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#look at it at your leisure my heart
statueinthestone · 1 year
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No offense but I will tumblr how I want to. And you should too.
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lxnarphase · 2 months
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come and put your name on it ๋࣭ ⭑
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special treatment : lap edition
☾₊‧⁺...ft. : gojo satoru + geto suguru + nanami kento + fushiguro toji + hakari kinji
☾₊‧⁺...cw : cockwarming, somnophilia, dirty talk, grinding + dry humping, fingerfucking, overstimulation, praise kink, edging, oral fixation, satoru's silly pet names, suguru being smug, kento being a desperate man, toji being toji, kinji being a bully
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✧ g. satoru : sometimes gojo knows he fucks you too good to the point you can't think after, something he brags about to you all the time. but when you snuggle up to him, still stuffed with his cock and warm with his cum, he can't help but run his hands all over you. and when he realizes you fell asleep on his dick, his heart squeezes and his cock throbs hard.
"pretty angel, did you fall asleep? oh, that's just precious...you're making my heart squeeze, i wish i had my phone, you look so cute like this." "did you say my name? dreaming about me? god, you're so precious, i could just fuck you like this...shit, don't fuckin' squeeze on me like that, are you having a wet dream right now? god, i love you so fucking much." "aww, my little mochi is so cute! look at youuu, you're gushin' all over the place. messy fucking pussy too small to keep my cock and all my cum inside you." "mm, fuck, pretty thing. you wakin' up? hi pretty girl...oooh, fuck, d-did you just cum? holy fuck, c'mon, baby, on your back, lemme fuck you, princess, let 'toru make you cum again, yeah?”
✧ g. suguru : suguru's softly cooing at you when you sleepily walk into the living room, whining to him that you had a dream and you wanted him to 'fix the problem he caused.' all he can do is just chuckle at how childish and bratty you can be as his hands are moving up and down your sides while he grinds up into you.
"you're such a brat, you know that right? always blaming me for your dreams. it's not my fault you can't stop thinking about how good i fuck you." "hmm? ooh, i see...you keep having dreams of me cumming inside you, hm? are you trying to say something, princess? d'you want me to start breeding you?" "i didn't say stop moving, did i? or do you need me to do all the work? heh, so spoiled, i've spoiled you absolutely rotten." "i know, but just cum once like this, won't you? if you do, i promise i'll fill your cute pussy with my cum, okay? mhm, promise, princess, i'll give you what you need."
✧ n. kento : nanami loves having you close to him, especially when you sit in his lap. it lets him nuzzle his nose into your neck, pressing little kisses where he can while your legs are spread over his strong thighs, his thick fingers leisurely pumping in and out of your needy hole, chuckling against your skin whenever you jolt.
"honey, have i mentioned how gorgeous you are? you look so beautiful like this...spread open and wanting, just for me." "you're sucking my fingers in so well. look at that...do you think you can take a third?" "it's so messy. look at what you've done to my fingers, honey, they're soaked. clean them off for me, i want you to taste yourself before i put them back in. maybe tonight we can make you squirt, hm? do you wanna try, darling?" "you think you're going to cum again? poor thing, your little cunt is so greedy, she just wants to cum over and over again on my fingers...is my cock not good enough for you, mm? aww, don't pout, i'm just teasing you, darling." "i know, i know, it's too much, but you can take it. be my good girl, just take it and keep cumming until you can't anymore."
✧ f. toji : sitting on toji's lap is, in his mind, an invitation for him to run his hands all over you. his cock is already hard in his sweats, but he's subdued the second you get comfortable and slowly grind against him, groaning when you press sweet kisses into his neck.
"tch, are you gonna let me fuck your thighs t'night? pretty please? yeah, that's right, i'm askin' nicely. why? don't play stupid, doll, you know what they do to me." "shit...keep moving those hips, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin' good like this." "god, i can feel that pretty pussy leaking through my sweats. big bad toji make you that fuckin' wet, mama? y'like grinding that clit on my dick through my pants? dirty fucking girl." "mmh, you keep tugging my hair like that and I'm not even gonna take you to the bedroom, i will fuck you into this damn couch, woman.” "listen here, wifey, I'll wreck your cunt until you can't think about anything but me inside you. hell, I'll ruin this stupid couch in the process, i don't give a fuck about stainin' it."
✧ h. kinji : when you sit on kinji's lap, it's when he's watching a fight on tv. you can tell it's not going how he wants it to go, the toothpick between his teeth being gnawed on. when you make eye contact with him, he just raises an eyebrow, one of his hands squeezing your hip.
"cupcake, do me a favor and get on my dick before i get up and give us a reason to get a new tv." "hey, hey, don't move yet, let me see if he lands this punch...don't whine like that before i put my fingers in that pretty little mouth t' shut you up." "you always squeeze so tight when i press down on your tongue like this...pretty thing likes that shit, doesn't she? go on, fuck yourself on my dick while you drool all on my fingers like a slut." "mm, shit, baby, i can't focus on that bullshit fight, lemme help you. yeah, thaaaat's it, let your boy fuck you nice and deep, make ya cream, juuuust like this."
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all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work
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variantia · 1 year
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BELLUM.   OKAY AS PROMISED !!   some scenes from my adult Chara x reader fic, showing how I write them and their sibs as adults, as well as showcasing things that they’re STILL dealing with as an adult that they also dealt with as a child ... some lore about the cult ... and like.   some scenes / dialogue just because I’m fucking proud of it ok
for context : initially Reader-chan starts out as a recently graduated college friend of Asriel’s, who he offers an office job to at the Monster Embassy.   after spending A LOT of time around monsters with TONS of magic ... that kickstarts her own magical potential, and after a few months, Asriel offers her a permanent job as his adviser.   she has the ability to CHECK, letting her analyze people and situations.   (Frisk had a weak form of this ability during their adventure, but it’s not their main magic so it vanished after they left the Underground.)   current more advanced techniques are her EMPATHIZE, which allows her to literally go into someone’s mind (allowing her to see memories and / or a general mindscape interpretation of their thoughts and feelings at any given moment) and CONFIDE, which allows her to let someone else into her mind.   both EMPATHIZE and CONFIDE use up more magic and leave her drained, though, especially if using them for more than 2-3 minutes at a time.   the bold text outside of any quotation marks is her CHECK giving her text to read.   (or, inside a memory, it’s a manifestation of the thoughts of whoever’s head she’s inside of within that memory.)
also for context, Serena and Wen are Frisk’s boyfriend and girlfriend ~
there’s a lil bit here and BIG TRIGGER WARNINGS for stuff like child abuse, suicidal thoughts / behavior, and the like, so stay safe !
but if none of that is triggering for you and you’re curious ... please give me ur thoughts on my personal favorite parts of this MONSTER of a fic I am writing uwu   <3
ALSO IT’S A LOT I’M SORRY, I HAVE A LOT OF FAVORITE PARTS WHERE I WANT TO SHOW OFF CHARA AND THEIR SIBS AND AAAAAA
these scenes go in chronological order, as well, so they’re easy to follow !
-
   When Asriel makes his way over to Chara, they’re snickering uncontrollably. Their eyes are open again and fixed on you as you try to disentangle yourself from the same flood of reporters that nearly drowned their brother.
   “Phew, man,” Asriel sighs as he settles into the space where you were just a moment ago, “(Name) came just at the right time. It was starting to get bad over there. I mean, how many pictures do those people want?”
   He doesn’t get an answer save for an endless stream of giggling, prompting him to look over at his sibling with a raised eyebrow. “Chara? What’s so funny?”
   One thin finger lifts, pointing at your futile struggle. With their other hand, they mime wiping a tear from their eye.
   “She fell for it. Now she is trapped.”
   Thankfully, unbeknownst to you, you’ve also passed their first test.
   The unfortunate part is that it’s far from their last.
-
   “I want to make sure you know this in no uncertain terms,” they begin, “mostly because you have everyone else fooled. Even yourself. And perhaps I was too polite the first time we met. However, allow me to make it very clear. You are not worthy of being friends with my brother. Nor are you worthy of being friends with Frisk. And you never will be.”
   They tuck a lock of hair behind their ear. “As I mentioned before, humans have tricked themselves into believing they are good and deserve good things simply because they have shown the smallest modicum of respectability. We are all so very flawed. Just like all other humans, you cannot escape your faults. It is only a matter of time before you show my family or I just how selfish, cruel, cowardly, and merciless you are. And when you do, I will not stand idly by and let you hurt Asriel or Frisk with your flaws.”
   There are a few heartbeats’ worth of silence, during which you could swear everything in the world has stopped. It feels like you and they are the only things moving.
   It almost feels like you can’t even catch a breath.
   Finally, they speak up again. Their voice is quieter this time, but no less full of rage. “Frisk is too optimistic to think anything bad of you before they see it for themself. And Asriel… despite how humans have hurt him, he still thinks there is good in humanity. They are both naive, and they are both dead wrong.”
   Their eyes snap back to you. Blood red irises bore directly into your SOUL, and it’s as if they can see every single mistake you’ve ever made.
   For half a second, there’s a flicker… like a glitch in a video game. For that half a second, you could swear their eyes turned pitch black.
   The illusion ― or whatever it was ― is gone as soon as it came, though. You’re surprised you didn’t feel the need to let out some kind of ungodly shriek, because that face was terrifying.
   “I will say this only once,” Chara continues, slowly. That smile of theirs grows more and more unnerving with every word. “If you keep your head down and leave my siblings be, you will have at least proven that you are not a fool. If you refrain from getting closer to either of them than you already are, you will have proven that you care about them in some small capacity.”
   That same face flashes again, and their voice lowers.
   “But if you hurt either of them, I promise, not only will I d e s t r o y y o u, I will enjoy doing so.”
   Then, as an afterthought, “And do not even think about trying to get close to me. You and I? We are not friends. We are not buddies or pals or chums. You are a menace to the peaceful life my family is trying to live. You are a disaster waiting to happen, and I am too broken for you to even comprehend, let alone fix. There is not enough DETERMINATION in the world, if you have any in the first place, for you to bother trying with me. So do not.”
-
   “… Thank you for the flowers,” they finally say. Even with that, you doubt that your earlier chrysanthemums will end up in their garden, and they probably won’t keep these longer than it takes to get you out of the room. However, you note that their voice is a touch softer than it usually is. “I must admit, I certainly did not expect you to go home and start studying floriography based on my comments. It is also odd that you managed to put together an arrangement that I read incorrectly.”
   “Not really incorrectly…” You give a small shrug. “I-I mean, all the stuff you thought wasn’t, um, what I wanted it to mean… but you know better than I do that, uh… those flowers still mean the other things. You just, um, seemed to ― k-kind of jump to the worst meanings before… any of the other ones.”
   They hum once more and stand up; their head moves just a bit to beckon you toward their desk where they’re walking. “In any case, I believe I can accept the apology, at least. The purple hydrangeas were still a mistake, but if you want to try to squeeze blood from a rock, that is your funeral. You will never understand me; watching you try is simply free entertainment for the rest of us.”
   The bouquet is set down… and Chara plucks from it one each of the blue hyacinths and blue hydrangeas. Keeping their arm at a strange angle that you guess is meant to dissuade any accidental touch, they hold both flowers out to you.
   “Asriel made me aware that my behavior that evening was on the lighter side of rude. I cannot say I care if I offended you, and I still do not want you around… but for the time being, until you do something to prove your nature, my brother considers you a friend. He cares about your feelings. In the interest of ensuring his happiness, I want to apologize for the way I reacted.”
   They pause, seeming to think about whether they want to add anything to that… then apparently decide that they do. “It… had more to do with me than to do with you. Or anyone else. For Asriel’s sake, I am sorry about my comments and storming out that night. I do not require forgiveness from you; all I need is for you to acknowledge that you will not hold my behavior against Asriel.”
   The apology stuns you for a moment. It’s so… genuine while still being hollow. That kind of thing shouldn’t make sense, but that’s definitely Chara for you.
   Obviously you know they continue to not give two shits about your feelings. They’re just concerned with keeping Asriel happy, and they think that apologizing to you, in the clear hopes that you won’t be upset about what happened, will help keep him happy.
   It’s also a little on the weird side that they think (without any provocation or evidence?) that you might take out any hard feelings toward them on Asriel.
-
   Just like your power says, they don’t look happy. They look… angry.
   “That is not funny,” they finally say after a long few seconds of silence.
   You reach up and rub your arm. “It… was j-just a dumb prank. We were all s-stupid kids.”
   “You are speaking about it as if you have let them off the hook for what they did.” They only seem be getting angrier with every word. That in itself is crazy… this is the same person who said they don’t care about you or your feelings, getting pissed on your behalf over something that happened like ten years ago. “They terrified you to the point of tears, and these were your friends?”
   “W… well… they were… I… kind of stopped hanging out with them, um, after that.” You give a weak shrug. “I-it’s okay, Chara.”
   “It is not,” they snap. “You are a living, breathing doormat, but you must at least know that it is okay to be angry when someone has hurt you. And they hurt you.”
   You shake your head. “I-I was mad back then, sure! But I… just, you know, um… it was a w-while ago. Being mad now… i-isn’t gonna solve anything. I’d… rather just… t-try to be happy today… than be mad o-over something that happened a l-long time ago.”
   Whatever’s going on in their mind, it’s probably better that you don’t know. If that stare of theirs was a laser, there would be two smoking holes in the floor. After what feels like years, they take a deep breath. “Well. You are a better person than I am, then.”
-
   You don’t get too long to bask in it, because almost immediately you’re rolled to the ground in an overeager hug. “(Name)!!”
   “Ah! Frisk!” Luckily you’ve been startled less and less easily and the impact didn’t hurt thanks to the rug on the floor. Instead of being annoyed, you’re excited to see them even despite the long day you just had with Chara. You return their hug immediately… and decide to press a kiss to their cheek just like they’ve been doing to you. “H-hi! How was your day?”
   “Paperwork suuuucks,” they whine, burying their face in your shoulder. “Where did you and Chara go? Did you have fun?”
   Asriel snickers as Chara settles into one of the chairs. “Frisk, dude, don’t tackle the company.”
   You lift a hand to wave him off. “I-it’s okay, they’re fine! I like it.” You make a big show of resuming the hug, tightly, and rocking from side to side with them. “My frieeeeend!”
   Frisk smothers another fit of giggles into your neck. They seem pretty pleased by your reaction. “My friend!” they declare while squeezing you just shy of suffocation.
   Once the two of you are done being silly, you both simply go limp on the floor, chilling out. “Oh, we, um, went to Puzzle Palace,” you speak up in reply to their question. “Then we got some coffee with our prize and… went for a walk. I-it was a lot of fun!”
   “Oooh, Puzzle Palace.” They lift their head. “Azzy, since we finished what we needed to do today, can we go there tomorrow?”
   “Frisk―”
   “You owe me! I’m gonna be seeing that paperwork in my nightmares for weeks!”
   Asriel shakes his head with a short laugh. “We need reservations for Puzzle Palace. Maybe next weekend. Didn’t you wanna talk to (Name), anyway? Why are you hitting me up for your fix instead of doing that, you fun addict?”
   “― Oh! That’s right!!” They push themself up and pat at the ground with their sweater paws. “(Name), do you have any plans tomorrow?”
-
   Also… did Chara just come to your defense? Without being asked? Chastising their brother and best friend as they did so? Wow. They really don’t pull punches even with people they like. In a way, that kind of honesty is refreshing.
   And… they were trying to help you out. No prompting, no reward for it, just the assertion that they think you should say something for yourself instead of letting Asriel and Frisk decide for you.
   As you consider what might be best, your hand strokes lightly over Frisk’s hair, which, judging by the way they lean into it, they greatly appreciate. “Uhhhh, well… is it okay if we, um, wrap the lessons together? I-I… assume you won’t, haha, be throwing anything… too crazy at me on Monday night, Asriel, s-so… hopefully there’ll be time for everything.”
   Frisk and Asriel share a silent conversation, then Frisk nods. “Yeah, that’s totally fine! It gives our, haha, budding guest star a chance to get prepared anyway.”
   For reasons you don’t quite understand, Chara groans. “Frisk, oh, my God, you are insufferable.”
   “Sure am, thanks for noticing!”
   Asriel shakes his head at the both of them with another small laugh. “In any case, guys. We’ll get things straightened out for Monday. And if there’s anything that changes, we can talk during work.”
   “Aaaah,” Frisk hums, “the sweet benefits of working in the same building as my siblings and best magic human friend.”
   You raise an eyebrow at them and move to get up. “Uhm… Frisk… a-aren’t I, like, your only magic human friend…?”
   Frisk sticks their tongue out at you (it must be a family trait despite the fact that they and Chara are adopted) and with their next sentence mimics Chara’s normal syntax. “That is entirely irrelevant!”
-
   “Oh, pleaaaase,” Frisk drawls, draping themself in such a way that you have to hold your arms out to support their weight. “Mom already said that if you don’t stay for dinner, she’s putting it in a to-go box for you. So you need to do us a favor and just stay! Oh, yeah, and now that she knows you like them, she’s gonna make snails more often. Thanks for that!”
   Chara gives a scoff as they lean against the side of the rail. “Do not blame her for having good taste, Frisk. This just means you can sneak your food onto her plate and you will end up with double mashed potatoes.”
   Frisk’s eyes pop open and they look over at Asgore, adopting the most fake-looking ‘innocent’ expression you’ve ever seen. “… I don’t do that!”
   “Geez, Frisk. You did it last time, you’re planning to do it this time, and you’re gonna do it every time for the foreseeable future.” Asriel gives them a light punch in the shoulder. “Stop lying and let’s get (Name)’s lesson underway.”
   “Wha ― well, how dare you, Azzy!” Frisk does start to move, though, gesturing for you to follow the group back up the stairs. “I’m a good child! I don’t lie! Do you think Mom would call me her little angel if I lied? You’re the one making things up! So rude! I’m offended and I demand your mashed potatoes as payment for my pain and suffering unless you wanna see me in food court!”
   “Oh, yeah, food court, huh? What are you gonna do, put me in soli-tarragon confinement? Sentence me to 25 to 60 in the oven?”
   “No, no, no,” Frisk muses, “you’ll get the chair, Azzy. The highchair!”
   “Good grief…”
   Chara sweeps their arms toward the railing and, once you’ve taken a few steps up, comes up behind you. “Honestly, (Name), do not let Frisk and their silliness fool you,” they hum to you. “They are a beacon of horrible decisions. If we were still in high school, your mother would forbid you from hanging out with them because she’d say they are a bad influence.”
   “Me, a bad influence?! You and I should just change our names to Pot and Kettle!”
   You reach forward and hook your arms around Frisk’s neck as you walk. “Aw, leave them alone. M-maybe I like bad influences!”
   Frisk snorts. “Oh, I bet you do! Say, speaking of that, did Chara tell you what they were like in high school? Because if you like bad influences, you should hear the story about Mom finding a pack of Torrids in their jacket pocket… but Flowey, he’s even worse! If Chara smoked a cigarette, he’d smoke the whole pack! I’ll say this once, okay? Don’t fall for him! I’d be so heartbroken that you abandoned Chara so quickly, I think I’d have to disown you… no more friendship kisses for you… stay strong, Frisk…!”
   Oh. Well. They certainly turned that around on you. “U-umm, uh…!!”
   Your face is suddenly very hot. What are you supposed to say to that?!
   As soon as you all reach the top of the stairs, you bury your face in Frisk’s shoulder. You can hear Chara trying and failing to hold back laughter behind you.
-
   You’ve barely taken a step before they have the knife raised. It’s not a cool and calculated movement, and in fact nothing about their demeanor right now is cool and calculated. They aren’t displaying any real sadism or even hatred for you.
   Instead, they remind you a bit of a trapped animal. They have an escape route, they could flee down the stairs, because you’re not blocking that… and yet, it seems they still feel like they don’t have a way out. They look desperate and frightened, as if they’re convinced you’re going to try and hurt them even if they run.
   “Don’t you dare take another step!” they snap. You notice that Chara’s hands are shaking. You don’t think they really want to hurt you. “Ahah… unlike my siblings… I do not have magic to defend myself. Do you know what I do have? A knife. Now… I am not particularly craving a reason to use it. But if I must…”
   “But you don’t have to use it!” you answer. “I didn’t mean to… to start this! I don’t wanna h-hurt you!”
   Their smile looks more like a sneer. “Pretty words. Pretty… useless… lies. If you do not want to hurt me, then end the FIGHT.”
   You look around for anything, a menu, some rules, something. Asriel’s words from your first lesson with him come back to you. When you were in the FIGHT with him, he set ‘conditions’. You couldn’t SPARE him until you met those conditions, and if you didn’t SPARE him, your only options were FIGHT, ACT, or ITEMS.
   Although you’re not sure how, and you didn’t mean to, you probably set some conditions of your own when you started the FIGHT.
   “I… I can’t? I don’t know how! We haven’t covered that!” You keep your hands up, just so they can see you aren’t going to move to try and attack them. “You, um… y-you could try SPARING me?”
   “And how am I supposed to do that? What do you want from me?!”
-
   “I-I still like you, Chara!” It takes you a moment before the laughter dies down, and for someone who laughs in almost every situation, they seem a bit baffled by the sudden outburst. “Listen, I… I get why you did what you did. You were scared… w-we both kind of just made the situation worse. It’s not… I mean… y-you said it yourself, pulling out a knife is… kind of… y-you know, it’s not weird in a FIGHT.”
   They give you a funny sort of smile, then shake their head. “Yes, well, being upset and anxious does not give one the right to just do whatever they want. That fact does not change simply because I was the one displaying such behavior. If I were in your position, I do not think I would be nearly as forgiving. Certainly, I would not still have feelings for the person who pulled a knife on me. But we have already established that you are a doormat given the will to live.”
   They shift from one foot to the other, then turn their eyes down again. “So, well. If only for the sake of my family and their relationships with you… are we… ‘good’?”
   You can’t help but giggle as you dig your keys out. “Yeah. We’re good. I’m… I’m sorry for everything that happened. I’ll… try not to start any more FIGHTs with you, okay?”
   They nod. “And I will try to remember that if you do, it was most likely an accident. Also, I will… attempt to listen to what you say instead of listening to what my ‘worst-case-scenario’ voice is telling me. Apologies in advance if that is… a bit difficult for me, however.”
-
   You’ve spoken to Chara one-on-one a few more times. They seem to like it when you confide in them, particularly about magic-related matters… they understand some of the struggles you’re going through. Often it strikes you that you’re not ‘leveling up’ your power as quickly as Frisk did theirs, even though everyone thinks you’re doing great. Chara hasn’t been able to manifest magic at all, so they get the inadequacy and frustration you feel, despite the fact that those feelings aren’t necessarily the truth.
   They manage to be surprisingly comforting in regards to your progress. After a particularly challenging lesson, they sit outside on the swing with you as you cry and berate yourself, saying a few unpleasant things about yourself that later you wish you could take back. They pluck one of the few flowers from the back garden that are still growing, and tuck it behind your ear.
   “You would not think a daisy was useless for not growing as fast as the one beside it, would you?” they say to you. “You and Frisk are different people. The only comparison that matters is the one between you today and you yesterday. And even that is… sometimes irrelevant. You may not even be a daisy like Frisk. You may be a bush or a tree, and those plants take years to grow. As a gardener… I think it would be a waste if a tree gave up growing simply because it did not pop up like a daisy.”
   It’s true that Chara doesn’t let you hold them again. However, they do allow you to rest your head on their shoulder during that moment. The wind howls gently around you, the cold air stings when you breathe in, your tears freeze on your cheeks, and the moon is so bright and the sky is so dark and you can pretend nothing else exists but the two of you.
   It’s one of those memories you don’t think you’ll forget as long as you live.
-
   “Ah… (Name).” Rather than exclaim at you as it seems like they want to do, they evidently force themself to be calm. Their smile is back up in a second as if they’re afraid to be caught without it. It looks even faker than usual, ready to fall apart at the seams, and you get the sense that their smile is the only thing holding their composure together right now. “Well, it is nice of you to rejoin the world of the living, Sleeping Beauty.”
   You give a weak wheeze of a giggle. How is it possible they always make you laugh? “Hehe… I’m glad to see you.” Almost instinctively, you reach out your hand in search for theirs. “Oh… there’s… there’s something stuck in my hand. Will you, um… take that out for me? Please?”
   They laugh, but it sounds more like they’re about to cry. Within only a second or two, their hand is slipped into yours. It’s warm and familiar and it feels more comforting than anything you can think of. “No, no, no. I am afraid that needs to stay in your hand. It is an IV giving you pain medication.”
   “Oh…” You blink a few times. “But… but I don’t feel much pain. I feel okay.”
   “Yes, well,” they snort, “you will not if I take it out and you are no longer getting the medication.”
-
  “… Y-you knew after the first time what was gonna happen, Chara.” Your voice still breaks when you speak. The thought of Chara having any kind of feelings that would lead them to want to be hit by that thing is… upsetting to you. “Asriel moved out of the way. But you… you kept stepping in front of it. Even w-when there was… there was nobody to… p-protect by doing that. Why?”
  When you look back at them, their jaw is clenched tightly. Their usual smile is there, but it seems like they’re trying very hard not to cry. You notice dark lines under their eyes, likely from sleeping poorly, and suddenly they actually look their age. “Why do you not tell me your guess as to why? You have become rather perceptive.”
  You stare at them for a long moment. It’s as if you’re not trying to CHECK; just trying to read them from what you’ve learned about them. They had a terrible childhood that they refuse to give details about, they’re hiding their pain, and they’ve just displayed an astonishingly worrying behavior.
  You think Chara doesn’t like themself very much. You think somebody close to them hurt them, maybe more than one somebody.
  You think that whatever happened in their past, it made them believe they’re a bad person who doesn’t deserve anything good.
  You think it’s not a stretch that they might go from thinking ‘I’m a bad person’ to ‘I’m better off dead’.
  You think they’re suicidal. You think maybe it hasn’t choked their being entirely, but their putting themself into a situation where they would have been killed if not for someone else’s actions, multiple times, proves that those feelings are without a doubt embedded in them like thorns.
  … More than anything, you think that’s very sad for someone to think so low of themself.
  It strikes you as unfair for someone to believe that the world would be just fine if they killed themself.
  You reach up to take their hand, and this time, unfortunately, the instant your fingers touch theirs, they yank their hand away from yours. It’s not the same violent action as the one time they were lost in that memory; it’s telling, though.
  “D-do you… really think you… deserve t-to die?” The wind nearly swallows your voice.
  Their silence tells you more than anything they could possibly say.
  “Chara. Chara! We’re literally at the hospital. W-we can…” You try to push yourself up so you can stand. “Let’s go b-back in… we’ll… we’ll tell them…”
  “We will not,” they snap, accompanied by a sort of breathless-in-the-worst-way laugh. They go so far as to put their hand on your shoulder and physically push you back down into the chair ― gently, but firmly, in a way which reminds you of Toriel. You don’t think they even mean to sound as nasty as they do right now. “I am not going to march in there and tell them I have tried to kill myself several times, only to be told that I am crazy or exaggerating.”
  You reach for their hand again. This time they allow you to take it, but it’s limp in yours. “Y-you’re not… they’re not gonna…”
  Wait.
  Did they just say several times?
  This isn’t the first time they’ve shown suicidal behavior?
  … Is that what Toriel was going to say when she told you Chara has had ‘problems’ with something?
  That means their family knows. And their family wouldn’t just stand by, do nothing, let Chara suffer. They would try to help.
  You think Chara won’t let anyone help them.
-
  “It’s a long story,” Asriel sighs, “and I don’t think I should talk about it… you know, much. Chara’s already told you what they’re willing to tell you. They wouldn’t be too happy with me talking about what happened. They’ve had other problems since then, since we came back, other attempts, but… I-I mean, thankfully, the few times they’ve tried, they’ve picked… I don’t know, stuff that might not actually kill them.”
  He runs a hand through the tufts of hair atop his head with a shrug. “It hasn’t happened too often, between the time we left the Underground to now, but when they’ve done it, it doesn’t… seem like they fully, actually want to die. Those few times it seemed more like… like a…”
  “… A cry for help?” you offer softly.
