#finally...the compliments they both deserve...

in his room, he quietly jerked off the fastest he had ever in his life.

"megs!" you exclaimed when he finally came back. "what took so long?"

"i made a review for a test after i finished. sorry i took so long." he settled into the couch and let you snuggle into his side. he was grateful it was too dark for you to see the flush on his cheeks.

three days ago, exhibit b:

it was freakishly hot out for random day in spring, so megumi had brought you out to get ice cream. he picked you up and complimented your outfit, like usual, and then he noticed a new bra peeking from under your shirt. it was a different colour than normal. was it new?

"uhm...your bra is showing..."

"i know! it's the style, isn't it cute?"

cute? more like arousing as fuck! 😭✌️

"mhm. it is."

after the drive, when you reached the ice cream parlor, you ordered a vanilla cone and megumi didn't get anything. he didn't fancy sweets.

"do you want some of mine?" you offered as you sat down on the bench with him.

he shook his head, "no thanks, i'm okay."

"okay!" he didn't have to say another word before you started eating.

maybe he should've gotten something for himself. watching you lick around the cone and hum to yourself had poor megumi entranced. he should look away. he needs to look away before-

megumi's cock gave a little jump in his shorts.

fuck.

"i'm going to go to the bathroom. stay right here, okay?"

"mhm!" you didn't look up from the cone, you just kept eating, oblivious to what megumi was about to go do.

he practically ran to the family bathroom, locked the door, and sighed.

here we go again...

tonight, exhibit c:

you and megumi were up late gaming again. you both spent the evening playing a plethora of simulation games together. for a while you were on minecraft, but when you yawned, megumi offered to get off for the night. you'd agreed. after all, doing nothing all day was very tiring.

"okay, night. love you, y/n." he murmured into his mic.

"mmm...night megs..."

after the interaction, you expected megumi to end the call from his computer, you were too tired to reach for your phone. right as you closed your eyes and felt sleep overtake you, a sound came from your phone. one that sounded similar to a whimper. wet, squelching sounds soon followed.

"f-fuck," the wet sound seemed to be getting faster. "fuck- y/n you're so—mmh—so fucking pretty-"

megumi didn't end the call.

and he was...touching himself??? to you????

you were wide awake now. any attempt to sleep would be futile. knowing that your boyfriend—who you thought was super sweet and innocent by the way—was touching himself to the thought or to photos of you made your stomach flip. megumi has a whole album dedicated to you on his phone, too. it makes sense that it would be for...other reasons that aren't memories.

as quietly as possible, you dug through your blanket for your phone, and when you found it, you put yourself on mute.

it sounded distant, but you could hear megumi's uneven breaths clearly enough. you should probably hang up. but hanging up would make a sound that he would definitely hear. then why didn't he hang up properly? did he want you to hear him?

"mmph- y/n- i love you- i love you," he repeated your name multiple times with the occasional voice crack. his voice caught and you heard a loud moan that dwindled down to small pants. "fuck."

he groaned, and you could tell that one was from embarrassment.

"i'm such a mess.."

you heard sheets rumple and then a door click shut. assuming megumi was out of the room, you quickly hung up and hoped he didn't hear the sound from outside the door.

so many thoughts were running through your head, but they were all cancelled out by the heat pooling low in your stomach.

a few minutes later a text from megumi appeared on your screen.

"tonight was fun, i love you. sleep well, pretty <3"

edit: part two here

if you liked ts you might like my other megumi works !

kawaiiladygirl's note: insert funny author's note kawaiiladygirl out !

Jack is a very confident man, so much so that he almost has a cockiness to him. Whenever he entered a room it’s like a confident aura emitted from him. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s amazing at his job, people look up to him, and he’s extremely good looking. But, when it comes to you that cockiness flies out of the window. Especially when you’re both like this, you on top of him with your hands gently roaming around his top half.

You didn’t mean to end up straddling Jacks lap like this, honest. You were watching a movie with him, your legs resting in his lap and his hand placed on your thigh. Your arms were linked and wrapped around his arm as you were nestled into his side. Jack would occasionally caress your leg absentmindedly and every time you felt his bicep flex slightly. Your hand squeezed his bicep, gaining the attention of the man himself.

“You’re so strong, Jack.” you say as you feel the muscles in his bicep stiffen slightly, your comment already making him flustered.

“What makes you say that?” He asks, refusing to look at you.

“Just look at you, baby. You’ve got big muscles and your biceps alone are practically suffocating in your shirt.”

Jack scoffs at your words, still not looking at you.

Your hand creeps up to his chest, feeling the toned muscle underneath. Jack lets out a shaky sigh as he feels your wandering hand feel him up and down.

“And you’re so handsome, Jack.” You say as your hand eventually trails up to cup his face that refuses to turn to you.

“Look at me, baby.” you say just above a whisper.

Jack finally turns to you, revealing how pink his cheeks have turned. You smile before leaning up and pressing your lips against his. Jack sighs into the kiss and almost immediately slides his tongue past your lips. Your hand reaches up and your fingers are tangling in his curls. You find it almost impossible to pull away and Jack groans when he no longer feels the warmth of your mouth on his.

Jack doesn’t have time to miss you much before you’re adjusting yourself to straddle his waist, the movie playing now long forgotten. As soon as you’re sat in his lap you let out a small giggle.

“You hard just from me kissing you, old man?” You say with a teasing tone as your hands cup his face.

Jack stammers out some smart remark but you cut him off with another deep kiss. His hands find their way to your waist and his hips buck up to grind against you. You pull back and let your eyes start moving down his body.

“Can’t believe you’re all mine.” You state as your eyes come back up to meet his.

Jacks face is turning pink again.

“You’re so big n’ strong n’ handsome, Jack.”

You know the effect your words have on him. This isn’t the first time he’s been a blushing, stuttering mess underneath you. You loved praising Jack for this exact reason. Yeah you loved complimenting him because he deserves it, but you also selfishly love how sheepish it makes him. Knowing you’re the only one who gets to see this side of him fuels your ego.

“Look so handsome when you’re underneath me like this, baby.” You coo as you feel Jacks hands begin to get warm against your exposed skin.

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.” Jack chokes out as you lean forward and place kisses that trail down his neck to the collar of his shirt.

“Take this off for me, please, baby.”

He groans at your use of the word ‘please’ and he obeys.

Your lips continue to trail down his chest and then to his torso as your body moves with you until you’re on your knees between his thick thighs. You pause kissing his warm skin to undo the button on his pants and start sliding them down his legs. Once he’s in nothing but his boxers, you squeeze the flesh of his thighs and look up at him as you say something about how good he looks from this angle. You tell him you could stare at him all day from between his legs and his head falls back against the couch. You place slow kisses to his muscular thighs, lightly nipping his skin as you make your way closer and closer to the fabric of his thin underwear. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers before looking up at him again, his face coming into view as he raises his head again.

“you gonna let me take care of you, baby, hm?” You say, batting your eyelashes as you gaze up at Jack.

Today had quickly gone from good to awful with just the turn of a page, and it was all your fault.

What a horrible situation.

There The Pierrot sat, beside you on the bleachers of his empty red tent, eyes wide and confused as you shook under his judging gaze.

How could you do this to him? How could you be so insensitive?

Especially to the only person who would listen to your artistic ramblings so intensely that it almost made you blush. Pierrot was so kind and caring. He didn’t deserve this. Especially not from a fellow artist…..a friend.

So here’s the situation: you love the arts.

 You love drawing, painting, and often admired crafting as well those who could dance. So, it was no surprise that you adored Pierrot’s work. His grace and talent. It honestly floored you whenever he complimented your own paintings. I mean….why? How could he think your meager doodles could compare to his precisely cut flowers and hypnotic dancing?

You were nothing, he was everything—it was clear.

There was even a day where you had let this slip out. Where you told him how inadequate you felt compared to his skills, but Pierrot, sweet and caring as he was, stopped you with a firm grip on your shoulders and kind eyes.

“You’re simply perfect as you are, my dearest,” he whispered soothingly in your ear that day. “Please never doubt your talents, your work shines brighter than any sun.”

It was then that the clown went from your artistic acquaintance to a close friend.

From that point on, Pierrot made sure to stop any and all discouraging words you’d let slip out. And he certainly wouldn’t allow you to feel intimidated by his abilities, nor compare them to your own in a negative way. The clown’s kind comments seemed to quell the self-deprecating poison that rested like a dirty puddle in your mind. Firmly, you decided to repay him by being more confident in your own art while being more encouraging of his.

And even though the ending to his rather macabre performance at The Circus of Freaks, the first time you saw it, was clearly…..not to your taste---it was the dancing that drew your eye. Oh, the dancing was something else entirely. Even when The Pierrot came to check on you after said show, seeing you leave in such a shaken state with worry in his golden gaze, you immediately burst into rants of joy regarding his shadowy performance despite your fear.

Wanting nothing more than to focus on the good instead of the bad, just as he taught you.

Your eyes reflected his in euphoric glee while asking pressing questions on how and where he learned such beautifully hypnotic movements. Though the clown was vague about the origins of his dancing skills, you gathered, at least, that he was self-taught. Another thing you made sure to tell The Pierrot how amazing he was, each and every time you saw each other, much to his outward joy as well as embarrassment.

Pierrot was so interesting, proficient, and sweet.

Your heart leapt whenever he showed you a new movement or paper concoction.

His creations and overall presence made you swoon with each encounter.

And now….you ruined it.

All of it. Everything.

Pierrot continued to stare at you, eyes wide and shaking as you lowered your head in shame. He sat so close to you, as he often did, but you could tell….or rather, just know….there was no way he’d ever want to spend time with you again after what you did.

How could he?

How could anyone?

Now that he knew your darkest secret, it was all over.

A shame considering that today started out so well with just the two of you hanging out in his large and now vacant tent. The memory of which entered your worrying mind like the hum of restless waves in the sea.

