Ive Been On A Killer Kick Lately And Just To Let You Know Once I Found This Fick I Absolutely DEVOURED

Hours in the Kitchen are Spent Warmer With You

Worick Arcangelo x Reader x Nicolas Brown

The apartment may be old, the halls run down, but even with the two of them in the cramped kitchen with you, it filled your heart with incredible fondness.

The pan sizzled threateningly as you dumped in the vegetables, water from those and your hands making the oil pop as you hissed and jerked back. On the other stove top, a second pan held cutlets of chicken being seared into golden brown. The knife in your hands glinted as you brought it down on some mushrooms, clicking your tongue in annoyance as the dull blade made a mess of your ingredients. You’d have to ask Nic where he left the whetstone again, but for now, they’d have sloppily cut mushrooms in their vegetable. And considering they weren’t the ones cooking, they had no right to complain.

Dumping in the mushrooms with the other greens, you gave the pan a few good shakes with one hand while the other went to lower the heat. Busy with your one-man show, you missed the racket of the door opening and Nicolas and Worick’s arrival as the latter announced their presence home. Seasonings were just about to go into the pan when you sensed someone popping up right behind you, just before a warm breath ghosted over your ear.

“Boo.”

The wooden spoon in your hand cracked over a mop of blonde hair, instincts faster than reason as your senses kicked into high gear at the perceived intruder. It hit you a split second later as the blonde stumbled back with a groan, clutching the spot on his head where you struck him.

“Worick!” You exclaimed, part exasperation and part mortification.

“Oi!!” he grunted. “Why did that hurt so much?!?”

You weren’t quick enough to dodge as he grabbed your wrist holding the spoon, inspecting the utensil in your grip.

“Let go! The food’s gonna burn!”

“Don’t use it as a weapon next time!”

Baring your teeth at him, you kicked his shins. “I’ll take a chunk out of your arm next time, yeah? Maybe that’s better.”

Your vision was obscured as Worick planted his open hand onto your face, trying to push you back. “You wouldn’t. How else would I—Ow, what the hell!”

You stumbled as Worick yanked himself away from you, a grossed-out look on his face as he held up the hand that was over your face just moments earlier.

“You bit me!”

“I warned you,” you muttered, turning back to the stove andflipping the chicken breasts.

Seeing Nicolas at the edge of your vision as he entered the kitchen, you quickly stomped twice on the floor, drawing the Twilight’s attention as he picked up on the vibrations. After resting the spoon on the counter, you signed to him, “Food’s almost ready.”

He grunted an affirmation, expression moodier than usual as he pushed past you and Worick to head to the sink, turning on the faucet and sticking his head underneath the water. You watched the occurrence in slight bemusement before turning back to the food, slapping Worick on the hand when you saw him reaching for the spoon. With the other two, considerably larger males here with you, it was hard to move about without knocking elbows, and you began to get irritated at the two of them so close right after their jobs.

Seeing the blonde trying to reach for the pans against, you haphazardly threw back an elbow in his direction (which he, unfortunately for you, dodged). “Piss off and get your nasty fingers away from the food. You absolutely reek right now.”

Worick let out a sad groan, pouting at you. “Will it be done by the time I finish washing up?”

Pausing, you gauged how much time would be left for the other side of the chicken to brown. “Yeah. Especially if Nico’s showering ahead of you.”

The blonde did a one-eighty as he turned around to catch sight of the back of Nicolas’s head as he disappeared around the corner. “Hey, no!”

His clingy presence evaporated from your side as he ran after Nicolas. Muffled thumping reverberated from where the two were, before the slam of a door closing echoed somebody’s victory. The vegetable medley was just barely soft, so you dumped in the marinade for it. You heard the clinks of utensils being set out behind you before Nicolas wandered into your peripherals, taking the pan with the chicken breasts and giving it a cursory jiggle. Nudging him away before he could ruin them with his cursed ability to scorch food, you took up the entire space in front of the stove.