  He closes his eyes and gets up to pace around the room. “Yeah… yeah, I guess that’s what I’d call it. Except, every time we try to get them help, try to take them to the hospital or to a therapist… they fight it.”
  Obviously you hoped that he’d tell you something like that; that they’ve all tried to get Chara to seek help. Everyone loves Chara so much, it’s unthinkable that they’d all sit and not try to do something.
  It really is just a pity that none of the help has stuck. Chara seems to understand that they have a problem, that suicide attempts aren’t normal or healthy, and yet they aren’t ready to take steps to make themself healthier. Most likely because they know it’s going to hurt worse before it gets better, and they’re unwilling to face that pain.
  “I mean,” he continues with a smile that’s only half amused, “we took them to a therapist once. They had to leave ten minutes into the session, without giving her anything to work with, because they made her cry!”
  Without even thinking, you decide to take a page from Frisk’s book. “Oof.”
  The tension is broken almost immediately. Asriel snorts and shakes his head a few times. “Oof is right. It’s… been a couple years since the last time they did anything truly suicidal. And when they do end up doing something, we can usually handle it, so we just… handle it.”
  He shakes his head. “Besides, what are we supposed to do? No matter how hard we try to talk to them, they don’t wanna talk about their deeper feelings. And we can’t force them to go to the hospital unless they’re literally unconscious and can’t make a decision on their own. So we just… try to take care of them if they do anything harmful to themself.”
  That’s a little reassuring, of course. Still… Asriel agreed with your description that their previous attempts have appeared like a cry for help. And last month, your CHECK used that phrase to describe their opening up to you about being scared you would force them into a kiss.
  It evidently wasn’t their first cry for help. They’ve been crying for help, but nobody knows how to help them, because they won’t accept the help they need and that’s offered. Your only guess for that is they’ve lived with those feelings for so long that any change, even an improvement, is terrifying to them. ‘Better the devil you know,’ isn’t that how it goes?
  Your heart breaks to think that there’s probably nothing you can do to encourage them to seek help. Nothing they’ll take to heart, at least. They already rejected your urging to go back into the hospital and tell doctors. If they won’t listen to their family, why the hell would they listen to you?
  What else can you do except continue to treat them with kindness?
-
  Frisk grins. “You haven’t seen it yet?? Oh, man! It aired last week for the beginning of the holiday season, and we’re finally getting around to watching it. Okay, Chara, sorry, I’m gonna rewind! She’s gotta see this.”
  “Mhm, agreed. I usually find holiday specials rather trite. This one is palatable, however.” They run their thumb lightly over the back of your hand. It’s so easy to relax with them now. Even though you’ve not known each other for long, they appear to be adjusting more to being physical with you. “Fallen is one of my favorite series of his in general. You said you have seen all of it, (Name)?”
  You nod, smiling when you feel the top of your head knock gently against their chin. “O-oh, yeah. The writing’s great. I… I really feel for Sparks. His creator’s s-so mean to him! Like… she didn’t, you know, have to make him… just to do nothing but hurt him. I… I don’t really get it, haha.”
  Their free hand begins to sift through your hair. When they speak, it’s soft and wistful, and you get the sense that their mind isn’t entirely on the show anymore. “Mm. I do not understand it, either.” Then they giggle, making a patch of your scalp tingle. “It is okay, though. This special might have a happy ending, judging by what we have seen so far. At least, Sparks will―”
  “Aaaah, no!” You lean back against them, tilting your head up. “Shhh, no spoilers, haha.”
  They chuckle and comb your hair in such a way that it moves your head back down. “Oh, dear. I suppose that is fair. Well, if Frisk ever gets this rewound all the way to the beginning, feel free to have some of the popcorn while we watch.”
  You raise an eyebrow, glancing toward the scattered kernels before looking at Frisk. “You guys w-wasted half of it with that… what did you call it? Popcorn Goalie?”
  Frisk pointedly taps the rewind button harder while flashing you a grin that makes them look like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Don’t worry! Mom’s gonna bring us some hot chocolate in a little bit, so we don’t really need the popcorn anyway.”
  “W-well, in that case, I think I have to rescue it from you guys.” You reach over to take a small handful. After popping a few pieces into your mouth, you raise your hand in order to offer one to Chara.
  With a hum that seems to imply a sort of why not? attitude, they stop playing with your hair in order to pluck a piece from your hand. “Thank you. Speaking of Mettaton, by the way,” they say around their tiny mouthful, “will we be seeing that garish bucket of bolts tomorrow?”
  “Oh… yeah. He’s, um, coming over to do the interview… b-because he doesn’t want a studio to stress me out. He’s… got a big head, but he’s pretty nice.”
  Chara scoffs. “You are entitled to your wrong opinion.”
  “Oh, let it go,” Frisk groans. “We all know you’re not still mad, you butt. Now calm down because I think I got it back to the beginning! Everybody get back into cuddle puddle position for the next hour.”
-
  A door slams open and you freeze. The sound reminds you of a gunshot, like the attack a few days ago. “Chara!”
  “Ah!” It’s almost a squeak, and instantly they’re standing with their hands behind their back. “I-I am sorry…”
  Coming through the door is a man. You can’t see anything except vague features like an outline. It seems like he’s wearing similar clothing to Chara, but everything else is blurred. You feel embarrassed, like you’ve been doing something you weren’t supposed to.
  You get a vague sense of unease from this man’s… energy. There’s a twinge in your stomach, and your vision swims briefly, as if someone has just spun you around while blindfolded.
  “Just like every other time, I’m sure. Go sit back down; I do not need you getting into trouble while I’m gone.”
  They nod and practically scurry back to their spot beside you. As the man passes in front of them, they pipe up. “Before you go… will you… will you wind it up? Please?”
  The man sighs, but stops in front of the fireplace. He takes the trinket off the mantel, and there’s the sound of gears clicking. As soon as he sets it back down, the same melody Chara was humming begins to play. “Just this once, Chara. Now, I’ll be back soon. Behave while I’m gone, understand? You are to sit or lie there and not move. You may pray if you would like.”
  “Yes, sir. Goodbye.” Chara bobs their head, then shifts to lie down on the floor.
  The man is gone out the front door in a moment, and Chara looks over at you in confusion. “Should you not go, too?”
  You look toward the door for a few seconds before glancing back at Chara. You’re not sure what’s going on, really. This is a memory, maybe. Possibly. It all feels staticky and like it could break apart at any second.
  Finally, you lie down next to them. “No… I-I think I’d rather stay with you. Is that okay?”
  They smile. It’s a bit different than their usual one; it lights up their whole face and they look genuinely happy. They laugh and roll over close to you, grasping at your hand. “Yes, I would like that! I have never had anyone to listen to the music with.”
  “Oh… really?” You’re surprised by the way they nestle into you readily. This isn’t like them. It’s nice, but it isn’t like them. “I… I’d love to listen with you.”
  You close your eyes as they try to get even closer to you. They’re making themself smaller, curling in, and humming to the tune.
  The harmony is vaguely haunting, although the music box makes it sound like a sweet lullaby. It wraps you up and makes you feel calm.
  When you open your eyes, you’re no longer holding the adult Chara you know. In their place is a child who looks like a younger Chara, with baggy clothes and dark lines under their eyes and a body that feels too skinny in your arms.
  “You should not be here,” they murmur, while making no attempt to pull themself from you. “You’re too close. Get out. Please. I don’t want anyone to see me. Not like this. Not you. Not anyone. Leave… leave…”
-
  The sound of harsh coughing catches your attention, breaking apart any focus you might have had on getting yourself out of here. You turn toward the noise to find Chara in a bed ― just as you know them, except with those baggy clothes and longer hair. They’re leaned back against the pillow, hair fanned out and seeming awfully tangled.
  And there’s that man again, next to their bedside holding an old-fashioned mercury thermometer. His features are still unknown to you, little more than a blurry silhouette with some muted blobs of color. “Well,” he says, and his voice sounds so loud, “your temperature’s a bit high. We’ll see how you are in the morning, though, alright?”
  Chara looks exhausted. To you, their face reads as someone who hasn’t gotten much sleep in a few days. When they speak, it sounds like they’re trying to speak around a throatful of broken glass. “But… but Daddy… I feel r-really bad.” Both hands swallowed by their sleeves come up to cover their mouth as another round of coughing starts.
  It’s several seconds before they can talk again, their hands moving down to clutch at their chest. “It hurts…” They lift their eyes toward the man in a clear attempt at silent pleading. “I-I read there is… stuff you can take when you are sick… that m-makes you feel better?”
  “For others, yes, but not for you.” This man ― their father? ― makes you feel very, very uneasy. There is something not right about him. Although he wasn’t kind in the first memory you saw, here his aura is even darker. It’s like a black cloud that makes you feel nauseous.
  He leans down to their level, setting a hand on their head. That small gesture sets off the worst kind of alarm bells for you. “This illness is a punishment for you, Chara. You must bear it without any assistance, to atone for whatever sin you’ve committed.”
  His voice borders on something serene, something that’s completely at odds with the actual words he’s saying, and the touch that accompanies it seems gentle. It’s a hugely dissonant energy, which sets you on edge.
  You can’t think of too many things crueler than denying someone medicine while telling them they deserve to suffer and that it’s their fault they’re ill.
  Chara looks up at him with a look in their eyes that reflects a hope shattered into a million pieces. Something exists that might ease the discomfort they’re in, and they can’t have it. After a second they begin to cough again, practically doubling over from the force. It sounds like each one is trying to rip their lungs apart like tissue paper.
  “But… but…” They try to speak between their breathless coughs. “What… did I do… wrong…?”
  “You know that’s a question you must ask yourself.” He gives their head one last rub before straightening up. “You have all night, so think about it.”
  Just like last time, he’s gone quickly, walking out the door and shutting it. You think you hear a lock click.
  You can’t recall anything you’ve done bad lately.
  Maybe you should think harder. You must have done something to justify feeling so poorly
-
  Mercifully, before you can say anything, there’s a knock on the door before a humanoid monster who appears to be made entirely out of jelly walks into the room. “Okay, Mx. Dreemurr… oh! Haha, I didn’t know you had a lovely young lady visiting you. Sorry to interrupt, but I’ll try to keep things brief.” She gives both of you a smile as she steps in. “I’m Dr. Borden, the emergency physician in charge of your case. Remember me at all? It’s okay if you don’t; you were pretty out of it earlier.”
  “Mhh… my apologies. I do not recall not much outside the memory of you and your nurses forcing me to swallow an entire cup of horrid black sludge. Speaking of―” They wave at you, gesturing you toward the door. “(Name), you should go relax and get something to eat. It has been an eventful day for all of us. I will get some sleep after speaking with the doctor, so do not worry, alright?”
  Easier said than done. Still, you nod, then lean over to brush a light kiss over their forehead, and give their hand one more gentle squeeze. “O-okay. Make sure to take it easy and, um, stay out of trouble, okay?”
  They flutter their eyes closed and all but press themself into the contact, their smile growing just a little more genuine. When they open their eyes again, they squeeze your hand back in kind. “You do the same on both counts, haha. I will talk to you as soon as I am allowed out of here.”
  On your way out the door, you hear Dr. Borden chuckle softly as though they’ve just told her the best joke she’s heard all year and they don’t realize it. “Actually, Mx. Dreemurr, about that…”
  You don’t quite make out the wording she uses as you slip outside, because she doesn’t speak very loudly. However, Chara’s response is more than enough to echo behind you while you and Asriel start back to the waiting room.
  “Excuse me?! You cannot keep me here. I am an independent adult and capable of making my own decisions. Wha ― self-induced poisoning?! You are the one who treated me in the emergency room. Do you happen to remember what the supposed poison was? It was cold medicine! I have a cold!”
-
  “H-hey, it’s okay. I… I get it. It… can be hard to know who to trust, sometimes. Even for me.” Things fall quiet as you move one hand to play with their hair again. Finally, you break the silence. “That man in your memories… that was your dad? Um… I mean…”
  “Yes, my birth father. He raised me in that tiny village by the mountain.” Their lips fall into a straight line, and for a moment, their smile disappears. It almost looks like they’ve just sucked all the juice out of a lemon. Maybe with an undercurrent of melancholy. “… I hate him. More than any other human. I despise him and he terrifies me.”
  Everything about Chara’s childhood memories stands out to you, particularly the second one you were inside of. The dark emanation from their father, that aura that made you feel nauseous and disoriented, his stunningly callous behavior. How could anyone treat their child that way?
  It was stronger in the second memory, maybe because he wasn’t acting very cruel in the first one, or maybe because you were more agitated during the second one. Even in the first memory, he was dismissive of Chara. You don’t want to ask about him, because you’re sure too much poking will cause them to shut you out. You’re not keen on getting another cold shoulder after you’ve just got them back.
  You press a kiss to their temple. “I’m sorry. From what I saw, I, um… I don’t blame you. He scared me, too. While I was in that second memory… I-I don’t know. Being around him made me feel… sick to my stomach and… off-balance.”
  “Mh.” They close their eyes. “That does not shock me. Being as you are, your SOUL is sensitive not only to malicious intent, but strong magic. My birth father had both… in spades. His magic was powerful, with so many different techniques that did not seem like an extension of any one ability. Many different spells, I would assume. His magic is the most impressive I have ever seen from another human. That is why he led us.”
  You notice them shiver and give them a gentle squeeze before drawing away so you can put their coat around them. The last thing they need right now is to get any sicker just as they’re on the mend. “Uh… led you?”
-
  Huh. So, even with all the shit they’ve been through lately, they’re willing to have you on top of them to cuddle. Does that mean they enjoyed it when you were both cuddled up with Frisk that one night? “Oh, well…”
  Having the weight of another person leaning on them doesn’t seem like the wisest idea at the moment, though. They’re feeling better, but… just the same as being outside in the cold for too long might hinder their recovery, you don’t think having pressure on their chest would be a good idea right now. You can just imagine accidentally nuzzling a bit too close and aggravating their cough.
  “Um, h-how about… you can lie against me instead?” Your face is probably on fire from the mere suggestion. You relax a little against the arm of the couch and give a few small, reluctant pats to your lap as a silent invitation. “I… I don’t wanna, um, y-you know… hurt you.”
  The look they give you is awfully funny. Although they’re still smiling, as almost always, their bottom eyelids curve up and their eyebrows knit together. They look sort of inquisitive or puzzled. In the end, they chuckle, which turns into a brief handful of coughs. “Ahahah… oh, dear, (Name). You have mistaken me for something delicate.”
  You laugh with them, though you don’t think it’s all that humorous. Usually they can make you laugh without even trying… so what if you’re trying to be careful with them? Is that a bad thing? Don’t they deserve to be treated considerately? “N-no, I just…” Your face flushes even more. It must be spread out horribly by now, because your ears and neck feel like they’re burning. “… Thought I could… you know… t-take care of you.”
  “Ahah, awww.” They hum and, after a minute of thought, they hesitantly scoot closer to you. “I suppose fair is fair. We have done this one way, so having another perspective may be interesting.” Their hand pauses halfway toward yours, then they suddenly snap their eyes up to meet yours. “Pose me.”
  Immediately your nerves dry up to leave only bewilderment. “W… what? Pose you??”
  “Yes.” They stretch their arm out. “You must be thinking of a certain position. So… help me into that position. Show me what you would like.”
  Oh. That’s, uh. What??? Why do they want you to do that? “But… I-I want it to be comfortable for you, Chara. I… wanna know what you want.”
  “If I am not comfortable in whatever position you place me, I will adjust myself. I know it seems strange… haha… just indulge my curiosity, will you not? Please? Come, think about it… I have just returned home from the hospital… I have been through the wringer lately… do you not want to make me happy? It is such a small thing, so…”
  Your confusion is broken and you can’t help but snort. “W-wow, first your own brother, now me? I didn’t, um… pack for a guilt trip.” Although you didn’t have any doubts, here’s the proof that they can be just as manipulative as Flowey when they want to be. “Okay… I guess.”
  If that’s what they really want, where’s the harm? It’s not like you’re going to put them in a painful position or take advantage.
  You move yourself a bit closer, then carefully circle your arms around them. One around their shoulders, one around their waist… similarly to how you held them when you visited them in the hospital. You hang on to them, and slowly lean yourself back until you’re propped up against the arm of the couch, with the rest of you lying pretty flat.
  The action has left Chara only somewhat pressed against you. They’re sort of watching you, and you can feel them breathing in a sort of pattern, probably to keep their anxiety down. You keep your touch light and tender as you tug them down, so that they’re lying flush against you. You guide their head to your chest, resting on your collarbone. It feels like your heart is trying to beat right out.
  You mimic their patterned breathing for a moment, feeling them tensed up and hoping to calm the both of you down. “I-it’s okay,” you find yourself murmuring. You brush your lips over the top of their head. “It’s okay. If you wanna move…”
  “No. No, no, no… I…” Their voice is small and hoarse from being sick, so much that it almost disappears. They shift around just a little, arching their back in order to move themself up… just enough to tuck their head under your chin. One of their arms folds in against their chest, and one wraps loosely around your waist. “… I am okay. I am… very okay.”
-
  Toriel’s face lights up. “Oh, my child! So, does that mean…?”
  They hum. “Yes… if she agrees to accompany me, then I will do the flower activity at your school.”
  The next course of action, predictably, is for Toriel to turn her pleading eyes on you. Boy. You can see where Frisk learned that particular facial expression. She doesn’t even have to really say anything.
  “O-okay, yeah!” The words are out before you can even think about stopping them. Doesn’t it sound like a nice day, after all? You’d get to spend Valentine’s Day with Chara, helping them teach kids about plants. “Oh, gosh… is Valentine’s Day on a weekday this year? I think… I’ll, um. Have to see if Grace can get me that day off, but… but it shouldn’t be a problem! Sign me up.”
  Asriel leans over to give you a hug, grinning as Toriel gives you a wide smile. “If it wasn’t clear, y’know, she’s really happy. I mean…” He gestures toward Chara before ruffling their hair. “Her oldest baby… stepping out into the world… socializing… pfffffff, I think I’m gonna cry!”
  “Ugh! Asriel! Get your boozed-up hand off of me!” Despite their laughter, they try to push their brother’s hand away. “Stop! Stop, you are ruining my hair!”
  “Ooooh, right. Right. I forgot, you gotta look pretty for (Name)! You’ll be the… whaddaya call it… house spouse?”
  “Asriel! Go home, you are drunk!!”
  “I am home, you chocoholic! You gonna carry me upstairs across the threshold into my room?”
  “Perhaps I am a chocoholic, but do you know what you are?”
  “Charming and handsome with a dramatic profile and a smile that lights up a room?”
  “… No, that is also me. You, brother, are a child!”
  You can hear Toriel trying and failing to hold back a fit of giggles. “Well, he certainly is a kid! Haha!”
  Everyone else erupts into laughter, including Asriel who does his absolute damnedest to hide his face. It’s a useless attempt and everyone knows it and none of you can even try not to laugh.
-
  Your legs turn wobbly as the strummed chords of the next song start to take over. It’s bad enough that you’re basically pressed against Chara, who chuckles and does their best to hold you up.
  “Please,” they murmur, their own arms shaking from your combined weight, “did I not warn you about falling for me?”
  For a long moment, all you can do is stare wide-eyed at them. It’s weird… like they’re trying to be funny while simultaneously reminding you of all the things they’ve said before about getting close to them.
  Your mind, for whatever reason, flashes you back to the first day you came to work at the Embassy. They warned you not to try getting close to them. They told you that you didn’t have the DETERMINATION to handle their jagged pieces. They said they were too broken for you to fix. To not bother trying.
  They keep saying things like that. They seem to think they really are broken. That whatever else they may be, there’s nothing there for anyone to love.
  You don’t believe that. You can’t.
-
  They look like a line from a song about falling in love, like someone has picked the most romantic, evocative lines from a poem and given them life.
  “Yes,” they sigh. “Often I can handle it for a short time. In this situation, however… the risk is very great. Frisk cannot watch out for me because they are rather drunk. Asriel is attempting to oversee the party as a whole, so he cannot stick by my side. And as much as I try to do for myself… my anxiety spikes around crowds.”
  You can see your own actions in the window, and they open their eyes to watch you briefly. They don’t stop you when you raise your hand, so you set it on their shoulder. “If you’re okay with it, um… you and I can hang in here for a while.”
  Their smile reflects back at you. “I would like that.” Then their head tilts up toward the sky outside. “Look. Did you know there is a star that shares my name?”
  Your eyes are pulled toward the sky. It’s pitch-black, the only sources of light being the streetlamps and the sparkling pinpoints of the stars. “O-oh, no way. A star named Chara?”
  “Mhm. Its Bayer designation, a certain way to which stars are referred, is Beta Canum Venaticorum. It is located in a small northern constellation called Canus Venatici ― mhh, often translated to… ‘hunting dogs’, I believe. But the star is also known as Chara or Asterion. For the purposes of brevity, I would assume,” they laugh.
  You can’t help but smile. “That’s… that’s so cool. Do you… know anything about it?”
  They nod. “Only a bit. My father told me that this was what my mother named me after… a star. Something distant and cold and unpredictable. This star, though… from what I read, its star system is one of the most likely to host planets with extraterrestrial life.” Their smile tightens briefly, then relaxes. “I suppose there is hope for me, then.”
  This must be why their SOUL chose to appear to you as a star. Maybe that’s how they see themself; a far off being, but wanting to mean something to someone.
  … Wishing that they mean something to you.
  “There’s more than hope,” you murmur, running your hand down their arm. After a few seconds you reach their hand, and after setting yours inside it, they squeeze lightly. “He was wrong about you. Stars… stars aren’t cold. They’re literally, um, made of hot swirling… like, hydrogen and helium, I-I think? They’re always… producing light and heat. You’re not cold.”
  An eyebrow is raised in your direction. “Haha. What about ‘distant’ and ‘unpredictable’, then?”
  You give a shrug. “I’m just saying… if he was wrong about one part of that… w-what else could he have been wrong about? You’re… you’re great, Chara.”
  “Mmh, well, thank you for your consistently strange opinion.” They shift their legs  down, swung over the side of the bookshelf and heels tapping lightly against it. Their gaze is still focused outside. “When I was young… sometimes I dreamed about being able to see the stars so clearly. I knew they were there, because I read about them, but… I had never seen them before I left my village. The night I did was the first time I had ever laid eyes on a star. Or, a whole sky full of them, as it was that night.”
  They’re awfully sentimental right now. You gently nudge their legs further over the edge so you can sit next to them and they readily make room for you. Similar to something Frisk does, they arch their ankle to brush their foot against yours. You’re sorely tempted to reach down and yank your shoes off so you can fully appreciate the gesture. “Wow…”
  “Before you ask,” they chuckle, “I do not really want to talk about any of that. And I do not want you in my mind to look at it, either. This is just… me reflecting on life after another year as the next one is about to start. I find it amusing that, well… the very thing I was named after, I spent the first ten years of my life without seeing. Ironic in a way, I suppose.”
  Despite that you wouldn’t enter their mind without permission, you can’t help but picture that kind of a scene in your mind. This small child, having been pushed to their breaking point and running away from everything they knew… probably crying, as they looked up to the sky, their namesake reflected in wide eyes as they see a glittering starscape for the first time in their life.
  You imagine being there next to them as a child yourself ― like you did on the drive after picking them up from the hospital when you thought about your younger self listening to the music box with them.
  You can almost feel the cool chill of night air on your skin, the resolution with which Chara might take your hand, the violent whispers of, “Let’s never go back, okay?” and “We’ll take care of each other” and “I’ll always be here for you” that you might have exchanged.
-
  Asriel’s voice drifts in from the main room. “Okay, guys, thirty seconds to midnight! Get ready for the countdown!”
  Chara gingerly pushes themself up on their tiptoes. They’re close enough that if one of you moves suddenly, you’d bump noses. “How about another set of quotes? Your turn.”
  “U-um, oh…” Another few roll around in your mind before you settle on one that’s been running through your head lately; particularly when you think about Chara. You let your hand slip down to cup their cheek. It feels so vulnerable to do this, to look in their tired eyes… it’s what you want, though. For them to let you do something so affectionate. “‘You’ve got a new story to write. And it looks nothing like your past.’ Danielle LaPorte.”
  Maybe it crosses your mind when thinking about yourself, too? So much has changed, both for you and for Chara, in such a short time. There’s still a lot in the future you might not know how to deal with, because neither of you have dealt with anything happening in the present so far. It’s been one day at a time for several months now, with new things going on so fast you can barely keep track of them.
  You’re grateful you have supportive people in your life. Chara is by your side even if they’re still standing at a bit of a distance. Asriel and Frisk are always next to you, and you know you have Toriel and Asgore behind you regardless of anything else.
  You don’t think you would be learning to be as confident as you’re learning to be without any of them.
  You don’t think your life would be as good as it is right now without any of them.
  “Okay, ready, everyone? Ten… nine… eight…”
  Chara’s lips curl up further. There’s something unidentifiable in their eyes, like a mix of relief and sadness and euphoria and pain.
  Their hand tightens in yours. “‘Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.’ Charles Dickens.”
  You can feel your heart starting to pound again. They’re almost right on top of you now. Kissing them is something you’ve been fantasizing about since you realized you were attracted to them. It’s something you want more than anything.
  Things have to go slow between the two of you, not pushing each other, not jumping right into something too strong. That might scare them and it might scare you and either one of those things would put a strain on any budding relationship.
  Are they… ready for this? Are you?
  Your heart leaps into your throat.
  “Chara…?”
  They give you a shy smile and push themself up further.
-
  “The song now just… hit something in me, I suppose, that made me think… how it is so funny, in a sad way, that…”
  They look down, tracing their thumbs over the backs of your hands. “Everything I craved when I was a child, that protection, and for someone to care about me… you want so badly to give it to me. I have pushed it away for a while, and I… I am trying to accept it. It is hard, and I know sometimes I am difficult and that I shut you out. The things you want to give me, I have them now, with my family, and it is sometimes… not so easy to believe that someone outside my family could want to invest that kind of energy in me.”
  Another sigh leaves them, and they sound so weighed down. “It is an uphill climb for another human to convince me that they mean me no harm, that they… just want to care for me. You are the first who has even put serious dents in my hatred for humanity. I… I just feel like I must tell you that it… means a lot to me that you are still climbing.”
  “… I do have to stop to, um, rest sometimes,” you tease, but rock forward to press your forehead against theirs. God, do they really think they’re, like… not worth it or something? How much pain has poor Chara had to bear? And why do they think they have to bear it all alone like this instead of telling someone about it all?
  You tilt your head up just a little to brush a quick kiss to their nose. “But… maybe I just… like climbing, I guess, hah. You’re a special person, Chara. I… like getting to know you, even if it’s, um… in baby steps. Anybody who doesn’t is missing out. And… and you deserve to have people taking care of you. I… I don’t understand how your mother could have thought what she did, or… or, but… but she was wrong about that. You’re not… I-I mean, she… you’re just…”
  You squeeze their hands, and out of nowhere you become aware that you’re crying, too. “… I’m really glad I met you. My life is a lot better because you’re in it.”
  They laugh. “Aaah. Surely you cannot mean that?”
  “I do,” you mumble, loosening one hand so you can comb their hair back. “If you weren’t in my life, I… I think… it would feel like something was missing. A lot of things have changed, a-and it’s really fast… I never thought I’d… you know… be where I am today, and… and be looking at the future I’m looking at.”
  Your mind flashes back to the first several weeks and months of your relationship with Chara. It started out so rocky. They barely wanted to speak to you, threatened you several times, and didn’t want you in their siblings’ lives, to say nothing of their own life.
  You still don’t know how that changed in less than six months. It seems like it’s been so long in some ways, and barely a blink in other ways.
-
  When you get Chara out of the car and are walking up the steps, you can practically feel the incredulity rolling off them in waves. They really can’t say much, given that they took you to what was basically three escape rooms for their first pick several months ago.
  Of course, not being able to say much doesn’t stop them from saying anything. “We are going to the science museum for our date?”
  “Yep,” you hum cheerfully. A small part of you feels bad for not giving them more information. It’s supposed to be a surprise, though. If they really didn’t want to be surprised like this, they’re not shy about telling you so.