It was in that moment, you began thinking back….fondly… of how it all used to be, mere hours ago:

“Yes, just like that,” your then excited voice echoed softly. “Thank you so much for this Pierrot, you’re a life saver.”

Pierrot’s smile grew wider at the compliment given. Though despite his external glee, your eyes focused intensely on capturing his legs and arms via pencil on the paper pad resting in your lap; all while the clown bent over in a dramatic showman’s bow, just for you. The mist of an early winter morning coldly crept inside the empty tent you two occupied. Despite this wind however, both you and The Pierrot were perfectly comfortable in the warmth of each other’s presence. With a heavy coat on and thin gloves, you still managed to sketch the performer’s lithe form with fervor. Pierrot was your willing and eager model; posing every which way your artistic whims desired. All within his vacant red tent, containing only the two of you and some target dummies the clown used to practice throwing knives at.

It wasn’t every day you had the opportunity to draw a circus tent, let alone its performers.

So this was something special indeed!

As an artist, you were expected to make anything and everything at a moment’s notice. Magically, we creatives are always expected to know how any place should look (even if we’d never been) and then, with the flick of a wrist, bring it to life on the canvas in a way all could understand and appreciate. Unfortunately, such an idea proved to be difficult to achieve without proper visual references at hand. A problem which presented itself when you needed to know what the inside of a circus tent looked like for a client’s picture they’d commissioned you to draw within a limited time-frame.

Luckily, the day The Pierrot came into your life, paper rose in hand, managed to be a blessing in disguise. An answer to your prayers of visual references and poised clowns. You recalled once more, while then sketching the diamond-like patterns of his hat, the false flower the red performer gave you that night in the café. Marveling at how neat the cuts were, how crisp each fold was, as well as the strangely deep crimson paint used to make it pop.

When asking the then silent clown if he created this treasure himself. His nod made you gasp and a spark suddenly turned into a flame.

“Ah wonderful! A fellow artist after my own heart!” your eyes brightened as he nodded again, blushing even harder at that comment.

As expected from this revelation, you began to gush with Pierrot about your passion, to which he listened so intensely that it almost made you blush in turn. It was rare to meet another artist in person, outside of a school or something, let alone one so talented. Naturally, you were excited! Pierrot’s skills both fascinated and humbled you. What luck to meet another like-minded artiste this night, and a clown of all things!

It was only a matter of time before Pierrot asked about your own work, and while you were eager to show him, there was also a sense of dread when doing so. Compared to The Pierrot who could dance like a swan and turn paper into marvels of nature, you felt rather….plain in comparison.

Until, of course, the day you showed him what you could do.

Oh, how his grin grew as wide as an ocean. Golden eyes like twinkling stars the day you handed him one of your many sketch books. Your ego was well fed from Pierrot’s whispered compliments and reverent praise. Perhaps it was vanity that made you trust him more; we humans are such simple creatures after all. Still, you ended up showing the clown new thumbnails every chance you got and asking if he could pose whenever needed (much to his outward joy).

Though the number of hidden pages in your sketchbook implied your interest to be far deeper than pride.

But enough of that. That’s not relevant at all. Clearly.

Basically, your routine began, for over a few weeks now; that the two of you would meet up daily. Usually at a park or in the café where you worked. During those intimate times, you would get to draw the red and gold clown who had a smile as bright as the sun. Pierrot’s eyes always glued to your person and pencil as he eagerly posed for you.

Though today was special.

Today you were inside The Freak Circus during the painfully early hour of 3am, all to draw your favorite clown in his element. After shading in the last bits of his dark pants, you immediately flipped the pad over with a proud grin to show your devoted model the fruits of his labor.

“Tada~” you nearly sang while making sure to keep your voice lower, as per the clown’s request.

Standing up from his original bow, Pierrot eagerly walked over with a skip in his step. Sitting next to you on the empty bleachers as you continued.

“I feel like I really understand the pose now! The arms always tripped me up before, but it looks great here, right?”

As though you even had to ask, Pierrot vigorously nods with an increasingly reddened face.

“Seriously though,” a grateful sigh escapes as you lower the sketch book, “I really do appreciate this. I’ve gotten so many great drawings of you and this tent. It’s really going to help with my painting, but….I hope this is all, you know, ok? Me being here I mean?”

He nodded happily once more.

Knowing truthfully, it wasn’t…

Not that Pierrot wished to ruin your good cheer with such grim facts, of course.

When you first mentioned the other day about needing some references of a circus tent, the silent clown was more than willing to oblige. Anything for his dearest! Unfortunately, at night with such rowdy crowds, even the best camera could only capture so much of the interior amidst all the chaos. Thus, Pierrot snuck you in  today, sometime earlier. Making sure to surreptitiously avoid the other spectrum of tents in order to make your wish come true. Knowing well, that it would be a few hours till The Jester and others would wake up for their morning duties.

So yeah, Pierrot told you it was fine as long as the two of you were quiet and kept the lights low.

Plus, there weren’t any pink-ticketed victims nearby, ready for either devouring or relocation, for you to accidentally stumble upon. At least not today. So as long as you two were quick and quiet, Pierrot felt the danger of being caught was worth the effort.

Besides, there was little he could deny you, especially when looking at him in such a way.

So appreciative and admiring of his work.

The silent performer’s heart swelled at your continued smile, beating faster and faster, while remembering the way you idolized his shadowed movements the first time you saw him dancing. Mesmerized. Enraptured. Your lips parted so temptingly, cheeks flushed like the blooming of a dew covered pink rose. Pierrot could almost not believe what he was seeing that day, wondering if it were a dream, a trick.

Yet your words…your golden, lovely words, sent him over the moon that night.

Regularly, it seemed you both fed on each other’s compliments like thirsty horses to a trough. Two people who rarely felt that their time and effort in their respective crafts were of any worth; yet, in each other’s presence, the things you both did felt as valuable as polished platinum. Never before had Pierrot felt so proud of his skills until you showed an eager interest in them. Your innocent, wide gaze as the clown demonstrated how to make a swan out of paper, one sunny morning, was forever etched in his fractured memory. Oh, how cute and yielding you looked; it took everything in the clown not to carry you away that very moment.

“It is of no consequence, my dearest one,” Pierrot’s deep, rasped tone assured. “Everything is…taken care of.”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward in a polite grin, noting his cryptic answer but unsure of how to respond to it. There were times when Pierrot was an open book while other instances not even a rebus nor codebreaker could make sense of him. Sadly, he was being the latter right now, but what else could you do? You trusted the clown to fulfill his promise when you asked about seeing the empty tent to get visual references for a personal project. Hell, you even went to bed early to make sure you’d be fully alert for this 3am excursion—and, like a genie, Pierrot granted your wish with performative ease.

 So, you supposed, there was nothing left to do but trust him still. I guess?

“If you say so, Pierrot,” you gave an incredulous reply while maintaining a strained smile. “Either way, I’m super grateful to you. I’ve gotten so many fantastic sketches of both the tent and your dancing in here. Seriously….Thank you so much! I can’t wait to show you the final product when it’s ready! I hope you’ll like it!”

You began to flip some of the pages of your sketchbook as Pierrot leaned forward, looking over your shoulder, eager to take a peek with a slight tilt of head.

With a cat-like smile you asked him slyly, “Curious now, are we?”

His grin matched your own, quickly nodding as he often did.

“Ok, you can look, but they’re rough so don’t judge too harshly, ok? I swear I’ll fix them later.”

You then handed over the book, happy to hear what Pierrot thought. Any and all critique was welcome in your eyes, especially from someone as skilled (and complimentary) as he.

Though a sudden thought entered your mind after letting go of said book.

It came like the force of a truck hitting a squirrel the moment he took it from you and began opening its pages.

At first……….you hadn’t realized….

No….The truth was, you hadn’t remembered.

Remembered until now, that is, what else was inside your precious book of dreams and rough ideas.

It wasn’t until the clown began flipping a few more pages, with innocent glee, did you finally recall why this specific red sketchpad of yours was one The Pierrot should NOT ever see the contents of.

Though before we get into that, dear reader, you must understand just one more thing.

The Pierrot’s form molded to your art style like the soft edges of clay in skilled hands. His form came across so unbelievably well when he first posed for you, that something ended up….happening…after you drew him for the first time.

A feeling, an urge, began to take over.

The contours of the clown’s face and body seemingly flew out of your pencil like a flock of birds at the slightest sound. Even after Pierrot needed to leave each day, likely to prep for his show, you still continued to draw him. Needed to. Referencing the pictures you made earlier. Though it was easy to copy his visage from memory alone.

So then, you drew another image of him and another again.

And even more than that.

For over a week now since the two of you had been meeting up for this, you had been drawing the Pierrot even when he wasn’t around----dozens upon dozens of times. Far too many sketches of your new companion were littered in that cursed book and now…… he would know.

Dread piled up in the pit of your stomach as you noticed the way his face changed with each flip of the page of your red sketchbook; smile growing gradually smaller, gold eyes focused, less dilated.

In a panic, you vainly attempted to reach out to stop the clown, but it was too late.

He saw.

Saw that page after page were sketches…..of The Pierrot.

At first there were only two, then four, fourteen----and then forty, etc. etc.

Soon, it became clear that nearly half the book was filled with meticulously drawn images of…

….him.

And now, we’re back to the present, dear reader, where life was terrible and you had ruined everything.

Wow, you were FUCKED.

It was one thing to obsessively draw something outside of yourself, like a favorite character or celebrity. Someone or something that you’d likely never get to meet, either at all or for no longer than it takes to get an autograph. But this? You felt awful, like a creep. Truly, you’d meant to ask his permission ages ago on whether or not it was ok to paint him in your free time, but now it was too late.

You didn’t mean for it to get this way. Didn’t want your new friend to ever find out, but Pierrot was just so wonderful to draw, so fluid and fun, you couldn’t help yourself. There was something about his style, grace, and overall persona that made you want to put pen to paper. All to see what he’d look like in a certain light or in a different pose. It went on, that you simply became curious as to how he’d look from the side, or the back, or standing far away passing out flyers……unable to see you.