There was a pointed huff behind you before you felt Nicolas press into your back, his head coming to rest on your shoulders as he leaned part of his bulk on you. He was careful enough not to use all of his weight, moving when you did, and feeling the vibrations as you hummed a soft tune you liked. After one hand was freed and clean, you reached up to run your fingers through his short hair, nails scratching his scalp the way he liked.

Nicolas’s chest rumbled as he practically melted into you, the Twilight going soft in the only way he would with you and Worick. You grimaced at the thought of sweat and other post-assignment muck on Nicolas rubbing off, but with him clinging to your back like this, you doubted he would listen if you told him to back off.

Steam from the rice cooker buffeted your face as you lifted the lid, mixing up the fluffy grains within it before shutting it. You gently pushed Nicolas out of your space to plate the food, the sautéed vegetables and pan-fried chicken being separated into three portions, with the biggest going to Nic to compensate for his increased metabolism. You nudged your elbow into Nicolas’s midriff to separate him from you, motioning to him to get the food. He peeled himself off of you with a grumble and went to take all the plates before you could, lifting them over your head when you tried to reach for one. The two of you shuffled over to the old wooden table taken from the curb that served as your dining space, its mismatched chairs pushed neatly in. Nicolas already set out cutlery for you all, and now, he placed the food in their designated spots.

The sound of the bathroom door opening signaled that the other male had finished his shower. True to word, he wandered into view a few minutes later, hair still dripping lightly. He perked up at the sight of you and Nicolas taking your seats by the table and adjusted his eye patch as he hurried to the same.

“Hell yeah,” he groaned, sliding into his seat. “Thanks for the food.”

You hummed picking up your fork. To your left, Nicolas was already stabbing into his portion of chicken with his own utensil. Rapping on the table with your nickel, you signed to Nicolas, ”Where did you put the whetstone?”

Nicolas stilled, mouth partially open and food halfway to his mouth. His eyes flickered away from you for a quick second, guilty. Narrowing your eyes at him, you hoped that the pressure of your stare would cause him to cave. But he simply looked away, the bastard. You huffed and returned to our meal, determined to pry the answer out of him later.

“Nic lost it.”

Worick’s answer jerked you out of your meal again. Nicolas continued to eat, pretending as if nothing was wrong. Reaching across the table, you took hold of his ear and tugged. Though the Twilight was much stronger than you, he relented and leaned over with a grumble as you forced his attention over. “That’s the fifth time, Nic! I swear, the corner shop clerk thinks I’m a weirdo by now! What the hell do you use it for because I know you don’t use it for your sword!”

The Twilight stuck his tongue out at you.

“We’ll grab a new one!” Worick quickly intervened before you could lunge across the table.

“You better,” you muttered, returning to your meal, stabbing the vegetables a little too viciously with your fork. “See how easy it is when it’s your turn to cook when the knives are dull as shit.”

“But you did so well,” Worick said. “I think Nicky can agree.”

He pointed over to the Twilight, who was cramming the last bite of chicken into his mouth. Nicolas sensed the shift in the air and paused, glancing up to meet your eyes, his cheeks puffed out from the food. He squinted his eyes, a challenge for either of you to say anything. While he was distracted, Worick snuck some of his vegetables onto the unsuspecting man’s plate, shooting you a wink behind Nicolas’s back. The dark-haired man was none the wiser as he turned back, only doing the briefest pause before resuming his meal. You and Worick did the same, the space settling into something quiet, only broken by the sounds of cutlery against cheap dishes.

Nicolas was the first to finish, and you passed the remainder of your food over to him. He took that too, and you got up, ready to clear away the dishes before Worick tutted.

“Sit down,” he instructed, leg hooking over your chair leg and tugging it in so you were forced to lower yourself. “Whoever does the cooking doesn’t have to do the dishes, remember?”