  They sigh, but it’s not a truly irritated sound. “Will you at least give me a hint? If I bat my eyelashes and say please?”
  You swing your hand with theirs and think about it. “We’re almost there. Y-you can wait two more minutes, can’t you?”
  “… Considering you have made it sound like I am a petulant child for asking, I suppose I can.”
  The two of you giggle at each other as you lead them down the hall you need to be going to. “Okay,” you laugh, “I’ll give you a tiny hint. It’s, um, it’s a newer exhibit.”
  They blow out a long breath. “That does not help me. As much as I enjoy learning, I have not been here in… mh, a year, I think. Anything new in the last year is new to me.”
-
  It takes a lot of willpower not to cry when you really, really feel like crying. You feel tears pricking at your eyes, and to your surprise, a thin, calloused thumb reaches to gingerly brush them away.
  “I-I don’t know,” you sigh, and let your head lean against the top of Chara’s. “The last couple weeks have been so… so great. You and I are good with each other, a-and… and we kissed, and… things feel like we can all just breathe, but…”
  A low hum leaves their throat. “… But things going well in the short-term does not mean there are not more worrisome things on the horizon. I understand that. It serves us well to plan for the future, and sometimes… the future is not pleasant.”
  True to their word, they push themself up to brush a small peck over your lips. It tastes just like the soda you handed them, sticky and sweet, but with an undertone of their same unabashed self. “There is nothing I or anyone else can say to take away your worry. Because the truth is, anything kind I say would just be a placation.”
  “I already know how you feel about those,” you murmur.
  They chuckle. “Exactly. Even if I told you, ‘there, there, it will all be okay’, you would still worry, and my words would be for nothing. They would be empty, because I do not know for certain that it will be okay.”
  Their fingers creep into the spaces between yours, giving you a squeeze that helps ground you here in the moment. It reminds you that the past and future don’t yet exist. Even though you should learn from the past and plan for the future, you shouldn’t let those things ruin the present.
  “What I can tell you,” they add, “is that no matter what happens from this point on, I know that you do not roll over and give up. You may be a doormat most of the time, but you are a hurricane when it counts. I have seen it for myself.”
  When you look down at them, you think you see their smile relax into something less sure for half a second. “… It is frightening, is it not? I am sorry that I… do not think I can be of any real comfort.” Their head gestures up, where the stars continue to churn above you. “The universe is a big place. It pains me to admit it, but in the grand scheme of things, every individual has a relatively small amount of control. And handling a lack of control as poorly as I do, I have learned that… well.”
  They squeeze your hand again. “The unfortunate truth is that sometimes, there is nothing that can truly make it better. The only small, inconsequential comfort is to sit with someone else and figure out what little we have control of.”
-
  Chara chuckles. “Yes, that is correct. Photosynthesis has the side effect of producing oxygen… something which all humans and many monsters need to survive. Very good. What else do plants need to grow? It is also something that we drink.”
  Another little girl raises her hand. “Water! My mom says my granddad drinks like a fish, so I think that means he drinks lots of water!”
  It looks like Chara has to bite down on their lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. “I, er, I suppose, haha. But, you are also right. The vast majority of complex living things, like plants and animals, need water to survive. Those are the basic things plants require ― soil, sunlight, and water. So I… yes, Patience?”
  When you glance over from where you are at the beginning of the second row, she’s got her hand up again. “Um, my daddy says his gardenias grow so good because… because he talks to them! Is that like people? I mean, liiiiike… people need to talk to each other to be, um… to have inside their heads be good, right? What about plants? They grow really better if you talk to them, don’t they?”
  Most of the class snickers, but Chara offers a sharp, “Ahem!” that reminds you of the way Toriel does it to get her children’s attention. They head toward the front of the next row, carefully depositing another cup of soil into that child’s pot.
  “Do any of you think laughing at an unusual idea is a particularly kind choice to make?” they hum. “Now, talking to plants may seem like a strange one, but in fact, Patience is not entirely off the mark. There have been some scientific studies which suggest plants are capable of hearing, to put it simply, and that plants exposed to music might display an increased growth rate compared to plants which do not ‘hear’ any music.”
  The two of you finish filling the students’ pots with soil in silence, and Chara returns to the front of the room. Clasping their hands behind their back for a moment, they almost remind you of the first time you met them at the coronation.
  You have to note, their smile is less fake than it was back then.
  Maybe that’s just because plants are involved, so they truly are a little happier to be gardening. Or… gardening adjacent.
  Or maybe it’s something else. Regardless, they look quite a bit softer right now than they did the day you met them.
  “What I want you all to understand more than anything else,” they say, “is that plants are living things. They are not like rocks or metal or plastic. Plants can feel pain and joy just like we can. They are alive, perhaps alive in a way that we find hard to understand… but while you are growing your marigolds, think of them as pets. Take good care of them, the same way you would take care of a pet.”
-
  The song is interrupted by a child shouting, the sound of plastic banging on the tile floor, and Chara’s exclamation of, “Oh, dear!” Your attention is pulled away to see that a little scaly-winged monster boy has, evidently, knocked his flowerpot onto the ground. Even though it isn’t pottery and didn’t shatter, so isn’t dangerous, there’s a crack in its side and soil has spilled all over the floor. Probably most heartbreaking is that the poor kid has started to wail, clearly upset that he ‘ruined’ his project.
  “There, there… it is okay.” Chara is on their knees immediately, grabbing the pot and scooping what soil they can into it. Despite the crack, they’re doing their best, and a pretty damn good job, holding it so it doesn’t come pouring back out.
  “I know it is frustrating, so I will not tell you not to cry. But I promise this is not the end of the world, alright? There are very few mistakes that cannot be fixed, little one.”
  They’re pretty fast, too. Within just a handful of seconds most of the dirt’s been cleaned up. “(Name), will you please come get him started with a new pot while I finish taking care of this?”
  “Y-yeah, sure, I’m coming!” Ah, well, so much for your curiosity. Maybe now that you know a few lyrics of that song, you can search it up and see if there are any sources with a full version.
  Before you head off, you take a quick glance at Patience’s name paper for her pot, and give her a thumbs up. “Looks great! I’ll, um, I’ll be back in a second, okay?”
  Once you get over to the little boy with a new pot full of soil (and a couple tissues from the box on the teacher’s desk), you bend down on the opposite side from where Chara is. “Hey, it’s okay, honey.” You hand him the tissues and set the pot down on his desk. You keep an eye on his wings, suspecting that perhaps that was how he accidentally knocked it over the first time.
  “This is why Mx. Dreemurr b-brought extras of things,” you offer gently. You reach over to run a light touch through his hair, intending to pull away if it seems like he doesn’t want to be touched. Thankfully, your instincts gave you the right idea, because he leans forward in a very eager bid for a hug.
  “There we go, there… it’s okay, I-I gotcha…” You hold him close for a minute, rubbing his back. When you pull away, despite some tear tracks, he looks a little bit calmer. “Like Mx. Dreemurr said, there’s, um, not many mistakes that can’t be fixed, yeah? Besides,” you add with a wink, “don’t worry. I know where they bought everything, and… and it was all… haha… dirt cheap!’”
  The rest of the class, including the little boy, start to laugh, and when you look over to where Chara is, they’re barely restraining their laughter.
  “Yes, well,” they manage to choke out, “even if it was a bit expensive, there is no need to worry; after all, I am not dirt poor!”
  The kids lose it, and you give the little winged boy one more pat to the head before you go over to help Chara finish cleaning up. You bend down, only for them to grab your hand and squeeze it under the guise of picking up a handful of dirt.
  They lightly bump your shoulder, giving you a wink. “Well, well… your lowbrow humor is good for something, after all.”
-
  You shake your head. “I don’t even wanna know w-what you promised her… I love this! It’s… it’s been a while since we’ve actually… you know, like, um… spent time alone, totally in private. It’s, um, it’s kind of nice when it’s just… me and you.”
  “… I cannot help myself,” they groan, “it is ‘you and I’!”
  … WAIT! Hold on! You’ve got them!
  “I-it can be ‘me and you’!” you offer in defense. “Both are, like… equally valid in this case, aren’t they?” You give a teasing poke to their arm. “You’re wrooooong!”
  Their eyes snap wide in shock, as if the very idea of being wrong about grammar has thrown them into a fucking existential crisis. It reminds you of being on that not-date with them, when the two of you were talking about that one girl Asriel went out with, and their reaction when you asked them how they knew she didn’t flirt with Toriel.
  They let their head fall against the top of yours. When they speak, their tone comes out in a half-whine. “How could you?? You could not just let me have that, could you? Oh… my trust… it is irrevocably shattered… I must hand over my crown of intelligence to someone who thought I would gift her socks for Christmas…”
-
  Just as you’ve turned to the first real page, they speak up again. Lowly, in a conspiratorial whisper that suggests they wouldn’t want anyone to overhear. “If you must know, (Name)… you are an exception. If there is to be any redemption for humanity, it is because of people like you and Frisk. I… apologize if I upset you.”
  They stretch upward to press a brief kiss to your cheek. “What is the exaggerated sound effect Frisk uses…? ‘Mwah’? Haha, well. Mwah. In any case, whenever I say something about my hate for humanity… you are free to give me a kiss to shut me up. When I speak about it, I… I would like you to know that I consider you separate from the rest of humanity.”
  You glance down at them with a tilt of your head. Although it probably looks doubtful, the truth is that you just… don’t really know how to respond to that.
  “I do not hate you,” they say softly. “If you believe nothing else I say, please believe that.”
  You want to believe them so badly.
  They’ve always been honest with you, even if that honesty wasn’t always pretty or nice.
  So you don’t have any reason not to believe them.
  Even more than that… God. God. The way they say that to you cuts right to your SOUL.
  They don’t hate you.
  They used to, you think, on the simple basis of you being human.
  But they don’t anymore.
  You bury your face in their hair for a moment. Sometimes you’re not sure, because they have so much anger toward other humans, and you know they still have that fear in the back of their mind that one day they’ll turn around and you’ll shove a knife into their spine. How could somebody not hate a person they think is going to betray them?
  And they don’t hate you, though!
  The fact that they felt the need to say it out loud, despite that they’ve said it before in several silent ways, suggests they think you needed to hear it.
  Did you?
  “Th… thanks.” Your voice comes out shakier than you would have liked, but you’re grateful that you don’t start crying again. That’s the kind of thing you probably could cry for hours over. Coming from them, “I don’t hate you” is borderline a confession of love.
  Your smile takes shape in their hair. “I-I’m glad you don’t h-hate me… because… because I really like you.”
  “Oh, my,” they sigh dramatically, lolling their head against your chest. “You cannot go more than five minutes without saying so. I know it is Valentine’s Day, but please, you are spoiling me. I might get used to hearing that.”
  When you pull back, you’re still smiling. “So? Maybe I… haha… maybe I w-wanna get you used to it! It’s nice, huh? I really like you, Chara. I-I like you, I like you…”
  “Oh, my God!” They’re laughing now. “Stop! Now you are just being silly!”
  You leave an invisible lip mark on their temple. “I like youuuuu… I like you a-and there’s… there’s nothing you can do about iiiiit…”
  Damn, you love the sound of their laughter. “Honestly!! If I say it back, will you stop?”
  That’s what makes you freeze. Your eyes go wide, your smile turns hopeful, and you look right at them with an expression you’re sure reads as, … Would you?
  The pink flush that rises in their face reaches down their neck. What comes out is an anxious laugh, but… it doesn’t sound bad-anxious. More like they’ve got butterflies in their stomach.
  “I… haha… I am… I feel… ahahahah… I-I am… I am unbearably romantic for you. And I am so sorry for that!”
  You can’t stop yourself from joining them, resting your head atop theirs as you giggle.
  Well, what else were you expecting?
  Actually, you think you prefer the way they say it to a simple “I like you”.
  There’s nothing simple about Chara Dreemurr… and aside from their pain, you wouldn’t change that for anything.
  “Now, (Name)… say it… say the words.”
  “What??”
  “What?? Surely if you like me, you must have something to tell me on this day!”
  “O… oh…”
  “Say the words, (Name).”
  “Pffft… h-happy Valentine’s Day, Chara!”
  “Ooooh. I enjoyed that. Can I make you say it again, I wonder?”
  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Chara.”
  “Would a third time be testing my luck?”
  “I-I think… I think you should say it to me…!”
  “Oh, my… what does Asriel call that? Uno Reverse???”
  This book is never getting read.
  And you think you’re just fine with that.
-
  He nods, nodding for you to walk with him a minute. “Yeah, no, I bet you went to the schools that had already been established for a while. And they don’t teach any monster history aside from legends about Mt. Ebott, right?”
  “Yeah…” Your mind is filled with all kinds of magic images. You can picture spells being cast, so many different colors that you wonder if there are as many magic abilities as there are variations of colors in the world. How many would that be? Thousands? Millions? “I wish… I wish they would’ve taught this stuff.”
  “It doesn’t surprise me, you know? I hate to say it,” he scoffs, “but the people who founded Ebott did a good job covering up that it was their little monster-hating, rain-dancing, circle-drumming colony who created the barrier. It’s like every trace of monsters got removed or painted over or whatever, and barely any history books mention that we were ever here.”
  That’s. More than a little fucked up.
  You’re blurting it out before you can stop yourself. “Oh, my God, that’s f-fucked up!”
  Asriel offers a bleating laugh and a one-armed hug, the habit of which you can see he definitely gets from Asgore. “Yeah, kinda. But hey, we’re making progress, so I can’t say kids today aren’t getting the stuff you missed out on!” He grinds to a halt again, blinking. “… Oh, my God. Did I really just say ‘kids today’? Holy shit. I probably need another MagiGo.”
  “If you do that, I’m… I’m pretty sure Chara’s gonna kill you.”
-
  “Yeah, I thought you might be at least a little interested. You’re such a magic geek,” he tease. “But, yeah, I’ll pass that on and you just think about it, okay? Now, I gotta talk to Frisk for a minute, so…” His expression shifts to something comically stern. Despite this, he’s clearly trying not to bust up laughing. “Get… get back to work!”
  Your reaction is probably about what he expected ― that is, you’re incredibly obvious in trying to bite back your own laughter. “N-no, no, my boss told me I can take a break whenever I need to! And my… my best friend just hit me with a lot of info! I’m stressed!”
  Can he blame you for not being fooled? Asriel isn’t a big fuzzy pushover by any means, but he’s the most laidback boss you’ve ever had. The only time you’ve ever seen him yell or bark orders was when you were shot at the press conference.
  “Gee, okaaaaaaaay. Go talk to your misanthropic datemate, why don’tcha? Pretty sure they’re out doing planting around the sides of the building. Have fun, you crazy kids.” With that, he gives a small knock on Frisk’s door before pushing it open, given that it’s already partially open. “… Frisk! Again, seriously? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you… if you wear a suit jacket to work, you gotta wear at least semi-matching pants or a skirt, not a ruffly hot-pink tutu!”
  “Azzyyyyyyy!” you hear your friend whine from inside. “I’m having an office ballerina day, and anyway, Serena dared me!”
  “Then you need to stop taking dares, especially from your girlfriend! I love you, dude, but this outfit looks unprofessional!”
  “Unprofessional? Azzy’s gonna lecture me on professionalism? Milk came out your nose at breakfast today ‘cause you were laughing at a fart joke!”
  “Yeah, that you told! And it didn’t happen in a meeting!”
  “I don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so if I’m not in front of people, I can wear whatever I want!”
  “Sure, and what happens if I call an emergency meeting?”
  “Stop asking reasonable questions!! You know those give me an existential crisis!”
  You slip quietly away, though not before your CHECK gets a barb in at Frisk’s expense.
  You’re glad to see those treatments for Frisk’s voice are working fabulously.
-
  As you reach to touch Chara’s shoulder, you make sure to call out a soft, “Just me,” so that they don’t get startled. Though you can see them stiffen up for half a second, they calm immediately once your voice meets their ears.
  They’re pushing themself up leisurely before you know it, dusting off their hands after what you assume is a hard morning’s work. Their cheeks are even more flushed than usual from the slightly chilly air coupled with the increased blood flow to their face from bending down. “Well, well. If it is not someone very adorable!”
  You giggle and lean to brush a kiss over their lips. “H-hey, beautiful.”
  “… Ah!” Their face turns even redder. Although they happily return the kiss, their hand quickly reaches up as if they can scrub the pink from their cheeks. “Please, you are making me blush!”
  “Haha… well… good! You’re really cute when you blush.” Oh, boy, you just said that out loud. No turning back from it. So you double down instead, taking their hand with one of yours, and using the other to stroke two fingers over their cheek. True to their word, not only is their face bright red, it’s also warm. “Uh-huuuuh,” you hum as if you’re a scientist confirming her hypothesis, “j-just as I thought. I’ve never seen a case so severe… Mx. Dreemurr… your cuteness, it’s… it’s terminal… I’m so sorry…”
  Oh, geez. That snort of theirs when they find something exceedingly funny never fails to put a smile on your face. “My goodness! Is this why I have not seen much of you this morning? You have been neglecting your duties in order to think up more ways to romantically antagonize me?”
  You give them another kiss, this time on the cheek. “H-hey, hey… you should be throwing me a parade, okay? I just got Asriel to take a break for a few minutes.”
  “Did you? Thank God. At least it is not nearly as bad as it was when he was first crowned, but I swear he has forgotten the meaning of the word ‘break’ in the last few months.”
  “Well,” you add with a blush of your own, “I had to, um… bribe him with an energy drink, but…”
  “Aha! So I am not the only one whose weaknesses you exploit. Tsk, tsk.” They shake their head. “You are such a doormat. Someone mentions something they like, even if it is perhaps not the best thing for them, and you fold like a bad hand of cards because you want them to like you.”
  You give them a pout. “Aaaand… w-what does it say about you that you keep encouraging me by taking the chocolate every time? Y-you’re like a fish who keeps biting the end of a lure!”
  They roll their eyes up to the sky. “Hmmm… well, I suppose I am no better than you, haha. Regardless, thank you not only for forcing my brother to take a break, but also for informing me about the energy drink. Now he cannot lie to me and say it is his first one when I catch him drinking another after dinner.”
  “Hm, true. Guess I, uh, saved the day! Oh, actually, now that I convinced him to take a break… I-I’m here to convince you to take a break.”
  “Ah, is that right?” They tuck a strand of hair behind their ear. “Do you believe I have been working as hard as Asriel?”
  You reach over and take their hand, holding it up to be at eye level. “Dirt under your fingernails. Ummm… calluses still there. And your face is red from being bent over. B-besides… Asriel’s my best friend, so, I know what working hard looks like. You’ve definitely been working hard.”
  They somehow manage to stick their tongue out at you without losing their sunny smile. “Well, I am not just a pretty face, you know! In any case, I do not believe I will need much convincing…” Their thin fingers twist to fill your hand’s empty spaces. “Let us see what you have got, though.”
  Ever prepared (and maybe a little predictable), your other hand reaches into your pocket. “I’ve got chocolate.”
  “… That will do it.” No sooner have you taken the candy bar out of your pocket, than it’s been snatched from your fingers. And, of course, no sooner is it in their hand than it’s been unwrapped and they’ve sunk their teeth into it. “Mmm. I am quickly becoming accustomed to this brand, I think. Although even bad chocolate is still good… this is the only human-made brand I actually enjoy.”
  Almost as if proving it, they offer it in your direction. “My apologies, I have forgotten my manners. Would you like a bite?”
  “N-nah, it’s all you.”
  “How generous.” Their hand swings a bit as they tug you gently, guiding you toward the concrete. A silent bid for a walk around the building as they take a brief respite from their work. “You must want something.”
  You can’t help but laugh and go along with them. “Why does everyone think I’m bribing them today?? C-can’t a girl just be nice?”
  It’s no big shock that the chocolate is already gone, so Chara tosses the wrapper into the trash can when you pass by it. “Oh, dear, you know how suspicious a denial like that makes me. However, I have accepted the bribe, so as a matter of honor, I must at least hear you out.”
-
  Do they… really want you to closely share a memory with them that badly? Even though you know they like you, you never really thought they might want to unravel your mind the way you do theirs.
  “Yes, yes, you are correct. Hm. It is intriguing.” They twirl a lock of hair around their finger. “If you would like to share it with me… if you are still interested… you are coming over for dinner, are you not? And Mother would love to have you stay the night. We would have several hours to try it after dinner and before bedtime.”
  Idly you wonder if Chara truly considers themself as having a ‘bedtime’ now that they’re an adult, but it’s funny anyway. And it makes you very nervous to think about trying a new technique on them without doing it with anyone else, when last time it caused them to freeze you out for two weeks.
  Then again, they let you use that same technique on them again, with some planning and boundaries. They seem much better with the idea of a first use if they know it’s coming and it isn’t just this thing that randomly happens.
  And. You do want to share with them like they’ve been willing to share small pieces with you.
  “If… if you’re sure…” You make sure to keep your distance at the moment, though. CHECK doesn’t require touch, EMPATHIZE first flared up through touch, and so it’s a wild card as to whether this new… CONFIDE… might start up if you get too close. If that happens, you can kiss any bonding tonight goodbye.
  “Yes, well, we will see if I stay of the same mind later. However, this kind of thing,” they laugh, “might be the closest I ever get to using magic, even if it is not actually me performing the magic. I believe it would be a… well, a learning experience.”
  That does make sense. Not that you think they wouldn’t want to take whatever you’re willing to share anyway, but surely they would be more excited to do it in a way that might feel to them like they’re doing magic.
  It makes you a little sad, somehow.
  You remember their reaction when the rest of their family was oohing and aahing over being happy to teach you when yours first manifested. They have a chip on their shoulder about not being able to do magic.
  Are they desperate to know what it feels like? A bit too curious?
  Or… do they really think they’re not worth anything because they can’t?
  Well… you can straighten all that out some other time.
-
  The smile slips entirely from Chara’s face for a moment. It’s enough to make them step away from the barely-open door, and their whole being writhes in disgust.
  This was one of the places you stayed? These people are more interested in arguing with each other than in your wellbeing.
  You said you stayed with your friends’ parents. If that were the case, they think they might hear some other person in the house, or at least these people would mention their own biological child.
  Instead, it sounds like perhaps you were less than truthful with them. This doesn’t seem like you were staying with a friend’s family; this sounds like you were in a foster home, with ‘parents’ you didn’t really know and who didn’t know you at all.
  Why wouldn’t you mention it? Why would you only choose to show it now? You’ve always been far more of an open book than they are.
  The idea that you have things you want to hide as well, just like they do… for some reason, that upsets them.
  Not for the fact that you haven’t told them before now, because there are still so many things they haven’t told or shown you. It’s just upsetting that you’ve suffered in ways you feel like you have to hide. Things that hurt so much you’re ashamed of that pain, hurt so much you’ve been afraid to show people until now.
  It’s almost like looking in a mirror. That is exactly what they’ve been doing.
  “Good grief,” they mutter, “that is concerning behavior.”
  If they realize at all the obvious, Um, duh! that hangs in the air, they shove it down and try not to think about the implication that it means it’s concerning when they do it as well.
-
  Chara scoffs. “Why, I have never heard anything so ridiculous.” Their mind flashes back to something you said to them months ago, when they got home from the hospital. And they don’t know why, but it comes shooting right out of their mouth, phrased in their own way. “Just because someone cannot or refuses to see your worth does not mean you have none.”
  “… I-I can’t imagine what I could be worth to anyone.” You sniffle and drag your sleeve over your eyes. “I wanna run away. I hate m-my stupid life.”
  Whoa. Whoa, what did you just say?
  Before now, Chara couldn’t have even conceived of the word ‘hate’ coming from your lips.
  It’s… jarring. They find that they really, truly do not care for it at all.
  Your voice sounds so raw and spent, like you’ve been crying for hours and nobody has noticed. No one has sat up and seen that you need help. You’ve been left to drown by yourself; either no one in your life cares, or they don’t know what to do, or you…
  … Won’t let them in so they can help.
  There is a tired rage on your shoulders, something akin to a dying fire. You’ve been so brightly angry, such intensity for a relatively short amount of time, threatening to burn your entire self away. They can see it in your face that you want to stop feeling like this, but you do not know how.
  God, they don’t even know what to do. Like they have so many times, they reach for your hand. That always works, for one of you to ground the other.
  Almost like their fingers are the fangs of a snake ready to strike, you pull your hand away from them. That’s so startling, their eyes widen in disbelief. You… have never done that before. You always adore having physical contact with them. Whatever they’ve been willing to give you, you lean into it without too much hesitation unless you’re afraid you’ll hurt them.
  The way you yank your hand back sparks a memory. Your very first magic lesson with Asriel, you opened the door for them after to lead them into the house. They remember where their mind was, and they must have looked dazed enough that you touched their shoulder to shake them out of it.
  You reacted now the exact same way they did, and they did not even actually touch you.
  “C-can you not?” they hear you choke out. “Please?” Although your tone is much softer than they might expect, you wince at your own words. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
  They shake their head. “Think nothing of it. You do not need to apologize for not wanting to be touched right now.”
-
  Your shoulders shake, and your voice cracks as you continue to cry. Chara wishes more than anything that they could take you in their arms to comfort you. This is the most pain they’ve ever seen you in, and you’ve felt like you had to hide it all this time? Are you even healed from this?
  Those moments when you’re so surprised that someone is grateful for you. When you press in against Chara like you’re glad not to be alone. When you blush a little too hard at simple acts of affection like you’ve scarcely had them before. When you told them it’s hard to know who you can trust too, after they told you straight-up that trust is difficult for them.
  Are those your scars from everything that’s been done to you?
  Worse, from everything that hasn’t been done?
  They think maybe they should hold this information very gently.
  You chose to show them this specifically, something they could easily use against you. They could poke your scars or rip open your old wounds that might have healed, and they could make you have to heal all over again.
  God, no. How could they even think about doing that to you?
  “I have nobody,” you sob, ducking your head down into your arms. “No one cares about me! I’m all alone! It h-hurts so bad and I just want my parents back, but they’re gone! I can’t even count on my f-friends, ‘cause they’re all assholes!”
  Are those the same ‘friends’ who locked you in an escape room closet, then laughed at the anxiety attack which reduced you to tears? Though Chara themself would try to find a more sophisticated word, the one you chose is at least incredibly accurate.
  It’s frustrating beyond all measure that they can’t hold you while this happens. They remember being held in the first two of their memories that you saw. It was peaceful. They can’t bring themself to touch you if you don’t want to be touched, however.
  The sound of your strained, weak-blaze wailing might follow them into their dreams. Your anger has faded, exposing the pain which brought that fury into existence.
  They hear your breath hitch, followed by a meek query that’s almost swallowed up by the wind. “W-why… why doesn’t anyone want me?”
  It’s almost enough for Chara to choke on every less than kind word they’ve ever said about you.
  No wonder you persisted in your friendship with not only Asriel but Frisk, despite their warning you to leave their family alone in the early days. No wonder you cling to any scrap of praise and approval anyone gives you. No wonder you seem to worry that your presence is unwanted or people are simply inviting you to things to be polite; that you sometimes have trouble believing people enjoy your company.
  A long time ago, people threw you away like garbage, and you started to believe they were right to do so.
  You might be healed from the worst of it, with your wounds scarred over, but pain like that never disappears entirely, even if it doesn’t control you anymore.
  Their nerves crackle as they recall certain things they’ve said to you, particularly in the beginning. Things they knew might chase you off… but things they didn’t know would hurt you as deeply as they probably did.
-
  Maybe… you just want them to understand. You want to show them your past, just like they’ve been trying to give you pieces of theirs.
  You want to show them the things about you that you don’t necessarily like, things they could probably exploit to hurt you if they wanted to… and you’re trusting that they won’t.
  You’ve never done a damn thing to hurt them on purpose.
  Why are they so afraid that might suddenly change? Why do they still think, after over six months of knowing you, that you want to hurt them? You took a bullet for them after less than ninety days of knowing them.
  If you would do that for them, if you would open up like this for them, why would they ever think about hurting you?