You craved drawing him, needed to.

It became an obsession.

Clearly, The Pierrot would never look at you the same way for this creepy behavior.

You just knew it.

In a panic, your hand splayed across the pages he was looking over and the clown’s unreadable gaze finally met your frantic one, blinking.

“Pierrot, I’m so sorry!”

The silent performer lowered his hands with a downward tilt of his head, as though confused by your words. Taking a deep, nervous breath, you eventually found the courage to continue.

“I-If I’ve crossed a line or made you uncomfortable…then---Wow, I’m so sorry--Crap, I-I--!”

As your scrambled brain attempted to articulate what you really wanted to say, The Pierrot just stared at you more befuddled than ever. The torturous awkwardness only grew in the circus tent you both occupied like creeping mold in a basement. Suddenly, another, stronger wind rushed through the entrance of the vacant tent as you backed away from the clown, hands no longer on the sketchbook. Rubbing your arms, you looked away from Pierrot while still sitting on the bleachers, in utter shame. This whole horrible situation made the world feel as though it were spinning, and the wind certainly wasn’t helping.

Though the sudden gust did distract you from how your mysterious friend was processing all this.

There The Pierrot sat next to you still on those cold bleachers, holding your sketchbook in his clawed hands as though it were as fragile as a porcelain dove. Seemingly confused, at first, by the sheer number of pictures of himself. Wondering silently as to how you were able to draw him when he wasn’t present for most of these pictures.

Then the clown parted his lips.

Breathing harder. Pulse racing, eyes widening--

--As he finally realized.

Pierrot’s smile returned tenfold, eyes shimmering like traffic lights in a jam. All this and then some lead The Pierrot to visibly shake.

An act which only caused dread to pile up in the pit of your stomach at the sight.

Oh, how he must hate you! Look at how he’s shaking from sheer terror! Smile or not, that was just The Pierrot’s way after all. Anyone could plainly see his discomfort towards what you’d done now! Especially as he went so far as to potentially break the rules of his workplace to bring you here so early in the morning. Oh, you felt awful, like a creep. A horrible, shameful, wretched thing.

No sane person would find this charming.

Obviously.

Pierrot, of course, saw everything he’d been hoping for since the day you two met in these sketches, but your teary and frantic gaze simply confused him. Why did you look so worried? So sad and panicked? All he could see from these drawings were your confessions of love. Of wanting to know him, be with him.

To the clown, this was clear.

Surely, you understood?

Mechanically, the silent performer continued to flip the pages of the sketchpad, despite your pleas. If there was one thing Pierrot was familiar with, it was how deep the admiration of another could consume someone whole. How such feelings took over one’s days and nights where all they could do was dive deeper. Willingly drowning in the unforgiving ocean that was true love—Oh yes, The Pierrot was intimately familiar with what you were going through.

And he thought it beautiful.

These images you made….. they captured so many angles of him with such expression, it honestly made him dizzy. The way you drew his eyes changing size and depth depending on mood, the detail in each bit of his costume down to the stitch; long, silver hair peeking through an oversized hat---all these things made with such care, such love, that Pierrot began to blush once more. As he often did.

Just then, your hand covered the page he was currently looking over as it had before. The action causes him to face you while blinking innocently.

“Seriously, Pierrot,” your voice shook in fear, “I just think you’re really cool. An amazing artist and friend! I just….I don’t know—crap…!”

The clown continued to blink at you, though his gaze softened in growing understanding as you went on.

“You’re just so cool and I like drawing you.”

Pierrot knew this, he saw it, he loved it!

“I should have asked first, I should have! I just—I don’t know….”

Couldn’t you see the beauty in what you’d done?

Your devotion and obsession made him feel more wanted than ever before. The sight of your sweated brow baffled him. How could you be plagued with worry? Wondering endlessly if this twisted love would be returned. However, it was because of this reaction that the silent clown truly felt you two were connected at this moment. Connected in the conflicting desire to be accepted, combined with the dutiful burden of appearing as, what human society deemed, normal.

“Please don’t hate me!”

The pleas from your delicate throat made the red clown’s heart leap towards you at that. Golden eyes growing so wide at your words, those awful words, heart clenching in empathy. Hate you? What a concept, an impossible and horrible thought! As though The Pierrot could ever feel anything but love towards someone as sweet and kind as you. But your words were familiar despite the absurdity of it all. How he often felt this, knew this; worried you would hate him too for any little misstep as your kind often did. Pierrot stifled himself in more than just his voice, and now he saw….

…You had done the same.

Suddenly a loud snap echoed throughout the empty tent as the clown closed your sketchpad harshly. The noise caused you to stop your frantic ramblings for once. Listening. Now alert.  

“No,” his voice was firm.

Seeing your shimmering gaze fearful to meet him, Pierrot in this moment, felt he understood you in ways no one else ever could.

“My dear one,” the clown then placed his hands over your shoulders (book tucked under his arm) not yet touching as though you were made of precious glass, “I am so delighted you wish to draw me, but please do not distress yourself.”

Your head snapped to him at that, looking at the clown incredulously.

“You…you don’t have to say that—“

“I must,” he leaned forward, noticing with an internal glee at your blushing face, but managing to keep his words clear and comfortable for your sake. “Because it is all true.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but a long clawed finger stopped you, “My angel, you must know that your drawings are very much admired, wanted, and….loved? I have told you as much, haven’t I?”

Pierrot’s sharp senses, never missing a beat, measured your shaky breathing. Taking care to not push; not to alert nor overwhelm too soon. You were a deer in a brush. Any little thing could set you off in this moment, and no one was more keenly aware of this than a hunter. And oh…Pierrot was a hunter. So, the clown took his time with you, his precious and adorable prey; his everything.

To put you at ease.

“L-Loved?” You asked with such a tremble in your voice, The Pierrot nearly lost himself in it.

Almost drowning as narcissus did in that oh so tempting lake.

“Yes, very much loved,” he pleaded, hoping you’d see. “So please, do not be sad, my dear. I would be honored if you continued to draw me.”

Then, his voiced lowered like the heavy metal hook of a crane:

“As much as you desire.”

At first you wondered if you heard him correctly. After all, Pierrot’s voice was often low and at times hard to understand (though in your defense, the clown could be quite cryptic with his words). Yet now, in this empty tent, he was as clear as a bell. Regardless, you could hardly believe the, usually, silent performer’s eager acceptance of your obsessive behavior. It just didn’t make any sense. Though the earnest looks in his glimmering eyes convinced otherwise.

Meeting him head-on, you felt the need to ask once more, to make sure, “I—and just like that, you’re ok with me painting you? So many times? Even when you aren’t here to pose for me? Sorry, yeah, it’s just, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this….”

With a joyful and wide smile, The Pierrot pulled back holding the sketchbook in both of his hands, presenting it to you finally.

“Not at all, in fact,” he started with some hesitation, “I think it’s beautiful.”

You blinked at that, unsure how to respond.

Thus, Pierrot continued, “It pleases me that you are so inspired by my appearance, dear one. Most would be afraid or full of hate at seeing someone so….unlike themselves. But your pictures could never have such an ugliness to them. You are–y-your work, rather, is…beautiful.”

Your mouth parted at this, opening and closing, unsure still of what to say. The normally silent clown often had a talent of making you feel whole. Seeing your odd quirks as gifts instead of burdens. You knew it was wrong to paint someone, someone you knew personally, without their permission. It was a line that most people wouldn’t cross, but with Pierrot, he could see the beauty in what you did. He was your biggest fan, greatest supporter, and now willing muse.

A muse….oh how amazing it felt to finally have one!

That’s what this was wasn’t it?

For so long you were without inspiration, floating in limbo with your art. Forced to draw pictures you hated for money to help pay the bills alongside your meager barista salary. Now however? You had not only Pierrot’s permission to keep drawing his beautiful form but his blessing as well? It was strange. A voice in the back of your head kept poking you, saying something was wrong with this, but your heart chose to ignore all that. Meeting the clown’s grinning gaze with a smile of your own. What was the purpose of logic in the face of true acceptance? What good did it do to worry about how wrong this all was when it felt this good?

Surely, it was fine if he said so? Your muse…

You finally smiled back, placing your hands now over his on your sketchbook. A touch that seemed to make the clown pause while breathing for an instant.

“Thank you, Pierrot! You’re the best muse out there, you know that?” You giggled at his now shimmering and rapidly batting eyes which only grew wider in that moment.

“M-muse?”

You shrugged, “Yeah, I mean, I think that’s what this is, isn’t it? Cause drawing you just feels right, you know? Like I was meant to or something—Ugh sooorrrrry---That got weird again, just ignore me ok, haha!”

The clown continued to be affected, in many different ways, by your words. Ignore you? Now that was one thing The Pierrot was incapable of doing even if asked by his beloved. His heart was beating a mile a minute at this bombshell of a revelation: he was your…..muse? He inspired you? Does this mean you were meant to draw him? To love him?

Were you saying what he thought you were saying?

The joy, no, the wave of euphoria that ran through the clown’s towering body shook like the bones of an old woman. How you aged his heart like wine and cheese with every word, every compliment, and now with each drawing. The drawings of him that inspired you---fulfilled you—how he made you complete.

“So um,” your words brought The Pierrot back, momentarily, “do you wanna look at some more pictures? There are a few in the back that I think came out really well?”

He blinked at you before your voices collided in a mix of eagerness and flushed desperation:

“Only if you want, of course—!”

“—Yes!”

You both then grinned at having said these things simultaneously in silly eagerness. Leading you aside to one of the many empty seats in the red tent, Pierrot sat on your right side with an eager grin. Motioning for him to lean closer to you, which he did without hesitation, you began to recount your thought process while showing the clown more images of his smiling face. At first, you felt embarrassed when describing all the things you love drawing about The Pierrot to, well, Pierrot himself. However, the clown made sure to quell these fears with eager questions of his own.

