need to get to work before you’re late, but what piques your interest is the crowds of people. There is an obvious rift amongst them. Some of them hold signs displaying the infamous bat symbol, crying out in favor for Batman, it seems, some holding children at their hip who cry for the man they’ve lost. The other half push back against the pro-Batman crowd, yelling things like ‘murderer’ and ‘fraud’. The tension is so thick you can taste it. These people might tear each other apart.

Oh, if only Joker were here to see this. He’d never shut up.

A woman bumps into you, clutching a sign with that bat symbol painted on it, with words beneath it reading ‘come back’. You sneer, and she retreats back to her other Batman groupies. How could anyone get so worked up over a man in a mask? Take the mask off and we’re all messed up inside. Batman had worn the mask of a hero, parading around as Gotham’s salvation, and yet he killed people just like his enemies had. Like Joker had. Except Joker didn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. 

Mr. Dale may be right about keeping all this from Joker, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He’s going to get out eventually and see all this mess. They can’t hide it from him forever. Even if he’s on house arrest for the rest of his damn life, he’s the Joker, and they won’t be able to stop him. They’re just scared. Scared that the Joker may have won. 

You walk through the city, broken into chaos, all the way to Arkham.

———————————————

This time when you enter Joker’s little conference room, he lacks his usual straitjacket, and you’re both surprised and relieved that your bosses actually listened to you. His asylum garb has been replaced with the usual Arkham patient outfit, an orange baggy shirt with matching orange pants. Immediately, as ashamed as you are, your eyes go to his arms, which are surprisingly lean and toned, probably from numerous fights. You trace his arms down to his hands, each of which have a separate handcuff linked to a man made circle jutting from the table. You look at every crinkle, every callus, every line. Human hands. Dangerous hands.

“Uh, doll, my eyes are up here, ya know.”

Shit. You look up into his eyes as you take your seat, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m… sorry, I was just-“ You try to search for an excuse, but it’s clear from the teasing look Joker gives you that he’s not looking for one. You flush. “I’m surprised they let you out of the jacket.” I’m surprised your hands are so normal. 

“Well, it certainly wasn’t from my good behavior,” he clucks, his tongue hitting the top of his mouth. “Did you ask them to get rid of it?”

You can’t tell if he’s angry or not. “I did.”

He breaks into his signature, manic grin. Not angry. Good. “I knew I liked you, doll.”

Joker doesn’t say ‘thank you’ or ‘I appreciate it’ but somehow, this is better. It’s probably as close as you’ll get to hearing those words from him and it ignites something in you. You feel proud of yourself. Proud that he’s proud of you. Before you can return his smile, you remember ‘hey, wait a fucking second, this is my patient The Joker we’re talking about here’. You settle for a small smile. Be professional. “Mr. J, I wanna start this session off by just saying I think we’re making some good progress-“

“Doctor y/n, you seem to have quite the fascination with my hands,” Joker interrupts, a giggle rising in his throat. 

Dammit. Were you looking at his hands again? You didn’t even fucking notice. You’re not trying to. You’re probably just a little shocked. Again, it’s like pulling back the curtain, getting a glimpse at the man behind the act. And there he sits, with such human looking hands. “Excuse me, I’m just…” You search for the words. “I’m not used to seeing you without being all wrapped in a jacket.”

“Well, ah, they’re just hands. Did ya think I’d have talons?”

“Maybe. Or maybe, like, robotic hands. Rocket launchers for hands. Something cooler.” Are you teasing him? Your patient? You might be teasing him, just a little.

At your teasing, his smile shifts sideways into a smirk, eyes thinning. “Cooler? What’s cool is, ah, what these hands have done. They’ve been the cause of the end of so many lives.” He tries to lace his hands together, but the handcuffs keep his arms too far apart, so his fingers touch only slightly. “Now, ah, where were we?”

You stumble to find the words. So much for professionalism. “R-right, sorry. I think we’re making real progress here. Yesterday was a good session, and I’m hoping today will follow suit.” You bring out your clipboard. Click your pen open. “Now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? We were analyzing your crimes-“

“Spectacles.”

“Whatever you wanna call em’. Now those are only one part of the man you call the Joker-“

“That is, ah, my name, doll face.”

You hold your hand up. “Let me finish. We haven’t talked about you. About this person you present as the Joker. And yes,” you say roughly, before he can cut you off again, “I know you say that you and this character you present are one in the same, but nobody is exactly the person they put out. I mean, you did say we all hide behind a facade. So, let’s talk about Joker, the one we see on TV getting the best of Batman.” You scribble a little picture of him, smiling wide and in his signature purple suit. Jutting your chin, you gestured for him to look at it. “This will be the outside Joker…” You do another little doodle, one of Joker without his makeup and in the Arkham garb. “And this will be the you in here.”

The Joker looks down at your drawings and bites the inside of his cheek. “Not much of a difference, doll face, except that I look even crappier in here.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you proud of the person that Gotham has come to know?”

“Define proud.”

“Do you feel a sense of satisfaction over the person you allow Gotham to see? This crazy clown figure?”

Joker tilts his head back, thinking, and you can’t help but stare intensely at his neck, tracing down his throat to his Adam’s apple, which moves as he swallows. Geez, what is up with you and the staring today? Luckily, he doesn’t think for long, tilting his head back down to look at you. “I’m just fine with whatever I showed to Gotham. And I don’t regret-tah one bit of it.” Looking all smug, he smirks. “I’m not proud of who I am, I relish it. Bask in it. The Clown Prince of Crime, they call me! Nothin’ better than that, doll. Means I’ve made a difference.”

“You’ve certainly made an impact, Mr. J. For better or for worse.”

“And whaddya get out of all that, doll? That I’m some kind of egotistical maniac?”

“Let me do the analyzing, please, Mr. J.”

He grunts. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile. “You say you’re proud, but clearly it’s not enough,” you tell him, scribbling notes underneath the doodle of him. “When you get out of here, you’d like to go back to all that, wouldn’t you? Go back to testing the B-Man?”

“Batsy and I just fit so well together, dolly. We’re meant to chase one another to the end of our days!”

If you can find him. “All the stuff you pulled then, did it really amount to anything if you want more?”

“Oh, doll, it’s not that I want more. I’m not just some kinda freak gettin’ a good fix when I cause havoc. My point just keeps needing to be made!” He winks at you. “Course, I know that if I get out of here I’ll have to behave.”

You seriously doubt Joker even knows the concept of behaving. “B-Man would just get you again, would he not?”

Joker cackles. He laughs at everything but you’re always confused when he laughs at something you don’t find remotely humorous. “That’s the fun part! He and I, we’re like a cat and mouse, like in those old cartoons. We’re just chasing each other in damn circles and, ah, the fun doesn’t-tah stop until one of us falls.” With a cruel smile, he flicks his fingers, as if toppling something over. “And I don’t intend to be the first to fall.”

“And after B-Man falls?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose. Doesn’t sound very fun. Why, you got a soft spot for the Bat?”

“For Batsy?” Technically, you’re not supposed to be very vocal in your own opinions, especially when they do nothing to help, but wouldn’t it be good for Joker to know you’re with him on some things? Not that Joker has too much disdain in Batman, he clearly loves to mess with him, but obviously the two are on very different sides. You want to show Joker you stand with him. “Absolutely not. The Bat hasn’t done anything to benefit me. If anything I feel more… useless. This man in a mask gets to go around fighting criminals and gets praised and here I am busting my butt everyday and what do I get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You clap a hand over your mouth. Way to go overboard. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

The Joker, of course, doesn’t care that you rambled on. He looks amused. No, not just amused, he looks pleased. His whole face contorts into an evil grin. “Well well well, doll face, nowwww we’re talking. Why didn’t you tell me you loathed the Batman so much?”

“Didn’t think it important.”

“Well, ah, I find it important. Looks like we wanna both go after the Batman, don’t we?”

“Go after him?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Obviously I’m not going to do that.”

He scooches forward. “But you’d like to. Come on, doll, given the chance, wouldn’t you wanna, ah, take the Bat down?”

For some reason, you actually think about it. If you really did have the chance, would you want to bring down the Bat? He was already down now, obviously, but if you had had the chance before then, would you have taken B-Man down? Before you can even dive into it, you snap yourself out of it. Why would you even care to do all that in the first place? Imagine you, beating up Batman? You’re not crazy. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Joker shrugs. “That isn’t a no.”

Things are going far from where you need them to be. “Let’s take this conversation back to you, Mr. J. How about we talk about the Joker in here? Nothing left for you to do except sit and think. You’re not out causing havoc, you’ve been stripped of your weapons and your makeup, what do you feel about yourself now?”

Already, you can tell the Joker isn’t too fond of the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his chair, muttering things under his breath that all sound nonsensical to you. For some reason, you kinda like it. It’s about time you get under his skin too.  “I feel like I wanna hurt someone,” he answers, clenching his fists. “I just wanna get out there and get back to everything.”

“Okay… see, you’re angry at being in here, and you don’t know how to handle your emotions so you’re resorting to violence.” As much as that’s probably true, you’re almost sure that if you were stuck in Arkham, you’d wanna hurt a few people too but that won’t help.

“Violence solves a lot more problems than ya think.”

“Not mental ones. I think I’m seeing what’s going on here, Mr. J.”

Joker taps on the table, a random pattern of noise. “And that is?”

You point with your pen between the two Joker sketches. “Both these people have unresolved problems, problems coped with by violence. Plenty of people do this, but they don’t go around trying to make their points to the whole damn city. These huge acts of violence are outcries and you don’t even realize it. You have no one to turn to to sort your feelings out with and this is what the outcome is.” You look back up at him, and it’s clear he’s confused. “I told you at our last session, you need company. Someone you can relate to, empathize with, talk through these feelings with.”

He frowns. “And what about you, huh? You’re, ah, just as alone as me, not a soul to talk to, and yet you’re not blowing up hospitals.”

Will he ever quit trying to analyze you? “I have other means of coping, Mr. J. Whatever happened to you… it made you hurt. And this hurt, it turned you away from people, even though we need companionship. We seek attention and validation and yet I fear you’re seeking it in all the wrong ways.”

“Who says we need companionship?”

“Human nature. Our hearts. Your mental state,” you say harshly.

His tongue pushes out his scar as he licks the inside of his cheek. “Feistyyy. I like it when you’re all, ah, riled up.”

Joker was really pushing your buttons now, and it was worse that no matter how upset you got at him, he’d find some kind of enjoyment in it. You really couldn’t win some of the battles he put you up against. Yet, the purr in his voice made your cheeks heat. You could never tell when to be angered or enamored. “I really do think that whatever happened in your childhood resulted in your detachment from emotion, and a distrust in people, and this mix of the two… well, it hasn’t been the best for you.”

“So, whaddya suggest? I go mingle with some of the other Arkham patients? Spend some quality time together finger painting and singing Christmas carols?” His laugh comes out as a sharp exhale. “I don’t think friendship is gonna fix me, doll.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest any of that,” you assert. “I just think that isolating ourselves from not just people but also feelings, now that doesn’t get us anywhere good.”

“Clearly,” he giggles, lifting up his cuffed wrists. “But I’ve been doing just fine, doll, aside from this little incident of being locked up in here.”

It was like the Joker just considered Arkham some bump in the road before he could continue his anarchy. That wasn’t good. He couldn’t have his heart set on going back to taking down Batman, no matter how good his reason. Especially considering, well, Batman was nowhere to be seen. Gosh, you wish you could just tell him. Maybe he wouldn’t see it as motivation, maybe it would shut down all his ideas. There was just far too much risk with everything. Say something, say nothing. The Joker was a lot of uncertainties. “But you shouldn’t have to be locked up in here. You don’t have to be if you just try and listen to me. I really want you to get better.”