  Is that the way you feel about them? That the thought of hurting them is so incomprehensible you can’t picture yourself doing it deliberately?
  They… think they understand you a bit better now.
  “I want you,” they murmur. They can’t get too close, but they can at least say that. Even if it won’t change the memory. Despite the fact that it doesn’t change what happened, they know from experience that what comes to pass in the memory while they’re here is something you’ll remember.
  Even though it won’t change the past, it will make a difference to you. Your actions in their memories made a difference to them. Because if it doesn’t truly matter what they do, then all that matters is what they choose to do.
  And it’s… easier, somehow, to do it here in the mindspace. Magic flows through them, giving them confidence, softening their sharp edges so it’s not as hard to break through their own walls to be honest with you. “You have become dear to me, (Name). I do not let go of dear things so easily.” It’s still whispered, still tentative. It feels so loud and intimate, like they’re shouting some kind of declaration of love from the top of a mountain.
  Their fingers twitch, buzzing with the itch of wanting to touch you. “You are not some unwanted burden. If people think of you that way, they are very ignorant, and it is their loss. I… I am glad that you are in my life.”
  Their heart doesn’t know whether to be broken or relieved that you begin to cry harder.
  They think you are ready for them to leave.
-
  “It is alright now, (Name).” It comes out surer when they repeat it. “That time of your life is over. I meant it; I want you in my life. So do my siblings and my parents. You are not unwanted or a problem to us. I do not…” They have to swallow, hard, because tears are threatening, and it won’t do you any good if they fall apart too.
  “I do not want you to ever feel that way again. If your mind tries to tell you any of those things, it is lying to you. You are better than to simply take being lied to, even by yourself. Do you understand what I am saying?”
  You nod against them, and your hand comes down to lay on top of their chest. Your fingers clutch the fabric of their shirt like they’re the only thing you can depend on right now.
  They let out a heavy sigh, their head falling to rest atop yours. Once there, they ghost gentle kisses over you. Hopefully they didn’t sound demanding or harsh… it just twists their stomach in knots to think that you suffered like you have.
  No one is perfect. They know that from personal experience.
  But you were crying out for help, and nobody came.
  The world failed you. People failed you. There were at least four adults who didn’t care what you needed, and several so-called ‘friends’ of yours who actively made things worse.
  They knew you weren’t lying when you said you had no one, that you felt alone and got used to being alone.
  Being there and seeing, feeling, firsthand what it did to you was different than hearing you talk about it.
  How can you still have any kind of faith in anyone after everyone who should have helped you just ignored you?
-
  “Hey, flower child, do you normally talk to the foliage like it’s a person? You know plants can’t drink, right? They don’t have mouths. The fuck is Chara teaching you?”
  Though you flinch slightly at the abrupt voice, it registers immediately as Flowey, so you don’t startle like you might have a few months ago. You’ve gotten fairly used to his presence by now, especially for the fact like he likes to pop up when you and Chara are working in the Dreemurrs’ back garden.
  You look over from the hellebore just in time to see him disappear and sprout back up only a few feet from you. “Hi, Flowey. Coming to visit your harem?”
  He scoffs. “Eat shit, (Name)! The crappy flower harem anime’s been canceled. I’m committed to Clementine now.”
  “… Clementine??”
  “A-duh! The blue clematis in my room? She’s better than a million daisies. Ya know, with all this talk about marriage and Goddamn spring fever and shit, I’m thinking maybe I’m ready to take the plunge. Tie the knot. Weigh myself down with the old ball and chain.”
  For a second you wonder if he’s delusional, or if that clematis actually is like… his girlfriend. He’s technically a plant, and Chara’s told you that plants are able to communicate with each other in weird ways that don’t involve speech. With the addition of magic, it’s not a huge leap to think he could talk to it ― uh, her?
  Of course, it’s infinitely more likely that Flowey is just trolling. As usual. “Enough of you sticking your nose in my personal life! Where’s my pain-in-the-ass, other-half brother?”
  “Asriel? Um, in the office. He and Frisk had some extra paperwork to do.”
  “Uuuuugh. He’s never fucking around when I need him!”
  “W-well, Asriel doesn’t usually fuck around, I dunno if you should be surprised…”
  “Oh, my GOD! SHUT UP! I’m done with you and Frisk and Mom and all your shitty puns!! If I hear one more, ‘Hi, Hungry, I am Mom’, I’m gonna lose it!”
  You reach over to pet the top of his petals. “Can’t lose what you never had, hehe.”
  “Fuck off! Okay, so if those two yokels aren’t home, then where’s Chara? You’ve always got tabs on them, at least.”
  “O-oh, I do not.” Just for that crack, you pull your hand away to pretend resuming your attention toward the hellebore instead. “Just to prove that, um… I have no idea where they are right now.”
  Flowey makes a show of flopping himself back into the dirt. “Godddd, why are all my siblings so useless?!”
-
  Flowey rolls his eyes. “Cut the weak-ass manipulation attempts, sugarbee. When it comes to me, you know you can’t play ball. Now, Chara’s told us all a little about it. No damn details. But I know they’ve shown you memories of what life was like in that village, because I was there that one time, and they told Azzy you saw stuff they don’t talk about. So. What. Did. They. Do. For. Show. And. Tell?!”
  You frown. Although you don’t know that he’s going to use the information for anything sinister, telling him anything you’ve seen that he doesn’t already know would be a betrayal of Chara’s trust. You’re not going to do that. They haven’t told their family about any of it for a reason. “I… I can’t tell you that, Flowey! Why do you think they don’t talk about it? They’re not, um, ready to talk to you guys about it…”
  “Are you kidding me?! Over fifteen living years they’ve known us, we’re family, and they’re ‘not ready’, but they’re ready to talk to someone they haven’t even known a whole year?! Fuck! You’d think they didn’t love us!”
  Oh. Maybe that’s what this is about… Flowey feels like Chara’s reluctance to talk about their past means they don’t love or trust their family. From experience you know that isn’t true at all. They love their family more than anything else and would literally, well and truly, die for any of their parents or siblings.
  You do, however, know what that feeling is like. It hit you every time you tried to get Chara to open up even a little before things got complicated. And the only reason, you think, they’re sharing with you is because things got complicated. Without that, you’d probably be just as in the dark about their past as Flowey.
-
  Flowey gives an exaggerated groan and launches himself out of your lap. “You two are making me sick, oh, my God! What is this nonsense, Chara? Beginning of November you ran away at the thought of kissing her, now you can’t keep your hands off each other? You’re a mess, dude!”
  “Ugh, stop that.” Chara visibly recoils. “Frisk may not mind that term, but how many times have I told you I prefer not to be called, ugh, ‘dude’? Or ‘chick’, for that matter. They are both disgustingly informal.”
  “Okay, then, whatcha wanna be called? Your Highness? My liege? Their Majesty? Take your pick, you stuffy little brat!”
  “Hmm… you know, any of those would work just fine. I am still technically a princex, after all. And they are all much more preferable to ‘dude’ or ‘chick’. If you like, instead of any of that, you may simply call me by ― gasp ― my name.”
  “God, you guys both suck! I’m outta here!” He disappears into the ground, then pops back up a second later. “Ooh, oh, (Name), so do we have a deal or what? I guess I’ll owe you, but only if you don’t ask for anything super dumb!”
  You giggle, shifting around now that you no longer have a giant flower monster in your lap. “I’ll, um, I’ll think about it and let you know soon, okay?”
  “Fine, but you better not take too long!” He points a leaf at you, then Chara. “Now, you two take your alone time and shove it! I’m gonna go decompress with Clementine!”
  With that, he’s once more gone like a thief in the night.
  You turn to Chara, and within seconds you’re both laughing. Chara laughs so hard they have to pull their handkerchief out of their pocket to wipe their eyes. “Haha, my goodness! What kind of deal are you making with him, anyway? I do not think I need to warn you that making deals with Flowey requires quite a bit of caution.”
  “Y-yeah, I know that,” you hum. Although you don’t want to lie to them, Flowey needs this to be a surprise, and you want to preserve that. Maybe you can tell them without telling them? “He’s… trying to get your birthday present mapped out, and he, um, asked for my help. For some reason, he thinks my CHECK will be a big assist in… like, you know, finding just the right thing.”
  There! That’s not lying, is it? Flowey did ask for help getting a gift for Chara’s birthday, and he does think your CHECK will be useful for that.
  You think you’d pass a polygraph test, at least. You didn’t tell them details, but you also didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.
  “Is that all? He is willing to owe you over something that small?” They laugh again, reaching to smooth out the soil around the hellebore’s stems. “My birthday is September 9th. Does he truly want to get it ready this early? All that will happen is that he will misplace the gift. One year, I received a box of staples from him on my birthday, then when he finally found the actual gift, he gave me gardening gloves for Halloween. You do not know how disappointed I was that he did not give me chocolate.”
-
  They sigh, brushing a kiss over your head. “With any luck, but do not fret about it. And I do mean it; if you are ever so inclined, you may CONFIDE in me again, haha. Your magic was… mh, well, an intoxicating sensation.”
  “Aw, you think? I… guess I’m mostly used to it by now a-and it just feels normal to me.” You let your thumb run gingerly over their thigh, back and forth, like you sometimes do when you hold their hand. “Um, hey. About that first time I used CONFIDE with you…”
  “Aah, yes? I should apologize again for that ― I fear I stayed a bit too long and exhausted you.”
  You shake your head. “Oh, no, you don’t have to be sorry about that! I… I didn’t mind. I got to fall asleep in your arms once it was over,” you giggle. “It’s just, um… I wanted to apologize, actually.”
  Their eyes go a bit wide, though their smile doesn’t fade. “You want to apologize to me for that? Ahahaha, why, may I ask?”
  “W-well, I know I got really emotional in there… unlike that EMPATHIZE session we had on Valentine’s Day, I, um, didn’t really have a plan about what memory I wanted to show you. It… just sorta happened. And Flowey said it… m-made you really mad… to see me hurting like that.”
  After all, while you know you aren’t responsible for anyone else’s emotions, the last thing you ever want to do is cause Chara any stress, and anger is stressful. That seems to be their default emotion when something is upsetting to them. Maybe because it’s easier and more satisfying than sadness or fear or pain.
  On the other hand, when they hurt, you don’t get furious. You’re angry that they’re in pain, sure, but you feel sad for them more than anything.
  You see how they try to cover their anger up, even when everyone knows it’s there. They staple on a smile that’s fake at least half the time. They laugh to cope with whatever unpleasantness is rearing its ugly head. They pose diversions or bluntly say they don’t want to talk about it. Even while their anger is boiling their insides alive, they keep a lid very tightly on it. So they don’t lose control.
  Maybe that’s why they’re almost underweight, huh?
  They spend a lot of effort not only on being angry to avoid feeling sad or afraid or hurt, but on trying to hide their anger itself.
  Being so angry so often must take up a lot of energy.
  All the chocolate in the world couldn’t fuel their anger well enough to keep it from burning up practically every calorie they eat.
  This is killing them in more ways than one, isn’t it?
  Of course, pretending you’re not still angry about pieces of your own pain hasn’t done you any favors, either. You and Chara have gone in equal, opposite, parallel directions with your trauma.
  You hope that means the two of you can help each other find a balance when it comes to anger. God knows they need to be less angry, and you perhaps need to be a tiny bit more angry sometimes.
-
  Before they can finish their sentence, the door suddenly bursts open. In comes Asriel first, with his reading glasses propped up in his horns, then Frisk following along behind him. “Mooooom! Frisk and I are home! I’m really sorry we stayed at the office so long!”
  “Well, it is about time, my children! Young man and young enby, are you two aware you are late for dinner?” Boy, she says that like it’s some sort of war crime. It’s the same voice parents use when they find out you have an F on your report card, and it strikes fear into your heart.
  “Go easy on us, Mommyyyyyy,” Frisk whines… as they proceed to literally flop down into your and Chara’s laps. They seem entirely nonplussed about cuddling against you both, even undeterred by the squeaks they get from the two of you. Whatever else is true, they do look incredibly devoid of their typical energy. “There was so much paperwork… oh, my God, my hands are cramped from typing… I can barely move my little baby wrists… I think I’m dead…”
  “Aww, Frisk!” You’re not willing to move away from Chara entirely, but you do gently disentangle your hand from theirs atop their thigh so you can stroke your friend’s hair. “P-poor thing, did mean, old Asriel overwork you?”
  “Heyyy, (Name)! Betrayal! Mean, old Asriel overworked himself, too!”
  “Oh, God… so it’s worse than I thought. Toriel!! I-I can confirm it ― they’re both dead! You can’t deny them pie, I think that’s the only thing that’ll save them!”
  Frisk moans not unlike a starved, desperate zombie, “Pieeeeeeeee…”
  Asriel’s response is to snort and lean over the couch to get a hug from Chara, then voice what you’re thinking. “Frisk, dude, you sound like a zombie.”
  “Ah, well, zombies only eat brains, do they not?” Chara smirks. “At least you and (Name) are safe, brother.”
  You give them a poke to their stomach, which earns you another squeak from them. “Y-you, on the other hand, better get running.”
  Neither of you get to say a word, because a commanding, “Ahem!” from the kitchen doorway gets your collective focus. There’s Toriel with a spatula in one hand and the other curled into a fist on her hip.
  “Oh, have I got your attention now?” She’s still smiling, indicating that she’s mostly teasing you all. “For you children to play around while dinner gets cold is unacceptable, especially since two of you are already late.” She points her spatula at each of you in turn. “Asriel, go get your father from the garden so he can wash up. Frisk, go take an aspirin for your hands. Chara and (Name), would you two mind setting the table?”
  Asriel huffs, though he heads toward the back door anyway. “Why do they get asked while me and Frisk get bossed around?”
  Toriel raises an eyebrow at her son, regarding him with a cool expression. “They were not late for dinner.”
-
  Chara looks stunning, so no surprise there. They’re wearing that black suit they mentioned, perfectly tailored to their body, and if Chilleen thinks you look sharp, well, has she seen them? It suits them (PUN INTENDED!) way more than it does you. The sleeves are fitted well, your eye easily follows the seam line of their trousers up their legs, and they’ve got a pair of strappy silver heels on. They look so put-together, so refined, with a plain stainless steel ring on one finger and a pale blue handkerchief (or, is it a pocket square??) tucked into their breast pocket and a layer of deep red lipstick.
  And their nose in a book, as usual, while Asriel chats to whoever’s on the other side of him.
  You lower yourself into the chair beside Chara, then reach over to playfully, slowly pull their book down into their lap. “Heya, handsome. Reading anything good?”
  They blink owlishly at you several times, almost like they can’t believe you just did that. Something in their eyes looks amused, though. “Well, no, not anymore, haha.” They dog-ear the page before letting their hands close the book… and immediately press a kiss to your cheek. As if they would rather focus on you. “I prefer this view, actually. Greetings, my dear. How has your morning been?”
-
  “Ah, please.” Their eyes roll up to the ceiling. “Even though none of us are actually working today, he is still in king mode. He is unbearably social, and I believe I would just make things worse for him. Do you remember the coronation party? I am terrible in these kinds of settings.”
  Honestly, Asriel’s coronation feels like a million years ago; how long has he been king for? Ten months? Not even a full year, though pretty close. That you’ve known Chara for coming up on a year is kind of exciting to you.
  “I do remember it,” you say softly. “A-and you may say that, but… you were still interesting to me even back then. After the party, I know I, um, thought about you a lot. I can remember looking at you and thinking…”
  “Haha, you must have been thinking, ‘I wish I had not ended up standing next to this misanthropic bastard’, were you not?”
  You give them the most exasperated look you can muster, followed by a squeeze to their hand. “N-no! Oh, my God. I was thinking, ‘Wow, look at them, they’re so fucking out of my league’.”
  God, the way pink blossoms over their face is the most gorgeous image. That’s one of your absolute favorite things in life. Along with jumping to high-five Frisk and getting flour flicked onto your cheek when you cook with Toriel and burning your tongue when you drink tea with Asgore and seeing Asriel pretend-wince when you get into an elbowing war with him, one of the best things is watching Chara blush.
  “Ahahahah… do not pull my leg. I was awful to you! The way I treated you was not ‘out of someone’s league’, that is called ‘hideously unapproachable’, haha.”
  “Mmmm. Definitely not hideous…”
  “Are you attempting a world record today for how many times you can make me blush within the span of twenty-four hours?”
  “Huh, maybe? I-I mean, I like it when you blush, so…”
  They snort in a way that prompts them to almost smack a hand over their mouth. In the most elegant way, of course. “So you have said on more than one occasion! This means you are actively manipulating my reactions! Have you no shame?”
  You purse your lips for a moment as if in thought… and lift their hand up so you can kiss their knuckles. “Ummm. I guess not.”
  “Oh, my God… what are you even…” With their book balanced on their lap, their other hand lifts up and tries to cover their face completely. Even then, they can’t hide the deepening blush creeping past their cheeks. “Is it possible for one to develop heatstroke from the high temperature of a blush? Because if it is, I am blaming you.”
  You grin and kiss their hand again. “Aww, what… h-haven’t had enough of me visiting you in the hospital?”
  Their fingers tighten around yours, like they’re fighting for control of the gesture. “Did I not tell you something about low blows not three weeks ago?” They’re laughing, though, and not in the way they do when something upsetting is going on. “However, I suppose I should be grateful you can joke about it, should I not? I recall you being quite angry that I did not apologize to myself during that particular conversation.”
  … Oh. Were you angry? You can remember not necessarily being happy, but if they think you were angry, they’re the expert on anger. “I… I was? Well…”
  “You were.” Their voice lowers, presumably so anyone close doesn’t hear. They don’t like talking about this kind of thing, especially in public, you’ve noticed. They’ve only just worked up to being romantic with you around other people. “I am not such a fool as to have no idea why you were angry. Regardless, I am glad it has not left an indelible mark on you such that neither of us can laugh about it.”
  They tug their hand away from you, except they bring your hand with theirs, and press a kiss to the back of it. “They do say laughter is the best medicine, correct? It is how I personally cope with most things, so I am glad you are able to make use of humor as well.”
  Although it could be simply that they speak very properly, and you know this by now, the word they used, ‘cope’, that’s a very specific word. Not many people would use it outside of certain contexts.
  You think they must know the way they handle things isn’t always 100% healthy.
  It’s certainly not something you can talk about right now, though. Too heavy a discussion for a day like this. Zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket.
-
  Your gaze shifts over to Chara, not least of all because they’ve set their hand over yours now that you’ve sat down. “Chara… are we… I mean… do you… d-do you wanna dance now, or… or later…?” You curl your fingers around theirs. God, you promised yourself and them that you wouldn’t put labels on this right away. That you didn’t have to jump into a relationship. Even if you’ve thought about it…
  Your bond with them has deepened since then, hasn’t it?
  It’s not like you can help the way you see them. The way you want to be with them, even if you’re taking it slow.
  You didn’t push. You just asked a question. You didn’t do anything wrong.
  Plus, it’s been five months since the two of you plainly confessed your feelings to each other and agreed to explore those feelings. Thinking of putting a label on this after five months isn’t necessarily ‘right away’.
  And besides, they don’t seem angry.
  “They did say ‘special someones’,” Chara hums. In a rare twist, it’s them getting up first and pulling you to your feet. Their eyes offer you a mischievous sparkle. “You are indeed a very special someone. Am I also a special someone?”
  You don’t think you’ve ever moved toward them so fast in your life.
-
  Chara’s fingers mimic your earlier movement on their back, tapping against the base of your neck. “Well, that is awfully easy to answer. (Name), come now, you are an intelligent woman. Of course, if you… ahem.” They pause to clear their throat, blushing a bit harder. Seems they can’t meet your eyes either, because they suddenly find the floor super interesting. “If you were my girlfriend, then I would be your…”
  They stop short, eyes widening as they look back up toward you. “… Oh. Ah. Hm. I see the problem.”
  “I-I just don’t know what word to use, is all.” God, this whole topic is just making the two of you all flustered. Although it’s not like you didn’t expect there to be challenges in dating someone like Chara (they literally said so themself, after all), it’s one thing to realize that and another to go right up against those things.
  That said, you’re a little relieved that one of your biggest challenges is what you might call them if the two of you were an item.
  “Like,” you try to clarify, “how I would, um, introduce you to other people, you know? This is my ‘blank’, Chara. I know Frisk uses ‘lover’, but…”
  They shake their head. “Oh, no, no. I do not think I would like that one for myself. Frisk is very much a lover in the sense that they simply… love, without a lot of difficulty. They fall in love quickly, they love effortlessly, and that is… not how I think of myself.”
  You give them a nod as best you can without looking directly at them. “Yeah… that makes sense, I guess. How about, um… y-you like formal things, so… I dunno, ‘significant other’?”
  “Aah, that is… quite a mouthful, though.”
  You laugh. They’re worried about their label in a romance being a mouthful? With the loquacious way they speak? “I… yeah, kinda, but if that’s what you’d wanna be called, I-I’d use it.”
  “No, no, no… that is too, mmh ― clinical.” When you manage to look over at them, they’re giving that smiley-pout they do sometimes. Cute. “I must confess, I should be more knowledgeable about gender-neutral terms… but in a romantic context, I have never truly had much need for them. Surely there must be more than those two? How about, ah… ‘paramour’?”
  Though with that, they almost immediately wrinkle their nose in uncertainty. “Oh, God, no. It sounded lovely in my head, but out loud… it is much too Victorian even for my tastes. Hmm. Do you know any other ones?”
  While you continue to sway with them in your arms, you rack your brain for any other descriptions you know that aren’t gender-specific or anything. “Ummm… I know people use ‘spouse’, but that’s, like, kinda for… married people.”
  “Ahaha… yes, well, that is true. Although Asriel called me as such in one of his jokes during Gyftmas… he was drunk. We give drunk Asriel words no weight.”
  “Pff… p-probably a good idea.” You play with their hair for another several seconds, then as soon as a new possibility hits you, you slide your hand to their cheek in an attempt to return their gaze to you. “Hey, wait… what about ‘partner’?”
  The gesture works, because their attention is back on you in a heartbeat. They’re all wide eyes and curious smile. “Oh, hm… ‘partner’. That one is… not bad. I like it better than the other options. After all, what is a romantic relationship ― or any relationship ― but a team effort? I believe ‘partner’ is what I would prefer to be called.”
  Between you all that exists for a moment after that is the melody, with both of you filling the rest of the space with silence. You know they’re smart enough to recognize subtext, and you think that like usual, you’ll need to be the bold one It’s only fair since you brought it up.
  However, in a twist, just as you’re getting ready to open your mouth, Chara speaks up softly.
  “(Name)… this is not just a hypothetical conversation… is it?”
-
  Before you can reply to that ― though you’d hope the wistful look on your face speaks for itself ― suddenly the two of you are bombarded by Asriel, Frisk, Serena, and Wen. Despite that you aren’t overly familiar with Frisk’s lovers, you’re glad the two of them press in against you rather than Chara.
  “Look at these two lovebirds,” Asriel hums.
  Frisk giggles. “Yeah, so lost in each other’s eyes, it’s like… they’re the only people in the room!”
  “Like something out of a romance movie,” Wen chuckles.
  Serena props her elbow up on your head. “Should I tell them or someone else wanna do the honors?”
  It really only took a second of Asriel leaning in before Chara started smacking at his hands. If you’re not mistaken, the blush on their cheeks creeps out to fill the rest of their face in an instant. “Asriel! Frisk! Serena! Wen! May we help you or are you willfully antagonizing us for exactly no reason at all?”
  “If we didn’t do that sometimes, we wouldn’t be your siblings,” Asriel grins. “You guys are distracted and probably didn’t notice, but the reception’s over. Everybody did one final pass to, y’know, hug and congratulate the happy couple, and now the royal family and their significant others are gonna lead them out to their cute little ‘Just Married’ limo.”
  Frisk drapes themself over Chara’s shoulder. “And, (Naaaaaame), you get to join us! Even though you and Chara aren’t official, you’re totally close enough, so c’mon!”
  It’s hard to argue when Serena and Wen are already tugging you to your feet, and Chara’s already up on theirs. You give Chara a pleading look, to which they offer a fake-exasperated eye roll and a nod, so you shift your eyes to Frisk. “Well, Frisk, actually…”
  Immediately Frisk’s face lights up, and they can’t seem to decide whether to look at you, Chara, Asriel, or their partners. “Wait, you mean―? Oh, my God! Azzy! Our little Chara has a girlfriend!”
  “Excuse me, Frisk, what do you mean, ‘little’? In case you need to be reminded, I am older than both of you!”
  “Ooooooh, yeah? Maybe your growth spurts didn’t get that memo. But this is so exciting… Serena, Wen, do you guys have any more tissues? I’m gonna cry again!!”
-
  “Chara!” You’re on your knees in an instant, as close as you think they’ll let you. “Chara, hey, hey, I’m here. Talk to me, okay?”
  It sounds hard for them to speak, because what they manage to choke out is a raspy, “I-I saw him…! It was him, (Name)… he was so close… he is here…” More tears drip down their cheeks, landing on your hands as you reach for them. “I thought I was never going to s-see him again! But he’s here!”
  They don’t fight you when you get nearer and pull them in, burying their face in your chest. The way they cling to you, it feels like they want to shut the whole world out. “I have been away for him for fifteen years being alive, nineteen being dead, and he is still hurting me!”
  “Chara… f-fuck…” You hold them as close as you can without worrying that you’re going to break them. You can feel how much they’re struggling to breathe, and if they don’t calm down, you think they’re going to pass out right here in your arms.
  Their tears dampen your clothes and skin, pressed in against you like they are. Their whole body is shaking, breaths scraping their throat as the air forces its way in through sharp, desperate gasps.
  “I cannot do this,” they wail. When you put a hand in their hair, your fingertips come away bloody. They’re so anxious and in pain that they’re hurting themself more. Their panic has risen so much it’s preventing them from getting a normal breath in. “I-I cannot calm down!” They look up at you with this horrible, begging look in their eyes. “Help me, (Name)… p-please… please help me…!”
-
  “Please!” they sob as they try in vain to wrench themself free. They’re only a little shorter than he is, as an adult, and perhaps fifty pounds lighter, but you know by now that appearance in the memories means nothing. Everything you’re seeing, with regard to him, happened when they were a child. Of course they don’t stand a chance against him.
  “I will be better!” Though you don’t think they started out crying, tears are rolling down their face now. “Please, Daddy! I do not want to go down there! I am sorry! I will not do it again! I will be good! I promise!”
  His face stands out more now. It’s almost similar to their face ― soft curves, without a lot of angles, looking younger than he likely is. His hair is a slightly lighter brown than theirs, and falls well past his shoulders. If you saw him on the street, you wouldn’t give him another glance. He looks normal.
  Just like Chara’s clothing, his is all white. And you can see now that his clothing is a robe, with a hood attached that he doesn’t have over his head.
  The black cloud of his aura moves through you again. Bile rises in your throat, and you swallow it back. It’s not as bad as it was when you were around him back in the physical world, at least, meaning it doesn’t stop you from moving.
  You know what you did wrong this time.
  It wasn’t a huge transgression. And an apology should lessen the punishment.
  But he’s not listening.
  He doesn’t want your apology; but what else could you do to make him stop?
  As he drags Chara to an ominous-looking door, you realize that this isn’t the house you’ve seen in their previous cult memories. It’s some sort of abstract space in their mind, somewhere you can’t escape from by running to another room.
  He’s stone-faced opening the door. His voice is just as soft as you remember, just as disturbing. “I’m sorry, too, Chara. Do you think I want to do this? It’s the only way you’ll learn. You don’t want to go down here? Then you will try harder to manifest your magic next time, and you will not talk back to me.”
  “No! No, please, please, please!” Their screaming is breaking your heart. Even more than that, they actually try to run.
  They manage to break away from their father, only to get three steps before he picks them up. He’s not messing with just their arm anymore; he takes them in his arms and holds an arm taut across their chest, the other grabbing their legs to prevent their kicking.
  You think they may have been a little older when this happened, maybe seven or eight, simply because they’re trying to fight back rather than just accept that it’s going to happen.
  Or maybe they’re younger, meaning they haven’t yet learned what kinds of horrible things happen when they do fight back.