Questions such as what made you draw him in this particular angle? How did you learn to paint with such accurate perspective? What did you like best about his costume or appearance? The latter question, you were the most eager to answer.

“Oh! Well, I think you know how much I love the bells and patterns and such,” you gestured to one brightly colored picture in the book with a smile, “but your hair is so inspiring! Incredible to draw!”

Pierrot raised a brow at that, looking at you with an unreadable gaze. Your hand then reached up towards the clown, pausing as though to ask for permission which was given with a gentle grin and slight nod from him.

“It’s just the most beautiful color and so soft,” his heart beat faster at this, smile widened blissfully at you now touching his hair. “Honestly, I thought you were lying when you first told me it was your real hair. I just couldn’t believe it!”

Pierrot gave you a funny face and shook his head, waving it off.

“Haha! Yeah, I guess a lot of people would assume that it’s a wig. Oh but um…..actually….” you stopped for a moment with a more pensive face.

Tilting his head, the clown waited for you to continue, confused at the sudden change in topic.

Biting your lip you hesitated but continued, “There was something I’ve noticed, when drawing you all this time, that I was hoping you could clarify? Though it’s totally ok if it’s too personal or something!”

Relaxing a bit, Pierrot smiled, “Of course, dearest. Anything.”

“What exactly is going on in the back of your neck?”

As though the sound of a ticking clock had suddenly echoed throughout the tent, the clown was suddenly more aware of how much time had passed. Granted, it was still very early in the morning. Even The Jester and TicketTaker wouldn’t be in this area of the circus for at least an hour or two’s time. Despite knowing this, Pierrot looked around for a moment as though you two were about to get caught.

For a rare moment since you’d known him, he was avoiding your gaze.

“I’m so sorry, it’s probably too personal like I said! It’s just, you sorta notice these things when drawing someone over and over—and you know what? We can forget about it—“

The clown finally looked forward, settling his wary gaze on the empty stage he normally performed on before replying. Still not facing you. Golden eyes calm, but sad.

“There were some people, my dear….cruel ones…”

At this, you looked at him, worried (oh how he hated being responsible for that expression on your lovely face).

“Like that guy was….the one who hit you when we first met?”

Pierrot simply nodded, still not facing you with the faded expression of a soldier desperately trying to not let himself re-live an old and painful memory. Clenching his claws somewhat to stay grounded, the clown continued.

“So I must hide the rest of my hair….Otherwise, some may take it as an opportunity to…hurt.”

The only sound that could be heard was the chilly breeze of winter, threatening to enter the tent. Air growing colder with each minute as Pierrot’s words finally sunk in for you.

It still never made sense that anyone would be so cruel enough to hurt people who were just doing their jobs. Sure, the circus was…weird…scary and such…..However, even one wasn’t in love with each and every performance the clowns put on, it was all for fun, right? Harmless.

It was just a horrible coincidence that the troupe came right before that woman disappeared.

That’s all.

“Pierrot,” With a hand on your heart, you then hesitantly asked while gesturing to his silver locks, “May I…may I see? The rest of it…I mean.”

Blinking, The Pierrot finally faced you, studying you for a moment before nodding and reaching back behind his great hat. Fingers delving underneath to draw out hidden strands, fulfilling your request.

But oh…..what happened next….

How was one to describe this? How could anyone?

You couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight. The Pierrot’s hair shimmered like moon beams across a platinum lake. Cascading down his shoulders. His hair resembled drops of melted ore from a forge when curling down and over his scarred neck as well as broad shoulders. From this, you knew that the only reason anyone could hurt Pierrot was out of sheer envy over his silver locks. He had hair only described in folktales like Rumpelstiltskin or Rapunzel but somehow the scene before you seemed even more magical than anything you’d heard as a child in those stories.

Closing the sketchbook once more, you put it aside to focus entirely on your beautiful companion. Sitting up, placing your knees on the bleacher seats, you attempted to meet his great height on equal footing. At this, Pierrot, who was still facing you, seemed surprised to see your arms out-stretched and now eye to eye. A feeble attempt you made to make sure you wouldn’t lose balance from the awkward positioning. The clown’s previously sad expression now full of worry, for your wobbling form, clawed hands kept close but not touching as if ready to cushion a potential fall. It was a kindness which caused you to blush while leaning into him.

“Pierrot, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” you could almost feel his breath hitch at the words and sudden closeness that you initiated. “I know this won’t solve anything, but…I hope it helps.”

And so now that you were tall enough to meet his eyes, something the clown so rarely experienced, you wrapped your arms under his own, hugging him. The first thing you noticed from embracing The Pierrot was how comfortable it felt despite him wearing such heavy-looking fabric. He was soft yet his muscles were stiff in this moment, from what you did not know? You could not know, of course, that it had been centuries since the clown could even remember being hugged or simply touched in a non-violent way. For a moment, his arms lay stretched out on either side of you, shaking, unsure of what to do. This was so rare, so foreign, yet warm and inviting all at the same time. Pierrot felt unworthy of such affection, no, he was unworthy…of you. He knew this from the day you met, but couldn’t help but breath in your good scent; trying desperately to latch onto something real, to know truly whether or not this was all actually happening to him.

“You can hug back you know,” your honeyed words whispered sweetly in his covered ear (now that you could reach it), causing Pierrot to shudder in your arms. “If you want, that is—oh!”

With your permission, the clown quickly wrapped his arms around you tightly, spinning you closer to him and onto his lap. Now the height difference was more noticeable again as your head was buried in his warm chest. At this new angle, you could hear The Pierrot’s rapidly beating heart like a rabbit’s quickened pace. With a smile, you rubbed his back soothingly, sighing against him as he attempted to bite back a needy groan.

As though you two were dancers, tired but willing to go on till the end of a long night, you gently rocked back and forth in each other’s arms.

Pierrot leaned down, brushing his masked lips ever so lightly on the top of your head, eyes shut. You could not feel the tender kisses he continued to place but the closeness made you feel something deeper than the relationship between an artist and their muse. The heat from your sweet clown coursed through you, burning. At this, you moved aside one knee over his lap, now straddling him. A light sigh then turned into a soft whimper as you pressed yourself against him; happy to feel tight muscle under layers of red motley. The shift in mood and sound were as loud as church bells to The Pierrot’s keen ears; all while his golden gaze now focused entirely on the angelic form before him.

Keeping you close with strong, long limbs, the clown managed to lift one gentle clawed hand to your chin, tilting it up slowly. Both of your flushed faces now in each other’s view made things seem more real than before. Sitting once more on your knees, still on either side of his waist, you propped yourself closer to his view. Pierrot gulped at your sudden boldness and heat, his other arm around you tightening, causing you to groan.

He shuddered at that.

Oh, what a beautiful sound! What rapture and bliss! And he was the cause of it.

HIM…you….wanted…him?

Pierrot’s eyes began to see nothing but hearts around your gorgeous and yielding form. To think you would be so pliant after hearing about one of his many woes. The clown would happily let all of his hair get ripped out by the scalp if he could hold you like this for all eternity. Pain, scars, and blood were small prices to pay to see your lidded, needy eyes focus entirely on him; wanting him. Pierrot had to hold back from panting at the sight, making sure to prop you up with both of his arms so that you wouldn’t feel any ‘surprises’ in his lap. His little deer, his adorable human—yet the clown had to be careful, especially now, as he so desperately wanted to lose himself in you. Otherwise, you would run---

--And he would be forced to give chase.

Though thankfully, that day didn’t seem to be today. No, for you see this day you were entirely his; sealed with a kiss. Pressing against him, you groaned in his pleading mouth, fingers gently running through the smooth strands of his hair which were thin and soft. To you, the texture resembled strands of silk, ready to be made into beautiful fabric worn by royalty. Pierrot tilted his head at the gentle touch, whimpering as your tongue attempted to polish away his woes as though he were a precious jewel once covered in dust.

Oh, how he drank every little mewl you made against him, your lips so much softer and sweeter than the most delicious treat he could think of. Pierrot’s keen mind started taking notes at how you pressed your hips against his stomach when his claws trailed down to your outer thighs. Noting with far too much drunken glee at your moans when lightly biting your bottom lip. Monstrous tongue tempted to come out, and explore every crevice inside; every secret you had. Wanting so badly to taste you, to consume and ea—love every bit of you!

Though just as The Pierrot’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, you pulled away.

Both groaning at the lack of contact, the clown vainly attempted to lean back into your lips. Though the next words out of your mouth caused him to cease such movement in the best way imaginable.

“Fuck,” you panted, face flushed, with a light laugh, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Wow.”

Pierrot’s head snapped down at you, staring with wide, hopeful eyes with pupils turning into soft hearts.

Did you really just say—? Did you—? Did you?

Suddenly a cool, powerful breeze shoved its way between you two, cooling down the heat with an unwelcome nip. The wind was so strong that your sketchpad opened up and pages began fluttering in a blur like the wings of a humming bird. Pierrot held you closer to him (not that he needed a reason) attempting to shield you from the crisp wind. Shivering against him like a small animal, you wrapped your arms around him further not seeing the darkened blush and wider smile of The Pierrot as it all happened. Finally, the wind died down, and you sighed before looking at his face sheepishly.

“Wow, uh, almost forgot it was winter, what with all the---you know?”

However….when you actually looked at the red clown’s face, you didn’t see the usual smiling, happy face of your muse. Nope. Not in the slightest. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that he had the opposite expression, though one small modicum of relief was that, at the very least, his ire was not directed towards you.

“Uh….Pierrot?” you asked with a wary gaze before you saw what he must’ve been staring at.