He shoved the last bit of food him his mouth and then stood up, gathering the utensils while Nicolas stacked up the plates. You tilted your head in curiosity as Worick passed everything to the other man, and then split off to go back to the living area. The squeak and rattle of water in the sink behind you was Nicolas’s presence, while the rustling of plastic gave hints to what Worick might be doing. You didn’t need to wait for long as he wandered back, a cheeky smile on his face as he slid back into his seat.

“Nico and I swung by the shops to get something sweet,” Worick said, waggling the brightly colored box, so out of place in the drabness of your apartment. He leaned forward to set it on the table, resting his face in a hand. “They were on sale, so we thought that it’d be a nice treat to go with the food.”

You couldn’t help but let out a good-natured sigh, shaking your head. “Of course, you’d go for that.”

Worick’s eye was bright as he broke open the seal, allowing the scent of chocolate to permeate the kitchen. Nicolas placed down a few drinks, brushing a quick kiss to your temple as he passed, and soon the crinkle of wrappers announced the treats being unwrapped. You hummed in delight at the taste of the sweetness melting over your tongue. Though the treats were cheap, the kinds stocked in bulk by the counters everywhere you went, it still warmed your heart to split the small offering in between the three of you.

Music drifted up from the street below as you three finished the chocolate, someone’s ancient stereo spitting out static-laden notes from foreign songs. The blonde perked up, setting down his drink on the worn table with a ‘thunk’. His bright gaze pinned you and Nicolas down as he stood up. “Looks like someone got their radio to work. Wanna dance?”

Nicolas marked his immediate refusal by crossing his arms and glowering threateningly at Worick. So the blonde turned to you, hand extended with a hopeful look on his face. With a begrudging smile, you reached out and placed your hand in his, getting pulled up out of your seat to stand in the small area of your kitchen. You could help but laugh as Worick spun you around, his own velvet chuckles accompanying it. The space was barely big enough for the two of you, hips bumping into the counters and Nicolas’s feet tripping the blonde as he purposefully stretched them out. Your heart felt inexplicably warm and full, Worick’s eye bright with mirth. Even Nicolas, when you glanced back at him, had a fond look on his face, a small smile as he gazed at you two.

There were pots and pans in the sink to be washed, schedules to update, and budgets to go over, but for right now, the three of you basked in the golden glow of the afternoon.

-Paper Confessions-

- Kurt Wagner/nightcrawler x Shy!Reader

- After Kurt receives two anonymous confession letters, written in slowly improving German. He comes face to face with their quiet author. -

- CW: fluff, bad German, references to insecurities, Gn!reader

The first time it happened, Kurt didn't know what to think. Messy handwriting, horrible grammar, and other blatant mistakes led him to believe the note must have been some kind of elaborate prank.

It seemed honestly quite rude, that someone he knew would go through the trouble of translating an entire fake secret admirer note into German, just to mock the idea that someone could honestly have feelings for him.

Compliments like, 'Der netteste Mann, den ich kenne' or 'der schönste Mann, den ich je gesehen habe' read as cruel insults instead of words of appreciation.

Needless to say, the following day, Kurt was visibly disheartened. You however, were quite proud of yourself. The days before, you had spent countless hours reading and practicing German, in an earnest effort to learn it.

Ever since you had developed feelings for Kurt, you had been painfully unable to communicate how you felt towards him, any attempt to have a genuine conversation resulted in stammers and awkward silences, so you opted to appreciate him from the sidelines. Spending quiet hours in each other's company.

Yet, it had been months since then, and the need to express to him how you felt was becoming too great, so you crafted an idea. You would write him a note, something truly meaningful, to get the stress of hiding your emotions off your chest, even deciding to write it in German, in order to show Kurt just how much you cared.

Your efforts were seemingly in vain however, as the first attempt went incredibly poorly, so poorly you trashed it, where without your knowledge, it managed to find itself into the hands of the very person it was written for.