“I don’t need to get better,” he growls. “The way other people feel, it’s just a soft spot for others to exploit. I’m already winning because nobody has anything on me. Chaos stirs something inside me, isn’t that enough?”

“No, Mr. J, you need more than that,” you plead. Why is he so stubborn? “Just a little company can do wonders. Just some faith in someone.”

“So they can do what? Push me down on my knees like some kind of sinner, making me beg for forgiveness? Making me change my ways? You really are crazy if you believe that.”

Joker is impossible, really. You don’t know how else to get your message across, how to make him listen. So instead, you think back on your deal, take a deep breath, and give him a story.

“When I was ten years old, the kids at school all decided they hated me so much that they all pretended I didn’t exist. I’d try and approach people and… and they never even acknowledged me. It followed me all throughout the rest of my school years.” You mess with your coat, fidgeting with the buttons, not quite able to meet Joker’s gaze. “I know how it feels when people hurt you.”

You wait, wondering if the Joker will give you a story back. You’re surprised when he opens his mouth to speak. “Once, ah, when I was just starting out, one of the criminals I hired managed to sneak up on me, knocked me to the floor real good. Kept babblin’ on about how I was a freak, how I’d never amount to anything, the heel of his boot digging into my back.” He stops, taking a deep breath, and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to stop all together but he continues. “Course, with all his ramblin’, he failed to notice me grabbing a blade. I stabbed him right in the foot, and oh boy, did he scream. I gave him the nastiest beating of his life, I’m sure. Blood all over the floor. And right before I was done, I made sure to give him and I matching smiles. Die with a smile, no?” Joker holds his chin up. “I don’t need people. People don’t care.”

It’s only a single story yet you realize the Joker has so much behind him. So many incidents that seemed to have fueled the thunderous rage beneath his skin. This man, finding humor in the wickedness of the world, wanting to show that everyone is essentially just as rotten as he, has been torn apart over and over again. Society had crushed the both of you yet here you sat, a doctor, and there he sat before you, a madman. In your anger towards the world, you had sought to try and help it, and in his anger, he wanted to burn it all down. You still had hope left in people, he had let that all die away.

He said people didn’t care, but you cared. This was more than just a way towards a paycheck, you really did want to help him. That’s what you’d always wanted for every Arkham patient. Yet the others did not quite distrust people as much as Joker did. Joker didn’t have anyone for him. How was it that Batman, a murderer playing superhero, still had half the city on his side and yet everyone just wanted Joker to rot away in here? You think about yourself, and how much better you would feel if you did have someone, if you had been given love and support along your miserable journey. If you could give Joker the support you’d always wanted, well, maybe that would change something in him.

“We’re both pretty messed up, huh?” you finally say, deciding not to comment on anything specifically about Joker’s anecdote. No need to keep talking about something so horrific. Joker didn’t need that. He needed comfort. 

Joker blows air from his nose, smiling softly. “We are, aren’t we? Just a buncha freaks.”

“Freaks still need to stick with other freaks.”

“And who have you got exactly, Miss l/n?”

You freeze. Nobody. Absolutely nobody. He knows it. Yet for a moment you feel… well, embarrassed. Your hand creeps to your warming face, your eyes feel suddenly watery. You don’t have your parents anymore. No old friends from school or college, not that there were many to begin with. No coworker friends, shitty bosses. All you have is yourself and you hate it. 

Joker seems to notice that his comment didn’t go down well, and he holds up his hands like he’s gesturing for you to stop, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Uh, doll, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, no, it’s fine…” You quickly wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Just wasn’t expecting the question, I guess.”

“Right,” he mumbles. “It wasn’t, uh, meant to be an insult.”

You let your eyes flutter close for a second and take a nice, long breath in. When your eyes open again, you straighten yourself out, contemplating your next words. “I know how it feels to be alone, Mr. J. More than anything.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, your fingers drifting towards his own, which are splayed out on the table. He sits up very still, unmoving save for a twitch in his jaw, as he watches you place your hand on top of his. You’re not sure what you’re doing, but you need your point made. “I… I know how much you think you don’t need people, but people offer support and guidance, and if I could have some of that right now, for fucks sake, I would.” You sigh. “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

Joker’s tongue slowly traces along his chapped lips. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You hated how well he read you and you could hardly get anything on him. Finally, he speaks. “Well, you got one now.”

The Joker, a friend. It sounds like the stupidest thing in the entire world. This was someone who had hurt and killed and destroyed. Someone who was close to no one, the people around him with one purpose: to serve him. He had said how loyalty didn’t come for free, that it needed to be bought. If something so simple as loyalty was seen as a transaction to him, did he even comprehend the concept of companionship? He must have, at some point, whoever the man before the Joker was. But the person you were dealing with was not that man, you were dealing with Joker. Joker did not seem a man who connected with anyone yet he tells you how alike the two of you are, and you can’t help but believe it. Alone in the world, the two of you. Maybe he can’t yet bring himself to make a real connection with anyone but, goddammit, you wanted him to try.

Why not be alone together?

It would all be in hopes of helping him, you told yourself. Whatever relationship the two of you were forming. If he could have someone to talk to, not just in a professional sense, but someone who would really be there for him, you think that would help a lot.

That’s all this is. This is to help him.

You squeeze his hand. “I like the sound of that, Mr. J.”

—————

It started off as a joke, really. 

Joker didn’t want to be analyzed. The first night he had been brought into Arkham, he had been poked and prodded, as doctors tried to decipher what kinda pills to stuff him full of. Joker had tried to fight them off, but they had injected him with something that made him sluggish. Just a few hours later was when they had sent in all the psychiatrists to try and fix him. Joker didn’t need to be fixed. He was an agent of chaos, a force to be reckoned with, something they just couldn’t comprehend. Then you’d come along, and you were so lonely, and Joker liked toying with things that were easy to break. Except you’re nothing like the others. There’s something about you, this way that you interact with him, the way you don’t see him as some freak. When you stare at him, you don’t look at him like he’s a monster. It’s strange.

Joker doesn’t do friends. The term itself means nothing to him. It’s a meaningless word. Most words are meaningless to him, empty sayings. Yet when you look at him with those eyes, like he’s your equal rather than beneath you, Joker does feel something. Some kind of connection. He’s never thought about killing you, which says something. It’s the only way he can describe this feeling towards you, something other than the pure disdain he usually feels towards others. There is something… warm about you. Joker didn’t like it. Yet he let it happen anyways.

Long after you’re gone, when he’s strapped onto the metal slab the Arkham guards call a bed, he thinks on some of your words. You thought a companion would help him. Someone he could rely on. Someone who would truly be loyal.

He smiles wickedly to himself. You might just be right.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey

Lmk if you'd like to be added! Hope the @'s are working lol...

[withlove-xixi]

— BABY FEVER: chilchuck x f!reader

ᥫ cw: pregnancy + established relationship, also one inuendo ᥫ wc: 2841 ★ this has been stuck on my mind for sooo long! i jst want it to be a bit silly teehee >_<! cross posted on ao3

— THERE ARE TIMES WHEN INSTINCT JUST KICKS IN

[♡]: for chilchuck, his instincts kicked in as often as you'd think (especially with laios as a party leader). it was a trait his colleagues admired him for, it made him responsible, dependable. it was a trait chilchuck prided himself it— was he to blame when it came in so handy? though of all the times his instinct saved his ass, there was one he'd have been far more at peace dealing with on his own.

CHILCHUCK'S KEEN SENSES COME IN HANDY.

As a half-foot, his senses were better than other races, having the ability to hear better and smell better, to an extent. He would be alert too with the things he'd sense, shifts in temperature, whispers in the wind. It all came in handy in the dungeon, where Chilchuck would always be first to sniff out any danger.

Like the last time he had ventured down there with the party and Laios had clumsily triggered a trap on accident.

There was a sound, so soft it was nearly silent. It grates in Chilchuck's ear, causing his brows to furrow slightly. Usually in the dungeon, there were all sorts of strange noises Chilchuck normally wouldn't give a second thought to, but this was different. It was louder, therefore closer, therefore— "EVERYBODY RUN." Not a second wasted as everyone quickly followed Chilchuck's instruction, sprinting far and fast into the next room as the walls behind them began to close in on each other. Of course once everyone got to safety, they had thanked and praised him for his quick reaction, saving everyone from another death. Chilchuck had sighed, assessing everyone's safety before promptly going to Laios to scold him for his clumsiness.

Chilchuck's experience comes in handy too.

Whether it was picking locks, bargaining for deals, or patching up worn clothes, Chilchuck's experience always came in clutch.

It was a while back when you two had first moved in together in Chilchuck's house. Chilchuck was proud of your decision, enjoying the newfound domesticity that came with it. "STOP FUCKING YELLING, CALM DOWN!" As domestic as things can get, you supposed. He had clicked his tongue in frustration, wedging one of his tools against his lips and he worked on picking the lock with another. Sweat had dripped down his forehead, sticking stray strands of his bangs against his skin as he worked. He could hear you speak, something a bit panicked and muffled. He had huffed through his nose, if he wasn't holding his tool in his mouth, he would've scolded you again. Of course, he already had and was planning to scold you some more once he got you out of the locked storage room. How could you be so foolish as to break the lock on accident? You were literally living with a locksmith for crying out loud. Once he had gotten you out though (which he himself found miraculous, because you really did some serious damage to the lock) and found you all frazzled and sweaty, and decided to spare you the lecture for now. Chilchuck had wrapped you in his arms and promised to fix the lock in the morning.

Combined, forms what becomes Chilchuck's instinct. He's proud of the person he's grown to be; proud of the big things he's able to do with his instinct, like keeping his friends out of danger when working in the dungeon, and little things too, like last week when he quickly caught the glass you had accidentally knocked off the dining table. While he'd never admit it, it always made him feel warm inside, knowing he had the ability to protect the people he cared about.

Only now, he felt less warm about the feeling and more like he needed to puke right this instant.

Chilchuck cannot recall when he started to truly notice things, but he remembers smaller details scattered around the past few weeks (Gods, had it nearly been a month?). He remembers going out to get you some food you had been whining about craving for a while, he remembers you grouchily scolding him for something then apologizing to him tearfully not ten minutes after.

But when exactly did it start?

Chilchuck's instinct kicked in far too quickly for him to even register that something was up. With you, he had always been more protective, of course he had to be twice as alert as when he was in the dungeon. But this turned out to be his downfall.

Because last night when he pulled you closer to him, his hand brushed over your belly and he instantly freezes. He felt it, and as soon as he did, he realized what it was — what it meant.

A small bump. A small bump he might not have even noticed but it was you, he's notice if you had lost an eyelash.

There was no denying it. You were, based off all the obvious signs he really should've seen sooner, pregnant. And Chilchuck didn't know what to feel. On one hand, he's quite happy, excited even. That's his baby in your belly. It's the same part of him that feels somewhat proud of it, a way to show off that he was truly yours, and you were truly his. It was sweet. He felt warm.

On the other hand, he was totally fucked. For one thing, this was never planned. Sure, the conversation of kids came up every now and then, but he never thought it might've actually happened. He was certain that you both were well into the age where it was nearly impossible for this to happen. Of course it wasn't entirely a bad thing. Chilchuck's survived three daughters, what's another kid? But it's so agonizing to even begin to imagine the rest of his life with an unplanned kid (as happy as Chilchuck is to have another one, he's not as happy to have his perfect little life for two be so suddenly changed without prior notice).

Another thing is his daughters. Sure, his daughters were old enough, they were mature too. He's certain he's raised them well enough to handle the situation with grace, but another sibling? From their 29 year old dad? He's knows they wouldn't mind too much, in fact Puck and Fler might be more than excited to have a new sibling. But as much as he knows that, he knows it would be awkward (though he fears it would be awkward mostly for him, but awkward nonetheless), it would be a bit strange for the girls to have to watch a new sibling grow up when they're already old.