Unsurprisingly, your book was once more the culprit. For you see, the pages of the sketch book just so happened to turn to a very specific drawing. One that caught the red clown’s attention in the worst way and made his claws dig slightly into your hips. Not that anyone could blame him. It was, after all, an image of The Harlequin; lounging happily with a seductive smirk. His clawed hands beckoned towards the viewer which only made the red clown’s blood boil. Pierrot knew the menace eager posed for this image, waiting and wanting your attention. The thought of him in this pose, alone with you, and in such a state causes a fiery rage to burn within him. Any memory of the beautiful moment shared earlier was thrown away in favor of the envy Pierrot felt in this moment.

Biting your lip, you attempted to explain, “Ah—hah….actually, uh, forgot about that one. Harley---um, Harlequin said he was willing to pose for me so, you know---?”

Words weren’t really your strong suit. Your mother had always said this: that you were unclear, often over-explaining yourself without getting to the point quick enough; blaming you for every little misunderstanding in a conversation because you said ‘to who’ instead of ‘to whom.’ Phrases like these made you move to the other side of the globe just to be able to breathe properly again. Regardless, your mom’s words haunted you while staring at The Pierrot’s current, almost vexed, state. Wanting nothing more than to say the right thing. Do whatever you could to bring back his sweet, smiling face. The face that inspired you in the most creative ways.

The face you loved despite never having seen its full glory before.

Love is a complicated thing, like a rubix cube where sometimes you could solve every single side of the shape except for one little mis-matched square getting in the way. For Pierrot, the frustration he felt in that moment was equivalent to that feeling of frustration after hours of work. Today had been perfect, thus far, it really was bliss until this little snag appeared. As usual, the red clown had some trouble quelling his rage, though he did his best for your sake. Claws at bay, strained by your hip but making sure never to dig any deeper. It was second nature for him to do this. To hold back. But now he did it for you. 

Always for you, with purpose.

Pierrot’s eyes then blinked, fingers twitched, even as you placed your delicate hands on his shoulders, breaking his concentration. The soft feeling of your touch made his golden eyes now stuck on you: the object of his desire, like a man dying of thirst suddenly spotting an oasis. Silently he looked at your awkward face, pleading, wondering, and needing you to save him; knowing of course, that you would. 

Still…….there were doubts. Horrible thoughts and fears that stabbed at his mind like a pitchfork into hay.

Why did you draw his rival in such a pose? Surely Harlequin tricked you? Right? Yes. That must have been it. He must have forced you to draw him. Oh, what a horrible cad---a dastardly devil---awful—no good PIECE OF—

“Oh hey!” Your heavenly voice cut through his unbridled rage like a knife through a cake. “I have an idea, one sec!”

With that, you got off of The Pierrot’s lap, taking your sketch book with you. For a moment, the red clown panicked, worried that you were about to leave. And so soon---without another kiss? Would he ever get a kiss from you again? Oh, how could he ever live without your soft lips against his? It was too much to bear. Pierrot then reached towards you, ready with an excuse, a reason, something to keep you with him if only for a moment longer—Jester and his rules be damned. He needed you---he had to have you again! Please don’t leave!

However, no such words came out of his mouth, especially after your very odd request left Pierrot stumped:

“Can I borrow one of your throwing knives? I promise I’ll give it back.”

Suddenly, all the rage and fear left the clown’s fragile ego in favor of staring at you. Eyes big and wide in confusion with the tilted head of a cat trying to understand his owner’s command.

You giggled at the expression, “Come on~ I’ll be careful, trust me.”

With a wink and soft smile, Pierrot’s heart swelled with joy once more. It was strange again for you to ask; he was yours and you had proven to be his. A familiar blush rose to the clown’s face and only a second after he nodded did reach for your desired object.  Pierrot handed over a single kunai from his pocket which you took immediately while thanking him happily. After, you practically skipped towards one of the many training dummies in the tent, sketchbook in hand. Pierrot then stood from his seat, worried that you would hurt yourself wielding such a sharp knife but the tear of a page brought him out of his concerned state. You then stabbed a piece of paper ripped from your sketchpad right onto the target. With a wide grin, you motioned him over, ready to see what you were planning.

Pierrot cautiously walked over the lower seats of the bleachers towards your eager and waving form. His face then went from confusion, to surprise, to a wide smile all in one until he was finally by your side. Another blush ran over the red clown’s cheeks as he began to process what you had just done. What you had done….for him.

“Tada!” you said in a flashy voice before moving away from the target with jazz hands.

Stabbed onto the bullseye, was your drawing of Harlequin. Kunai right between his eyes. You then smiled at Pierrot, before looking at your watch with a light shrug.

“Sooo….. since it should be like thirty minutes till the rest wake-up,” your eye brows wiggled towards the red clown and the target. “How about a little demonstration of your other skills, Pierrot? Maybe even a lesson?”

A wink was then given.

Such a strange gesture that Pierrot had never really known or understood outside of the literal handful of movies he’d ever seen. It was a cute gesture, wasn’t it? A…..flirtatious one? Surely it was? Of course. Oh. OH! Of course it was!

Now he understood.

Like a new lightbulb screwed in a socket, the red clown brightened up. Part of him, naturally, kept tabs on the time—knowing that you two were cutting things close. That this morning’s blissful activities and revelations would soon come to an end. For now, however, his attention was on you. So then, the clown smiled, nodding eagerly; nearly gasping as your soft hands grabbed his own. Eager to learn a skill the monster had honed for centuries. Eager to know him.

Oh, how Pierrot’s heart soared that day.

Things were so wonderful really that a lingering doubt entered the back of his mind like the ones you revealed to him about your artistic skills. A dark cloud the clown immediately pushed away with so that it wouldn’t, couldn’t ruin this beautiful moment. “Well?” you tugged on his arm once more, pointing at the image of The Harlequin still impaled onto the target with a mischievous grin. “Come on, teacher---show me how to stab that olive ogre. I know you wanna do it~”

Pierrot then did something unexpected. So strange and wonderful that it threw you off guard. He laughed, or more accurately he chuckled. It was so soft, so sweet a sound, that you almost felt like an audience should have been around to see such a wonderful spectacle. The Pierrot’s hair swirled, shifting around his chuckling form like the impressions of a leaf in the sand. It was sweet and smooth, you could almost taste it. In fact….you wanted to taste it---taste him.

“But,” Pierrot protested with some worry, “my dear one, it is your picture. Are you sure you want to use it for this? It will be torn apart.”

With a quick wave of your free hand you scoffed, “Nah, it’s fine. Besides, the eyes are uneven cause Harlequin kept moving—he’s the worst model honestly, not like you~ My perfect muse.”

Pierrot stood still, stunned, and burning for you. Hand still on his own, you then pressed yourself against his heated body. Leading the clown’s clawed appendage to rest on your waist while tilting your head to meet The Pierrot’s great height. With a low, sensual voice, you urged him on:

“So, how am I supposed to position myself, sensei?”

You could feel Pierrot’s chest, now against your own contract itself upon your words. A rare, but playful smirk showed itself on your face at the clown’s stiff reaction.

“I mean,” you licked your bottom lip, still grinning, “how am I supposed to position myself….to throw a knife?”

Golden eyes never left your own, at least not until he could see your tiny pink tongue stick out in the most teasing way possible. In that, The Pierrot was hypnotized. His brain rattled, fuzzy, almost trying to figure out the best course of action in this moment. Oh, how he wanted to react! To do something you liked, to do so now! To keep you. Make you stay.

If only there were a way for this all to last.

But instead, Pierrot panicked…. unfortunately for a few beats too long before you began to worry.

“You know—no pressure,” you coughed, unconvincingly while trying to pull away from him in sudden embarrassment. “Only—uh---if you want to.”

Though The Pierrot wouldn’t let you pull away, not with his hand still in yours now holding tighter. With the confidence drudged up from years of repressed desires, he gave a hard tug; one that made you stumble back into his arms. Arms that now held firm in a confusing combination of comfort and possession. Looking down at you, the clown leaned forward and whispered hotly over your trembling lips. Eyes like targets on your beating heart.

“I do want.”

His teeth then bared, almost a hair away from you. Sharpened and ready to bite. For most, this would be a deal breaker. A time to say: ‘You know what? I forgot that Jaws is my least favorite movie and I have no interest in trying to hook-up with Free Willy’s cousin—Buh-bye!’

But instead, you were into it.

Oh….like…..you were way more into it than you ever thought.

After having drawn The Pierrot all this time it was easy to see that his teeth were not normal. Part of you rationalized this as part of the circus act. Some really cool make-up/costume design techniques that even a fellow artist would struggle to tell from reality. Still, the clown’s teeth always seemed to mold with him. Never impeding his speech nor puffing his cheeks as most cheap halloween fangs would. However, The Pierrot did often refuse to eat in front of you so---yeah….of course they were fake….he just wasn’t allowed to take them out cause it was a pain to have to put them back in before a show.

Mhmm…

Sure….That’s gotta be it.

Still hot though.

And that last thought made you want to smack yourself, even as The Pierrot’s other hand rested on your waist, turning you around slowly to face the target. The clown’s hot breath kissed your cheek, then ear, and now to the back of your head. Now resting against his chest, you trembled as one clawed hand began trailing up your side. Slowly. Carefully.

Gasping lightly as Pierrot’s claws raked over you, crawling slowly up to your stomach then over your bicep, you almost forgot where you were. Should you have been able to see The Pierrot’s expression you’d have see how much the clown was in love with you. How much he desired everything that you were. Especially so as his other hand guided your pelvis back into him. His body felt hot despite the winter air; you resisted the urge to grind back into him---wanting so badly to hear how the clown moaned. Would it be deep? Light? Or guttural? Wondering still if perhaps he could make a sound so beautiful that it’d rival the light chuckle played earlier. Oh, how you wondered, wanted really, to know---needed in fact--

Suddenly the feeling of metal in your hand brought those horny thoughts crashing like a wedding cake down a flight of stairs.

“You must hold the knife like this, my dear,” a soft, deep voice instructed while curling your digits over the covered blade. “Then…you may strike.”

“OH! Ah--! Yes!” you almost moaned—God how embarrassing!