Kurt had been in the library when he found the crumpled paper with his name on it. He thought it was odd of course, but figured its author wished him to receive it. He regretted that decision after reading it. A cruel insult to all the effort he had put into seemingly as kind and approachable as possible, not wishing to be seen as a monster.

You were of course, confused, when Kurt was inexplicably downtrodden the next day. Everyone could tell, yet any attempt to comfort him was brushed off. When approached, he just claimed to be tired or unfocused.

Observing this, you poured yourself into your books again. Writing, practicing, translating, anything you could do to perfect your skills. Finally, nearly three days later, you had finished your note. Imperfect, but unlike your first failed attempt, you felt confident in your progress. You slipped it under his doorway of course, anonymity was your saving grace.

Despite your original plan, you couldn't bring yourself to admit the confession, leaving it unsigned. You hoped that at least getting your feelings off your chest would help you relax.

Kurt however, was only further confused. This second note, properly addressed to him, left for him to find, was much less demeaning. Still imperfect, in fact it was painfully clumsy in his eyes, but a vast improvement. If he had read this note first, he would have been over the moon with joy. Yet, the cruel doubt etched in him from the original note, clouded his mind from the possibility of sincerity.

He thought through his suspects, Logan, Storm and Jean, seemed like obvious no's, Remy, Scott, or even Rogue seemed more likely, yet he had a hard time believing any of his teammates would do this.

Then you crossed his mind. Painfully shy, but confident in a fight, you seemed far from anyone who would do this. Yet part of him hoped it was you. That he had gotten this whole thing wrong, and that you had been secretly reciprocating his affections.

Kurt had liked you for months, after you patched him up after a seriously bad mission, he felt comfortable around you. When you first arrived, Kurt assumed you were scared of him, you always seemed to avoid him, and never seemed to want to keep a conversation with him. Yet, when he asked if you found him monstrous, you were honest. Saying that you found him quite kind, but that you simply struggled to make friends, and had been intimidated by his forwardness.

So, Kurt took his time. He let you approach first, he was constantly welcoming, and you two had found yourself in a pattern of spending quiet afternoons in each other's company. Not talking, or even really hanging out, just being in each other's presence.

That's when he developed feelings, the quiet moments you shared, seemed like the most relaxed Kurt ever got to be. You were beautiful of course, but being near you reminded Kurt of a warm blanket or a cold towel on a hot day. gentle, and refreshing.

So, that's what Kurt hoped for. That his assumption was wrong, and that you had been writing these for him. It seemed unlikely, and part of him truly believed he was wrong, but it made him feel giddy to think you could feel the same.

You, on the other hand, and only dig yourself a deeper hole. Your work was pointless, you still felt overwhelmed by your wish to confess to Kurt, and the fact that you had put so much time into trying to escape it, weighed you down like bricks on your shoulders.

"You've got to tell him properly. Right now he's probably thinking he's about to get swept off his feet by the girl of his dreams, and you're too scared to admit it's you." Jean teased.

"You're right...I know....I just can't even bring myself to look him in the eyes." You signed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.

"Then don't, hell if you don't want your work to go to waste, just actually put your name down this time." Jean rolled her eyes in response.

"Are you sure that's a good idea though? I mean I can hardly talk to him now, what if after he finds out he doesn't even want to be around me?" Jean patted your back and you rubbed circles into your temples.

"He won't. You two just need to communicate for once."

So, you wrote again. One last letter, rambling painfully about how much you cared for him. Detailing every way he made you smile. Reading it back made you want to almost vomit with cringe, but you didn't know how else to say what you felt.

So, as you had done days prior, you snuck to his room, slipping it under the door frame. However, this time, as you turned to flee, you were treated by a familiar *bamf*

"Mein freund... This was... You?" Before you know it, you're face to face with the fuzzy blue boy of your dreams.