Oh my gods. Oh my gods, did you even know?

It was the thought that rang in Chilchuck's head as he paced around the kitchen, hand on his chin, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

Chilchuck's certainly figured it out, but did you? As silly as it is for a pregnant woman not to notice (especially when it was beginning to be noticeable for others), it wasn't entirely impossible. The same happened when they had Meijack, but then they had both caught onto the signs very early on (it helped too that they had been going on regular check ups for it). This time? Gods, Chilchuck was certain you hadn't noticed. You had no reason to hide it from him after all, and even if you were trying to, you were acting far too normal to raise any suspicion.

Chilchuck's mind races with all sorts of thoughts but one thing rings clear, he has to tell you about the pregnancy.

How is the bigger thought that follows. For sure he could just sit you down and explain things. You weren't some child that needed sugarcoating, it wouldn't change the fact that you were pregnant anyway. But still, it felt strange to do it like that (that and Chilchuck wpuld like to avoid direct conforntation as much as he can, even with you).

Maybe he could tell you over dinner? Prepare a nice meal, one of your favorites or something you've been craving, and tell you then when you're all comfortable and happy. But it felt a bit disingenuous. Plus it would basically be like sugarcoating the whole ordeal.

He could try to tell you indirectly? Write a letter about it and ask you to open it only when Chil was out of the house. Though it wouldn't work because he knows you'd attempt to beat him to death as soon as he stepped through the front door, and as the new father-to-be (as if he isn't already a father) wanted to be there when you know. He wants to see how you'd react, and he'd want to be there for you.

Perhaps he would take you to the doctor for a "routine check up" and have the doctor tell you instead. Though it wouldn't work because he knows you'd beat him to death as soon as you realize he knew beforehand and the whole doctor's trip was a set-up. But it would be nice to have a check up for the baby then and there too, kill two birds with one stone.

Chilchuck sighs in defeat, completely clueless on how to tell you. From what he sees, there are two valid and plausible options; one, he ask help from a friend to help him set up something nice so he could announce the news to you in a gentle and elegang manner; or two, he pretends not to know and wait until you figure out on your own.

Option two would be best. Right on time because as soon as he decides on the (cowardly) route to take, he hears the wooden door creak and you huff in exhaustion. Immediately, he rushes to your side, kissing your temple and taking away the heavy groceries from your hands (because pregnant women shouldn't be carrying heavy things).

"You're sweet tonight, Chil," you say playfully. "Did you do something bad?"

You hold half the fault. He thinks as he carries the groceries to the kitchen. "Can't I be sweet to my favorite girl?"

You giggle and he sighs with relief, letting go of breath he didn't know he was holding. He places the groceries on the counter, a basket full of assorted fruits, two loaves of bread, a jug of milk, a bottle of wine, and good gods, how the hell did you carry all these on your own? Chilchuck's begins to wonder if maybe you weren't pregnant and were simply getting a bit chubbier (he certainly was) and maybe all the mood swings were from your period coming up, and maybe your body aches were from working yourself too hard, and maybe your cravings were from your period coming up also.

The brief moment of silence in his mind that everything might've been product of his overthinking ends abruptly when he hears you stumble to the bathroom and immediately hears you puke after.

Again, he's rushing to your side, holding stray strands of hair back and soothingly rubbing circles on your back. He coos gently at you, calming you down.

"I'll get you some water," he says, though he only attempts to leave the bathroom when you nod in confirmation.

In the kitchen, he tries to calm himself as more thoughts and worries go through his head. On one hand, option two is a nice easy way out of confrontation. You get to figure it out all on your own and Chilchuck and live a nice happy rest of his twenty or so years with the love of his life telling the silly story of how she found out about their kid. On the other, surely you must be suffering a lot. It must be strange to you to feel all these symptoms but have no clue as to what's causing them if you had even thought each were relating to the same source. It would be better to man up and tell you so you'd at least have something to blame for being grouchy or wanting to eat grilled kraken parasite again. But again, if he tells you now, you'd be a bit frustrated for not knowing it sooner. Though wouldn't you be more frustrated to keep going through these unknown symptoms? And—

There's a strained huff behind him that pulls him out of his thoughts.

"Woah hey, what're doing?" He asks as he rushes to you for the third time that evening. He sets the glass of water down on the counter next to the groceries and tries to wrestle the basket of fruit from your hands.

"Putting away the groceries, Chil, what does it look like I'm doing?" You ask, giving him a small glare, clearly somewhat annoyed.

"Here, let me do it." He offers, finally taking the basket from your hands.

You pout at him, which would normally be very dangerous bit Chilchuck's thinking enough to remember pregnant women shouldn't carry heavy things, but let him take the fruit anyway. Chilchuck smiles at you first to try and put you at ease before he goes to grab a step stool. He sets it down and begins reaching for a pretty bowl to display the fruit in. Thank gods you were being somewhat reasonable (he recalls how a few days ago you were being very insistent you didn't need his help with directions in a bazaar at the other side of town and got yourself lost for a bit and he mentally curses at himself for so foolishly letting a pregnant woman wander around aimlessly in a hot, crowded marketplace) and prays lady luck would string him some more miracles as he continues working with option two—

There's a clink and a pop below him that pulls him out of his thoughts.

Chilchuck nearly drops the bowl he's holding (which would definitely have gotten him beat to death for) as he exclaims, "H-hey! What do you think you're doing?"

You look up at him with a confused look, stopping your pour of wine only when the glass is shy of being half-full. "What is it now?" You ask and he can definitely hear the growing frustration in your tone. "I haven't had the best day, I just want to unwind a bit."

There's a panicked look on his face as he steps down from the stool. "You can't." The way his says it makes your eyebrows tilt downwards to glare at him.

"And why not?" You ask, your tone turning from sour to angry.

Chilchuck sets the bowl down next to the forgotten glass of water. "Well, why should you? There are other ways to unwind you know?" He says without thinking much and begins to set the fruit in the bowl, trying his best not to raise anymore suspicion.

There's a silence that falls in the kitchen and Chilchuck is scared he was getting beat anyway. But then he hears the distinct sound of a wine bottle and a wine glass clink against the counter (of course those small sounds would be familar to a man like Chilchuck) and it takes all his power not to heave a sigh of relief.

Short lived relief because when you wrap your arms around his torso you whisper in his ear, "hm, what sort of other ways, Chil?"

Startled, he jolts upwards and drops an apple. "I didn't... I-I didn't mean it like that!" Chilchuck says, almost in a scolding manner but his face grows red so it's quite difficult to even discern his tone.

You hum again, pressing your face against his neck just so your nose brushes against his skin and your hot breath warms it up. Oh this really would've been dangerous for Chilchuck. "Not like you to have cold feet." You say in a teasing manner, but Chilchuck can feel his stress levels rising too much to even be a bit riled up by you right now.

He turns and grabs you by the shoulders. "Really, I didn't mean that." He says somewhat sternly, but he quickly gives you a shaky smile when he sees the corners of your lips twitch downward.

Your eyes study his and he feels like maybe option two was the worse of two evils. Your lips press into a thin line, clearly you sense something is up, it's evident in the way you're ready to pounce at him with all sorts of unbelieve accusations.

He lets go of your shoulders and sighs in defeat. "It's complicated," he says, almost dejectedly.

And you frown at his tone. You carefully place a hand on his cheek, he turns his head to kiss your palm.

"Anything wrong, you can tell me, Chilchuck." You say in such a reassuring tone, he's almost ready to just spill the beans.

And really, he is.

At the end of the day, he gets to be with you. It's all he's ever wanted since he fell hard and fast for your beauty and wit and warmth, and now you both get to send the rest of your domestic fantasies come true with a kid; a kid that's his and yours, in a house that's his and yours, living a life that will be only his and yours.

Chilchuck smiles gently, genuinely. What's going through some trouble now if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with you?

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part i: and while you were asleep, i was surely awake

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 2.8k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: hii y'all, sorry for not posting in a year :P my only excuse is that i didn't feel like taking the energy to actually write out my story ideas. also perfectionism. anyway i somehow wrote this in two hours while procrastinating my college app essays and have plans to make this a multi-chapter fic despite intending to write an angsty oneshot request for a completely different fandom (i see you, beloved anons, and i raise you this completely unrelated fic <3)… the brain of a writer works in mysterious ways.

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

You were in love with James Potter.

It was a fact of life, just like how the sky was blue, or that his favorite dessert was treacle tart, or that you were the only person he’d ever let see him cry besides his mother. You’d loved him from the moment you met him on the train to Hogwarts as a shy, anxious muggleborn unsure of the new world of magic and prejudice you’d been thrown into without so much as a warning. He hadn’t cared at all about your blood status- didn’t even think to ask about it. He had launched himself into your compartment and began talking at you a mile a minute, beaming with every tooth showing once he found out you were hoping to get into Gryffindor, his hazel eyes alight with the joy of making a new friend. And friends indeed you had become; you were proud to remember that you’d known him before Sirius or Remus or Peter did, though it took only an instant after the Sorting for him to become best mates with the rest of them, too.

You and James were inseparable from that moment on, giggling at Professor Binns’ failure to notice Sirius’ antics in the back of class and reassuring each other when home seemed too far away for comfort. He stole sweets from the Slytherin table for you at meals, and you covered for him when the teachers almost caught him pranking Snape– after all, who would believe that sweet, innocent Y/n would ever be involved in such shenanigans? The soft-spoken demeanor and love of everything pastel you’d thought would eventually oust you from the close-knit Gryffindor boys’ group proved to be quite the useful asset when affirming their ‘innocence’.

Not that they only wanted you around because you were helpful, of course. You had quite the talent for exaggerating stories until even Sirius fell off his seat laughing in disbelief, and your creative mind made for some glorious pranks and entertaining mistakes. Peter would blush for an hour straight if anyone mentioned The Great Plum Pudding Incident of Christmas 1974, all thanks to your clever meddling. And Remus– well, he was eternally grateful for your mother-henning during the worst of his moon cycles. You’d been the first to figure out his “furry little problem”, and upon learning that enjoying chocolate was his favorite method of escapism, showed up every month without fail with an armful of Honeydukes sweets. The little ways in which you loved each Marauder meant the world to them. They would do anything to protect you and make sure you were okay, James most of all. You often teased James that he was more bodyguard than friend, with his deep glares at too-forward Hufflepuff boys masking the big softie you knew he was underneath. You remembered fondly the summer days he spent chasing you around your house, scaring your mother half to death with his colander-and-pot ‘armor’ as he declared that as a chivalrous knight, he was meant to save Princess Y/n from the terrible Acromantula King. Privately, you thought James had a few too many Arthurian legends for bedtime stories as a child, but what could you do?

Even now, as sixth years, the bond between you and James never changed, your love for him ever-growing. Your heart melted every time you glanced over your shoulder in the hallway, only to find him chatting softly with a sniffling first-year and guiding them to Professor Sprout’s office for a hot cuppa and a biscuit. You cheered at his Quidditch victories and were euphorically lifted up onto his broad shoulders afterward, whooping as he galavanted through the common room in celebration. You were there when he needed a shoulder to cry on when his grandfather died, softly stroking his hair as he fell asleep in your lap with tear tracks still running down his face. And he adored you in return– braiding your hair while you worked on Herbology essays, racing you on his beloved broom when you stayed with him during the summer, distracting you from your rants about Slughorn’s unfair grading with a trip to the kitchens and a blissfully soft blanket.

James was your lifeline and you his– and nothing in the world could change that.