Pierrot was a creature of prey, as such, he knew how you felt in this moment and oh did it please him. Your sweet, simple reactions made him want to take you right here and now in the middle of his stage. How poetic would it be though? To be deep inside you, performing an act of love on the very platform where hundreds came to watch. The idea was so tempting that the clown began to drool, but---no. No, for your sake, he had to hold back. Plus, there wasn’t much time left and as much as Pierrot wanted to continue—to feel you---he had to make each moment count.

So, since you had asked for a knife throwing lesson, well, he was certainly more than willing to give it.

Releasing you, just for a moment, the clown encouraged your first throw. There was now a simple, innocent smile on his face concealing the darkened urges within. The shift in tone was such a surprise that you almost whined as he moved away from your now cold, needy body. Internally however, Pierrot noted the way you reacted to his absence. Relishing almost sadistically at how you seemed to want him as close as he wanted you. His heart beat faster, even more so, as your arm reached back, knife in hand, ready to throw it as instructed.

Perfectly as instructed, really.

Oh….you were so good at following instructions---the clown just realized….

That was….useful to know.

The thought ended up distracting him until Pierrot heard the ‘thump’ of a blade connecting to the target. With a giggle you pointed happily at the target, noting how the kunai hit the top half of Harlequin’s hat. You then jumped up and down, proud of your little achievement. It was such a cute sight that Pierrot could not help but join you in the exuberance. Hand in hand now, you tugged on him eagerly, spinning round and round in childish glee. Immediately thanking the clown and asking for him to teach you once more.

With kind eyes, The Pierrot was, as always, helpless to refuse you.

“Of course, my dearest,” he laced his fingers in yours. “Nothing would bring me greater joy.”

The rest of the time you had left together was spent learning how to throw knives at Harlequin’s face. A perfect day really, as far as The Pierrot was concerned. His golden eyes shone brightly as you attempted to replicate his techniques. You even cheered as the clown threw three knives in a row on the menace’s drawn eyes. Pierrot puffed his chest, proud of course at that one.  Effectively, the paper on the target was shredded to pieces—barely any trace was left of the drawing it once held. A goal, The Pierrot was happy to have accomplished.

Your laugh and gentle touch on his claws only added to the silent clown’s incomparable joy.

“Wow uh….that was so much fun, but maybe don’t tell Harlequin we did this,” you chuckled. “It is a little mean…”

Pierrot didn’t think it was, but he could deny you nothing. So he simply smiled and nodded while staring fondly at your hand on his. Still, all good things must come to an end as they say and it was soon time to leave your little cozy honeymoon suite. Knowing that The TicketTaker and Jester would be coming by this area soon, The Pierrot, with your help, made the tent as it was when you two arrived. Reaching out, he held your hand with such tenderness that simply didn’t seem possible given his claws and imposing size. The red clown was a gentle giant, one who led you through the circus, secretly and quiet with the soft steps of a preying lioness. You looked around frantically, keeping up as best you could.

It was risky, after all.

This was his job, and Pierrot was willing to get in trouble for you.

The thought made you feel guilty when he first suggested coming here, but the red clown was just so determined to please you that it was hard to say no. He knew how badly you wanted to draw him and the tent. The images and memories made today were some of the best you’d ever known. A light blush creeps on your face as you two finally make it to the entrance. Looking up at the tall clown, still holding you near, with grateful eyes. Pierrot was so sweet, so kind…..he even forgave you, no, rather he encouraged you to make even more pictures of him. All of this felt like so much—so beautifully overwhelming like hands curling just an inch or two from your throat.

“It should be safe now, my dearest,” Pierrot leaned over to whisper.

You blinked, looking around to see you were now outside the circus, back in the city that was still waking up. A yawn threatens to rise out of you before you push it back, though it seemed The Pierrot noticed and gently placed his free hand on your shoulder.

“I know you have the day off but….I hope you are able to get some rest and,” he paused, “—and—have pleasant dreams…?”

You smiled at that.

Taking advantage of him being so close to you, his face right against your ear, you simply turned your head to him—lips now brushing against his masked cheek as you whispered back.

“I most certainly will, thanks to you, my muse.”

With a quick kiss and a squeeze of his hand, you let The Pierrot go. Walking towards home while giving a promise to see him later; barely noticing how his figure leaned towards yours, desperate and hungry. His body attempted to pull you back like a magnet to a pile of coins. Pierrot’s face was struck in awe only to break out into a large grin and reddened cheeks.

His eyes now rolling to the back of his head as a clawed hand slowly reached up to rest on his face where your lips once were.

You kissed him…..twice…..

But why?

A lingering thought betrayed the bliss he felt now. It oozed into him, disassociating his tether to this world with the unwanted feeling of static cling. Is he reading you right? Are you truly interested? Oh, why does his brain keep envisioning you two together---in bed---in rapture? But just as equally, he sees you in the kitchen with him, baking a cake. It’s shaped like a heart but when split in two it has buttery cream inside. The taste is sweet, but overwhelming, yet it could not compare to your lips. Your lovely, soft lips. A thought which made Pierrot tremble and fall to his knees, only when your body was out of sight of course. He sat there, fingers on his lips, tracing the remains of your saliva that he hoped were still there.

It's strange being in love, isn’t it?

Or at least, what he knew was love.

Our minds are odd, aren’t they? Clouds as thick as cotton candy become the edges of a television set of our imagination. Deluded fantasies playing on a screen showing how our lives would be together as lovers, even if you’ve only exchanged a few words in reality. Even before Pierrot knew your name, he knew SOMETHING was there. Something deep, carnal, yet real. Most people try to quell these feelings. Know that it’s too soon to think about how the other person would look in the morning, disheveled, and raw–eyes only for you. Especially as the clown had thought about it before even knowing your name. Thoughts about how he wanted to be your lover, your friend, and the only person in your life who mattered. Pierrot’s mind did what all of ours do when you just discover a new love---jumping ahead of all the awkwardness and dilly-dallying that came with the very human concept of ‘dating’ to a time where saying ‘I love you’ would become routine.

Why go through such frivolousness of ‘will we/won’t we’ when Pierrot already knew? When you did too.

The silent clown then finally stood up, finding a steady posture only after wiping some left-over drool on his face. He had to be composed now, cool and calm. The type of person you would feel comfortable around. Though The Pierrot knew this would not last long for he was only so strong. Your declaration of love today was real, palpable even. He still felt your lips on his own; a phantom touch which served to drown Pierrot’s thoughts in a downward spiral of tongues and spit that beat even his best dreams.

He knew then how to handle this.

It was definitive.

Decided.

You told him so with your actions.

For just as he could not voice what he wanted, you had the same trouble.

So, from this, Pierrot could read your intent—your every movement like bumps of braille upon a blind man’s fingers. The clown knew you, felt your arousal and love. He could taste it on his tongue as though it were dried honey from the edges of a jar. So what if you never confessed with words? What good were words when your body spoke the only language that mattered? Bodies were trustworthy, weren’t they? Especially when it comes to love, right? Walking now, slowly, with purpose, did The Pierrot have a mission.

He must see that you went home safely, made sure you were ok, and, if necessary, protected you the only way he could.

The Pierrot was nothing else if not resourceful. Though really, would you expect anything less from your muse? It was clear. Pierrot would take you, protect you, have you live with him; surely this would make you happy? You would be fine, you must,  you want him–you showed it-you were—

“And where do you think you’re going so early in the morning, Pierrot?”

The clown unexpectedly froze. Long limbs immediately felt far too heavy to move any further upon hearing the familiar commanding tone right at the entrance of the circus behind him.

Pierrot slowly turned to face the stalwart amethyst creature who spoke with a crooked smile.

“Jester…I was—”

The purple leader then clicked his tongue against the teeth of his mask as the once wide and brilliant smile on his face soon melded into a stern frown. 

“Ah-ah Pierrot, careful, we’re outside, you know. Though you’ve already broken several rules that perhaps you think it’s alright for one more, hm?” Jester scolded almost playfully, though Pierrot knew the other clown was not joking around. 

The Pierrot stiffened at that, fingers clenched in and out scratching the palms of his leather gloves. With his back turned, Jester began walking towards the entrance of the circus only to turn towards the red clown, his glowing amethyst eyes stared with the thin sharpness of a blade. A gesture Pierrot knew well which meant: ‘Come inside—NOW.’ So after one last glance in the direction where you left, gold eyes wide and begging, he did exactly that.

 The red clown’s heart ached at the thought of not being able to see you for some time—perhaps….not at all….A rising panic exhibited in his sensitive chest, Pierrot soon found it a little hard to breathe before forcing himself to calm down. Saying familiar mantras in his head, over and over, while remembering that Jester may be sadistic and cruel but he was rarely that way with his own kind. Yes….yes…surely it’ll be fine. It’ll be ok. All Pierrot needed to do was prepare you better, then Jester will see you and understand. He will, he must! Then–then everything would be ok. 

Ok…just fine…

Unfortunately, Pierrot’s shaken state distracted the monster far too much to notice the obvious missing piece to this puzzle as he walked almost downtrodden behind Jester’s heavy aura. A detail that had the red clown just looked to the side, even a glance, would have answered the question now burning in The Pierrot’s mind: 

How did Jester find out?

In the shadows between two innocuous tents of unimportant colors stood a figure of green and gold. A grin so wide grew on the menace’s face, teeth almost glowing in the obscure darkness where he took refuge. Hardly moving while watching The Pierrot’s shameful walk, still as a statue save for a single torn piece of paper the green clown twirled between his fingers. Paper that seemed to have a drawn figure on it; roughly done in smudged graphite, a drawing of a smarmy character which bore a similarly toothy grin to The Harlequin himself then chose to crush the torn bit of stationary in tucked between clawed hands before walking away to revel in his poisoned victory.