  Either way, much as they try, the cult leader still has them restrained. He’s bigger and stronger than they are and their effort means nothing to someone like him.
  “Daddy!! No! No, no, please, Daddy, no! Please, please―!”
  With one fluid motion, he opens the door, throws his child inside, and slams it shut.
  He vanishes immediately, leaving you to stare in horror at the spot where he dissipated. You whirl around to face the door before attempting to open it. The knob won’t budge, though, so you start to pound on it.
  Your fists beat with all the strength you can muster, so hard and fast your hands might be bruised when you go back to the real world. Tears sting your eyes, your entire being overcome with a cold dread. “Chara! CHARA!”
  “H-help me! Please!” Their voice is muffled by the door. It sounds a million miles away, and it’s devolved into the voice you remember from their child self. “Help me! It’s s-so dark in here! I’m scared! Please, please, help me! Please!”
  … But you can’t.
-
  You frown when you get the delayed taste of the water Chara drank. It coats your mouth, bitter… bitter and sweet, like an artificial bubblegum flavoring covering something else.
  Water shouldn’t have any taste, especially a taste like this.
  It tastes like… weak medicine.
  A glimpse into the glass tells you all you need to know, with a faint pink film clinging to the bottom and sides of it. Like there was something mixed into it that tinted and thickened the water.
  … Like maybe a liquid antihistamine. Like maybe the kind which has MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS on the warning label.
  Before your eyes, Chara practically collapses onto the table, arms splayed out in front of them, their cheek laying there as they face you. “Oh, God,” they murmur. Their eyes flutter, as if they’re trying to do battle with the sudden fatigue. “I want to take a nap.”
  You set a hand on their back, and in response they give you a sort of hum-sigh. “Will you nap with me?” They look so tired, but they do have a smile now. “I think it would be better to sleep with someone else than by myself. Daddy is gone, so I am all alone… and so sleepy…”
  “I-I dunno if I can nap with you… but… but I’ll stay. You’re not alone, okay? I’m here.” You try to keep your voice soft. It’s not easy; all you want to do is cry and scream about how unfair this is.
  What, were they not defenseless enough for him by virtue of being a child?
  He was capable of picking them up and locking them in a closet, yet he had to make them even more vulnerable by drugging them?
  He told them before they couldn’t have medicine, when they were so sick they couldn’t breathe from coughing.
  Now in this memory, when they didn’t need it, he slipped it to them so they would fall asleep.
  You are so much easier to control this way.
  You rub their back, and with every stroke they fade more and more back into a child. This time it shocks you how small they are. When did this memory happen? They couldn’t have been more than five, maybe six, in the memory where he denied them medicine.
  You don’t think they can’t be more than three or four in this one.
  Tears pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you take them in your arms. They’re practically dead weight now, almost fully asleep, slipping their tiny arms around your neck.
  Why?
  Why would someone do this to an innocent child?
  How could anyone do this to an innocent child?
  They’re just a little thing. Too small. Fragile.
  Forget the morals of giving a child (or anyone under your care) medicine they don’t need just so you don’t have to take care of them.
  Medication is dangerous, even non-prescription medication, as you saw from Chara’s overdose on cold medicine that they presumably bought over the counter.
  If he’d given them too much of this medication, whether accidentally or on purpose, he could have killed them.
  Carrying them feels like carrying a rock.
-
  The only things which break the pale pattern are the multitude of bruises which decorate their skin, everywhere except for their face. Even there on their chest.
  Those are the things you focus on, more than anything else. The bruises are in various stages of healing; some of them are fresh and red, some of them are amaranthine, black and blue, and some of them have drained away into sickly green and yellow.
  They’re everywhere. Along Chara’s ankles, their wrists, thighs and forearms and waist and shoulders. Most of them aren’t big and there aren’t enough to make you think they were struck multiple times, over and over and over. But it’s still too many.
  You note, with a nausea entirely unrelated to their father’s black aura, that many of them are fingerprint bruises… from being grabbed. The ones which aren’t fingerprint bruises are either longer, from being held and restrained, or big ones as if from single hits with a blunt object.
  Dear God, is the only thing your mind can come up with. What the fuck did he do to them?
  Poor Chara is trying to curl up into a ball, crying with only their voice and dried trails along both cheeks. Their breath shudders with every inhale, and they’re shivering violently. Every few seconds they tug at the chain that connects them to the bed. It’s in vain, of course.
  When you gingerly touch their other hand, they flinch and look over at you. You can feel their mind pressing against you, trying to keep you from seeing this ― yet so frantic in the need to calm down that they’re showing you everything that’s going through their mind, even things they might not really be ready to show you.
  Where is he? You’re so hungry.
  How long has it been?
  An intense hunger pang reverberates through you, and Chara whimpers in response to it, feeling the exact same thing.
  You have been so bad.
  You deserve this, don’t you?
  They’re staring at you with desperation in their eyes, pleading with you to do something. It makes you feel so useless, because you don’t know what to do. You don’t even fully understand what’s going on.
  “You do not have any food, do you?” they ask, and their voice is so feeble. They have circles under their eyes, chapped lips, and when another pang hits them, you don’t feel it as much as hear their stomach growling. Their face scrunches up in agony, the hunger crashing over them, relentlessly, as if it’s a series of waves pounding the shore of a beach. “I do not know when he is coming back…”
  A story that’s eerily familiar to another memory and just as terrible starts to unfold in your mind.
  Your CHECK is painting a picture for you. You hate what it’s telling you.
-
  If he left you to die of hunger or cold, maybe he was right to do so.
  You shouldn’t be alive in the first place, should you?
  That message mortifies you. Is that really how they were thinking, even back then? How old are they in this memory?
  You look over toward the door, then at Chara’s cuffed wrist. Maybe you can get that thing off…? They’re so thin, it might slip off with a little fiddling. “Is the door unlocked?”
  They shake their head. “N-no, I… I do not think so? H-he always locks it.”
  “I bet I could… get it open.” You move your hand down to the cuff and give it a tug. “Let’s… let’s try to get this off, a-and then we’ll go out and find you something to eat…”
  “N-n-no!” They try to pull their hand away. The chain attached to the headboard rattles almost in a sync with another shiver wracking their body. “No, no, no… if he finds me out of the room and eating from the kitchen, th-things will be even worse!” They sniffle, and aside from their crying, you notice that both their cheeks and their nose are bright red due to the cold.
  “This is m-my punishment… he knows best… I-I should listen and take it without complaint… e-even though it is uncomfortable… I m-m-must repent… without help…”
  ‘Uncomfortable’ would be sitting in a time-out chair for ten minutes, or losing dessert privileges for a few nights. And maybe as a real punishment, for something done wrong. You find it hard to believe that Chara did anything that warranted even an actual punishment, much less this.
  Humiliation, restraints, starvation, and hypothermia are not uncomfortable punishments or repentance for wrongs, they’re torture tactics.
  They ran away from all this eventually. Why are they so scared to try now? Now, when they’re in danger of freezing or starving to death?
  Because they’re scared of him? Scared of what other punishments he might give them?
  How much fucking worse could it get?!
  Are these the memories they think about when they think of him? The ones that make them feel helpless and terrified? This is what’s running through their mind after seeing him?
  Their need for control already made sense to you before.
  Seeing all the ways control was taken from them in their early childhood, you can’t imagine how the desire to never lose it again doesn’t consume their every waking moment.
  Maybe it does.
  Maybe seeing him, knowing that he’s still alive and being less than ten feet away from him, made them think he’s going to take away what little control they’ve managed to cling to.
-
  They lean in against you, clearly seeking comfort. “B-but… I know what I did wrong. I did not listen to him, and I tried t-to go outside while he was gone. Th-the village cannot tolerate my presence among them all… no one can… I-I am a curse. He has to k-keep me in here… I cannot be around o-other people, but I did not listen. I d-disobeyed him, and I must pray and r-repent and… and suffer to be forgiven…”
  When they press their face into your shoulder, you feel them shrink back into a child as you hold them. They’re swallowed up by your jacket, both hands trembling at the front to keep it closed. You don’t think they particularly enjoy being seen like this; you don’t blame them. This kind of vulnerability, especially with regards to their past, is difficult for them, and they are incredibly vulnerable right now.
  “I just don’t know why I must suffer in so many ways at once,” they cry. “Would one not be enough? And i-it’s been so long… when do I stop suffering? How do I know when it has been enough? Why d-does forgiveness require suffering, anyway? F-Father says this is how the gods want it to be… to s-suffer for forgiveness… but…”
  Their breath hitches, more tears dampening your shoulder. “H-how do I believe in and respect something like that? Gods are all-powerful, are they not? W-why do they need my suffering? What k-kind of God would not simply accept me saying a prayer that I’m sorry and know that I am?”
  You give their shoulder a careful rub, and run your fingers through their hair. They’re so little… is this perhaps why they have trouble gaining weight now? Because they weren’t always fed properly as a child? If this man starved them as punishment once, he did it more than once. It would make sense; people have difficulty growing even as adults if they aren’t well cared for during their formative years.
  It breaks your heart to think, but maybe Chara’s right. The cult leader has been out of their life for so long and he’s still hurting them. Even when they’re ready to try healing, some of these scars might never go away.
  Even though you don’t consider them weird or bad or think there’s really anything ‘wrong’ with them, they don’t have an easy time going about things with all this trauma on their shoulders. If life were a video game, their shitty excuse for a father has made sure they have to play it on hard mode.
  It makes you angry, more than anything.
  You are so selfish, and a heretic.
  Demon child.
  No wonder your mother killed herself after seeing what she brought into the world.
-
  “I know,” they sigh, pressing their face into your shoulder. “I am just… I am so scared. I am so scared, all the time, about so many things, but this…”
  They never truly thought this would happen.
  Much as they thought about it, worried about it, they didn’t think he would ever actually come back.
  “This is so bad,” they finish tearfully. “You felt it, did you not? The hatred in his heart? The incredible strength he possesses? We do not stand a chance against someone like him if he uses his full power! I do not want all the people I care about destroyed… but he could…”
  The atmosphere is still so heavy, blue and purple pulling you down, down, like a ball and chain tied to your ankle, so strong it feels inescapable. They feel like they can’t fight this, don’t they? Like they have no choice.
  Like they’re back to being a powerless child who can’t stop their father from doing anything ― hurting them, hurting others, leading a march of violence that will end with all monsters dead.
-
  “― Well, well, welly, well, well! Look who has to come save everyone’s asses! Or maybe it’s just you two.”
  Holy crap, you have never been so happy to hear that voice.
  When you look over toward one of the windows, Flowey is peeking in, clearly having grown his stem from the soil outside. “Chara! Oh, thank God, Flowey’s here!”
  Their brother is propping himself up on the window sill, tilting his head while looking in. “In the flesh, sugarbee! Or, y’know, whatever passes for flesh in a flower. Not usually the reaction I get, though. Guess you clowns must be desperate.”
  “Are you… quite finished?” Although their voice is a bit thready, Chara still manages to speak up. “I-is everyone alright outside?”
  A funny look flashes across Flowey’s face. “… Huh.” You think it’s been a while, if ever, since he’s heard Chara stammer like that. “Yeah, far as I can tell. The happy couple and their parents are locked up in the car, and everyone who did get hurt’s just about healed up.”
  Then his face changes again, to a chilling grin. “But, boy… is Azzy pissed.”
  “And you’re not?” you huff, pulling Chara closer against you. “Th-this shouldn’t have happened!”
  “Yeah, no, no, I don’t like it any more than you guys do! Sheesh. I have a heart, y’know.” Flowey drums his leaves against the windowsill. “This is just angrier than I’ve seen Azzy in a loooong time. He usually doesn’t have the heart for it. But he’s giving you a run for your money right now, Chara. Then again, you’re too busy being scared to be angry at the moment, huh?”
  They give him a hard, almost cold look. “Flowey, i-if you do not back off this subject right now… I will never forgive you.”
  He quickly spreads his leaves out the same way a person would spread their hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fuck, I’m shutting my big mouth! You’re so touchy. Fine… I’ll let Azzy know he can come in. He just wasn’t sure if you’d wanna see him right now, Chara.”
  “Of course I do,” they murmur. You can tell they’re still anxious and afraid and a million other things… but the fact that they’re speaking more normally is a good sign. Hopefully. They’re not just faking being okay; they’re trying very hard to calm down. “I just did not want him to see…”
  Flowey scoffs. “You know, you could tell us shit, Chara! You didn’t want any of us seeing whatever you showed (Name). How come only she gets to see it? You can’t show all of us? We’re your family, dumbass!”
  Chara’s face turns bright red, and the expression they give is the one that someone gives before they burst into angry tears. “J-just send Asriel and leave, please,” is all they say.
  “… Whatever,” Flowey hisses. Although he looked stunned and almost hurt for a second, he’s focusing that into anger instead of anything else. Maybe because he knows that no matter what he says, Chara isn’t going to show him anything they showed you. Maybe because he knows he can’t express that he’s hurt without being hurtful himself.
  Either way… “Your favorite brother will be here in like half a second, I’m sure! Enjoy your pity party of two, and if you ever decide you do wanna talk, don’t be surprised when I don’t listen!”
  “Flowey!” For once, your voice is firm, your hand pressing against your partner’s head. “I know you’re mad, but that’s enough right now. Try again later.”
  He gives you an absolutely wicked look before pulling himself off the window and falling down, probably to disappear back into the dirt.
  With that you turn your attention back to Chara, cradling them against your chest. “It’s okay, Chara… Asriel’s coming.”
  “Th… that was so horrible of me.” The anxiety has caught back up with them, it seems. They’ve started to cry again, though thankfully it lacks the wild, hyperventilating quality it had when you first found them. “W-why did I do that? Why did I tell him to leave?”
  “B-because he started to get mean,” you assure them gently. “He was trying to… make you talk about stuff you’re… you’re not ready to talk about.”
  “But he has a point.” Their hands are curled up into fists against their chest, and they make a feeble attempt to push against your chest. As if they already know they don’t want to leave, however, it’s nowhere near strong enough to extricate themself. “I have shared so many things with you that I swore I… I would never tell anyone. And if I shared them with anyone… should it not b-be my family first?”
-
  “(Name)…” Chara mumbles. “I do not w-want to talk about… anything you saw. Not… not now.” From this angle, you can see big tears welling up in their eyes. “I cannot take it. I am a-ashamed that you saw those things.”
  They shouldn’t be.
  That’s so sad.
  Their father hurt them so badly, and they shouldn’t feel ashamed to have someone know how much pain they’re holding inside.
  They aren’t the one who did anything wrong.
  God, if only you could hold them any closer. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” You keep your voice quiet. “But let me just… say one thing, okay? You remember when… when you said you were glad you saw the stuff I showed you? E-even though you didn’t like what I went through?”
  “Yes…?”
  “I’m glad I saw all the stuff I did just now.” You can hear footsteps coming down the hall, gentle but urgent. Good. Here comes my best friend. “You shouldn’t… have to hide it, like… like, you shouldn’t have to walk around keeping all this inside a-and it keeps hurting you because you feel like you can’t tell anyone and…”
  You still have a hand on their head, so you carefully guide them to rest against your neck. To their part, they seem overwhelmingly fine with that.
  “… He’s the one who should be ashamed, Chara. You are not what he did to you.” Fuck. You wish there was some way you could engrave that onto their entire being.
  Maybe if you say it enough times, it will stay with them.
  It feels like they fall apart in your arms again, letting out a shuddering breath. “(Name), please…”
-
  He’s just as worked up as everyone else, even though he’s clearly trying hard to appear calm and in control. “Hey, (Name), you doing okay?”
  “Y… yeah, I think so.” You’re not sure. He doesn’t need to hear that, though. You’re starting to feel a bit less anxious, so that’s enough. “What about you?”
  With your eyes closed, focusing on the energy of his SOUL, you can kind of get a feel for how he’s doing. Like everybody, he’s doing his best not to freak out. He sighs, however, a puff of air on the side of your head as he pulls away a little. “I’m… dealing. Thanks for everything; you’re a big help in all the chaos.”
  You give him a gentle squeeze in return. “How’s everybody else? Fuku and Grillby are okay, right? And everyone that got hit by the attack?”
  “Ah, yeah… I think Fuku’s a little shaken up, but everybody’s gonna be fine. That attack… man…” He shakes his head, drawing his arms away from you. “It was water, so it would have extinguished Fuku and Grillby’s flames… but it was hot water. If the whole attack had gotten dumped on Chilleen… it would have melted her the same way it would have extinguished Fuku or Grillby. And it was enough to give the rest of us burns. Not to mention…” A clawed hand runs down his face as he lets out a deep breath. “Dumb question, but remember when you got shot?”
  Almost as if on cue, your shoulder aches a bit. Even though the injury happened six months ago and has been fully healed for at least three, it still acts up sometimes. “Y… yeah.”
  He rubs a hand over his forehead. “Remember when you woke up in the hospital, and I told you that whoever fired the shot used magic that repelled healing? That water attack… it did the same thing. Mom, Dad, and I had to work hard to get everyone healed. We might have done it, but the pain’s still kinda here despite that there’s no more actual physical injuries. This guy did his homework and thought of every detail.”
  You sort of understood the information earlier, when you came face to face with the cult leader and inside Chara’s mind. Now that all the anxiety is coming down and Asriel is spelling it out like that, it hits you like a truck.
  Their father is the same one who launched the attack on the press conference. He’s the one who tried to kill Asriel and ended up shooting you.
-
  More tears well up in your eyes. You feel so guilty. If that man had wanted to kidnap Chara, he would have easily been able to do it while you were incapacitated by his LOVE.
  You don’t understand how no one else could feel it. Didn’t everyone tell you before that humans who can do full magic like you are super susceptible to violent intent? Why couldn’t Frisk feel it too? They’re even more powerful than you are.
  “Chara wouldn’t have been able to… since they’re not capable of magic.” Asriel sighs, leaning back on the couch. “And Frisk… Frisk’s never been able to feel that stuff before being attacked. Any attack by someone with a high LV would hurt them more than it would another human without magic, but… they can’t tell who has a high LV. They could while they had CHECK as a side power in the Underground… not anymore, though.”
  He rubs a hand over his face, and suddenly, he doesn’t look like the youngest Dreemurr sibling anymore. If you didn’t know any of their ages, you’d think he was the oldest. “It might be something to do with your magic. Or this specific guy. I… I don’t know, (Name).” When he moves his hand down, you notice that he looks overwhelmed.
  He’s had to deal with a lot in the last year. His first press conference ending in an assassination attempt, where he or his siblings could have been killed and you ended up getting hurt. Chara’s accidental overdose and suicide watch. And now this, a concerted effort at killing a wedding full of monsters and humans, many of whom he’s close to.
  Not only all that, there’s the day-to-day stress of being king of monsterkind, having the whole weight of an entire community on his shoulders.
  No wonder he’s two energy drink withdrawals away from cracking under the pressure and sobbing about how everything’s gone to hell since he became king.
  “I don’t know anything. I don’t have all the answers.” His voice falters with the admission as he pushes himself to straighten up. “I wish I did, I pretend like I do, but I don’t. I don’t know how to keep my people safe, I don’t know how to get my big sibling to talk to us about stuff that’s hurting them, I… I don’t…”
  With that, he buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know how to be a good little brother, or a good friend, or a good king.” When he tries to breathe, his whole self shudders. You can feel his SOUL this close, glittering like a rainbow prism like you always see it… but in the worst way possible. It’s erratic, too manic, like he just can’t calm down.
  Like he’s trying to be too many things for too many people, and just like Chara, he hasn’t let anyone know how much he’s struggling.
  “Dad said it would get easier,” he sniffles, “but instead, everything just keeps getting harder. I act like I’ve got everything together, but, I’m a mess. I… I’m so afraid, (Name).”
-
  It hits them like a truck.
  They knew Asriel was a crybaby as a child… they teased him about it, even. They may have even manipulated that trait of his. (To their great regret, obviously.)
  Ever since the two of them grew up, however, they can count on one hand the times they’ve seen him cry. They haven’t witnessed a single tear or crack in his resolve since he became king.
  It sounds as if it’s been taking its toll more than anyone realized… simply because he was holding it all inside. Because he didn’t want any of them to know just how bad it had gotten.
  Something twists inside Chara’s chest when they see you reach over to hug Asriel, and when they see the way that their baby brother crumples into your touch. Not only does it remind them of the way they themself act when you comfort them, it also kicks their protective instincts into overdrive even though they’re exhausted.
  They’re the oldest for a reason, aren’t they? It shouldn’t fall to you to comfort everyone, especially when Chara knows you’ve overworked yourself. Even if you want to.
  This day has been a challenge for everyone. Chara feels like their worst nightmare is coming into being. Their biggest fear transitioning from a silly thing that could never happen to something tangible that’s come right to their doorstep.
  Maybe bad things are going to happen. Maybe the world is in danger because of that man’s power, or maybe he will return to hurt them or try to hurt their family.
  That future, the only one they see right now, is terrifying.
  But they cannot let it steal the present. Not from them or from anyone else.
-
  They have their own well of DETERMINATION to draw from.
  That man is not going to get the better of them. Not while he isn’t actually here. He will not stop them from helping their family and their girlfriend.
  They might be scared and in the haze of some post-traumatic stress aftermath. Their hands might still be shaking. They might still feel weak and worthless. They might still be in pain.
  Your words and the echo of everything their family has done for them spur them forward, though. I will not let him prevent me from being there for the people I care about.
  He caused me so much pain. He ignored me while I was suffering. He did not care.
  I care. I would rather die than ignore Asriel and (Name)’s suffering.
  I would rather die than be like him.
  Even if Chara doesn’t know who they are other than a violently angry, misanthropic, distrustful person… at least they know who they are not.
-
  Asriel tries to blink the tears away, rubbing at his face like he doesn’t want them to see him like this. In some ways, they think he’s overcompensating for not wanting to be the child he used to be, so paralyzed with fear that all he could do was cry. He might even be remembering the way that Chara knew exactly how to use that fear… it makes them sick, how they can see the parallels between themself and their brother.
  It’s another thing they both do, they think. A family trait ― thinking some vulnerability shown will be weaponized and used to hurt them. It’s to the extreme with Chara that they think any vulnerability is a bullet in someone’s gun, unless they’ve gotten close to someone. In Asriel’s case, it’s crying, and Chara truly could kick themself for the fact that their actions when the two of them were young potentially exacerbated it.
  Well, as they have done every time they’ve seen Asriel cry, they plan to seek whatever redemption is there for what they did as a child.
-
  “You may be afraid, Asriel. But… you are not alone.”
  The way the weight comes falling off his shoulders is palpable to both Chara and you. At least, they think you can feel it too. How can you not? Something just snaps, and suddenly Asriel is leaning against their shoulder. It’s not really the kind of intense sobbing that they often do when they cry; all the same, it’s undeniable that, yes, he is crying into their shoulder.
  Gingerly, they move their arm away from you so that they can put both arms around Asriel. As if it’s some kind of cycle of comfort, in turn you carefully slip your arms around their waist. (The urge to ask you if you’re trying to monitor their weight crosses their mind. Ultimately, however, they decide it would ruin the moment they’ve tried so hard to make Asriel comfortable inside of.)
  Instead of anything else, they just relax. Everything is not okay, but it is okay.
  They’ve definitely got a fierce protective streak with regard to their family, but this is the first time in a while that they’ve really felt like a big sibling. No anger, no threatening other people who get close. Just… being there for their little brother. They’d almost forgotten how fulfilling it is to be a force of comfort rather than a force of vengeance.
  And… there you are, nestled against them from behind, with your cheek resting against their back between their shoulder blades.
  Asriel pressing in against them for support is a quiet reminder of, You’ve become a really, really great big sibling.
  The presence of you at their back, somehow being both being comforted by them and being a source of comfort yourself, whispers, And you’re starting off as a pretty good partner, too.
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rileyslibrary · 7 months
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This or That
A/N: It’s been a while since I made Ghost flustered. Fluff. Self-indulgent. (Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)
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“Movies or series?” You ask.
“Movies.” He replies instantly.
“Why?”
He shifts his gaze from the scope of his sniper rifle and looks at you.
“You said the game is called this or that,” he states with a low voice. “You didn’t mention anything about me having to justify my choices.”
“Just curious.” You reply, shrugging.
He turns his attention back to the scope and shuts one eye. “Because you finish them within two, maybe three hours max.” He explains.
“Efficient, even in your leisure time, eh Lt.?”
He clicks his tongue. You wait for him to ask you back, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s too focused to bother.
“Well, I prefer-”
“Series.” He interrupts you. “I know.”
“How?”
“I know you binge-watch them late at night.”
“How do you kn-”
“And then struggle to stay awake the next morning.”
You widen your eyes and inhale through gritted teeth. “That obvious, huh?”
He chuckles and murmurs a ‘mhm’ while looking at the distant building.
A message pops up on your laptop’s screen. Kate.
“Laswell says your target is on his way; she’ll let us know when he’s getting closer,” you inform him. “Vanilla or strawberry ice cream?”
“Neither.” He replies sternly. “Boring flavours.”
“Touché.” You agree, tilting your head to the side and shrugging one of your shoulders.
He lets out another chuckle, this time shorter and readjusts his grip on the trigger.
“Any other movement in the area?” He asks, making a subtle head nod towards your laptop.
“Negative, sir,” you reply. “Drone feed is clear.”
“Good; give me another,” he orders.
“Alright,” you say and clear your throat. “Soap or Price?”
He rapidly shakes his head and turns to look at you. “What in the world is that question?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“If you had to spend a day with either of them, not on a mission,” you explain. “Would you prefer it to be with Soap or with Price?”
He rolls his eyes and exhales slowly. “Price,” he finally mutters.
“What about Gaz or Price?”
“Price.”
“Me or-”
“Price.”
“Why?”
“For the same fucking reason I said Price the first two times,” he replies, annoyed, and resumes his surveillance through the scope.
You both fall quiet. You absently fiddle with the straps of your tactical vest, monitoring the drone’s feed on the laptop in front of you.
“What about yourself?” He asks, breaking the silence. “Soap or Price?”
“You.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“That is my answer.” You murmur, shrugging.
You catch him out of the corner of your eye as he slowly turns to look at you. You don’t dare to meet his gaze. You feel your cheeks burning; you must be as red as a beet now. You reach for a strand of your hair, untucking it from behind your ear and letting it fall to the side of your face, using it as a curtain to hide your embarrassment. You inch closer to the laptop, but he follows your every move.
“Target spotted four kilometres away,” you state, hoping to divert his attention. “We have approximately fifteen minutes.”
“Fuck,” he swears and punches the roof you are both perched on. He shuts both eyes, lowers his head, and takes a few deep breaths.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, urgently. “Everything alright?”
“Be quiet for a moment, will you?” He murmurs and checks his watch.
“Lt, target’s not supposed to be here for the next fifteen min-”
“You shouldn’t be doing that.” He states and taps the digital screen.
“Do what?” You ask puzzled.
“Playing games while we have a target to eliminate,” he snaps and shakes his wrist.
You peek at the watch; he’s measuring his heart rate.
“How much?” You ask.
“145 beats per minute,” he replies as he takes a few more deep breaths to refocus. “Now cut the games, and let’s finish the job.”
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bunnycvnts · 12 days
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new bf! rafe that is slowly, very very slowly, getting used to having a girlfriend that cares about him !!
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rafe was having a particularly rough day with ward screaming at him to be a better man and running out of gas three blocks from tannyhill, so when you came over that night, his attitude was at an all-time high.
every little thing was ticking him off. from the way his collared shirt was sitting against his skin to the crickets chirping outside, and to the way the tv was far too loud considering how close you were sitting. he was overstimulated, annoyed, and really just needed a fucking break.
when you got up to get a glass of water and your heels clacked against the wood floor, he sort of lost it. “can you- seriously? take the fucking shoes off.”
you paused at the entrance of the living room, your eyebrows furrowing as you turned around slowly to look at your boyfriend. “what?” you weren’t upset; you were just thoroughly confused about his outburst. you’d been together for three months now and had seen your fair share of him being dramatic or moody, but it was rarely ever pointed towards you.