Except, perhaps, one tiny little complication. A complication with vibrant red hair, sparkling green eyes, and a natural affinity for Potions. A complication that had sparked your jealousy since the first time you noticed James glancing dreamily at Lily Evans in second year Transfiguration, jealousy that had only gotten worse with his grand declarations of love every week. He’d begun to announce his affection for the muggleborn to anyone who would listen in third year, and it didn’t stop there. No, when James Potter loved someone, he loved hard, and that meant that you had to watch as beautiful bouquets appeared on Lily’s nightstand nightly while the rest of the girls in your dorm whispered and swooned. You were a wallflower when he sighed about how lovely her skin was and how bloody talented she was at everything she did during one of your late-night chats in the common room, curling in on yourself with every word he spoke. When he asked her to Hogsmeade the first time (and the second, and the third, and the fiftieth), you observed as she rolled her eyes and shoved past him, despite the small smile on her face.

It wasn’t that Lily wasn’t smart or pretty or talented– far from it. She deserved every good Potions grade she got, and even the pureblood Slytherins begrudgingly noted how she was the darling of Hogwarts society. But you thought that the way she treated your best friend, refusing his advances quite harshly but sending him flirtatious glances and making a show of wearing his flowers in her hair, was rather unkind and misleading. She had James wrapped around her little finger and didn’t seem to want to let go of his attention anytime soon, despite Snape’s protests about how much time he was spending with her. You disliked Severus, but didn’t think he deserved Lily’s bad treatment either. Sometimes you’d see him staring at James and Lily deep in conversation, and shoot him a glance of communal disappointment– before realizing who you were sharing the moment with and resuming an expression of disgust, at least.

At first, you ignored your growing angst about his new obsession, chalking it up to sleep deprivation, stress over your upcoming exams, and even your monthly. But when you started to run out of excuses for the despair slowly overtaking your heart and flashes of his dark curls began to appear in your sweetest dreams, you were forced to admit that your feelings for James ran much deeper than a platonic friendship. From the way he spun you around in the snow to the way he snorted at Remus’ awful puns, you were head-over-heels smitten with your best friend.

The way he’d filled out since the end of fourth year hadn’t escaped your notice, either; you were pretty sure that his pecs should be considered a traffic hazard, with the way you’d fallen flat on your face after seeing him shirtless after a match. He’d rushed over to clean up every one of your injuries, of course, with a touch so gentle it released a whole menagerie of butterflies in your stomach. You’d barely managed to mumble a coherent thank-you before sprinting to take a very cold shower and scream into your pillow with embarrassment. How on earth did Lily Evans even think around him?!

Alas, you’d read your fair share of romance novels, and you knew how this story would end. Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.

That was the state Sirius found you in, broody and lost in thought in a quiet corner of the library. He grinned rakishly, planting a well-polished boot on a nearby chair and leaning over to tap your forehead. “Lots going on in there today, huh?”

You snapped out of your daze and smiled sheepishly up at him. “Sorry, Siri, didn’t mean to ignore you. Just, er, thinking about my Potions essay, do you know how many uses there are for mandelwort? Quite fascinating plants, hones–”

Sirius winced and slid back far across the table. “Oh, no, you are not discussing horrid Potions work with me today when there are so many other wonderful topics.” He gestured to a table of swooning fifth-years gazing dreamily at his backside. “For example, those lovely ladies,” he crooned, sending an exaggerated wink towards them and smirking when they sighed.

You wrinkled your nose and scoffed. “Oh, please, as if I haven’t heard enough about your conquests already. I’m already scarred for life from your stories about that Belgium Veela, let alone the muggle sailor you nearly broke the Statute of Secrecy for.”

He waved a hand, dismissing your allegations of the mental injury caused by his excruciating attention to sordid detail when slightly tipsy in the common room. You made a mental note to charm his shampoo to turn his hair bright lavender for the next week for that little snub. Although, being Sirius, he’d probably just use it as an excuse to sway the rest of the Hogwarts population into going to Hogsmeade with him. “Ah, but darling Y/n, that’s what I’m here for!” He furrowed his brow and stroked his chin in mock consideration. “However, I can’t seem to recall a time when you–” here he poked you in the cheek for emphasis– “confessed to a little tete-a-tete in the hallway. Ever. Which means we have a problem,” he grinned.

You felt rather like prey being hunted for sport. “That would be because I’m not interested in anyone, you dolt!” Crossing your arms, you turned your face back towards your homework. Maybe if you denied romantic interest for long enough, Sirius would leave you alone and go flounce off to flirt with the noisy table of fourth years. “Anyway, I heard Marlene’s been circling Dorcas like a lovesick pigeon lately, so perhaps you should be putting your matchmaking efforts to her benefit instead.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “C’mon doll, I know you weren’t actually thinking about Potions when I arrived. Who’s the lead actor in those fantasies, mm?” He snatched up your favorite pink gel pen, twirling around his fingers as he looked at you expectantly.

Drat. He wouldn’t be so easily distracted with the latest gossip. You opened your mouth to protest yet again when you caught a flash of red over Sirius’ artfully tousled locks. You watched as James strode up to the alcove where Lily and her friends were studying, transfigured a sheet of parchment into a butterfly clip and held it out to her with a grin. Her laughter pealed out through the library as she let him lean over her shoulder to place it in her hair. He seemed oblivious to the titters of the girls around him while he gazed at Lily adoringly. You felt your heart clench as you recognized the expression on his face; you’d seen it on your own in the mirror after spending time with James, after all. And it seemed like maybe Lily was finally starting to be swayed into accepting his starry-eyed proposals, if the pretty blush on her cheeks was anything to go by.

Sirius tracked your despairing gaze to the couple and immediately paled in realization. “Oh, shit.”

Shit, indeed. Your face turned bright red as you scrambled to pack your bag and leave the area as fast as you possibly could, not sure how you could face Sirius knowing your deepest secret now. The boy had no self-control, fueling the Hogwarts gossip mill with the wild stories he overheard, and he had even less discretion when confessing things to his friends around the common room fire. It’s no wonder he wound up in Gryffindor, you thought miserably. There’s no way he’d be able to keep a secret like the rest of the Slytherins, and definitely not from James. It would only be a matter of time before he let it slip about your feelings to the rest of the Marauders, and— well, you’d just have to face losing your best friend for good once he heard.

Sirius broke your train of thought by wrapping his hands around yours, looking up at you with concern. “Hey, doll, wait— I didn’t know—“

You sniffed and wiped the tears threatening to fall from your eyes away fiercely. “That’s exactly it, Sirius, you didn’t know because you won’t be able to keep it from James.”

He looked guiltily down at the table. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit of a git with keeping things private lately, yeah?”

You nodded, covering your face with your hands. Sirius reached out, placing them back down on the table, and softly said, “Listen, I shouldn’t have pried so hard. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” He broke off, pausing to scramble for a handkerchief from his bag to wipe off your rapidly disintegrating mascara. “And I promise not to breathe a word of this to James,” he finished.

You looked up at him, startled. “Are you serious?” At his answering grin, you groaned. “Don’t answer that. But really, are you sure that you’ll be able to resist telling him everything?” You fiddled with the now-soiled handkerchief and whispered, “You two are so close, I don’t want to drive you apart. If James thought you were hiding something important from him, it would destroy him,” you sniffed.

He frowned. “Doll, you know you’re just as important as James is to me, right?” At your answering slump, his jaw clenched and he continued on with more intensity. “You’re like my sister, Y/n, there’s nothing you could do to make me care for you less. Especially not asking for your privacy. Clearly, I haven’t been treating you as well as you deserve if you doubt that.”

He walked around and took a seat in the armchair next to you, pulling you in to lean on his shoulder. “And I can be discreet, you know. I might not show it often, but growing up in a family of the most intensely secretive purebloods ever to exist taught me a few things.” You glanced at him doubtfully, the tiny quirk of your mouth the only sign that you were joking. “Hey, I’m being serious!” He laughed, then quieted suddenly. “This thing with James— you really love him, don’t you?”

You gave him an exasperated look out of the corner of your eye. Sirius released a breath and gazed deeply into the space in front of him. “Hey, we’ll figure this out together, okay?” He poked you in the side. “If he’s too focused on the smell of Evans’ hair or whatever to see that he already has the perfect girl in front of him, he’s not as smart as you think he is.” You giggled slightly, his words warming you. Sirius smiled, happy to see you cheering up a bit.

“Why don’t we go raid the kitchens? The coolest person I know once told me that elf-crafted mint chocolate chip ice cream is the best way to heal a broken heart,” he teased. You groaned, remembering how you’d told him that as a last resort to get him to stop complaining about how he missed his sailor ex-boyfriend every time you two went to Hogsmeade. At least your random advice wound up benefiting you now, you thought as you collected the last of your stationery and exited the library.

Neither you nor Sirius saw how James watched you smile up at Sirius as you walked away, holding his arm and laughing loudly at something he muttered. Anna Dumotier, a Hufflepuff fifth-year and one of Lily’s friends, would remember later that night how he seemed to tune out Lily’s voice for a moment and stared at the doors to the library with a strange expression on his face. His brows were furrowed like he was trying to decipher the answer to an unfamiliar puzzle, his eyes widened with confusion and a glint of something she could only identify as jealousy before Lily brought him back to the conversation with a graceful flip of her hair. But no— she shook her head— that couldn’t be right. What could James possibly be jealous of when he finally had the girl of his dreams in his arms?

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii

[sunsetsimon]

i have a secret. (request)

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

mentions of the club, cheating, angsty with happy ending

okay so this is way longer than a drabble but i just sat down and this came out so who's complaining???? also im so proud i literally wrote this in less than an hour and a half omg - sun

─────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────

he arrives in your town late at night. his mission had ended earlier than expected and he decided to come surprise you with a visit, knowing you’d have no clue. it's past one in the morning, the lights off in your house. simon figures you're asleep as you stopped replying to his texts a few hours prior. he pulls the spare key out from the flower pot near your front door, digging it from the 2 inches of dirt you made sure to cover it with.

unlocking the door, it's eerily quiet, something in simon's gut telling him to be on alert. reaching under his hoodie, he unholsters his gun tucked into his pants, gripping it tight in his hands as he surveys the house. the small dim light on the stove illuminates the kitchen, and he sets his bag on the table.

his steps are silent as he checks every room, coming to the realization that no one was there, even you. simon was confused, wondering where you'd be this late without letting him know your plans. anxiety pools in his stomach, wondering if you were doing something you would keep from him.

you're just finishing up your shift, collecting all of your belongings and changing into your normal sweats and sweatshirt. security escorts you to your car, just as a safety measure. bidding your goodbye's, you shut the door and start your car. your phone vibrates, a text from simon:

"what are you up to, love?" - simon, 1:32am

feeling guilty, you toss your phone onto the passenger seat, choosing to respond once you get home. your relationship with simon had only been official for a few months and he'd been out of the country for most of the time. it didn't feel right to keep things from him, but you worried that telling the truth about your night job would push him away.

once you arrive home, you sit in your car for a minute before replying to simon:

"sorry si, i fell asleep on the couch again. going to bed now, text you when i'm up xx" - you, 1:45am

heading inside, you drop your bags on the couch, slipping off your shoes and heading to get ready for your shower. you push open the cracked bedroom door, turning on the light as you walk inside. you jump with a yelp when you see simon seated in the chair in the corner, his head resting on his propped up arm, phone in his other hand.

"fell asleep on the couch, huh?" he asks, voice low, laced with something like anger.

"when did you get here?" you ask, extremely confused on what he's doing in the corner of your room at 2 in the morning.

his blond eyebrows furrow, face twisting in displeasure at your obvious deflection, "i asked you a question." simon leans forward, body seeming to grow with intimidation, making you feel small and cornered. the words slip from your tongue, a proper sentence failing to form and explain your whereabouts.