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

Author's Note:

He had many favourite moments with you, but the nights when the two of you would be tangled up together under the sheets were some of his favourites. It was late last night in your apartment, and the distant sound of cars splashing through puddles acted as white noise. The glow from the street lights outside peeked through the bottom of your curtains. You crawled on top of him, and he started by holding you close to his warmth. His hand gently gliding up and down your back. He whispered into your ear, telling you how much he loves you and complimenting you on how gorgeous you look.

You started to gently kiss his neck, making sure to show appreciation to all of the moles on his body, spaced out like constellations. The softest breath left his lips, his eyelashes fluttering as he entered a relaxed state. His hand slid into your hair, combing through as you kissed down his body. Your eyes flicked down to his shirt, which was slightly lifted up from the position he was in. He grinned down at you, silently nodding before your lips pressed onto his stomach, the softest groans leaving his lips. You felt like you were in heaven as you gently left little marks on his tummy. The quiet noises leaving his lips make you feel all fuzzy and giddy.

"I think you're the only person in this world that has this really weird obsession with my stomach, baby." He chuckles breathlessly, carding his hands through your hair, looking into your eyes as you finally look up at him.

"I'm glad to be the first, then. Every inch of you deserves appreciation, Joe." You grin, tucking your lip between your teeth, looking up at him with big eyes.

"And you chose my stomach out of all things?" He laughs.

"Yes. Yes, I did." You whisper, smiling up at him.

"I mean, I'm not mad at all. I'm very glad you can show your appreciation for me this way, it feels.. really good. Seriously." Joe whispers, gently brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheek, feeling the flutter of your eyelashes against him.

"I can tell." You grin, referring to the cutest sounds that leave his lips when you kiss and mark his tummy. He rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face tells you that he's really not annoyed at all.

Joe gently pulls you up and rolls you over, situating himself on top of you this time. He leans his head down to your neck, his breath tickling your skin. "Now shush, let me show you some appreciation too, baby. You've shown me more than enough tonight." He mutters, the sound vibrating through your skin, your cheeks slightly heating up.

The heat in Argentina, especially up on stage, was not for the weak. You were behind the curtain at the side of the stage, dancing along and supporting Joe at Lollapalooza. There was something in the air, warm and refreshing. Tonight especially, the crowd was absolutely electric. You absolutely loved how much the fans loved and appreciated Joe. You were so proud of him. Joe was dancing on stage, and you had no idea how, especially in this heat.

The purple lights shone down on him, highlighting all of his features. You stood there at the side, absolutely in awe as you admired him. God, he was so gorgeous. Your eyes flick over his face and down to his hands gripping onto the microphone.

He lifts his shirt up to his face, swiping the sweat away. You were internally screaming, he looks so fucking good. The volume of the crowd suddenly goes up, you're not shocked because even he knows he looks good. Then it clicks, the marks you left on his tummy the night before. You feel your cheeks start to flush, your body starting to warm up even more.

Joe notices the volume skyrocketing, and then he looks down at his stomach, his eyes flicking over the marks you had left. A huge grin forms on his face as he slowly looks at you standing at the side of the stage, giving him a soft, knowing smile. He leans into the microphone, speaking into it.

"I promise, I haven't been attacked by a vampire, don't panic." He laughs, stepping back and glancing back at you, shooting you a grin. From the sound of the crowd again, you can tell they're going insane over it. You were never going to live this down.

As soon as the lights go down, Joe is sprinting off the stage and into your arms. His shoulders are bouncing up and down, heavy breaths leaving his lips. The sound of the crowd is slightly muffled, speakers rolling down backstage, and the crew walking in different directions. Joe's head drops to your shoulder, and you can feel the moment as he grins against you. A groan leaves your lips, and you roll your eyes.

"I'm never living this down. I'm going to crawl into a hole and pretend I don't exist. Not leaving the house for the next 100 business days." You whine, sliding your hands through Joe's sweaty hair, holding him close to you despite your annoyance for the whole world seeing the marks on his tummy before.

He laughs, sliding his hands under your shirt and resting them on your back. "You're such a drama queen, baby. It's fine, I promise. I'd gladly let you add more, and I'll show them off."

"They're in such a random place, though." You groan, letting your head fall to his chest.

"And? As long as you're happy appreciating my body, everything is fine." He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. A soft huff leaves your lips.

"Are you sure?" You mumble and lift your head up, looking into his soft, pretty eyes.

"Positive, baby." He grins, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sliding his hands into your hair. "Come on, let's get you home."

Thank you for reading!! Please consider liking and reblogging, it's very much appreciated! I LOOOOOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. 💘💘

Your brain breaks.

You lunge at him without warning “Zoro!”

He turns his head, barely reacting in time before you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping slightly so you can hang off him, nuzzling your face into the side of his jaw.

“YOU WERE SO COOL!! You chopped that thing like shing shing BAM! My big strong grumpy samurai baby!”

He stiffens “Oi! What the—”

You grab his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks together like dough.

“Look at this face! So serious! So brave! So slicey! UGH!!”

You start kissing his cheeks, nose, forehead, even his frown line like you're on a mission.

Zoro is frozen. Arms hanging in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“…Did you hit your head?” he finally mutters.

“No!” you say, still kissing him “I just... I have a thing!”

“A thing?”

“Yes! I get aggressive when things are too cute or too cool or too brave! Like when Chopper does his little dance or when cats squish into boxes—and now you!”

He gives you a blank look “So… you're calling me cute?”

“No,” you say seriously “I’m calling you the cutest deadly thing I’ve ever seen and I want to eat your face in the most loving way possible.”

“...What.”

A few feet away, the rest of the crew is watching like it’s a new show.

Luffy’s grinning, sitting on the railing “He’s gonna explode.”

Usopp is pale “I’ve never seen her like that. That’s terrifying.”

Sanji’s cigarette hangs from his lip, forgotten “He doesn’t deserve that level of affection, but damn if I’m not jealous.”

Robin chuckles “So, this is what she’s like when the mask slips. Fascinating.”

Back to Zoro who now has you hanging off his front, kissing under his chin while mumbling things like “my battle bear” and “look at this terrifying angel”.

He finally puts a hand on your back, awkwardly “…You’re seriously not joking.”

“Nope,” you chirp, grinning like a lunatic “I’m so proud of you I might die. Look at you! Protecting everyone without hesitation. You’re amazing.”

He stares at you. Then down at his swords. Then at the deck.

“I just killed a sea king.”

“And it was HOT.”

Zoro groans and hides his face behind your shoulder.

Later on you’re sitting on the grass, your head in his lap, Zoro finally having managed to drag you somewhere quieter. Sort of.

He’s sharpening his swords, jaw set, pretending he’s not enjoying the way you keep sneaking kisses to his thigh.

“You done acting weird?”

“Nope,” you say, immediately reaching up to pinch his cheek again “You’re mine now. This is the price.”

Zoro sighs, annoyed.

But he doesn’t move your hand.

Instead, he glances down, and there’s a tiny hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“You better not do this in front of enemies.”

“No promises.”

“…Tch.”

You grin and tug him down for another forehead kiss.

And this time, he lets you.

── .✦ Sanji:

You’ve been good today. Calm. Collected. You kept your hands to yourself through breakfast, through a minor skirmish with Marines, and even through Sanji’s dramatic backflip dodge while holding two plates of soup.

But now… Now he’s plating dessert.

He hums a little as he swirls whipped cream into perfect little peaks.

His hair falls over his eye just a bit, and there's flour on his cheek.

You try. You really try.

But no... You’re losing it.

“Sanji—” you say, voice tight.

He turns with a warm smile “Yes, my love?”

You’re already marching toward him.

“Oh no,” he says, eyes wide with anticipation “Is it time?”

“It’s time.”

You slam into him like a heat-seeking missile, arms wrapping tight around his middle as you squish your cheek against his chest.

“TOO PERFECT. TOO BEAUTIFUL. TOO TALENTED” you shout into his shirt.

Sanji laughs and drops the whipped cream just in time to catch you with both arms.

“Mon dieu, you’re doing it again. You’re going to kill me with affection.”

You grab his face “GOOD. DIE WITH LOVE.”

You start smothering him in kisses: forehead, cheeks, chin, nose, ears, rapid-fire smooches with increasing intensity.

Sanji nearly melts.

“Chérie, please, my heart can only take so much—”

“Look at you!” you cry, squeezing his cheeks “Your stupid little smile and your perfect food and your gentleman act! You’re SO ANNOYINGLY AMAZING!”

He practically purrs “Say that again.”

“You’re the most beautiful, talented, wonderful man in the world and I want to chew your stupid perfect face like a mochi bun.”

He gasps softly “Marry me.”

“I might do.”

“Then we have to arrange it all.”

Later that evening, you’re sitting peacefully on a chair, flipping through a book.

Sanji walks past you carrying a tray of tea and pauses.

He glances over his shoulder.

You glance up.

There’s flour on his sleeve.

His shirt is rolled up to the elbow.

He’s humming again.

You’re holding it together, but barely.

He smirks “You okay, mon amour?”

You stare.

He walks closer “You’re looking at me like I’m a chocolate cake with legs.”

You slam the book shut and launch up, but before you can pounce, he spreads his arms wide like an invitation.

“Come here, ma chérie. Ruin me.”

You leap into his embrace and he spins you around, laughing as you kiss his face over and over and over.

“You’re shameless!” you giggle.

“I’m in love,” he says dramatically “If your kisses were a drug, I’d be long dead.”

“I will squish your cheeks into dumplings and feed them to seagulls.”

“Please do.”

“You’re too pretty, it’s unfair.”

“I’ll ugly it up a little. Give me a day.”

“NO! I love your face, I’d wear it like a scarf if I could.”

He fake-swoons “Do it. Take it. I’m yours.”

“Is this… normal now?” Zoro mutters as he watches you pin Sanji against the wall of the kitchen, attacking him with affectionate nibbles and kisses while he happily takes it, hands holding your waist like he’s never been more at peace.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nami says, sipping her drink “They’re like this almost every day.”