“the heels, they’re driving me fucking nuts, clicking and clacking through the house, and the tv?” he paused to gesture angrily at the screen, “why is it so fucking loud? you’re sitting like six feet away from it.”
your teeth sunk into your lower lip, quickly slipping off your heels and heading back towards rafe, your feet now padding lightly against the floor, almost silently. “is everything okay?” the remote sat in your hand as you spoke, muting the tv effectively. you eyed him cautiously, now noticing the way his hands were fidgeting and his knee wouldnt stop bouncing.
his face scrunched. “yes, everything’s okay; that shits just mad annoying, babe. it’s giving me a fuckin’ headache.” your hand reached out to rub his arm soothingly.
“i’m sorry, i didn’t know. how about we go to your room? it’ll be quieter, and you can change out of your clothes from today. i can go home too if you’d prefer. it’s okay.” your words were chosen carefully, bordering on demanding, and you tried to refrain from any tone that sounded condescending. it was easy to spot that he was overstimulated, and you only wanted to help.
“ye-yeah, yeah. let’s go to my room. don’t leave; why would you leave? i told you everything’s fine.” he didn’t know why you were acting this way, and it made his stomach feel weird. you guided him by his hand up the stairs and to his bedroom, speaking quietly as you went.
“i just know you need a minute, baby. that’s all. know you need some peace and quiet. maybe a nap. will help you feel better, promise.” he paused on the stairs at your words, but your hand tugged at his, making him regain movement.
once you both reached his bedroom, you pulled out some gym shorts and a loose t shirt for him to change into, shoving them into his hands. “here, put these on!” you smiled up at him before moving to his bedside table, where he kept matches. lighting one, you held it to a candle you had bought him a few weeks ago. he had noted how great the scent was but felt it was too girly for him to buy a candle— and he wasn’t girly. so, you took it upon yourself to buy it, and the trimmed wick and melted down wax covering the sides didn’t go unnoticed.
rafe changed quickly and leaned against the wall to watch you. the way you moved so efficiently and effortlessly through his room made his heart beat a little faster. you didn’t have to ask where he kept leisure clothes or the matches. you didn’t think twice before pulling the blanket up from the made bed and fluffing the pillows for him. you didn’t even need him to tell you that he hated sleeping with the top sheet, as you knowingly kept it tucked into the mattress. just watching you made his headache lessen, and he didn’t fight when you pulled him off the wall and helped him get situated in his bed.
“do you want some water or medicine?” his head shook at your question, denying it. all he felt like he needed was you. no one had ever paid so much attention to him or knew what made him feel better or worse. no one had taken the time or given the effort to care so lovingly for him. so when you sat on the edge of the bed, your hand running through his hair gently, all he could do was open his arms to gesture you closer. the blonde shuffled even closer to you, resting his head on your stomach, so you could continue massaging his head and playing with his hair.
“nah, just my girl.”
*+:。.。  。.。:+*
ok this is my first writing post pls be nice
taglist: @sunkissedrafe
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gorejo · 5 months
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▸ BOSS'S FAVORITE - gojo satoru (forbes30!gojo au)
what can you say to the boss's favorite customer when he comes five minutes before closing? Kick him out? Not an option, especially when he tips so well and has a rather cheeky motive to stay and get your attention.
content: 1.1k words. unedited. this is before the breakup! so, college forbes30!gojo. reader is his girlfriend, she/her pronouns. fluff! got this from an anon ask!! so nonnie if you see this, I hope you enjoy! also this is the shortest fic I've made in a hot minute! so be proud of me yall )) :
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"you're here again," you monotonously asked, deadpanning with a raised brow, crossing your arms while you leaned to one side.
“Yes, as you can see since I’m seated here to get my order taken.” he smiled amused by your baffled expression.
“Sato—”
"your boss likes me," Satoru smugly responded while he sat back on his chair and crossed a leg over the other, his expensive shoes reflecting the cafe's dim lighting, "i came for him, so don't get mistaken," he teased with a childish smirk.
“And you know, that’s not a way to greet a valid customer. especially with my VIP status,” he huffed with the corner of his lip threatening into a smirk.
"And you know it's courtesy to not come into a store when we're just about to close," raising your wrist to look at your watch, “I don’t know like five minutes before closing.”
"well, don't blame me," he innocently batted his soft eyelashes, steadying his cheek on the palm of his hand, "I was waiting for my girlfriend outside and he so happened to kindly invite me in."
Gojo Satoru was your boss’s favorite. Not only did he effortlessly draw in customers, people curiously entering the cafe just for a closer look at him, only to end up buying a drink and some pastries to chill in the somber ambiance, but he also tipped generously — too generous to be even called a tip.
Those that walk by would do a double take when they would see the white haired man, tall in stature, dressed in a simple white shirt, and black slacks, and would reroute their steps hoping that maybe they were lucky to see him again.
Just by the frosty white of his hair, he gained attention — who wouldn’t stare at a handsome guy, covering his beautiful cerulean eyes with his notable sunglasses chilling on a seat looking through his phone, while he sipped on the most sugary drink the cafe had to offer.
The cafe was especially the busiest whenever he tagged the store on his socials. Flocks of his followers bombarded the store just to see a glimpse of their favorite college nepotism student, who happened to also be unapologetically haughty about his good looks.
And to his mercy, today, he graciously came just when the store was about to close — at least there won’t be a murderous amount of people trying to flock over. 
Because fuck capitalism.
Working on the weekends, and sacrificing your leisure to make money wasn't out of the norm. It was something most college students would do. Make a couple of bucks to comfortably buy that extra cup of coffee with oat milk, or go out with friends for some food or the club.
But for you, you had bills to pay. And it didn't help that your boyfriend was well outside your tax bracket.
He was kind and offered to pay for almost if not all the dates. But with exams rolling around, and your monthly rent just about due, you didn't have enough time to fit him into your schedule.
He never complained, simply worried that you were pushing yourself too harshly. Placing a kiss on your forehead as he tucked you into bed, or cradled you in his arms when he found you sleeping on the couch, he hoped that you could trust him — trust him enough with your burdens but he never pushed. Because he trusted you would come to him on your own time, when you were ready to invite him more into your heart.
So, he's found a rather cheeky way to squeeze some time to let you know he cares. It's just his way is not the most conventional one you could imagine...
“He likes you because you tip well,” you laughed while rolling your eyes.
Clearing his throat, "I know you like to talk to me because I am that handsome,” he opened up the menu and placed a finger to rub his chin while he “actively” tried to decide what to get, “but like I said, I do have a girlfriend and I would like to order please." He chuckled while looking up, giving you a boyish grin — the one that made your heart flutter despite how cheesy he was. 
At this point, it was disappointing how he still affected you. Flustered at his forwardness, you turned around, muttering as you felt a sudden heat radiate to your cheek. “Okay, then call someone when you’re ready.”
“No!” Immediately grabbing hold of your hand, a sharp screech on his chair scraping against the wooden floor echoing through the quiet cafe. He gave it a tight squeeze before he sat down, his puppy eyes pleading for you to wait, “I’m sorry… just, I- I’ll choose soon,” he mumbled, silently sitting back down.
"Okay, then… what can I get for you, Mr. Gojo." you sighed, shaking your head, looking at his fingers lightly playing with yours, “And didn’t you say you have a girlfriend? Not sure if she’ll like this if she saw, ” You smirked.
“eh it’s okay, she’ll understand,” He responded with a hum, “she loves me too much.” his thumb gently rubbed against your skin, the scales of the day’s stress flaking off the more his warm hands massaged yours. “but, give me a minute, gotta read through all the options.”
“You serious?... ” It was so easy to read through his actions — it was laughable, really. 
“Yes, this requires a lot of thinking,” quickly peeping at his watch latched on his vacant hand before humming exaggeratingly, “hmm…”
Tapping your foot, “Any minute now, that’ll be great, Sat —”
"Give me a couple of seconds please,” he stopped you, reading through each item, slow as a sloth — at most twenty items were on the menu, it shouldn’t even take an elementary student this long to read at his pace.
“Sure, whatever for the boss’s favorite, right?” you pursed your lips, your eyes forming faux crescent moons.  
“Oh, I got it!” he chirped, simultaneously closing the menu when you heard your boss off in the distance, shooing your other coworkers into the kitchen, “Let’s close up! Chop! Chop! The faster we finish, the faster we go home!” 
“I need to go help —” you tried heading to the kitchen, not wanting your coworkers to bear the burden of cleaning on their own.
“I'll get —" Gojo hummed, just about to say his order before you cut him off, his firm grip on your hand keeping you from leaving.
"the mochi with zunda, with freshly whipped cream and a side of strawberries to go with it, anything else?" you quickly retorted.
"Oh yes, maybe I can top it off…” elbows leaning against the table with his arms crossed, flashing you with his cheeky smile — the one that showed his teeth and the cute dimple he had on the bottom corner of his lip. 
“with a kiss, because you’re finally off the clock now, right?”
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author's note: he's so annoying but I love him to death so that's alright heh
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versadies · 1 month
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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman! (various x gn!reader)
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SALUTATIONS. in a world of boys, he's a gentleman!
ADDRESSED. alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, and neuvillette (x gn!reader)
STAMPS. the little things they do around you that remind you that chivalry is not dead <3
CONTENT. ooc!neuvi (?), ooc!wriothesley (?), fluff/no-angst, established relationships, possibly cheesy (i like cheese), and possible grammar errors. some of the things mentioned can be applicable to others!
POST-SCRIPT. can you already tell that these four own my heart? i love them sm ( >-< )!!! also made new banners for a change hehe
LINKS. masterlist \ taglist
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Although ALHAITHAM is someone who prefers to focus greatly on himself and prioritizes his own well-being over others', that does not mean he is selfish nor inconsiderate. Which is why it is not far-fetched for someone like him to do the little things that proves the fact that chivalry is not dead.
Though of course, he does it in his very own way. You just have to be very observant to notice it. 
For instance, whenever you two are sitting in front of the table, he’d cover the edge whenever you lean down to get something that fell from the table, ensuring that you don’t bump your head from the furniture and get hurt. 
Another instance is when you’d rant on and on in his presence, thinking he’s not listening to you due to his earpieces that’s used to cancel out meaningless noises. When in reality, he’s actually listening to you —  because to him, your words are always something of importance to him whether he’d admit that or not. 
It doesn’t even matter if you’re talking about your day, complaining about prices, or even expressing your concerns over things you shouldn’t even be concerned about; he’d listen without a word if not necessary, because if it’s important to you, then it’s important to listen about it. Though of course, the only exceptions are when you’d actually talk about something he doesn’t care about, such as gossip.
Meanwhile, in the bustling marketplaces of Sumeru, there’s bound to be scammers preying on oblivious consumers, and Alhaitham sees to it that you won’t fall for such things. It’s partially one of the reasons why he always tags along with you whenever you shop for groceries or for other things.
If a scammer tries their shot, they’ll only be greeted by a stern warning glare from the scribe as you look through the displayed products, only for your lover to drag you to a more appropriate stall that’s much better than the suspicious one. 
During the later stage of your relationship when you moved into his humble home, he made sure to have enough space for your things, and even sacrificed some of his own possessions for the sake of yours. 
Speaking of sacrifices, there are also times when he’d sacrifice his leisure time that he values in order to hang out with you. Despite your assurances that he doesn’t have to spend time with you if he wants to be alone, he doesn’t care and still hangs out with you anyway. 
In his perspective, it’s not a sacrifice, because spending his spare time with you is much better than spending it alone. 
It’s the little things that remind you that he does care. Though, you couldn’t help but try and confront him about his actions since you want to hear it from his mouth. 
When you do though, you’ll only get a deadpan look from him and a few words:
“Isn’t that the bare minimum of what boyfriends should do anyway?”
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ZHONGLI is no doubt a traditional gentleman when it comes to not just you, but also towards anyone around him. Of course, you’re still special in his eyes. After all, you’re his darling gem who is above any other treasures that he’s come across in this lifetime.
He always checks up on your well-being with care and tenderness that often causes your legs to become jelly-like. He never fails to bring heat to your face from how sweet he is!
Like your average traditional gentleman, Zhongli gives you his coat as soon as he sees even a slight sign of you feeling cold from Liyue’s breeze, caressing your arms with his glove-covered hands while he’s at it. Not that you’re complaining, especially from how good his cologne smells from his coat that just made you a little in a daze.
He’s willing to open doors for you to enter first, no matter your gender. He doesn’t want your hands to get dirty from door knobs that have been through things that only Celestia knows what, so he insists that he shall open them for you. In a way, it sounded a bit over the top, but how can you say no to such a kind man like your lover?
He sees to it that you’re the first one to be seated before him, pulling out a chair for you before sitting next to you. It’s almost essential for him to sit next to you, as if you’re a light that he finds himself drawn to. 
When it comes to eating together, he offers you a bite of his meal that he either made or ordered, wanting you to try the delicious meal that’s made with precision and passion and appreciate it with him (though it usually ends up with him giving you more bites of it like a grandma would to her grandchild). Whenever he does this, he makes sure to blow the food first before giving it to you, not wanting your tongue to get burnt by accident. He even goes as far as putting his hand beneath the spoon to ensure nothing will spill on you and your clothes. 
Traveling is also to be expected when you’re with Zhongli, with you two visiting different areas of Liyue for a variety of reasons such as work, vacation, leisure time, etc. Whenever you two travel, he’s always there to give you a hand, especially when climbing up and going down. 
He’ll even go as far as putting his coat down on the ground for you to sit on to avoid your clothes becoming dirty should you two ever need a break, not wanting you to get too exhausted from your trip. 
Of course, we cannot forget how Zhongli has a sharp memory, so he knows the exact day for your relationship milestones and would never forget it. Expect him to celebrate things such as your first date-sary, monthsary, first kiss-sary, and the list goes on until you eventually tell him that most people (if not all) wouldn’t celebrate most of these things. 
That doesn’t stop him from greeting you with such occasions though ^^
It’s clear to see that the consultant loves you dearly and wants the best for you. The same goes to his dear friends and peers around him, and you couldn’t be all the more grateful to have such a man like him as your lover. In fact, his amber-hue eyes that you always seem to lose yourself to shines much brighter when he’s kind. 
“Why are you smiling? Is there something on my face?” He’d ask you when he catches you admiring him from your place. 
“Nothing. I just want to admire how perfect my boyfriend is.” You sigh dreamily, looking at him happily. “How are you such a perfect spouse?” 
He chuckles in response, now putting down his tea. “I beg to differ. Especially since the most breathtaking person in front of me is more worthy of such title.”  
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It’s no lie to everyone in the Fortress – both inmates and guards alike – that WRIOTHESLEY adores you, even if he wouldn’t outright admit it. Though his words are nothing but silent, his actions speak louder. Out of the very few people that the duke trusts, you’re the one that comes to mind, and the same goes for you towards him. He’s quite honored that you trust him enough to let him become your spouse, and what better way to express that than actions? 
You’re rest assured that he always has tea saved for you whenever you come and visit his office. When you do, he always makes sure to pull out a chair for you to sit on, pour your cup with your drink of choice before pouring his tea on his own cup. 
For a man such as him, he’s observant and is quick to notice when someone is uncomfortable – in this case, you. As soon as he takes note of your discomfort or uneasiness, he is quick to comfort you and assure you that all’s well as he either swiftly takes you away from the scene or finds a way to help you go through it. 
With that in mind, Wriothesley understands if you find yourself preferring the world outside over the Fortress of Meropide. He gets it! He’s content with you just visiting whenever you can. He knows not everyone would be keen on staying in the stronghold prison for a long time, especially when they have no reason to besides visiting their spouse. 
Unless you’re an actual criminal, then that’s when you entirely have no choice but be stuck in the fortress and with him until you’re free to go. 
Speaking of criminals, danger lurks everywhere in Fontaine. You certainly can’t blame your lover for being quite protective with you, often telling you through his letters to be careful with going out at night and to not fall for any scammers or tricks by possible criminals that are still out there. He’s aware that you’re more than capable of protecting yourself from danger, but it doesn’t stop his worries even for one bit.
It’s not common for the Duke to come out from the Fortress and visit the city. When he does, there’s a huge chance that he’s seen with you, holding your hand as you two go on with your day as a couple. He does not show affection in public much, but that doesn’t mean holding hands would hurt! 
To others, he always seems so calm and collected on his own, but in comparison to how he acts with you, he’s much more content and relaxed, as if he’s in a utopian paradise that he feels at peace in as your laughter and voice soothes his unfaltering spirit. 
Should you ever ask for a mora of his thoughts from how distracted he was during your time spent together, you’ll only gain this response:
“Hm? Oh, forgive me for being distracted. You don’t have to worry about it.” He’d say casually, hiding the fact that he’s simply distracted from thinking about how much he wants this kind of experience to last forever.
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Given that NEUVILLETTE is unfamiliar with human customs and feelings, the same goes for his unfamiliarity in the romance department. He didn’t think he’d end up courting someone, let alone form a personal relationship – especially since he avoids such things. However, you’re somehow an exception.
His experience in the court is unfortunately not enough to help him with his goal in winning your heart, yet somehow, he finds himself in a relationship with you. Though inexperienced and busy, he still has his perks that makes it up – such as his mannerisms.
Just like Zhongli, he’s quite a traditional gentleman. Not only will he help you sit down by pulling out a chair and remove your coat, he’d even make sure that none of your clothes, accessories, and even your hair would get caught in the furniture’s ornamentation to avoid the same inconveniences that he goes through in his daily life. 
He tends to hold your hand when the two of you go through the seats of the Opera Epiclese to watch a performance, dragging you to the best seat in the middle of the front row as he helps you become comfortable. After watching your first performance together, he never thought that watching a performance could be so enjoyable when you have companions to share the joy with. Where were you in his entire life?
On another note, Neuvillette is the type to carry your bags whenever the two of you go shopping or when he sees you holding something heavy, wanting to ease your burdens and struggles swiftly as he insists that he should help you. You should be able to have your hands free like a dove in his perspective. 
It shows that he’s willing to help you with anything you need, whether it’d be giving wise advice, getting something, lending a shoulder for you to cry on, and anything else so long as it eases your struggles. 
Given that he’s still exploring human customs and feelings, he entrusts you to guide him through it, and this means that he’s open with new things that he hasn’t tried before so long as it doesn’t clash with his busy schedule. 
He doesn’t mind doing particular activities with you, be it pot-making, watching documentaries, playing classic games, and the list goes on! If he has you by his side to try everything, then he’s okay with it all. 
Speaking of activities, Neuvillette has taken a liking for walking in the rain. He even fantasizes about going out into the rain, wanting to feel the raindrops pouring on him as he walks down the streets of Fontaine. 
Despite enjoying such joys, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t consider your comfort with the weather. Knowing how humans are with not wanting to become wet from the weather, your lover is there to help you in holding an umbrella that he’d bring should he hear any forecasts of rain beforehand. 
He makes sure that the entire umbrella is on you and stays that way, and he simply wouldn’t forgive himself if he sees even a few drops on your clothing that he could’ve prevented despite your assurances. 
If you ever expressed your concern of him getting drenched and possibly sick from the rain, he’d simply reassure you that it’s nothing to worry about, telling you that he does this very often whenever it rains. 
“Don’t worry about me, ma moitié.” He says with a tender gaze as he continues to walk side by side with you, holding the umbrella above you. “I will not get sick easily from the weather, nor do I mind having my clothes drenched. I want you to worry about yourself more.” 
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anantaru · 2 months
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"hm? so you say i'm easy to love?"
wriothesley shows you his hooded, loving gaze under the candlelit room, the scent of pine and a cool breeze ringing from through the open window towards your covered bodies speaking the language of love— and up close, the color of his eyes was slightly changing, proceeding to be as clear as water.
if only you could realise that no one would ever be able to rival your own pair of eyes, wriothesley thinks, he loves them like the ancient beings loved the night sky— and it's when you hold his gaze you speak through them quietly, always priceless and never bought, always pure and without cost.
how he touches you now was such an enigma of love, tenderly, always destined as he holds you like a fragile crystal that needed protection— and his arm leisurely slides over your body before pulling you against his chest, chuckling like he's surprised when you melt into him, smiling like you're simply the most enigmatic human being to glare at.
"yes," you retort back, kissing his jaw, "and you're always so warm, i love it when you hold me like this, you know?"
"yeah?" wriothesley drawls back with a chuckle, cocking his brow a little, "i will forever keep you close then, holding you so tight that you will never feel alone again, my love,"
"i'm looking forward to that," you giggle.
and there it was again, for it's your heart that pumps blood in your veins when it shows you the love manifesting around your frames— you can notice the loss of gravity in your stomach as he burns a subtle kiss on your forehead, pulling your head into his lips before tilting his own to slip his tongue into your mouth.
for certain, you could recognize those weightless kisses anywhere, all around the world between millions, and wanted to feel them every night— because you see, only wriothesley's kisses guided your heart into inner piece, etched their igniting passions into your body.
an emotion such as love to the duke was not a throwaway emotion, something to invoke on a whim or expose to anybody. it's about that inner calm that he found in himself when he knew he was your soulmate— how he makes you feel each twinkle of emotions as deeply as you could perceive them, and the way he does it guides every deed, harbored no uncertainty, he did it with fondness and grace.
you nuzzle your cheek into his chest and hold your ear right above the knocks of his heart— so that for each time you could hear it vibrate on the shell of your ear, you have the certainty that he'll always be there, that wriothesley wasn't going anywhere and that his everlasting devotion and his unconditional love was for a lifetime.
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©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
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hoseoksluna · 3 months
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BOOKWORMS | knj
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pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader
genre: smut; fluff
word count: 4.4k
summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.
warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(
note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!
side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks &lt;;3
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You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind. 
Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world. 
You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.
Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.
“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.
It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.
Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do. 
He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.
The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing. 
You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.
***
Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.
Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.
“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear. 
You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”
His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs. 
“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”
Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life. 
“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through. 
Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.
“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.
You raise one of your eyebrows in question. 
“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”
You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”
“He got some!” 
Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”
“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again. 
“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”
Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.
“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”
You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.
“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”
You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction. 
“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.” 
It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.
A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.
“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”
Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?” 
You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.
“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face. 
You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.
“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”
Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”
You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 
“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”
You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”
“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”
“Okay, I won’t.” 
“That’s my girl. 
You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.
“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”
“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties. 
His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.
“Fuck, baby.” 
“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”
Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.” 
He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear. 
“Sit on the counter.”
You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you. 
Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”
You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die. 
Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh. 
“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all. 
Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”
He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it. 
You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.
“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”
You nod.
“Use your words or we’re stopping.”
You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”
Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning. 
Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.” 
You do, weakly.
“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”
You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.” 
He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.” 
You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper. 
Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans. 
“Come on.”
Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense. 
“I got you.”
Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.
“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.” 
You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?” 
He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.
“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.” 
One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word. 
Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls. 
“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast. 
“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.” 
He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.
“You forgot something.”
He thrusts again, harder this time.
“What?” you breathe out, meekly. 
“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”
He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you. 
“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”
He grinds, hips rotating in circles. 
“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.” 
Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him. 
“Please, hmph, fuck me.”
Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.” 
He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over. 
“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?” 
You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.” 
He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants. 
“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”
Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.
“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.
Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him. 
He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?” 
You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.” 
Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.” 
From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like. 
Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.  
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”
The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses. 
“Look.” 
You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.” 
He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing. 
Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.
You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in. 
He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair. 
And you do the same for him.
Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light. 
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shotmrmiller · 3 months
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Needs Must III
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
WC: 2.2k
TW: frottage into outercourse, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie. explicit smut.
18+ MDNI
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“Hey, John—” and choke back a yelp when you realize that the person standing in front of you isn’t Johnny, but the one man you haven’t seen in months.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Despite your shock, a sound of disgust escapes your lips involuntarily, causing him to chuckle. Ghost walks past you, brushing his bicep with your shoulder, and heads to the living room to take off his leather jacket, placing it on the backrest of your couch— and the gloves follow. You stood behind him, arms crossed, curling your socked toes nervously into the soft fibers of your carpet. 
He leisurely rolls up the silky satin dress shirt sleeves, exposing the intricate tattoos adorning his forearms. Without turning around, he softly says, “C’mere, pet.” His deep baritone voice pulls at your heartstrings because it’s been so long, you missed him more than you’d like to admit. With a deep breath, you attempt to steady your racing heart, your gaze fixed on the ground, and slowly approach him.
“Oh?” and he tips your chin up with his finger, demanding your attention, noticing his amused smile. “Johnny fuck you into submission, er somethin’?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you’re unsure if it’s out of embarrassment or anger.
“Don’t look surprised. He’s my best friend.” Spluttering, you heatedly ask, “And what? Y’all just gossip like old hens over ‘work’?” finger quoting the last word. With a cheeky grin, he casually shrugs his shoulders. “Somethin’ like tha’. If you worried, he gave you a glowin’ review,” the grin turns into a slight sneer, “bastard.” 
Ghost gives you a once-over, sweeping his eyes from your feet to your head, and holds your gaze for a second, then murmurs, “Come.” With a gentle yet commanding hold on your wrist, he pulls you towards the bedroom, and you’re reminded of the times he pinned both of your hands onto the bed with his large one— sending a very familiar ache between your legs. He sits you on the edge of the bed, toes his shoes off, and starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing the strong muscles of his chest and his soft, slightly round stomach. He doesn’t even bother removing it fully, instead, he reaches for the waistband of your shorts. You extend your leg out, firmly pressing your dainty foot on his sternum, keeping him in place.
He stills, and you speak before he gets a chance to. “What’re you doing here, Ghost?” His heavy, dark gaze is unwavering, entrancing. “‘M here f’you. You didn’t honestly think tha’ I’d let you keep callin’ Johnny instead o’me?” He encircles your delicate ankle with his long fingers and pushes your leg to the side— the other hand taking the hem of your skirt, dragging it up until it bunches around your waist, and slots himself between your spread thighs. Lips brush against your cheek before moving up to your ear. “What is it? He treat you better than me?” His warm breath sends a shiver down your spine. Instead of waiting for a reply, he catches your earlobe with his teeth, nibbling on it. Your hands promptly fist the sides of his open shirt, mewling at the pinch of his bite. “Hm?” he questions as he grinds his clothed erection against your center. 
You’re lightheaded from the sound of his voice, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the smell of his cologne— a woody aromatic fragrance, all of it so fucking intoxicating. He delivers a sharp, stinging slap to the side of your thigh, demanding your attention, and it sends a jolt straight to your dripping cunt— making it contract around nothing. “He fuck you better than I have?” You give him a vigorous shake of your head, and a needy moan spills from your mouth as he gives your core a particularly hard thrust, the hard metal of the zipper rubbing against your clit. You begin to grind your hips down onto him and move one hand from his now very crinkled shirt, to hold on to the hairs at the nape of his neck.
“You boutta come all over my trousers, baby?” 
And then his hands are on your waist, firmly keeping you in place. You whine loudly, you were so close— 
“Then why did you stop seeing me?” Your head is so heavily clouded with arousal, drunk off of him that the answers tumble out unwittingly— mind solely focused on getting the friction back where you need it most.
“I wanted you all f’me,” slurring your words, “Guess the hand y’always used to choke me with kept the blood from flowing t’my head—” your rambling is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours, tongues entangling. He swallows all of the salacious noises you let slip, drinks them in, makes them his— makes you his. When he pulls away, you find yourself gasping for air. With a raspy voice, you mumble, “I thought you—” and he silences you with another hungry kiss.
“I only kiss what’s mine.” He hooks his thumbs into the band of your knickers and pulls them off, throwing them somewhere behind his shoulder. He swiftly undoes his trousers and steps out of them along with his boxer shorts. “Let’s play a game of Simon says, pet.” He maneuvered your hands to grab under your thighs, keeping them spread for him. Leaning forward, he leans on one arm, using the other to press the head of his cock on your puffy lips, holding it in place with his thumb. He slowly thrusts up, making sure you feel every ridge and vein against your swollen clit, “And I say, you come f’me, just” thrust “like” thrust “this.” 