"were you out with someone?" he asks, noting your eye makeup and styled hair. simon can feel his heart breaking in his chest with your silence, trying to come up with an answer. he shakes his head, clearing his throat as he walks past you, grabbing his bag from the kitchen table.

"wait!" you cry, running after him and grabbing onto his arm but he snatches it away. "simon, listen i can explain."

though he wants to run, leave you here and never speak to you again, he stays. his chest burns, squeezing tight with hurt, never imagining you'd do anything to hurt him. simon wasn't one to catch feelings or have a committed relationship.

"i have a night job at the club, jimmy's. i didn't want to tell you because i wasn't sure how you'd take it," you explain, holding onto his wrist as if that'd stop him from moving.

"you're a bartender?"

"a dancer. a stripper..." you trail off, cheeks burning with shame. you're met with silence, his brown eyes distant as he stares at the ground, brain failing to process what you just confessed. an erotic dancer? that was definitely not on the list of things simon guessed you were doing.

"and you've been at this for how long..? as work?"

"i started a little after we started dating, when you were gone for those three weeks. it's good money, and i'm good at it-" you explain, grabbing your bag from the couch to reveal it to him. unzipping it, the bag is filled with all different bills, "i made this tonight."

"dunno what t'say," simon finally says, shaking his head in disbelief.

"are you mad at me?"

"not that you dance. but you still lied to me, i wouldn't do that to you. we're partners, y'can tell me anything."

"i'm sorry si," you say. he reaches for you, pulling you into his embrace.

his body is warm and he smells like a new cologne, holding you against his chest before pulling back, his large hands cupping your face, "don't lie t'me again, got it?"

and you nod eagerly, "i promise."

"now why don't you show me some of these dances you've been keeping from me," simon offers, kissing your puffy lips from his hands squishing your face. you huff against him and he chuckles, giving you one last wet kiss, just to tease you even more.

[zombiekillerbiceps]

Closing In

Leon follows reader home...

Note: thank you to anon for suggesting this premise, ohhhh I did not realize how much I would like writing this - and thank you everyone for your patience!

Content: 3.9 k words, 18+, cnc with enthusiastic consent, stalking roleplay, slasher roleplay, home invasion roleplay, denial, rough sex, taunting, humiliation, crying, overstim, sadism/masochism, Slasher!Leon, obsessed Leon, LeonxReader, fem reader, no y/n. 

-

"I dunno, I just think it's kind of romantic," you say. Your hands fiddle nervously with the tassels on your throw pillow.

"He was a stalker, babe." Leon's voice hides just a hint of amusement. "He cut women up."

"Okay, but besides that-"

"Besides the... The serial killing."

"Yes! Besides the serial killing."

Leon stared at you, an eyebrow arched in judgement. You tried to stay straight faced - by God, you tried - but he had a way of half-smirking his way past your mask with his annoying, pretty face.

"Look, I'm just saying," you roll your eyes, not even sure why you keep talking, "something about... Obsessing over someone like that is kiiind of romantic. What's the point of love if it doesn't make you a little crazy? Y'know? Anne Rice would agree with me."

"Anne Rice was horny for a Confederate twink," he points out.

You gawk for a moment. But like, he's kind of right. So instead of saying anything clever, you throw the pillow at him. He deflects it with his forearm, but that gives you the opening to jump on him. You're wrestling in no time, breathless and sweaty and... Moving against each other...

-

You're out for lunch with your friend, Jessie, at some too-fancy Parisian style café. You sip a caramel iced latte and share a plate of rose coloured macarons. She complains about her studies, you complain about work, and you both come to the resounding agreement that deadlines suck. She complains about her last date, some butch that was more well-read than her that accidentally made her feel stupid. You don't have the heart to tell her that they sounded cool as hell. You tip-toe around telling her about Leon. It's not that you weren't proud of him, it was just... With the nature of his job, what were you going to say? Yeah, I'm seeing this guy who has a gun case built into the dresser and is super paranoid about people visiting his place and won't tell me what he does but he's like, totally a sweet guy and not some psycho? Yeah. Okay.

You stretch, appreciating the summer sun on your limbs and the peaceful breeze around your skirt. Your phone rings. Jessie snatches it up before you have a chance to, and then gives you the most scandalous, shit-eating grin you've ever seen.

"No. Don't you dare-!"

"Hiiiii lover boy," she coos over the phone.

Oh fuck, kill me.

"Jessie, give me the phone!" You reach across the table, the ceramic plate between you clattering loudly against the glass table. You freeze, feeling eyes on you. Jessie opens her mouth in mock embarrassment.

"So you're the secret boyfriend that my best friend keeps hiding from me?"

"Jessie, come on."

She listens for a moment, then laughs. You get up from your chair and walk over to her while she tries to twist away from your grasp.

"mhm, mhm - oh, sorry, I think someone wants to talk to y-"

You finally snatch it from her grasp. You give her a stare with the intensity of someone who can kill by staring. You try to keep your voice as flat as possible.

"Hey, sorry about that. What's up?"

"Is that Jessie?" He asks. He's got that... Quirk in his voice. The one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel Jessie watching you and try to keep it cool.

"Yeah, sorry, she's like, literally five years old sometimes."

"She seems fun."

"Babe, I'm kinda busy, did you have a reason for-"

"That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

You freeze halfway to sitting back down in your chair. Jessie tilts her head, giving you that concerned-puppy-dog face she did when she knew something was up.

You clear your throat and find it suddenly dry. You sit back down but you're a little clumsy, your skirt getting caught on the arm rests. You snatch it back, and then trying to regain your cool, you take a sip from your iced latte. You hear him chuckle on the other end. Did it get cold all of a sudden?

"What, uh, what do you mean by that?"

You can practically hear him grin into the receiver.

"I mean," he says, drawing out every syllable. "I can see you. And you look pretty today. That skirt will roll up pretty easy-"

You hang up on him. Mostly in panic. There was no way you were going to do that in public! Your eyes scan the area around you. Pretty cafe patio, pretty park across the street, some people going about their daily business. You can't see him anywhere. He must be fucking with you. He must have known you were going to wear a dress, it's so hot out, and where would he even be hiding?

A cold hand touches yours and you almost jump out of your skin. Jessie's taking your hand in hers, and when you meet her gaze, she looks like she's about to cry.

"I'm so sorry if I caused any issues between you, I totally shouldn't have answered it. I didn't think he'd like, get angry with you," she starts to wetly babble, swaying between guilty and protective. You love her very much, but you don't know what to say.

Oh, it's just this weird sex game we play, I promise this brooding dude who you've never met and only spoken to once is definitely a good guy and not like emotionally abusive.

"Hey, hey, Jessie. Don't worry about it. It wasn't about that he's got this... Thing. Unrelated. But uh, look, I have to go."

She frowns, almost curving her pink lip-glossed mouth into a pout.

"If he so much as leaves a scratch on you, I will kill him."

Your thoughts flit to the bite marks and bruises that are just covered by your dress. If only she knew.

You kiss her cheek, snatch up one final macaron, and take your leave. You try to control your pace, look cool, act natural. Your eyes scan the buildings and alleyways around you. You seriously can't find him.

Your phone rings.

You stare at it for a moment. Your hands are shaking a little when you answer it.

"It's sweet how much she cares about you," he says. An idea dawns on you. You nod and give an mhm sound, listening around you for anything noticeable. A church bell rings just ahead of you and you hear it echo over the phone.

"You're close," you say. You try to sound threatening. He just laughs at you.

"Obviously. How else would I know you're wearing that citrus perfume I love?"

"I wear that everyday." Your voice shakes as you speak, and you can't help but whip your head around. You half expect to see him there, but it's just some guy who gives you a dirty look.

"No, you don't. You only wear it when you're going to see friends. You usually wear the vanilla one. You like that it's so subtle."

You're a little impressed he noticed that. It was kind of sweet, really, if he wasn't totally freaking you out. How did he possibly get close enough to smell your perfume without you noticing?  You start walking again. You want to catch the train home. Maybe you can trap him there.

You use the shop windows as you pass to get a better look, pretending to window shop.

"Do you think I'd look good in that," you ask, with no idea what you're referring to. You're looking past whatever is behind the glass to observe the reflection. A spot of blonde hair, maybe... He got a totally different hair cut? No. Not him.

"Using the reflection. Clever."

He hangs up.

You spin around again, desperately searching the crowd. He was a beefy guy and he moved like a panther, there's no way he was just casually blending in. But, you can't find him.

You wrap your arms around your core. Knowing you're being watched makes you want to shrink into yourself. Yet you can't ignore the excitement you feel. It was kind of romantic, really. Kind of dangerous.

You liked Leon best when he was dangerous.

You set off again, somehow walking a knife's edge between nervous and confident. Both prey and prize. You keep looking over your shoulder as you pass into the crowded underground of the subway station. It's right around rush hour and it's so packed you can hardly move. Other people are breathing your oxygen and you're just recycling theirs. It's tight, and hot, and moving at the exact speed that makes you feel like no one is really getting anywhere. You pull your purse tight to your body and try to shove past people, only to be confronted with more people.

Your phone rings. You hang up. And then, in a stroke of brilliance, you call back.

His ringtone echoes out in the tiled halls. You try desperately to find it, but it only rings out twice, then it's lost in the sea of people.

"Clever," his voice is deep on the other end. "I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah. Why don't you stop hiding?"

"Oh, I know you're eager, but I didn't think you'd want me to cut you up in this crowd."

He's impatient. You can tell by the sharpness of his voice that he's more frustrated than he admits. The threat sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but picture yourself bent over on the filthy tile floor, knife to your throat, fucked within an inch of your life as people step past. The ebb and flow of the crowd pushes you towards the oncoming subway.

"What exactly is your plan?" He asks. You can hear the screeching brakes over the phone. "I know you take the 76 Southbound until Queen Street. I know you get off and walk two blocks to George Street. I know you live in a turn of the century brownstone with a heritage plaque and bathroom sink that takes forever to drain."

You step onto the 76 Southbound near the front. You press your back to the wall and watch as people get on.

"Yeah, well," you say victoriously, "I know you have to go the same way."

And then you see him. He walks directly into your trap, and realizes it too late. His blue eyes widen in realization. The door slams shut behind him.

You hang up.

Some people pile up in front of you, giving you cover from him. You watch him from behind shoulders and under arms. Open, navy bomber jacket and a grey t-shirt with black jeans doesn't exactly scream slasher killer. But, something about how casual he looks keeps your attention. He blends in, he's unsuspecting. And, to your surprise, he's grinning like a fox.

He's broad, and when he moves through the crowd, people make room for him. He scans every seat and every face with purpose. Inching his way towards the back. You realize you have nowhere to go. You start to panic. Maybe you get off a stop early? And then what, he beats you to your house and waits for you?

No, you have to get home before he does. Lock the doors before he can get in. You push closer to the door so you can be the first one off. You turn to track his progress and directly meet his gaze.

Fuck.

His expression drops, his eyes glaring at you from under his brow. You're almost hypnotized by them, frozen in place while he cuts through the crowd.

You're pinned down with nowhere to go. But, surely, nothing will happen in public, right?

He pushes past a few more people and then he's on you. He towers above you, his broad shoulders cutting out other's view of you. You notice how his t-shirt clings to his body. How well fitting his jeans are. You also notice the angry squint in his eyes from under his brow.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" He brings a hand down to touch your hip, holding it in his grasp. You quiver against him as he leans down, close enough to whisper in your ear. "Don't you know I’ll always find you?"

You turn your head away from him defiantly. Your eyes scan the train, but passengers nearby don't seem to notice. They all have that vacant long-day- commute stare.

"No one's going to help you, sweetheart." He closes in, one arm rests on the wall beside you, his body angled to ensure prying eyes can't see. His free hand slides up your body. It caresses the curves of your hips, the softness of your tummy, the round of your breast.