Brook hums “Yohoho! True love is terrifying.”

Robin smiles behind her book “At least it’s harmless. Though, she did try to bite his nose once.”

“She did bite my nose,” Sanji calls out helpfully “It was magnificent.”

Zoro turns away, muttering, “Get a room.”

“We have a room!” Sanji replies “We’re just taking the scenic route!”

Hours later, you’re snuggled on the couch in the kitchen, your head on Sanji’s lap, while he runs his fingers through your hair.

“You good now, love?” he asks gently.

You sigh “I think I emptied the tank.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead “You can refill it tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”

You open one eye “You really don’t mind when I get like that?”

He smiles “Mon amour… I live for it.”

You smile too “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“I hope I do,” he says “Over and over again.”

── .✦ Law:

Law is reviewing maps. His fingers tap against the table in a steady rhythm, eyes darting from note to note. His crew has just docked at a remote island, nothing dramatic today. Just calm preparation.

You're leaning against the wall, watching him.

He’s focused. Serious. In control.

You normally admire that about him.

But now?

It's making you suffer... a lot.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. He mumbles something about currents and wind speeds. His lips move with precision. His fingers glide over the paper and...

... and that’s it.

You break.

“Law” you say, voice suspiciously innocent.

He hums without looking up “Mm?”

You walk up behind him slowly. Too slowly. His head lifts just slightly, eyes flicking toward you, narrowing.

“…What are you doing?” he asks flatly.

You don’t answer.

You leap onto him from behind.

“AHHH—”

He jolts forward a little as your arms wrap tight around his neck, your face burying in the side of his head.

“YOU’RE SO SMART. SO FOCUSED. I WANNA BITE YOUR BRAIN THROUGH YOUR SKULL—IN A LOVING WAY!”

“WHAT—?! Y/N—what are you—”

You pull back only to grab his face and start kissing it in a fury. Forehead. Nose. Cheek. Jaw. Temple. Eyelid. Repeat.

“SO! SMART! AND! SEXY! AND! SERIOUS!”

“Are you having some kind of episode?” Law says, voice strangled.

“Yes,” you gasp “It’s called cuteness aggression and you’re the disease.”

Minutes later, Law is leaning back in his desk chair, defeated, while you sit on his lap like an overjoyed little goblin, hands on his cheeks, staring at him lovingly.

“You’re not supposed to be like this” he mutters.

“Like what?” you blink innocently.

“You’re usually calm. Rational. Controlled.”

“I lied,” you say sweetly “That was just the bait phase. This is my final form.”

Law sighs and covers his eyes with one hand “I can’t do diagnostics like this.”

“Sure you can,” you whisper, kissing his nose again “You just need to adjust to your new life. With me on your lap. Forever.”

He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “help”.

“Too late,” you say “I’ve chosen you.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re perfect. Look at this little line between your eyebrows. It’s my favorite. Can I kiss it?”

“No.”

You kiss it anyway.

He tries to work. He really does.

You're sitting nearby. Quiet. Reading. Acting like a normal person again.

Then Law says something offhanded, like, “The odds of ambush are low, but possible.”

You immediately drop the book.

You spin in your seat.

“Low but possible? SO. ARE. YOU. That’s you. You’re a low-chance rare-drop man. A mythic legendary boyfriend. I’M GOING TO KISS YOUR EARS.”

“Please do not kiss my ears.”

You pounce again “TOO LATE!”

You squeeze his face gently, tilt it like he’s a confused doll, and begin your assault.

He groans “This is emotional terrorism.”

“You love it.”

“…I don’t hate it.”

Later that night, you’re laying together in his quarters, the world quiet, your head on his chest. He’s stroking your back slowly, finally calm again.

“You’re weird” he murmurs.

“Yup.”

“I liked you better when you were pretending to be emotionally stable.”

You smile into his shirt “Liar.”

“…Yeah,” he mutters “I am.”

You lift your head just enough to look him in the eye “Do you want me to stop?”

He hesitates.

Then, softly “…No.”

You grin “Good. Because I was going to keep doing it anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your hair “Of course you were.”

── .✦ Ace:

Ace drops out of the sky like a meteor, lands on the deck with a dramatic crouch, and tosses a flaming Marine cannon overboard like it’s a beach ball.

Everyone cheers.

You’re already running toward him.

He stands up, beaming, shirt half open, flames still curling off his shoulders.

You throw your arms around him like a tackle.

“BABY!! YOU LIVING INCINERATOR! MY FLAMING HERO!!”

He laughs, wrapping you up tight “I missed you too, firecracker!”

You grab his cheeks.

“I am going to smooch you so hard your freckles become stars.”

“PLEASE DO.”

You slam kiss after kiss to his face, and he laughs through all of it “Wait—no, don’t stop, I’m just surprised! You’re usually the calm one!”

“That version of me is dead,” you say seriously “You dropkicked a cannon midair. I’m going feral.”

“Finally!” he cheers “Join me in chaos!!”

You bite his cheek lightly.

He gasps “I’m in love.”

The rest of the crew watches you both clinging to each other like human Velcro, nuzzling and giggling and attacking each other with affection.

“It’s like watching two puppies roll down a hill” Marco mutters.

Thatch wipes a tear “Beautiful. Gross. But beautiful.”

Ace is now spinning you in a circle while you repeatedly yell, “YOU’RE SO STUPIDLY HOT, IT MAKES ME ANGRY.”

“YEAH?! GOOD! I WANNA BE HOT FOR YOU FOREVER!”

“STOP SMILING LIKE THAT YOU HANDSOME PIECE OF SUNSHINE!”

“I CAN’T, YOU’RE TOO CUTE WHEN YOU YELL.”

Later, Ace plops down beside you, sweaty and soot-streaked after another skirmish. He opens his arms wide.

“Do your thing” he says.

You blink “What thing?”

He grins “You know. That thing. The... 'aggressive cuddles and I-want-to-chew-your-face' thing.”

“Ohhh, you want the full package?”

“Yes please.”

You tackle him to the ground instantly.

“MY BEAUTIFUL DUMB IDIOT. MY FLAMING HOT DORK. MY BRAVE EXPLOSION HUSBAND.”

You kiss his forehead.

Then both cheeks.

Then his jaw.

Then you pause.

“You smell like smoke and sea salt.”

“Romantic, huh?”

“You smell like danger and I love it.”

“I love you.”

You pause again “Ew. That was corny.”

“You just licked my face like a cat two minutes ago.”

“Fair.”

At night, lying in a hammock together, he holds you tight against his chest. The wind is quiet. The sea gentle.

He brushes his fingers through your hair.

“You really don’t get embarrassed?” he whispers.

“Not when it comes to you” you murmur back.

“Even when you call me a ‘beautiful flaming dumbass’ in public?”

“Especially then.”

He grins into your hair.

“I like this side of you” he says.

You look up “You mean the clingy one that kisses your nose in front of your whole crew?”

“No,” he replies softly “The one that doesn’t hold back.”

You smile.

“Then you’re stuck with me.”

Ace kisses your forehead.

“Good. Because I’d set the world on fire before I let you go.”

── .✦ Chopper (+ Zoro):

“Okay, next patient,” Chopper says proudly, flipping his clipboard “Let’s see Y/N, it’s just your check-up!”

You sit on the exam table swinging your legs “Yup! I’m ready, Doctor Tiny Genius.”

“I told you not to call me that” he mutters, hiding his flustered face behind the clipboard.

You lean down and whisper, “But you are a tiny genius.”

“Stop iiiit,” he whines, blushing, “I’m just doing my job!”

You watch him waddle around the room with his little doctor coat and stethoscope.

He’s so smol. So serious. So determined.

You can’t hold it.

“Chopper,” you whisper “Come closer.”

He looks up, confused “Huh? Why?”

“Come. Closer.”

“Are you okay—?”

You snatch him right off the ground and CRADLE him in your arms.

“TOO CUTE. TOO KIND. TOO FLUFFY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I’M GONNA EXPLODE.”

“W-WHA—?!” Chopper’s face is glowing red “W-WAIT! I—I’m your doctor—!”

You rub your cheek against his fuzzy face “You are my doctor AND my emotional support reindeer. Let me love you.”

“You’re squishing my antlers—!”

“They are precious and I would die for them.”

Chopper flails, but doesn’t really try to escape. He’s used to this. You do this at least once a week.

“I’m gonna tell Zoro!” he threatens, kicking gently.

“Zoro loves it. He thinks you’re cute too.”

Zoro is leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold.

You cradling Chopper like a plush toy while Chopper pretends to be mad but actually leaning into your touch.

Zoro sighs... and smile.

“You’re enabling her” Chopper says accusingly.

Zoro shrugs “You are adorable.”

“Not you too!” Chopper squeaks.

You smirk “See? I told you.”

Zoro walks over and gently ruffles Chopper’s hat “Deal with it, doc. She only does this to her favorite people.”

Chopper freezes. Blinks. Looks between you and Zoro.

“R-Really?”

You nod and boop his nose “Only the elite get aggressively snuggled.”

He goes completely red, squeaks, and buries his face in your shoulder.

“Okay... but just for five more seconds.”

You squeeze him tighter “Ten.”

Later, as you finally let Chopper go, he adjusts his little coat and clears his throat.

“I’m still your doctor” he says sternly.

“Of course, Doctor Cutie.”

“Don’t call me that! …I mean, you can, but—wait, no, don’t make it a thing!”

Zoro pats his head on the way out “Too late.”

You lean over and whisper to Zoro “I’m gonna dress him up as a little surgeon plush next time.”

Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.

He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.

He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10

Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.

Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.

He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.

With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.

He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.

It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.

His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.

But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.

Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.

His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Yearning scale: 6/10

It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.

Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.

“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”

He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.

A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.

Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.

Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.

For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.

He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.

For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.

Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice

Yearning scale: 8/10

Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.

He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.

He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.

His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.

Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.

He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.

After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.

Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.

But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.

Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!

Check out my personalised letters event <33

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!