You push your hips down when he pulls back, up when he drags his thick cock up, delicious friction on your bundle of nerves. Every roll of his hips gets you closer to your climax, your pussy dripping slick down to your perineum. Your thighs start to tremble in your sweaty hands, body tense. “Oh my god. Ohmy—”  
He shifts his weight from his arm to lean on his elbow, heavy body flush against yours, pressing you into the bed—  fisting your hair and pulling it taut, tilting your face up to his. 
“It’s either my name or none at all.” He punctuates the syllables with his thrusts. “Si - mon.” 
Releasing your thighs, you dig your nails into the sides of his waist, grip tightening at your impending orgasm. Simon grunts a low, gravelly sound. “There they are. My kitten’s sharp claws,” one more thrust, then again, he moans, “Come f’me, baby.” And you tip over the edge. Anything he might’ve said after is completely muted either by the ringing in your ears or the wail that clawed out of your throat. Collapsing, you twitch and shake in Simon’s arms, taking in ragged breaths. 
“You with me?” giving him a weak nod. Slowly, he pulls away, and there’s clear, stringy liquid dripping from his tip connecting to the hood of your pussy. He moves you to lie in the middle of the bed gently, body completely limp, plain dead weight, then walks to your nightstand. “What’s with all the lambskin condoms?” 
A soft, relaxed sigh slips out of you. “Johnny’s allergic to latex, I had no idea. Had to go without one the first time.” Simon lets out a drawn-out hum, then drops the protection back into the drawer. He shrugs off his damp satin shirt, then gets on the bed, crawling over you— covering your body easily with his, and prods his bare cock at your entrance.
“But you’re mine now, aren’t you? Gonna let me take what’s mine?” Swallowing thickly, you look at him, and his eyes are dark, glittering— gaze intense. Maybe you took too long to answer because he starts to slowly push the tip in, and hisses, “You’re mine, only mine. Got it?” and your tight, rippling walls stretch around his invasion. Your breathy moan is cut off when he bottoms out, flared head firmly pressing into your cervix. He’s at a dead end, and he grinds down, almost like he’s trying to push it past that, feeling a deep pinch at the entrance of your womb. The pressure is punishing, incessant, you swear you can feel him in your throat. “Nod if you understand,” he snarls.
You do as he says, no commands, nodding with messy, jerky movements. “Good girl.” He relents, pulling back to sit on his haunches to press one leg into your bed and hook the other over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he sets a fast pace, but his thrusts are shallow, in a staccato rhythm—  and fuck him, because he knows precisely where to hit. Ruthless prodding against your sweet spot, over and over again. It feels like jabs to the underside of your bladder, and every tap makes that feeling sharper, acute. Oh no. Nono— 
You know exactly what’s going to happen. Your eyes glisten with tears, cascading down your cheeks, as the overwhelming sensation takes hold, and with every thrust, it only becomes more concentrated.
“Awh, my poor pet. Feels tha’ good, does it? Look at you, cryin’.” You can't find it in you to be even the slightest bit humiliated because you’re about to lose the last of your sanity, he’s about to break you. You can’t even control the shrill moans Simon all but punches out of you. 
“Oh, I’d recognize tha’ cross-eyed look anywhere.” He chuckles, “C’mon then. Make a mess f’me.” His thrusts are unyielding in his pursuit of what he’s about to make you do.  “Squirt f’me, pretty.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body locks tight, and this time you scream. Liquid warmth floods in between your legs, drenching yourself, your bed, Simon— but you don’t care. There isn’t a single thought in that empty head of yours. 
Simon was languidly thrusting, fucking you through the aftershocks until a wavering breath escapes your lips, mirroring the shaky tremors that are currently rippling through your body. As he leans in, his lips softly caress your face, wiping away any stray tears that remain, and the spit that drooled out of your mouth. “You did so well f’me.” Your eyes widen at the feel of his solid, heavy cock still at full mast inside of you. 
He changes position, this time hooking the other leg over his shoulder, then gives you one soft thrust and you distinctly hiss, oversensitized. Simon presses your knees into you with his body weight, pinning you down fully, with no escape, and loops his arms underneath your torso to grab onto your shoulders— and starts snapping his hips viciously. A merciless pace, each slap of his hips against your ass making your pussy squelch obscenely, and there’s nothing you can do other than take his assault. It is unbelievable, how just seconds before were squirming away from him because of how tender you were, and here you are, about to fall over another mind-numbing edge.
“If you want me to come, then squeeze that tight cunt and wrench it out of me.” He pounded into you harder, the headboard of your bed furiously smacking against the wall that you know there’ll be cracks on it. Crying out, he continuously hits the deepest part of your pussy, and you come undone. Vision darkening, you’re slammed with wave after wave of pleasure, your walls squeezing him so tight, you’re strangling his cock and he makes a choked sound. 
“Oh-of, f-fu-” he lets out a low, drawn-out moan that lasts all four last thrusts— before his hips stutter, and finally still, spurting thick, sticky white ropes of cum into you.
The room was echoing with both of your heavy inhales, desperate to fill your lungs with air. It was humid, smelt of sex and body sweat. Simon grunts as he turns to his side, getting off of you, and the sharp gasp of air you intake is comical.
“Am I tha’ heavy, love?” 
You look like you’re tittering on the edge of consciousness, but snort and answer him. “Yes. Obviously. The only thing small about you is your humility.” He gives a belly laugh and leans in to give you one last sweet, tender kiss. 
“Go to sleep, love. I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow, maybe meet some of my friends.” 
“You mean Kyle and John? They’re very nice.” He falters because what? But you were already softly snoring. 
Stretching his arm across the nightstand, he swiftly retrieves his phone and a mischievous grin spreads across his face upon seeing a text from Johnny from hours ago.
Ya really answered her text on my phone pretending to be me. Pussywhipped.
You really told her you’re allergic to latex, when you use latex gloves to cook. 
Oof. Fair. 
And you’re gonna explain to me why she knows Gaz n Price.
Jus’ sharin the love, Simon. 
Sucking his teeth, he puts his phone underneath the pillow, and loops an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. With a tender kiss on your sweaty forehead, he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.
A/N: ngl i was fighting for my life? shit had me aroused. oof. im def writing price and kyle into this because 141 til i die. maybe a könig? unsure.
@rookiesbookies KYLE COMIN NEXT
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angellsell · 2 months
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Honey is for Love
Summary: you have a nickname, one from both Aaron and Jack Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Genre: fluff [oneshot] Warning(s): none A/N: I don't particularly like the way I wrote this one but I hope you do
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The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city. 
Aaron and I were seated at the dinner table, enjoying a homemade meal after a long day of work at the BAU. Across from us, Jack was enthusiastically recounting his adventures at preschool, his eyes wide with boundless excitement. I gazed at the little man, and a warmth blossomed within me. His innocence and enthusiasm were contagious, wrapping me in a blanket of joy.
I was pulled out of my thoughts when Aaron reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Honey, can you pass me the salt?" he asked, his voice tender.
I smiled, handing him what he asked. It wasn't the first time he had called me ‘honey’. It was a term of endearment that had become second nature to him, a sweet nickname reserved for me only that warmed my heart every time.
As we continued our dinner conversation, Jack's eyes kept wandering between his dad and me. I could see the wheels turning in his four-year-old mind. After a moment of contemplation, he looked up at me with innocent curiosity.
"Daddy calls you honey" he said, his words laced with a childlike statement of sincerity that could melt even the coldest heart.
I chuckled, ruffling his hair. "That's right, sweetheart. Daddy calls me honey"
The next day, we decided to spend some quality time together at the park. The sunlit afternoon was perfect for a leisurely stroll. Aaron, Jack, and I walked side by side, the small relationship growing and becoming a blend of laughter and shared moments.
As we strolled through the park, Jack tugged at my hand, pulling me slightly off balance.
He looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes that I’m sure only children are able to do. "Can you hold my hand, honey?"
I blinked, glancing at Aaron, who had a delighted expression on his face. Jack had just called me ‘honey’ without any prompting. My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through me.
I looked down at him, suppressing a grin. "Of course, sweetie. I'd love to hold your hand"
The three of us continued our walk, Jack happily skipping alongside us, his small hand firmly grasping mine. Aaron and I exchanged glances, silently reveling in the unexpected sweetness of the moment.
Later that evening, as we settled into the comfort of my boyfriend's apartment, Aaron gently lifted Jack and sat him on his lap.
The boy's eyes sparkled with innocence as he looked at his dad. 
Aaron leaned in, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Jack, I don’t think I ever told you clearly and I’m so sorry for that. Her real name is Y/N. Can you say that, buddy?"
Jack looked at me and nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Y/N"
“Good job!”
He smiled at his dad but suddenly his expression froze. "But daddy? Why do you call Y/N 'honey' then?" the little boy asked, his curiosity unfiltered.
Aaron smiled, exchanging a glance with me. "Well, buddy, I call her 'honey' because I love her"
Jack's eyes widened in understanding, and he turned his gaze toward me. "Daddy loves you, Y/N"
My name flowed so sweetly from his lips as he felt it for the second time. His mouth curved, a proud smirk covering his whole face.
I felt a surge of warmth in my chest, tears threatening to fall. "And I love your daddy too, Jack"
For the rest of the evening we all sat there, the room filled with the joy of shared moments and the understanding that had formed between us. 
As we sat there, basking in the warmth of our little growing family, I couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected and heartwarming journey that had unfolded - one filled with love, laughter, and the sweet simplicity of a child's genuine affection.
An affection that would link the savor of 'honey' to love.
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chrollohearttags · 3 months
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y’all mind if I be depraved for a minute? cause imma do it anyway.
cw//free use, anal, other things
but reiner with a free use kink would be so…just imagine being his sweet little housewife, taking you at his leisure and fucking you brainless at all hours and minutes of the day. You never know when he’ll appear or when he’ll ask for it (if he does at all) so you’re always wearing something cute..dainty, revealing and easy access. Lace teddies, tight dresses and sometimes nothing but a pair of knee socks. You must be ready for him at all times so he keeps you stuffed with pretty little toys he lets you pick out. Bejeweled plugs, a vibrator he stuffs inside of you as he keeps his phone in his pocket and controls it; laughing as he watches you squeeze your chubby little thighs together and try to hold it in but instead, those sweet juices are trickling down your skin. He loves it but not for too long. Your holes belong to him and only him, after all. His to stretch, mold and fill to his content. His to stuff full of his fingers or thick cock regardless of what you were doing at the moment. You were his little slut, an object for his pleasure when he felt compelled..but you don’t mind one bit. Not when he’s so doting..telling you how pretty you look all fucked out and dumb with his fingers in your mouth, drool spilling onto the counter top because he’s been pounding your pussy, making you climax until your bladder was empty and the pit of your belly was sore. Until those legs are shaking and his copious amounts of cum are gliding down them like flowing water because you can no longer house any. “N-no..no more. I’m so..oh my gosh.” That’s what you tell him, sure. But he knows better that. He sets his sights on your fluttering little hole that’s sucking on that heart shaped metal plug and now he wants to take its place. Snatching it out with haste and all but sending shock to your body as he claims it right then and there. It’s the only semblance of a break he’ll give you so you better be gracious. Because it won’t be long until he decides to breed you yet again..you just don’t know when it’ll happen. That’s the joy for him.
“No, darlin’. We’re finished when I say so. You and every part of this sexy body belongs to me.”
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crushmeeren · 3 months
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Everyone in this work of fiction is aged up/18+, if that bothers you—block me or keep scrolling
One Shot? NSFW Headcannons? Both.
Warnings; yandere Yuuta vibes, cursing, possessive & obsessive behavior, violent threats (Yuuta threatens to snap somebody’s fingers), rough sex, biting, breath play, dirty talk, light smacking, reader getting stuffed
••••••
Yuuta who loves you wholeheartedly yet…painfully. Obsessively. More than obsession. Whose heart beats cruelly for you. Thumping in such a rhythm he’s sure it’s in tune with the pronunciation of your name. His love for you devours him completely—and he’s high on the way you love him.
Yuuta who lets you be privy to all the dark, depraved thoughts that seem to constantly rattle through his brain.
Yuuta who aches when he has to be apart from you. Who would crawl inside your skin if he could. Who tells you so often. (your feelings are mutual)
Yuuta who takes you out bar hopping on occasion. Who gets a thrill showing off what’s his. Whose gaze is intense as he watches another below average man attempt to dance with you, his arm brushing your wrist. Who gets a sick sort pleasure curling in his chest as he takes note of the bitchy expression on your face when you shut him down.
Yuuta who throws back a shot easily. Who saunters over from his spot at the bar. Who approaches you casually, hands tucked away in his pockets, curled into fists. Whose lips are pulled into a sweet grin, sleepy eyes flitting between you and below average Joe.
Yuuta whose entirely fake calm demeanor forces a cold thrill to shiver down your spine, because you know the beast that lurks just beneath. Who makes your blood thrum as he leans into the man’s face, lazy smile never faltering when he speaks.
Yuuta who you know has a boiling rage licking in between his rib cage when he threatens the man with a serene voice. Your hair stands on end when Yuuta’s posture drops the temperature around you by a few degrees. Who tells the stranger in a voice that rivals the Antarctic, I’ll snap your fucking fingers one by one if you ever touch what’s mine again. (your heart’s in your throat. you need Yuuta to take you home. now.)
Yuuta who studies the man’s face as it pales, as he turns, running with his tail tucked between his legs. Yuuta who then turns to you, smile so sweet your teeth ache.
Yuuta who lets his fingers grip your wrist too tightly. Forcing your finger tips to pulsate from lack of blood flow as he drags you out the bar & to your home. (The anticipatory butterflies knock around your belly because you know he’s gonna remind you who you belong too—you can’t fucking wait)
Yuuta who lets the tension in the air thicken to the point of suffocating. Who whistles a bright tune as he walks leisurely to your bedroom—giving you chills at how eerie it is. Who lets you follow behind before he’s slamming the door hard enough to rock the foundation.
Yuuta who slams you up against the door, your skull knocking into the wood. Pain radiating down to your neck. Whose finger tips dig harshly into the muscle of your jaw as he forces it to stay shut.
Yuuta whose face flattens into an expression you’ve only ever seen on sociopaths. Whose sanpaku eyes look empty, but you know he’s livid on the inside.
Yuuta who invades your personal space, making your teeth creak in his grasp. Who murmurs low & rough you wanted to watch me break that fuckers arm didn’t you baby? You can only whine in agreement, body flushing hotly.
Yuuta who hums in acknowledgment. Who gives you a pretty smile because he knows you’re just as twisted as he is. Who coos you only have to ask, my heart—I’ll slice anyone in half if you so desire. You know how much I love you.
Yuuta who lets go of your jaw, kissing you eagerly, teeth knocking yours. Whose lips are hot, slick but ultimately soft when they meet yours again & again. Who moans beautifully into your mouth, tongue playing sweetly with yours.
Yuuta who then bites down on your warm tongue—hard enough to make you bleed. Who grins, giggling into your kiss when you sink your own teeth into his lower lip just as brutally. Pulling on it. Releasing it with a wet pop.
Yuuta who strips you both bare. Whose cock is already achingly hard as he forces you onto your back on the bed. Who places a warm palm in the middle of your sternum, roughly pinning you to the mattress. Who admires the way your tits gently bounce whenever you squirm under his grip.
Yuuta who pushes two fingers into your mouth, purring at you to suck them like you’re sucking my cock baby. Who groans softly when you do just as you’re told. Who rips his fingers from your mouth—sinking his canines into the flesh of your shoulder & gripping your tits. Who lets his shaft spread the lips of your slick pussy, rolling his hips—never letting his teeth free of your shoulder.
Yuuta who listens to you whimper & choke on your moans, whining Yuuta, please my love—nngh, want you to fuck me! Who finally releases his bite, who stares down at you with a reassuring half smile—who then smacks you across the cheek hard enough to whip your head to one side, making you yelp. Who knows you love when he treats you this way.
Yuuta who is still too pissed off about earlier, not wasting any more energy on foreplay tonight. Who knows your pussy drools for him anyways as he bends to your whim—even if he tries not to show it.
Yuuta who sits back on his heels. Who presses just the tip inside your warm, silky pussy—already trying to swallow his cock entirely. Who listens to your soft cries of pleasure & fills you completely with no hesitation, no resistance. Who moans with you when his balls are snug against your ass.
Yuuta whose eyes flutter shut as he grips your ankle, pulling one leg over his shoulder. Who bends forward, splitting you open over & over as he fucks you harshly from the beginning. Who revels in the wet hiccups & whines you’re gifting him. Pleading just like—oh fuck! fuck yes Yuuta, right there, please make me cum!
Yuuta who laughs humorlessly, cock pulsing when your sweet voice begs for him. Who purposely lets his tip kiss your cervix repeatedly. Whose tone is so mean when he speaks oh? you wanna cum? then you better fucking cum hard on my cock. your pussy is all for me, my heart. I own you—don’t forget it.
Yuuta who braces a hand on the bed, bending you further in half. Who uses the large palm of his free hand to encase your mouth & nose, cutting off your air. Who tilts his hips just right, taunting you—mm if you don’t wanna pass out, you better cum quickly for me. Who chomps down on his lower lip while he gazes at your face, eyes eternally sleepy. Who loves the feel of your nails sinking into his forearms.
Yuuta who feels his balls tighten up when your back arches off the bed, writhing because you can’t breathe. Who can feel your pussy starting to flutter as your eyes roll back in your head. Who snarls god, you’re gonna cum aren’t you? looks like you’re running out of air, but who isn’t fairing any better. Whose cheeks are bright red, who’s huffing as he thrusts, who has sweat trailing down his temple.
Yuuta who inhales sharply through his teeth as your pussy gets unbearably tight, who immediately allows you to breathe as soon as you start to cum, suffocating his cock in the best kind of way. Who makes you dizzy with the intensity of your orgasm as your lungs burn for air.
Yuuta who does a 180. Mouth falling open, eyebrows scrunching. Mean streak disappearing completely. Who lets out a sweet moan as he lets your leg down, smothering his face in your neck. Whose breath hitches, whining fuck—ah, I’m gonna cum baby. Whose cock twitches as he starts to climax, shallowly thrusting, stuffing you full with sticky ribbons of his release.
Yuuta who chants, I love you baby, love you so goddamn much. I’ll do anything for you, my heart. Who pants hotly against your skin as he goes limp, snaking his arms underneath you in a tight hug.
Yuuta who all but purrs as your nails scratch soothingly over his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. Who feels warm & pleasantly gooey when you coo at him, whispering his praises & how much you love him into his ear as you lay intertwined.
Yuuta who takes care of you afterwards, cleaning you up, rubbing your back and hugging you close under the blankets. Who tells you how good you were for him, what a sweet girl you are. Whispering he loves you at least a thousand times. Who turns you around to be his little spoon, molding his body to the back of yours. Who slips an arm around your waist, forehead pressed against your back.
Yuuta who loves you an unhealthy amount. Who’s menacing, insane—unbelievably loving. But it’s all okay with you, you’re just as obsessed as he is.
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softsturn · 4 months
Text
morning - m.s
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⩩ pairing: matt x fem!reader
⩩ summary: morning sex with matt
⩩ warnings: smut, overstimulation?
⩩ a/n: this is literally my first time writing im sorry if it sucks😭
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A glaring light filters through your curtains, rousing you from your tranquil sleep. Grimacing, you awaken to find your boyfriend peacefully asleep on top of you, nestled into your chest. You rub your eyes and yawn, your hand gently caressing his bare back, fingers lightly scratching his smooth skin.
"Mornin." mumbles Matt, a faint smirk almost audible on his lips.
“Did i wake you?” you ask sheepishly.
“Mhm.” he nods, placing a light kiss to your exposed collarbone.
“Sorry.” you mumble, placing an apologetic kiss to his forehead.
"Don't be, pretty girl," Matt whispers, his voice husky with sleep. He kisses your collarbone once more, leisurely moving up your neck, his lips caressing your soft skin, sending shivers down your spine. You sense the morning wood in his pajama pants, pressing against your thigh as he lies on top of you. "How about you make it up to me?" he teases, lifting himself off your chest, offering a mischievous grin before placing a gentle peck on your lips.
“What if im too tired?” you teased back, rolling your eyes. you were tired, but you’re never too tired for him. you liked to play hard to get, but you were already dripping wet for him.
"You just need to lie there and look pretty." Matt says with a boyish grin, his eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flutter. These softer, sweeter, and gentler moments are what you live for. Time seems to slow down, as if you two are the only people in the world.
"Mmmkay," you mumble, cupping his jaw and drawing him into a more extended, tender kiss. His tongue gently slips into your mouth, evoking the softest whimper from you. Pulling back slowly, he admires you as if you were an angel sent from above.
"Good girl," he smirks, planting a kiss on your cheek before directing his focus to your clothing. His hands trace down your stomach to your hips, seizing the waistband of your pajama shorts and underwear. Seeking your nod of approval, he swiftly removes both in one motion, and you shiver as the cold morning air brushes against your bare core.
"So, so pretty," he murmurs, positioned between your knees, his hands gliding up and down your thighs. His touch is tantalizingly slow, observing your body's response to every movement. Eventually, his fingers ascend to your core, swiping through your wet folds. "So wet already. I've barely done anything to you, princess."
"Matt, please," you whine, growing frustrated with his deliberate pace. He’s tempted to make you wait, to elicit those desperate pleas, but he's equally eager, if not more so. Swiftly shedding his pajama pants, he leisurely discards his boxers. His long, hard cock springs free, precum glistening at the tip. Gripping your chin, he compels you to meet his gaze.
“Use your words, baby,” he coos.
"Just fuck me already," you whine, gazing up at him with a desperate need to release the tension building in your stomach.
"You're so bratty in the morning," he chuckles, planting a few gentle kisses on your mouth before releasing your chin. Adjusting himself between your knees, he pumps his cock a few times before aligning it with your entrance. His hand finds yours as he gradually eases his tip in, a grunt escaping him at the tight sensation of your pussy. Slowly sliding in until you've taken all of him, he gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being stretched out. "So tight, so fucking good for me." he mumbles.
You moan in response, signaling him to begin his movements. He starts thrusting, the rhythm slow and gentle, as if relishing the moment. This only intensifies your need, feeling the knot building up in your stomach. Leaning down, he kisses your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin, leaving visible marks, proclaiming to everyone that you're his. "Faster, please," you beg.
He smirks but complies, lifting your hips slightly for a deeper angle. His thrusts become faster and rougher, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room. Placing a hand on your stomach, he gauges his position, bringing the knot in your stomach closer to its breaking point. "Look at you taking me so well," he coos, his voice breathy and low.
"Oh my god, Matt," you mumble, your words fragmented by your moans. He shifts the hand on your stomach down to your clit, his thumb tracing circles to heighten your pleasure. His thrusts quicken, if that's even possible, his breathing heavy, and whimpers escaping from his lips. The intense stimulation brings you to the edge, your hands gripping the bed sheets. "G-gonna cum," you moan louder, despite knowing that others in the house are trying to sleep.
"Yeah? Cum all over my cock, princess." he murmurs, watching as you become a mess beneath him.
His words unravel you, the knot in your stomach slowly releasing as he maintains his relentless thrusts. With a loud moan, you climax over his cock, eyes squeezed shut, hips bucking up, and legs slightly shaking. Yet, he doesn't stop or ease the pace. He persists, his thumb still stimulating your clit while he pounds into you. The overwhelming stimulation prompts you to try pushing his hand away. "T-too much. Can't-"
"You can take it," he cuts you off, continuing to overstimulate you. Thrusting into you with full force, hitting your G-spot with every push, one hand still working on your clit. Loud moans fill the room as he fucks into you. Tears well in your eyes from the intense sensations, and you quickly feel that knot in your stomach tightening again. "C'mon, pretty girl, give me one more."
Each thrust brings you closer to the edge, feeling his movements become more erratic. The familiar knot tightens in your stomach, ready to be released once more. His grip on your hips tightens as he senses your pussy clenching around him, signaling the onset of your climax. Leaning down, he kisses you, your hands entwining in his hair, both of you moaning into each other's mouths. "Cum with me, baby," he moans.
With his words, you climax around his cock for the second time this morning, releasing loud moans. Your legs shake, tears falling from your eyes due to the overwhelming sensation. As he feels your pussy clench around him, thrusting you through your second orgasm, it's enough to push him over the edge. He cums into your pussy, white stripes of cum shooting inside you. He slows his thrusts until he stops, his slightly sweaty body collapsing onto yours as he catches his breath. Your fingers lazily comb through his hair as you pant underneath him. "Fuck, you did so good. So good for me," he whispers, giving you a kiss on the forehead. Slowly lifting himself off of you, he pulls out of your sensitive pussy. Admiring his work as a bit of cum drips from your core, he kisses your cheek and wipes away your tears. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, no, no. It felt so good. I love you." you reassure him, cupping his jaw and pulling him into a quick kiss.
“Good. I love you too.” he mumbled against your lips, his tender words lingering before he pulls away. He rises from the bed with purpose, making his way to the bathroom in order to quickly clean himself and get a wet washcloth to clean you. Returning with the cloth, a waterbottle, and an adoring smile on his face, he crawled back into bed. He gently and carefully cleaned you, making sure not to be too rough with your sensitive core. He grabbed you a fresh pair of panties, helping you get them on before laying down next to you in exhaustion. His arms drew you closer, making you cuddle into his chest. You lazily wrapped an arm around his waist, nuzzling in his warmth. He gently rubbed your back, listening to your soft breaths, the two of you being lulled back into the peaceful embrace of sleep.
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Text
Hotter Than Texas | Part II
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader
A/N: I'm so excited that y'all loved the first part! Thanks for your enthusiasm, you rock <3
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.
Aka it's a road trip, strap in.
CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)
WC: 2000+
Part I | Masterlist
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“I’m getting hungry.”
Bradley glances at the restaurant sign as he passes it on the interstate, suppressing a sigh. He usually skips lunch on long trips so he can arrive at his destination before nightfall. “I’ll get off at the next exit,” he says.
“Will you?” you exclaim excitedly, as though he’s offered to catch and cook your next meal himself.
Bradley chuckles mildly. “Well, I’m not going to let you starve.”
“You’re so sweet,” you reply, and Bradley eyes you with a grin because he’s about eighty percent certain you’re being facetious.
“What’re are you in the mood for?” he asks as he gets on the off-ramp.
“Something greasy and very bad for my heart.”
Bradley lets out a small laugh. What’s bad for his heart is you sitting next to him being all cute for the next twenty hours straight.
He pulls into the lot of a little diner just off the highway and parks his car while you flip down your sun visor to glance at your reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?” you mutter, mostly to yourself.
Bradley tries not to examine you directly and instead just glances in your vicinity. “Better than the truckers, I bet,” he comments, noticing the row of semis at the back of the lot.
You give him an unimpressed look and then push open your door. “I sure hope they have French toast.”
“I thought you wanted something greasy,” Bradley says, walking around the front of the Bronco to join you.
“I want options,” you state, marching forth toward the front doors.
Bradley strides ahead and pulls the door open for you. He can’t say he isn’t looking forward to having a sit-down meal with you, like it’s a date or something. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s almost thrilled at the prospect of the other patrons assuming the two of you are a couple.
You walk through the open door and Bradley stalls for a moment, trying to clear his head. He shouldn’t even be thinking about that sort of nonsense. He and Hangman have enough issues without adding Bradley’s crush on his baby sister to the mix. They’ve just begun to mend their bumpy – to say the least – relationship, and Jake would sure as shit not appreciate his colleague developing feelings for his younger sibling.
“You comin’, sugar?” you call from inside.
Bradley, who’s clearly taken too long of a beat, glances at you in a bit of a daze. He’s sure you just called him ‘sugar’ and that has utterly thrown him. He enters after you and gives the hostess a look that he hopes might resemble a polite smile. But his face feels hot and numb at the same time, so he can’t be sure.
“I think I’ll get the pancakes,” you muse, flipping through the menu leisurely.
Bradley smiles at you when you’re not looking. “Want to share some things?”
You glance up at him happily. “Can we?”
Bradley chuckles. “Why not? I could go for a pancake. What else should we get?”
Your eyes light up and you instantly refer back to the menu. “Fried pickles.”