You flush. Your hands come up to his chest as if that will stop him from pawing at your tits.

"Leon, seriously? Here?" You whisper it, completely embarrassed.

"I can take you whenever I want." He uses that commanding voice you've only heard a handful of times before. "You're mine."

To prove his point, his hand dips between your thighs, and he presses his fingers against your pussy over the fabric of your skirt. It's so sudden and strong, your hand goes to his wrist on instinct. He doesn't stop, rubbing hard enough to make your legs shake.

"Could probably take you right here," he mutters, his breath hot on your ear. You feel yourself get wet at the thought.

"Queen Street." The robotic, automated subway voice chimes out from overhead.

The door opens. You lose your balance, but manage to recover quickly. You move fast, hoping to put as much distance between yourself and Leon as you can. You take the stairs two at a time until you breach the surface, taking in the fresh air like it would save you. But the summer heat brokers no peace, and you know Leon isn't far behind.

You don't look behind you for fear of slowing down. You take one block normally, then decide to cut through an alley way to save time. Every minute was another he could be gaining on you.

As you take a few paces into the alley, your hair starts to stand on end. It's somehow darker here, the smell of mildew and gasoline making your stomach turn. Your cell phone rings. You answer.

"Stop calling!" You snap, betraying more fear than you mean to.

"An alleyway? You're smarter than this." Leon is unphased by your outburst.

You give in, turning your head to look behind you. He stands at the other end, the sun behind him obscuring his features.

Then he moves. With long, easy strides, he makes ground quickly. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he whistles a slow, off-beat tune. 

You turn and run. Your hand meets the corner at the end of the alley and you use it to redirect your momentum. Full tilt sprinting in a sundress down a public street in the middle of the day probably makes you look crazy. Leon made you look crazy.

You get to your brownstone on George Street. You take the few steps up to the front door. You throw your phone in your purse as you frantically rip through it for your keys.

Fuck, come on, where are they? Lipstick, tampon, water bottle, wallet FUCK! There. You snatch them up like they'll save your life. Your hands shake as you put them in the lock. It turns, and you take one last look to see Leon - oh shit!

He's at the base of the stairs! He takes them by two. You manage to get the door open wide enough to barely squeeze through. His hand slaps against the door but you throw your full weight against it. It slams in his face. He turns the knob. You struggle to hold it against him as you turn the dead bolt. Then the chain. He slams a fist against the door and you slowly back away from it.

A chilling thought dawns on you.

Back door.

You run to the other side of the house, tripping over shoes and a discarded purse as you do, cursing as they steal precious seconds from you. You turn the corner and run directly into the door. Your body stings from the impact. You shakily turn the lock.

Silence. For a few, long minutes, there's just silence. You wonder, disappointed, if he gave up, but take the time to catch your breath.

Your cell phone rings. Sweat rolls down your back as you answer it.

"I got you, motherfucker."

"Did you?" He asks. His voice is cool. Calm. "How confident are you that you got to the back door before I did?"

"I would have heard you come in." You aren't so sure.

"Would you?"

Your apartment is small. You approach the bedroom, then quickly snap the door open. It lies still. Empty.

"You don't scare me," you lie.

"I really almost had you there, didn't I?" He's calling your bluff as you move into the kitchen, "What do you think I would have done if I'd caught up to you?"

The kitchen is still and quiet too. You don't have an answer for him, anxiety knotting in your stomach. You take the turn into the living room.

His arms wraps around your waist with enough strength to lift you off the ground. You scream. You kick at him, but he doesn't budge, dragging you into the living room.

You see a window open.

"Did you climb the fucking trellis?" You ask, shocked and amused at the sight. He tries not to laugh.

"Yeah."

"What are you, Romeo?"

"You said you wanted romance," and then, his voice drops again to that cold, serious tone that makes you feel like prey, "isn't this what you wanted?"

He lets you go and you take the opportunity to run. But his hand is entangled in your hair, the sharp pain making you cry out. Tears gather in your eyes and you whimper. You grab his forearm and try to pull away, but the self-inflicted pain makes you freeze. He rolls his eyes.

"You're just so fucking predictable."

He drags you across the living room floor. It hurts, bare knees roughly hitting the hard wood floor. He lifts you up with an arm around your stomach. Then, he's bending you over the couch.

You try to push back against it. You struggle against him. He pulls your head back by the hair and you nearly sob.

"Please, don't," you whimper. He rolls his eyes at you.

"Not our safe word, sweetheart."

His words make you feel so beautifully helpless. The tears finally fall down your cheeks and, at the same time, you become aware of how soaked your cotton underwear is. His hand comes up and slaps you sharply. You whimper. He does it again, this time harder. The stinging in the side of your face is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

He pins you to the side of the couch his hands on your hips. He rolls your skirt up, and makes a choked sound at the sight of you. He tears your underwear down harshly. 

"Please, don't," he mocks with a harsh slap on your ass. "Try and tell me you don't want this."

A finger slides along your slick, from hole to clit. He presses his finger against it just slightly but it's enough to make your hips buck. He gently rolls a finger around your clit a few times, already building that high in the pit of your stomach. He barely fucking touched you and you're already desperate to cum, breath ragged, legs shaking. Leon pulls away. You whimper in disappointment. Then his hand comes down hard against your ass cheek. Then again. Then again. Then again.

The pain is overwhelming. But god, you don't want him to stop. You want hand-shaped bruises on your ass, you want to remember this every time you sit down for the next week.

"You look so pretty for me when you cry" His hand still wet from your cunt comes up and rubs your tears away, leaving an obscene mix of your tears and your desperation for him on your cheeks. The tears keep falling anyways. Then, softly, "you do remember our safe word, right?"

You nod, but you don't say it. You want to go further. You want him to hurt you more. 

“Hey, answer me when I’m fucking talking to you,” he grabs you roughly by the jaw, wrenching your face to look at him. 

“Yes,” you nod, desperately. “I remember.” 

“Wasn’t so fucking hard,” he says. He slaps you again, hard enough to stun you into a stupid, teary-eyed grin.

You hear his pants unbutton, then unzip, then fall to the ground, but you're so overwhelmed you can't move. His hand still in your hair, still tugging enough to remind you of your place beneath him, he lines his hips up with yours.

Then he's pushing into you. One, smooth motion is all it takes, your cunt greedily pulling him in. A high pitched moan escapes his throat, followed by a groaned "so fucking wet."

He fucks you deep and slow. Torturously slow, enjoying every minute of pleasure that he gets. The head of his cock presses against your g-spot, building the high like one boils water. Slowly. Your abdomen pressed against the couch makes it easier for him. The hour of teasing and adrenaline and painful foreplay has you overstimulated. But it’s really the slow, deep fucking that drives electricity through your body. Push and pull, ebb and flow, your face and ass stinging as he works. You’re already bordering on the edge, but his pace doesn’t allow you to go over. You just hover there. And hover there. And hover there. For what feels like hours you’re kept right on the edge without ever going over, building the tension inside you until it fucking hurts, and then you’re crying again. You want him to slam his hips into you, to fuck you into the couch, to do something to make you cum, but he doesn’t.

“Leon, it hurts,” you whine. 

“It’s supposed to.” 

“Please,” you beg, desperation making your voice hoarse. “Please just make me cum, please.” 

“Relax.” 

“Leon-” 

“I said relax. Or I’ll stop right now. Do you want me to stop?” 

“No,” you shake your head, hair falling into your face. 

He takes his time to smooth it back, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He wipes more tears from your cheeks. When he speaks, though, his voice is so hard and cold. 

“Greedy little whore.” 

With no warning, he’s fucking into you harder. Faster. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re cumming on his cock. Your body tenses so hard your muscles scream, shaking and moaning and gasping for air. Your cunt tightens so hard you hear Leon breathe a fuck, baby. It feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally come down, you’re entirely dazed. 

You’re... vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, hot and sticky. But for the most part you just feel like you’re floating. Leon slowly lowers you to the floor, grabbing a throw pillow and tucking it under your head. You close your eyes. 

You wake again when the room is an orange glow, a blanket thrown over you for comfort. Leon is lounging on the couch reading a book, and when you stir, you immediately have his attention. 

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily. 

“Hey. Thought I’d let you sleep, you looked like you needed it. Why don’t I run us a shower?” 

“Yeah,” you smile softly, dreamy fuzziness still clinging to you. “I’d like that.” 

[rodolfoparras]

i am sliding this over to you on like a very long dining table

price with piercings

sure, he took them out because of his job in the military, and wasn't all that proud, since he got them at a whim back in his teenage years

the piercings never really closed, and there was no point letting it go to waste so when he's on leave he'll occasionally wear them. only when they're covered, though, he believes he still has an image to uphold

of course, the one he's not really sure of he wanted to keep at all, but it had a mostly positive feedback from his previous partners (imagine like a prince albert or apadravya piercings), which makes his view on it slightly better

or maybe... licking his happy trail up to his navel piercing and just taking a moment to appreciate it...

just Thoughts....

-🌷

Thinking about Price who first and foremost has a shitty tattoo and when I say shitty I mean faded with lots of blow out and super small in size, no intricate details at all, something he got when he was young and stupid maybe from a drunken night or from a dare. It’s somewhere on his chest barely visible from all the chest hair and it looks so good especially if he’s got a little chub, tummy soft pecs too and with a dainty gold chain around his neck and a pendent neatly laying between his pecs, to compliment the whole look.

And whenever you cuddle in bed your hand is resting on the place where the tattoo lays, mindlessly tracing it till he fall asleep or whenever you get intimate you make sure to kiss it while looking up at him beneath long black lashes and God if it doesn’t drive him crazy

So maybe Price doesn’t just have some tattoos, maybe he has some piercings too, piercings he rarely wore around you, piercings he hadn’t told you about because sure while his other partners enjoyed them, he didn’t know what you’d think of them especially because he was a bit older now, maybe you’d find it a bit strange or unfitting for a man his age. Although you’ve always been loving and accepting with him, it didn’t stop doubts from creeping up in his head but since he noticed just how much you loved his shitty tattoo he wanted to see if you’d love his piercings too

He didn’t make it obvious at first, only wearing a thin shirt that made the nipple piercing portray through the material, suppressing the smile on his face as he watched you take a glance at his chest, or squirming slight from when your hands would run along the expanse of his chest while he was making dinner, hands stopping momentarily when you felt a bump on the usual flat surface but you didn’t think much more of it as you went to set the table.

It was only at the end of the day that you had found out what was hidden beneath his clothes , when he was splayed out on your bed and you had a hand under his shirt, face going from surprise as the metal grazed your skin, to realization as you gently thumbed at the piercing.

You couldn’t get the shirt off fast enough, eyes drinking up the sight of the piercing and feeling your cock stir as you gently thumbed at it.

“When did you get this done?” You hear yourself say now a hair away from the piercing. As you speak he feels your hot breath washing over his skin and he feels goosebump raise on his body

“Always had it” he says under a shaky breath trying to act casual about it but you feel the way his hands grab ahold of your shirt to pull you closer to him.

“And you didn’t tell me about it?” You say before you swipe your tongue over the sensitive numb hearing a cry escape his lips as he arches up into your touch.

“Ah- didn’t - didn’t think you’d like it” he says between labored breath, cheeks flushed and hair mused as he looks at you with half lidded eyes.

“Let me show you just how much I like it,” you say before you latch onto his sensitive numb.

━━━━━

While the nipple piercing had turned out to be a success he couldn’t help but sweat through his (yours) clothes as he waited for you in bed while wearing his magic cross piercing.