Bradley cringes but he’s still amused. “Those’ll go great with the pancakes.”
“I agree,” you respond without a hint of sarcasm. “Chili?” you continue. “Or tacos?”
“Why not both?” Bradley shrugs.
You give him a serious look. “That’s just crazy talk.”
Bradley laughs. “You’re right, what was I thinking?”
“I sort of want some pie, though.”
Bradley closes his menu and leans forward into the table. “I’ve already thought of that,” he mutters under his breath, as though he’s about to divulge a secret. You lean in too, your bright eyes blinking up at him eagerly. “We’ll get one for the road,” he whispers.
You gasp. “You’re a genius!”
Bradley chuckles, leaning back in his seat proudly. “I won’t deny that.”
When the server arrives to take your orders, you let Bradley do the talking, but chime in with little requests now and again; onions on the home fries, maple syrup for the bacon, sour cream in the chili. And Bradley can’t help but delight in the fact that, every time you think of something, you tap his hand that's resting on the table, ‘oohing’ with excitement.
Bradley eyes you with a smile once the server departs. “Maple syrup for the bacon?”
You wave a hand at him. “You’ll see.”
Bradley shakes his head with a smirk. “Not on my bacon.”
“Yeah, my brother warned me that you’re a bit of a square.”
Bradley raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Your brother said what?”
You grin at him mischievously. “Don’t worry, I can make up my own mind.”
“Your brother warned me that you’re a bully,” Bradley replies, his smile only getting wider. “And, coming from Hangman, that’s saying something.”
You let out a peal of laughter so exuberant that several faces turn to look in your direction.
“Don’t worry,” he adds when your laughter partially subsides. “I can make up my own mind.”
“And?” you ask with soaring eyebrows. “Have you?”
Bradley hesitates for a moment and then decides to respond in a cheeky manner to avoid any awkwardness. “Not just yet,” he says with a chuckle.
You reach out and lightly smack his forearm. “Stop!”
“I’m joking,” Bradley concedes, grabbing your hand before you can strike him again. “It’s not like you’ve ever hit me to get your way,” he says pointedly.
You shake your head with a smirk and withdraw your hand.
“Everything was delicious,” you gush to the waitress as she clears the table. “We had such a wonderful time!”
“Glad to hear that, dear,” the waitress gives you a smile and then winks at Bradley, as though she’s in on some scheme with him.
Bradley furrows his eyebrows in amusement as she walks away and then digs into his pocket for his wallet. “My treat,” he says when you reach for your purse.
“No way!” you exclaim. “You’re already giving me a ride. The least I could do is feed you.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’m happy to be your ride.”
“I insist,” you declare.
“I insist harder,” Bradley presses, laying down several bills onto the receipt tray.
You gaze at him pensively and finally slide your wallet back into your purse. “So, you’re stubborn,” you note.
“So, you’re observant,” he remarks.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Thanks for lunch, Rooster.”
Back on the road, you offer Bradley a turn with the radio, muttering something about not wanting to be a bully by hogging the music. He can tell you’ve said it in jest, but he still wants to make sure he hasn’t offended you.
“You know I don’t think you’re a bully, right?” he says, glancing between your face and the road several times.
You eye him playfully. “Well, give it a minute.”
Bradley chuckles. “It’s getting dark,” he notes after a little while. He was hoping to get farther on the first day, but the prospect of maybe spending an extra day with you on the road doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it might have in the morning. “Want to stop for the night?”
“I can drive if you want,” you offer.
Naturally, Bradley overthinks your response. He wonders if maybe you’ve had enough of him and would prefer to get to Texas as soon as possible. “No, no,” he responds. “I can drive. I just thought you might be tired.”
“From sitting?” you quip.
Bradley gives you a flat look. “It’s been a long day.”
You shrug. “It flew by.”
That sets his mind at ease somewhat. A day doesn’t fly by unless you’re having a good time. “I think we should stop,” he says.
“Alright,” you respond, “let’s stop.”
“You two lovebirds want the mountain or city view?” the hotel’s front desk clerk enquires with a beam.
Bradley is about to explain that the two of you will, in fact, require separate rooms because you are the absolute opposite of lovebirds, when you respond with, “Mountain, please.”
The clerk hands you a key and Bradley follows you down the hall mutely, with both of your suitcases in tow. He’s not about to dispute your decision to share a room, despite knowing that it’s exactly what he swore he’d avoid doing the moment he laid eyes on you.
You open the door and enter, holding it open for Bradley so that he can bring in the luggage. He sets it down gingerly by the door and straightens his back to look around. The are two double beds against the wall and a large window with a spectacular view of the Santa Catalina range.
You flop down on one of the beds with a contented sigh. “You know what, darlin’? I am tired.”
Bradley watches you climb further up the bed and rest your head on one of the pillows. He’s used to you calling him all sorts of terms of endearment at this point, but it still warms his heart each and every time you do. “No dinner tonight, sweetheart?” he responds, adopting your speaking style on a trial basis.
You lift your head from the pillow. “Let’s just order in?”
You seem unfazed by the fact that Bradley just called you sweetheart. Meanwhile, he’s nearly thrown up from the anxiety it’s caused him. He resolves not to call you that – or any other overly-friendly name – ever again. “Yeah, we can do that,” he responds casually. “Pizza?”
You nod. “With barbeque chicken.”
“You got it.”
“Did you always want to be an aviator?” you ask, taking a bit of pizza while dusting crumbs off the bedspread.
The two of you are sitting cross-legged atop one of the beds with the open pizza box between you. Bradley grabs another slice. “Pretty much.” He doesn’t really want to get into specifics, because that means being vulnerable, a state which Bradley does not much enjoy.
“Interesting.”
“What about you?” he asks. “What are you studying?”
“Math.”
Bradley nearly chokes. For some reason, he expected something less cerebral. “Are you going to be an accountant, or something?” he asks with a smirk.
You frown slightly. “I sure hope not.”
“Well, what do you want to be?”
“A good person,” you respond thoughtfully.
Bradley lowers his pizza and stares at you. “You are a good person,” he says hoarsely.
You shrug. “I have my days.”
“I mean, I don’t know you very well,” Bradley reasons. “But you seem great. Much better than your brother.”
You laugh and lower your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” you say warmly.
Bradley can feel his heart pounding like a double bass drum. The only sweetheart in this room is you and he can hardly keep that to himself. To think that you might be doubting your own integrity is affecting Bradley on a near-physical level. “You’re a good person. Anybody who tells you otherwise is an idiot,” he states.
You smile, still looking downward. “Thanks.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
You place your half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and fall back into the pillows, sighing dramatically. “I’m stuffed!”
Bradley, who’s just taken his final bite, mutters around the crust in his mouth. “Me too.” He closes the pizza box and picks it up to set it onto the floor by the bed. Then, he moves to the other bed and lies down on his back with a weary exhale.
“Hey, Rooster,” you call from your bed.
“Hmm?”
“Are you a good pilot?”
Bradley turns onto his side to face you. “I think so.”
“My brother said you were just alright,” you say.
Bradley snorts and throws a pillow at you. You laugh and then stuff the pillow in between your knees. “Joke’s on you, I’m keeping this.”
Bradley adjusts his second pillow under his head and mutters, “You’re welcome.”
“Tomorrow you can choose what you want to listen to,” you say.
Bradley chuckles. What he wants to listen to more than anything is probably you.
“Hey, Rooster,” you say quietly.
“Hmm?”
“Is there any pie left?”
Tag List
I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments shortly!
@joaquinwhorres
@katiemcrae
@sehnsuchts-trunken
@toomuchfluffs
@wintercap89
@lonelywitchv2
@callsign-jupiter
@rosiahills22
@olliepig
@coffeeaddictedmay
@boringusername3
@ratedtvpg
@mak-32
@annedub
@jules-1999
@black--lightning
@j-velvet
@xoxabs88xox
@cyanide-cryptid
@callsignvenus
@artemissunn
@gcldtom
@atarmychick007
@callsign-sunshine
@shanimallina87
@birdy-bat-writes
@wkndwlff
@chaosmxlcolm
@iminlovewithenchilidadas
@daniibzz
@avis15
@valhallavalkyrie9
@ijustwantedplums
@hal3ynicol3
@avengersfan25
@hallecarey1
@nik2blog
@kpopgirlbtssvt
@lilianashomaresparza
@lovingperfectionsblog
@bblpbb
@Elenavampire21
@SometimesAnAlice
@risingtripletaurus
@adaydreamaway08
@mattyskies
@desert-fern
@catsandbooksandstuff
@Topguncultleader
@avengers-fixation
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bowieandqueen11 · 6 months
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Sanji With A Clingy Reader Would Include...
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Request: OH BABY telling about one piece is like unlocking a whole second heart of mine i have fully for that anime and manga and live action. and so, if you ever decided of course, you writing something similar to something you did on marvel once and sanji with reader that has no personal space and is touchy would be amazing. but also... kissing zoro is great to, if you ever decided? anyway! HOPE YOU LOVE IT (one piece i mean), and if not ignore me UwU
Ooh yess babes this is so SWEET!! :3 I LOVED IT omg hello to my latest obsession not me ordering the first collection of the manga
This was really sweet and fun to do, but I did stay up all night writing it so all comments are much appreciated!
Warning: slightly spicy, some mentions of fighting!
(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fanpageknight.)
☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°
Look at this man. Seriously, look at this man with his little bottom lip bite and eyes like the sun shines heavily out of them and tell me he would be anything less than absolutely madly, heart wrenchingly, soul crushingly enthralled with a clingy reader??? That's right you can't take the l on this one.
It all started that day when the three of you ended up shipwrecked on that sad sack excuse of a rock. When you and Sanji huddled on one side of the forsaken isle to stay away from the terrifying Pirate Zeff. His hands had shaken as he drew them up to his chest, but he mustered the nerves to string open the sack Zeff had thrown at his feet. Once he had counted out the cans, he offered all the food to you.
He wanted you to stay alive far more than himself. Ever since you had landed on his ship he had been smitten, and his weary heart would beat its last under this smothering sun as long as you would live on for the both of them.
To keep him calm: to stop his gasping, tortured heaves as he tried his best not to writhe in panic at the thought of never stepping back on safe land again, you would spent most of those 85 days sitting over the cragged edges. Sanji couldn't tear his eyes away from peering down at the gushing shards of stone below that seemed to rip up in tides and tear for his swinging feet; to try and distract him from sniffling any longer, your hand would tentatively creep over the rock until it landed flatly, and unceremoniously on top of his own. His fingers flexed beneath your own, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he folded them upwards, giving your hand a shaking squeeze: a dutiful promise, a flitting confession of love, that you just happened not to feel in your ruminations of the circumstances.
In fact, he asked you that night, in an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful voice, if you would keep his nightmares away by holding him like his mother used to. You felt terrible: you were so stunned that for a moment you stood with the last piece of mouldy bread you had in your hand in shocked silence. Poor Sanji thought you were about to reject him outright: throw what little he had left of his heart - that he had so carefully lifted out and placed in his hands to offer to you, only to have it thrown back to his feet in the usual ridicule he got for his love. His bottom lip began to tremble, until you nearly knocked him onto his bottom with how fast you dropped everything and flew over to lock him in a tight hug, not minding the fact that your shoulder was growing wetter and wetter despite the brewing rain each time Sanji buried his snivelling head against it.
So you would let him rest safely in the bracket of your arms: his left cheek resting in the warm stretch between your collar bone and your neck, his right hand draped leisurely around your waist as you told him stories of pirates and treasure: of the Deep Blue and tropical fish that shone like bursts of fragmented starlight every time their fins graced the water. Although he would groan any time you removed your hand from where you were stroking the wet strands of his hair back from his forehead, it was quickly replaced with wonderment as you would point up at a cluster of stars and whisper excitedly: 'look, there's some now!'
He had never been afraid of nights ever since that moment, not when the stars were still out and he could trace with the butt of his cigarettes the fish you had drawn specially for him in the skies. It was like a secret message: a lover's reminder that he was never alone. That you were always with him. That your beauty - your light, it shone everywhere, no matter where he was.
It was the first time he had kissed you, two forgotten children lost underneath the dripping crevice of your little hideaway. As your belly began to rise and fall underneath his elbow, and he believed you had exhausted yourself out after trying to make him feel better, he dared to dart up from your shoulder and press his lips firmly against your cheek. It had been quick, almost gliding past time like a dolphin leaping up out of the water, but it had meant so much to him that he curled up into a ball in your side and flushed a bright cerise, having to shove his fist into his mouth to stop his manic giggling from waking you up.
But you weren't asleep, and as Sanji settled back into your neck with a smile bright enough to rival the shine of buttercup petals, you swore as he began to drift off in the first peaceful dream he had had in years that one day you would return the favour, but in full.
The two of you were thick as thieves growing up, to the point where Zeff became so distracted by your antics that he often tried to separate the two of you by making you work the floor and Sanji either in the kitchens, or off fishing at the docks. Ten seconds later though, he'd be kicking through the kitchen doors again to find you leaning on the kitchen counter next to an eager faced Sanji, whose to busy to register Zeff's shouting. Instead he places the spoon to your lips, having spent half of lunch service prep cooking you a brand new recipe he had spent the whole night creating out of a medley of your favourite foods. He subconsciously licks his bottom lip, the tension in the room felt by the other chefs who try to carry on washing pans and cutting vegetables enough to put everyone on edge as Sanji refused to look anywhere but your lips. Holding his hand under your chin, his dipped eyes were broken by a sudden grin as a loud 'mmhhh' left your mouth and you chewed in sweet bliss.
Still ignoring Zeff's increasingly erratic rant, as Sanji goes to start cleaning up his pan you slide down to stand behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around your back and jutting your chin into his shoulder blade like a baby koala. You can tell he's laughing silently by the way his shoulders shake against you, but all he does is pull up your hand from his belly button to press sweet, dainty kisses up and down the lengths of your fingers, before dropping it down to press your palm flatly against his heart.
'I think that might be your greatest dish yet, buttercup!'
'From you, that means everything my precious heart.'
'Why do you call me that?', you murmur, refusing to lift your lips from his shirt.
'Well my sweet love, why do you call me buttercup? I mean, I always know I smell of butter and the likes-'.
He's distracted by your snort against the side of his neck, but the two of you are too love-strikingly embarrassed to say anything again. Even if neither of you could see the warm peach rushing up both your cheeks, Zeff could. He could also hear the padding thuds of Sanji's heart as he gripped his fingers that almost imperceptibly bit tighter around your hand, and he found himself sighing at how oblivious you two idiots were.
Sanji is definitely just as clingy as you, if not more so. You've definitely met your match in this man. I mean, any time you're out on the floor, handing out bread to tables and scanning the room to check if there were any patrons you may have to throw out by the scuff of their collars later, his eyes are trained on yours. He leans against the banisters, not even trying to remotely hide how obviously he's tracing your path with a dumbstruck, lit up smile. If you're in the kitchens, desperately trying to bite your tongue and not tear Zeff a new one as he chops his hands together and rushes you to plate up? He's sliding up to your side in an instant, throwing scathing looks at the man while trying to help you spoon thyme onto your bass, nuzzling the side of his head into yours encouragingly. If you have any free time at all? Sanji is fast on your heels, darting after you like someone's firing shots at his dress shoes, as if you have his heart tied to a string on your wrist as he seeks out whatever nook you're going to relax in. It doesn't matter if you're at the bar, watching the docks, or trying to hide from Zeff in one of the cupboards in the pantry: Sanji is squatting down and grunting as he shoves himself in right next to you. He sits criss cross, only satisfied when at least one of his knees is resting heavily over yours, and he has full access to watch what you're reading over the side of your neck.
He only fully settles, though, if you touch him in some way. He genuinely will begin mewling once your hand reaches over to brush your knuckles over his jawline, or your hand finds itself guided to bunch itself up in his hair. One time, he guided your hand into his lap, and you began to absentmindedly stroke your pointer finger along the seam of his inner thigh. Thank goodness you had your head buried in a book one of the pirate crews had come to swap some dried meats with you for, because it took every muscle in Sanji's body twitching: every finger clenching and unclenching into his knee until he drew blood not to knock you flat right there and then and kiss you like there was no tomorrow.
He gets a MASSIVE nosebleed - so gushing, in fact, that he tries to reassure you he's fine as you hold him by the elbows and lead his tilted back head and pinched nose down to Zeff for some help.
It becomes a very major recurring issue every time he looks at you. He makes sure to carry a handkerchief in his breast pocket from then on.
God, if he didn't love you more than anything in all the seas. If you weren't the only one that he let see past his charming nature: if you weren't the only person left in his life that truly could recognise the young boy left in his eyes, in his gait, in his smile, in his dreams. That little kid on that great big ship, the one who had found you stowed away behind one of the barrels of rum, and instead of calling for the crew had taken your trembling hand and led you into the kitchens, introducing you as his newest sous chef. That same kid, who stood beside you and held your hand so gently, so heartbreakingly gently under his as he guided you through lessons of chopping onions and sautéing garlic, breaking out into long strings of rushed, praising French every time you got it right. The same one, who would frown as if he were the one who had been hurt any time you burnt your hands or sliced your fingers. Who would unravel the knot at the back of his apron, and tug it over his head to carefully place it over yours.
'This always brings me luck', he would say as his fingers daintily tucked the strings underneath your shirt collar. 'But I don't need it anymore, because you've brought me all the luck and happiness a man could ever dream of, my cherie.'
The same kid who would tip toe out of his bed to sneak down to your hammock, crawling in and burying himself underneath your blankets where you slept in the brig, telling you fantastical stories about his mother until you fell sound asleep. He would watch you from where he lay on his side, hands folded by your head, as if you had hung every star in the wide skies. He would brush his fingers over the edge of your cheek and curl up beside you, wishing that every minute of every day of the rest of his life could be spent with you.
Yeah, smitten wasn't enough to cover it. Only destiny could be raw enough to draw the two of you to each other, Sanji always thought.
As teenagers, you would end every shift outside, sitting on the wonky boards of one of the jutted docks. Just sitting side by side, as you always wanted to be, pretending you weren't playing a game of chicken as the two of you teased and pressed and glanced your fingers over each other's, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Sanji always appreciated the better chance it gave him: shrouded in naught by wisps of moonlight and the rare flashing neon of ship string lights, to take you in as much as he could. You didn't mind the fact that he spent the whole time staring over at you. In fact, if you hadn't been so lovestruck, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that always seemed to pour out of his eyes and beam only on you. It always felt like warm sunlight, sitting next to him, and so you finally dared a chance at grabbing his fingers and intertwining them between your own, pretending it was because of the sea chill spraying a fine mist over your legs.
Again, the squeeze he gave your hand was almost, almost imperceptible, but you felt it this time. And you could feel the look of enduring devotion he pierced into your skin, a warm tingle washing like a spring tide through your tired body.
He always knew. He always knew that if he had stayed on that rock, he would have been content to. Happy, even. Because he would have been with you.
'I love you', he said without words. He gave your hand another squeeze. 'I'm going to love you forever. No matter how many lifetimes. No matter who I am. I'm always going to find you, and I'm always going to love you.'
His voice nearly made you jump, surprising you at how it started with his usual buttery smoothness, before cracking with a thick gulp as his words trailed of. 'Never leave without me.'
'I promise, as long as you don't leave without me.'
He shakes his head. 'You never leave me. Not even for a moment.'
Sometimes, when the two of you are older, he still comes stealing into your room at night, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as his lips wobble into a frightened frown. Turns out, as he draws the covers back and comes reaching in for you, he had another nightmare that pirates had come to steal you away from him again. With an aching sigh for how stricken he looked, how desolate, you let him claw at your shirt and bury his head into the side of your neck until the rest of the world melted away.
He kissed you again, that night. When the feel of his legs strewn familiarly between your own began to burn against his skin, and the weight of hand perched over his thrumming heart became too heavy to bear in secret. With nothing but the light streaming like shards of pearly stars through the porthole to betray a moment so special, so longed for, Sanji let his eyelashes flutter close as he slowly... slowly pressed his lips against your cheek again.
This time, his eyes widened in shock as the feeling of your hand gripping at his jaw and turning his face straight on to your own. Before he can even open his mouth in confusion, the sweet pressure of your lips pressed against his top one. For a moment, Sanji doesn't move an inch: doesn't even breath, not even processing that the thing he’s spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he found you on that boat was actually happening, right here right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own.
When he finally pulls away, he lets out a loud 'OW' as he pinches his arm.
'What did you do that for!?'
'I had to double check this wasn't a dream, my sweets!'
And then he's on you again, like a ravished man gasping for air. God, he wasn't sure if soulmates were real, but when your top lip pulled down against his, and he could feel the thud of your heart synch against his own beneath the tips of his fingers, if he didn't know that he was yours.
He stays in your room a lot more often after that, using it as an excuse for you to help him button up his shirt during sleepy mornings, smiling at the feel of your fingers as they knocked against the muscles of his chest. It was also his favourite part of the day - the good morning kiss the two of you shared before you raced down to be at your shifts before Zeff decided to knock your heads together.
One time you forgot to give him one, too distracted by one of the sous chefs busting into your room with a bloodied nose and a chipped front tooth, whistling through the gap as he begged you to come down to the main foyer and help him break out a fist fight that had started between two gangs of rival pirates. The pout on Sanji's face that day was enough to make even the most bounty-heavy pirate's knees tremble. Every other chef steered way clear of his station, watching the arch of his back and the jaw in his muscle jump as he busied himself by frying his steak of tuna, so gutted at the loss of just one kiss. Not angry, no: just grief stricken, because this man seriously just adores you that much.
When you finally get your lunch break, the first thing you do is throw your napkin down on the kitchen ground and grab Sanji by his suit collar, enjoying the surprise tilt of his head as he drops his spoon onto his serving tray and allows you to lead his feet backwards to the fire exit. As soon as he's outside, you slam him gently against the wooden beams of the Baratie restaurant, and kissed him silly to make up for it. His look of trusting confusion suddenly melt into jumping heart eyes when your knee slides up between his thighs to try and pin him in place. His breathing comes out in harsh, shallow gasps between ferocious kisses, and you have to press him back against the wall every time he comes arching forward to follow your head for even more kisses. No, this was about you making him feel good. And by goodness, as your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips and tentatively ran over his front teeth, if he wasn't two seconds away from falling to his knees right there and then.
When you let him go, he slides down the wall like putty until he's sitting with legs stretched out and both his suit and hair a ruffled mess. He's literally never been more deliriously happy in his whole life.
Your favourite time of the day is when the restaurant closes, and the two of you finally have the kitchens to yourselves. Once you've tossed your aprons back onto the rack with a tired sigh, the only thing that can cheer you up is the sound of Sanji kicking his chair back with the toe of his shoe, and the sight of him beckoning you over to him with that tilted head and pearly beam of his. Mmh, how safe you feel, how loved as you collapse down to sit on his knees, and he tucks you in between the brackets of his arms in a vice so tight it could match any Marine knot.
You take one of his hands off the pen he was holding, turning his palm round to face you so you could fiddle with the rings he was wearing. You draw one up, curling his finger before your eyes, before slotting one off and sliding it onto your own ring finger. It was the one his father had given him: one he so loathed to wear, and yet felt guilt bore down too heavily on his conscious to ever take it off. You turned the one on top of it, one you know Zeff had given him after his first day working at the Baratie, and you smiled at the memory.
'You know', you start, still fiddling with his hand, feeling him shift his thighs as you pressed a gentle kiss on the pointer finger you were currently grasping onto. 'I may just have to keep this one.'
'Oh yeah?', he says dreamily, and you could feel his grin growing as he hid his burning face in the nape of your neck. 'Don't worry sweetheart. One day, once I find the perfect one, I'll give you a ring of your own.'
The two of you sneak out and share cigarettes out the back door a lot, where Sanji steps forward and kisses you like a man possessed every time you pinch the stub from out of his mouth and draw it along your bottom lip teasingly. When you try to get him to go back in, he just wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you around to stop you from leaving him alone. Laughing, you try to shove him off, swatting at the hands that form a tight clasp over your belly button, until his large fingers finally slide down to hold your waist. You glance behind you, smirking at the way his eyes are tightly shut in euphoria as ducks down, chest nearly enveloping in his desperation to reach your face again. His kisses become sloppier: smoke stained as they leave wet trails up your jaw, before he finally gives in and tries to make you laugh one last time by nibbling at the lobe of your ear.
Whenever he has a fight with Zeff, you have to hold him afterwards. The feel of your fingers curling the hair at the nape of his neck, or rubbing soothing circles into the sore muscles of his shoulders stops the furious darts of air from flaring his nostrils almost immediately.
Man has blaring heart eyes 100% whenever he's in a fight with rowdy customers, and you get to kick the flashy knife out of the last one's hand before the pirate could launch straight for Sanji's neck. He tilts his head at you with those amazed eyes, a gentle smile growing almost shyly on his face like a secret wink, before he throws his now empty plate at the pirate trying to sneak up behind your back. The crash echoes out through the booth area, a cry so furious: so full of rage that anyone would try and dare hurt you, that it makes all the remaining pirate crews crawl out towards the door on their hands and knees.
Stitching each other up afterwards is a motherfcking mess though, that Zeff straight up just abandons all hope of being able to use his kitchen. With a defeated rub of his pounding temples, he lets the door slam shut on his heel because he just can't deal with the two of you. He'd much rather pick up a brush and start sweeping bits of crushed and splattered asparagus off the floors than have to watch you to battle it out in a stiff competition of who could be more sickeningly, maddingly in love with the other. Between you standing between Sanji's entrapping thighs, closing you in tighter so you could have full access to kiss his bobbing Adam's apple as you use a rag to swipe bits of dry sauce off his neck, and him throwing his head back and whimpering, Zeff was going to go insane. Even worse, as soon as you're finished, Sanji's reaching between your fingers to lick split consomme off your nose.
The two of you are literally insufferable, and if every one apart from Zeff doesn't find it the cutest thing I-
When Luffy comes and wrangles Sanji into joining his crew, the chef's first thought is to be distraught. He seeks you out straight away, nearly breaking some poor fisherman's pole as he tries to hurdle over it and grip onto your shoulders, making you drop the barrel of dried meats you were carrying from Luffy onto the planks and watching Luffy nearly dangle off the edge of his ship to stop it from rolling into the ocean.
'Y/n- I- I can't go!'
'You're hardly scared!'
'I'm not scared of going, I'm terrified of going without you!'
You let him pour his heart out for a moment, before stopping his rambling, near sobbing mess of a sentence by bopping the tip of his nose. You giggle, swiping some hair from his forehead. 'Sanji, Luffy asked me to come first. I promised I wouldn't go without you, and I meant it.'
You manage to unlatch his twitching hand from your left shoulder, and give it an almost imperceptible squeeze. The tears that threatened to fall from his eyes finally cascade down, although he's so relieved that he's smiling through the blurriness. You swipe them away with your free thumb, finally, after all these years, feeling the squeeze of your hand that Sanji gives you back, before he envelops you in a breath taking hug.
'Awww, you guys are so sweet!', Luffy calls out from where he's hanging by his sandal off the railing of his ship. 'But could someone give me a hand before my hat falls into the waves? That would not be very cool.'
The first thing the two of you do once you're on The Going Merry is to find your bunk. Sanji isn't very subtle when he kicks your door shut with his heel, and comes scampering towards you like an upended sand crab, pinching for you until he's hefted you up over his shoulder and has unceremoniously landed you in your shared hammock. He's quick to jump in, straddling you as the hammock sways back and forth with the commotion.
He nearly starts crying again when he sees a flash of silver poke out from underneath your neckline; he grazes his hand over the chain, recognising it as his father's ring you had taken months ago. The one he had hated so much. The one you had tried to save him from. A small piece of him. A weight you tried to bear for him. A reminder of how much he was loved.
A confused Zoro, not realising there are new crew members on board, follows the sound of Sanji's voice crooning out how much he adores you, and how he loves you more than every star in the sky, down past the window on your bedroom door. Let's just say, he's not very impressed when he catches sight of the hammock swinging wildly from side to side, and an array of clothes thrown out and discarded in a mess around it.
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