It had started off as a dare when he’d been much younger, to get the ampallang piercing to test his pain tolerance and although it’d hurt like a bitch, he’d managed to get it successfully. While it was a good boost to his ego, imagine his surprise when he discovered just how good it felt in bed, no matter if he was with a partner or doing solo play. So maybe he’d waltz into the same shop ears neck and cheeks burning while requesting a second piercing that would make up the magic cross on his tip.

While a majority of his partners had enjoyed his piercings there had been a handful of them that didn’t like the mouthful of metal that they were in for. So as he sat and waited for you in bed he couldn’t help but tug at the sheets anxiously wondering what you’d think of him after this.

As soon as you walk past the threshold and see him sprawled out your bed, you basically crawl over to him without thinking twice about it, caging him in under your weight and slotting your lips together

He immediately feels the tension bleed out his body, hands wrapping around your neck and lips eagerly kissing yours but he feels the tension bleed back in as a calloused hand runs up his thighs and he finds himself pulling away from the kiss, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he looks at you nervously.

You don’t even catch the look on his face because your eyes are glued to the spot where your shirt had trailed up his abdomen, now fully exposing his hard dick, and the jewelry that decorate the tip of it.

“Jesus Christ” you hear yourself say, hand reaching out and wrapping around the base of his length. “There’s more?”

“Just the nipple piercing and this” he says bashfully, cock slightly twitching in your grasp and feeling heat creep up on his neck cheeks and ears.

“Can I mean- I mean-“

“Please” he croaks out, back slightly arching into your touch and you quickly drag your hand up to the tip, thumbing experimentally at the barbells placed around it, feeling cool metal under your fingertips and watching the way the piercings gleam.

“when did you get these?” You say, voice breathy and strained, eyes wide and mouth agape as you continue to press and rub against the barbells.

“Before I joined ah- before I joined military- stupid ah - stupid dare” he says as you continue to thumb at the barbells.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” you groan out, your cock fully hard at the sight.

He burst out laughing before his arms go back around your neck, lips nibbling on your ear before whispering “how about you show me hm? You know they’re really fun to play-“

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before you’re smashing your lips together, ready to explore all the ways you can have fun with his piercings.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 30

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sexual themes

Just Desserts

"I'm invited, right?" Of note, Kid was not working on fixing the wall. He was fiddling with something small and metallic, trying to shape it. 

Killer was sitting on Kid's workbench, lost in thought. "Huh? No!" 

That seemed to surprise Kid. "What do ya mean 'no'?!"

"You'll do something to piss her off and then she'll leave." Killer crossed his arms. 

"But I like spaghetti." 

"I'll save you some!" 

Kid shrugged. "Fine." 

Killer narrowed his eyes under his mask. He knew Kid and he knew Kid had no intention of leaving them alone. "Kid..." Killer's tone was a warning.

"I said fine!" Kid scowled. "But you better invite me to whatever happens after." Kid looked at Killer with a quirked eyebrow and a grin.

"That's not..." Killer gave up. "Yeah, sure." He rolled his eyes. He didn't even expect that you would agree, let alone want to join him afterwards for anything. Killer mainly wanted to do something nice for you since you had shielded his face from the crew. That wasn't something that he took lightly. He had broken your nose after all. It would have easily been fair not to do anything. His cheeks got warm thinking about how flustered you had been. Even if it was more for yourself than for him, your concern was cute. Killer could tell you were trying your best to earn your place. He needed to distract his thoughts before he started to get nervous. "What are you working on?"

"None of yer business." Kid moved his hand to cover the thing he was making. 

Maybe it was Killer's imagination, but he thought Kid's face flushed. Killer was surprised Kid didn't want to tell him what it was. Sometimes Kid did that. Especially if he wanted to make sure it worked first. Kid did not take constructive criticism well.

"She kinda had yer ass, huh?" Kid smirked. Kid thought it was kinda hot when you were choking Killer out. He wished it was with your thighs though. And that it was him. 

It was Killer's turn to scoff. "I would have won if my helmet didn't come off."

"I don't know..." Kid teased. "Ya seemed to struggle there."

Killer shook his head. "You fight her then."

Kid waved his hand in dismissal. "I already have. Piece of cake."

"That was when she was still half-starved." Killer pointed out. "She's stronger now, probably not even at her peak."

Kid considered this. "Yeah I guess her ass has gotten fatter." Actually, you had filled back out quite nicely thanks to Killer's cooking. You were a far cry from the girl on the island, scrawny, and all lean-muscle. You were still muscular, though putting weight on in all the right places. 

Killer sighed. "Not what I meant." Killer was a man. He was not immune to noticing these things. "But... I do agree." And though your boobs were pressed into his face, he had noticed your stomach more than anything. Your crop top left the skin of your mid-section bare. His hand had brushed against it, feeling how warm and soft it was. He wanted to know what it felt like to lay on it, bury his face in it, have it in his grip. It made him proud that your body reflected how much you enjoyed his cooking. He wondered if you would let him feed you a few bites. He had to stop thinking about it before he gave himself heart palpitations.

Kid noticed the angle of the light coming through the window, hues of deep orange. "Shouldn't ya get started in the galley soon?" 

Killer saw how low the sun hung in the sky, jumping up from his seated position on Kid's workbench. "Shit!" He stumbled over his feet and hopped on one foot to keep from tripping before he ran out the door. 

The captain shook his head. "All that fuss fer one bitch." He looked down at the small, silver, crescent shaped object on the table, spinning it around with his finger, elbow resting on the table with his head in his other hand. He flicked it across the room and drummed his fingers on the wood. With a frustrated growl, he stomped across the room and picked it back up, shoving it into his pocket. I'm no better. 

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

You decided to take a short nap before dinner, sprawling yourself over Minerva's back. The warmth from her back and her rhythmic, soft snoring put you to sleep in seconds. It was a blink to you. That hadn't felt like a nap at all, but it was dim outside so some time had, in fact, passed. You would have slept until the next morning save for the smell of food beckoning you to the mess hall. Not even bothering to get off Mini, you rode her down for dinner. At this point, no one batted an eye. There was a glaring problem. There was an egregious absence of spaghetti on the plates that you could see. You dismounted and walked to the galley, leaving Mini to perform her evening rounds, where she circled the tables with her mouth open until someone tossed something in, or sniffed the ground for dropped morsels.

Flinging open the galley doors, you started to complain, "WHERE'S THE SPAG-....hetti.... Oh." There was spaghetti. On two plates. Across from each other. With a candle in the middle. You didn't move, still processing what was in front of you. Your heartbeat started to race. Oh fuck. You replayed the conversation in your head. He had been asking you to dinner, not asking you to choose dinner for the crew. Asking me to dinner! 

"Is something wrong?" Killer's hands suddenly got sweaty. He saw the blank look on your face and panicked internally. 

"I... No." You blinked. Killer was fiddling with his apron balled up in his hands. "No. This looks great." You tried to convince him with a smile. You were kicking yourself for not realizing. You didn't even change clothes! You probably smelled like boar! Killer was going to regret this. You reached for a stool, which Killer quickly pulled out for you. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." Killer sounded happy, his hands were still sweaty, but he was nervous in a more excited way now. He joined you in sitting at the opposite end of the table. It was the prep table dressed up with a tablecloth and a candle. A candle that he had to bribe Heat to let him borrow. 

You were frozen, only moving when you saw that Killer was waiting for you to take a bite first. After the first bite, it was hard to stop. It was delicious. You were eating it by the forkful, hardly stopping to chew. Killer was watching you intently. "S-sorry." You dabbed your mouth with a napkin. "That wasn't... ladylike." You forgot this was a date and you were supposed to behave a certain way.

Killer laughed. "Who cares? I'm glad that you like it enough to wear it." 

You relaxed, then realized what he had said and looked down. "Ah fuck." There was some sauce on your shirt. You squinted. "What the...?" There was a purplish smudge. 

Killer cleared his throat. "I think it's um... my lipstick, from earlier. Sorry." 

You really wished you had changed. Lipstick? Kid wore it but you wouldn't have guessed Killer did, since the helmet would block it. Your eyes shifted to Killer, who still had his helmet on. He was moving his fork around, not actually eating. It was because his helmet was in the way, though you couldn't help but feel a squeeze in your stomach, thinking maybe that it was you. "Do you want me to turn around? Or close the eye that works?" You laughed apprehensively.

The truth was that Killer was working up the courage to take his helmet off. He wanted to. He knew you had already seen his face. It was a mental hurdle that he was trying his best to get past. "No." His heart was pounding out of his chest and his blood rushed in his ears, but the soft, encouraging look you gave him had his hands reaching for the clasp on his helmet. He wasn't worried about anyone coming in. He gave Wire strict orders that no one, not even Kid, was allowed to come in. 

It felt wrong to watch, averting your gaze to the plate in front of you to give him time. When you heard the soft thud of his helmet on the wooden table, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his. They were every bit of icy, piercing blue as you remembered them. His bangs fell over them until he pushed them back with his hand. The smile on his face lacked any confidence, endearing all the same. "I've never seen you with lipstick on before. I think the purple looks nice." Though that part was new, it was the same handsome face that had washed up on the beach. Your compliment made his smile stretch a little wider.

Neither of you knew what to say, so you ate in silence. It wasn't awkward at all. It was actually more awkward when you had been talking. This felt relaxed, a bit of peace away from the daily chaos and incredibly loud captain. The candlelight flickered, casting faint shadows on the walls. 

You rolled a meatball around with your fork. "Can I make a confession?" Killer nodded, puzzled. "I didn't realize you were asking me to dinner. I thought you were just letting me pick." You shyly admitted. 

Now your initial response made sense to Killer. He tensed, wondering if you wouldn't have agreed otherwise or if he made you feel uncomfortable. He was about to apologize, but you sensed his unease.

"This is nice though." You spun up another forkful of pasta. "I've... never been asked to dinner before." With a snort, you said, "I know that's probably an earth-shattering revelation." You were being sarcastic. Of course you were pretty... pretty abrasive, forward, cocky, and downright mean. People weren't scrambling to sweep you off your feet for more than a night.

The surprise in his expression was evident. "What do you mean? Never?" You nodded with another snort of laughter. "But you're-"

"Save it." You rolled your eyes. "I know what I am." It wasn't meant to be snappy, your tone was gentle, genuine. You rested your chin in your hand and smiled. You were happy with yourself. You didn't need Killer to list off things he liked about you. Obviously he liked something enough to make you spaghetti.

Killer laughed and held up his hands. "Ok ok. I'll save the flattery for Kid." 

On the other side of the doors, Kid's voice carried, "Better save some spaghetti for Kid!" It sounded like he was waiting far enough away that he wasn't technically interrupting you, but close enough to be in earshot if Killer's voice was loud.

"Fuck off, Kid. I did!" Killer yelled in the direction of the voice. He would have to be more mindful of his volume. The captain seemed pleased with that since he stopped yelling. While the two of you were in the galley, the only beings remaining in the mess were Kid and Mini, awkwardly sitting in silence with each other, waiting for their respective partners. Killer shook his head, getting back to his dinner.

The two of you continued to eat, sharing small parts of each other, neither of you willing to get too deep into anything. Killer gave you some feedback about your fighting, good and bad, lest it be mistaken for flattery. There was a good chance Wire would be grumpy for the next few days. He also said that Kid had been impressed, leaving out his other comments.

The increasingly full feeling in your stomach slowed down your eating. Your gaze moved from twirling your fork to Killer. His golden hair fell around his shoulders, his sharp jawline covered in equally golden scruff at the apex, the way his cupid's bow was a perfect 'v' shape, you were always drawn back to his eyes, ever-changing shades of blue, like the ocean. He was perfect, and here you were disheveled, hair a mess, stained shirt, covered in the day's grime. "Y'know if I had realized this was a date, I would have at least taken a shower and put a clean shirt on."

"Is this a date?" Killer questioned. 

Was that a hopeful tone? All the sudden, your face felt like it was on fire. "Well-," you choked on your pasta. To avoid answering and to figure out what he was thinking, you countered, "Do you want it to be?"

Killer grinned. "I want it to be whatever you want it to be." He knew what you were trying to do.

It was a stalemate. Neither of you wanted to speak anything into existence, for fear of ruining it altogether. 

"FER FUCK SAKE." Kid was leaning in the doorway. "PATHETIC." Kid barged in, looking around for his plate, mocking your conversation. "What do you want? heehee no what do youuuu want?"  Kid tore through the kitchen like a starving hound. "I want my fuckin dinner! I waited long enough and I'm fuckin starving! Just fuckin kiss already!" Kid took the lid off the pot of pasta. "Bingo!"

Killer snatched Kid's wrist faster than you could see. "No. Hands."

"Wouldn't hafta use em if ya had made me a fuckin plate like I asked!"

You watched on as they squabbled. Killer was essentially wrestling Kid away from the pasta. It seemed as though there may have been a history of Kid contaminating the food by eating with his hands, about right for your characterization of him. In the midst of it, Killer had put his mask back on. It was nice to see his face while it lasted. It kind of pissed you off. One nice moment in your otherwise brutal and chaotic life, and the King of Chaos himself comes to ruin it. You were finished with dinner, but maybe you had wanted to talk to Killer longer, maybe you had wanted to steal a kiss. You definitely did, who were you kidding?

"I'll leave you two to it," you said with a hint of venom, glaring at Kid. Switching to a softer voice, "Thank you, Killer. That was a lovely...evening." You winked at him. "Too bad it didn't have a chance to be even more lovely. Kid." 

Kid pointed back and forth between where you had been standing and Killer, "Doffs dat mee weee ain huckin?"* He had a mouthful of pasta. One good thing about red lipstick is that you couldn't tell how much of the pasta sauce hadn't made it into his mouth. 

Killer folded his arms and let out a defeated sigh. "I told you that you would piss her off and she would leave."

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There was a soft knock at the door to the women's quarters. You were tucked in bed after a piping hot shower, reading an old newspaper. There was a lot you missed when you were on that island, and Heat was nice enough to pull the highlights from his collection. Every now and then, you would explain something particularly eventful to Minerva. Emma called for you. Strange. You weren't expecting anything. Your eyebrows went up when you saw Killer. He had his normal first-mate air about him, all business, relaxing only when Emma left. You looked at him for elaboration.

"I'm sorry about Kid." He rubbed his arm. 

You shrugged. "That's not for you to apologize for. Kid happens." You leaned against the doorframe. "That's not all you came for though, is it?" You picked up on the way his hands kept fidgeting. Cute. 

Killer cleared his throat, "I... uh. I made dessert, too, but we didn't get to it." He sucked in a deep breath. "Do you want to have some? I remembered how much you liked chocolate cake." Rather, he remembered you drunkenly eating it from his hand and the feeling of your tongue around his fingers. 

You felt your mouth water. "I could go for some I suppose." You crossed your arms, thinking. You were in your pajamas, nothing extravagant, a simple cotton button up shirt and matching shorts. It was chilly out and you really didn't want anyone to see you in pjs. 

Killer took your hesitation as a negative. "You don't have to. I can go."

You grabbed his arm before he could turn. "No, I want to. I just don't want to be out in pjs and I have no shoes on. I'll have to change." 

The first-mate noticeably perked up. "Don't worry about that." He turned around and hunched down. "Hop on." Killer made grabbing motions with his hands, indicating that he would grab your legs. "Or I could just sling you over my shoulder. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, though."

You cocked your head. "And what idea does this give instead exactly?" You relented, stepping back before getting a short, running start to jump on his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around is waist. The image of being slung over his shoulder wasn't a bad one, if you were honest. 

Killer stood up, adjusting your thighs around him in a way that was more comfortable, doing a little hop to bounce you higher on his back. 

You took this opportunity to breathe in his scent, holding yourself back from burying your face in the thick golden hair tumbling down his back. A few untamed strands tickled your face as you bounced along with Killer's steps. Distracted by this possibly once-in-a-lifetime chance, you barely registered that Killer had passed the mess hall and galley, going to his room. 

Killer walked over to his bed and turned around, letting you down gently. 

You bounced on the edge of his bed. "Oh. I thought we would go to the galley again."

"Too risky." Killer explained. "Kid usually makes a fridge raid late." He handed you a fork and a plate with the most decadent-looking cake you had ever seen. It was multi-layered, moist, and he didn't skimp on the portions. 

Eagerly, you took the plate from him and scooted back to sit more comfortably on his comforter. It was soft and it smelled like him. You watched as he grabbed his own slice, sitting across from you. Killer had swapped his jeans for sweatpants. His shirt was the same but slightly faded, an older one. "Hm. How thoughtful of you then." Now that you had a better grasp of the situation, your confidence had returned in full. You preferred to be in control. 

Killer was looking at you expectantly. You assumed so anyway, his mask was pointed in your direction. 

Bringing a forkful to your mouth, you were barely two chews in and already reaching for another bite. Much like the spaghetti, you were inhaling the cake. "Good god, Killer." You had to resist saying something downright filthy, not wanting to ruin the otherwise sweet moment. "I didn't know I had a heart until you found your way to it with your fucking cooking." 

A pink tint spread down his neck. 

"I wish I could return the favor, but I'm sure you've noticed I'm not great in the kitchen." You took another bite, humming your satisfaction.

Killer huffed a partial laugh from his nose. "You're... not great," he agreed. "But," he continued, "you're... good company." 

You rolled your eyes. "I know that's not true." You thought he was being sarcastic. 

"No I mean it." Killer said in earnest. "You're nice to look at." 

"Oh so I'm your kitchen eye-candy then, huh?"

"Don't act like it doesn't go both ways," he retorted.

You hmphed. "So? It's not equal because I can only ogle from the neck down." You smirked at him. 

Killer took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine." His hand came up to the back of his neck, hesitating, then unlatching his helmet for the second time that night. He set his helmet down next to him. "Ogle away."

It was difficult to peel your eyes away from him. He was probably planning to remove it at some point regardless since he hadn't attempted to eat his own cake before then. "Don't mind if I do." You laughed and kept eating away at your slice. While you did so, you looked around his room. It was kept neat, as expected. Your eyes settled on a picture. It was difficult to see from your position, though you could make out who you assumed to be Kid and Killer, with a third, smaller person between them. They looked familiar, similar to the picture of the girl you saw in Kid's things. You didn't ask about it. It would be hypocritical of you to press for information about their past when you were so against it when they did the same to you. Though, one could argue, they owe you at least that much in return. 

"Hey, Y/N," Killer wavered, unsure whether to ask or not. "Remember back when we rescued you from the island with the marine base, after the fire?" He waited for you to nod, letting his bangs hide his face in place of his mask. "You were kind of out of it, but you said you liked m-my laugh... Did you mean it?" He looked up at you until one of his sapphire eyes met yours.

"What? Of course I meant it." You looked at him, questions evident in your expression. 

Killer noticeably straightened up. "I don't really like it myself." Killer paused. He didn't know how much he wanted to say on the matter. "I used to get made fun of." He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. You knew better, since he cared enough to bring it up.

"I would love to see someone try it now." You put down your empty plate. "You could put them down without even dirtying your punishers." Pretending to jab someone with your fork, you added, "Or I'll add them to my hit list."

Killer grinned, amused by your comments, not elaborating any further on his past. "You have frosting on your face."

Could you go one second without getting food on yourself? You searched for it with your hand, trying to wipe it off.

The man across from you grinned wider and wider every time you missed, enjoying your struggle. "Let me get it." He leaned over and swiped his thumb across your cheek, a fair bit away from your mouth. Who knows how it got there? 

Half-expecting him to let you lick it from his thumb, you were surprised when he did it himself. "Maybe I wanted that," you said teasingly. 

Killer ran his finger through the remaining frosting on his plate, eyeing it, then motioning you over with it. "Come get some then."

You crawled over until you were sitting on your feet, kneeling in font of him. Taking his finger in your mouth, you put your lips around its base and sucked the frosting clean off, licking around his fingertip for good measure before you released him with a pop. It was nearly the same as the first time, though now you were completely sober.

Killer shivered. He wasn't planning on letting you have your way tonight. You made it so tempting though, the way your eyes stared into his as your soft lips enveloped his finger. 

Testing his boundaries, you leaned forward, hands on his knees. You gave him the chance to pull back, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes flicked to your lips. That was an answer enough for you before lightly pressing your lips against his. You smiled against him before pulling away and opening your eyes. As you settled back on your feet, Killer was reaching out for your face, pulling it gently back to him. His other hand ran down your side, catching your waist and tugging you closer until you were sitting side-saddle in his lap. Finally some of the tension that had been building was released. You sighed into his mouth as your lips moved against his, hands sliding around his neck and into his hair. Similarly, his hand slid through your hair until it was on the back of your head, pressing you into him. His other hand didn't wander, simply held you close. He groaned as you nipped his lip and slid your tongue into his mouth. When you both pulled away, you leaned your head against his chest. There was a tightening coil in your gut, that was certain. There was something else, too. Butterflies? 

Killer put one arm around your back and one arm under your legs, picking you up bridal style. 

Your heartbeat quickened. Was he finally gonna let you have it? Yes throw me on the bed and rip my clothes off already! The lust cleared from your mind when he started moving away from the bed. Then it came back in a thicker fog. Shower sex? Bathtub? Kid's room? Even though you were mad at him, your pussy wasn't. The lust was vacuumed from your mind for good when Killer set you down in front of the sink and put a toothbrush in your hand. You looked from it to Killer and back. 

"Brush your teeth before bed, princess." 

You frowned deeply. "You weren't putting very princess-like thoughts in my head," you grumbled. 

Killer out his hand on your shoulder affectionately. "Me? Never." His hand moved to pinch your cheek in a playful way. 

You squinted at him in the mirror, catching sight of the outline of something in his sweatpants, you whipped around on him, pointing at his crotch. "Oh come on!" You said through a mouthful of toothpaste. "You're fuckin half-hard!" You turned around to spit and rinse your mouth out.

Killer made a noise of denial. "I'd say quarter-hard." The quirk in the corners of his lips made it all too clear that he was thoroughly enjoying this. 

Rounding on him again, you pleaded, "Just the tip? Please?" 

He tsked. "Begging only works on Kid. You have to earn it from me." He ruffled your hair. "You are very cute when you beg though, breadcrumb."

Walking back into his room, Killer cleared the plates from the bed and pulled back the covers, motioning for you to hop in. 

"I can stay?" 

"Just because I don't want to fuck tonight doesn't mean I want you to leave." 

You slid in next to him, half-laying over him on your stomach while he was on his back so you could look at him. He put his arm around you to rest his hand on your lower back. That sent electricity up your spine that you did your best to repress. Thinking about your date, you grinned up at him.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you, knowing you had something smart to say. It was interesting how much better he could read you than when you first met.

"Thanks for trusting me with your face even though you won't trust me with your cock." Even though it was disguised as a joke, it had true sentiment behind it. That must be a huge deal to leave his helmet off for so long with someone who was arguably still a little bit of a stranger. It was probably made easier by the fact, you had already seen him for some time before then. 

Killer allowed himself a short laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Patience is a virtue." It didn't take long for you to drift to sleep. He watched the features of your face twitch as you entered your first dream of the night. Killer normally took a lot longer to warm up to someone. He didn't know himself what made him so comfortable around you. You acted similarly to Kid, with a charming roughness and feisty personality, and he loved Kid. Maybe that made it natural for him to begin to love you, too.

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