"I... Uhm..yeah." you nod, staring down at your feet, a bright red blush stinging your cheeks.

Without another word, Kurt begins to read your most recent note. You shift uncomfortably, debating whether to run, or to freeze in place.

"You've improved quite a bit Schatz... I am glad." He looks down at you, a wide smile, and indigo blush gracing his features.

You chuckle awkwardly, unable to formulate a genuine response.

"Ich liebe dich auch." He rests a hand on your shoulders, calming your fidgeting, and freezing you in place.

"y-you.... Really?" You stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief.

"of course, meine Liebe. I have for quite some time. In all honesty, I had been wishing it was you."

Without thinking, or saying a word, you pull him into a hug. Burying your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

"good."

- end. -

Tyrant of the Laundry Room

Part of the Heart Pirates X reader series: Sanctity of Sacred Space

Laundry duty was your favorite. Though your nakama couldn’t agree.

To say you quite liked laundry duty was an understatement.

Always the first to sign up, taking the worst shifts or the day with the heaviest load, never a complaint coming from you except for the crew to take care of their clothes more.

As often as you could, you’d swap laundry duty with anyone willing on the crew. It had gotten bad enough at a certain point until Law had banned anybody from swapping laundry duty with you for a month until the redness on your hands died down. After that, he had imposed a strict limitation of how many times a certain chore could be done until the rota refreshed.

The rest of the crew never quite understood your fervor for this particular chore, as to many, this was down at the bottom of the list on how much they wanted to do it, alongside dish duty. Shachi had—the third time you asked to swap with him—grabbed you by the shoulders and peered deep into your eyes through his shades to ask if you were okay. He couldn’t believe that you simply just wanted to.

But the reason was simple.

Your passion as a tailor did not just simply end at making and fixing clothes. It extended into their care and upkeep. You knew the best way to cut linen, the specific direction it needed to reduce shrinkage in the long run. You knew how to remove all manner of stains, and you meant it. Not even the discolorations on Shachi’s hat stood a chance when you got your hands on it. 

It was the first thing you chose to learn after he died, the world opening up at your fingertips without the pressure of what you had to do. Your experience with a gun meant blood often found itself at home on your things and he didn’t care enough about appearances to bother keeping things stain-free. So as an act of rebellion, the first thing you did was to learn about clothes. The seamstresses and launderers at your old village were thrilled to have a fresh face so interested in their trade, and wasted no time in teaching you everything they knew. What that man forced you to be, and what those ladies taught you, were the only relic you had of your childhood.

And laundry duty was the one chance where you got to stretch out this knowledge and allow yourself a chance to shine.

Though, that passion tended to be a bit overbearing for those who worked with you. 

“Shachi, you don’t crank the heat all the way up for those!”

Crossing the space, you shoved yourself into the redhead’s space as you fiddled with the controls on the machines.

“You’re lucky that I caught this in time, you idiot!”

“But doesn’t turning it up make them dry faster??”

“NOT LIKE THIS!” Your screech echoed through the room. “We have fragile polyester-based stuff in there! You’re going to melt them!”

“It can’t be that bad, right?!?”

“HOW ABOUT I MELT YOUR SHADES FOR YOU TO FIND OUT?!?”

The screaming echoed through even the halls, those lucky enough to escape laundry duty with you chuckling at Shachi’s misfortune. You ran laundry day with a militant fist, hunting down those who forgot their clothes with a dogged focus. It was terrifying to get in your way, and even more terrifying to be stuck working the shift with you. No matter how much you begged, Law refused to let you shoulder the burden of washing everything by yourself. It was a well-known fact by now that your standards were hellish to meet, and you did not go gentle on those who failed (save Bepo and Law).

But at the end of the day, when the Heart Pirates received their laundry back, delightfully warm and cleaner than they’ve ever been before you arrived, they were glad that their beloved tailor cared so much.

-Listen! I’m finally better. Looks like the medicine you gave me worked. Thanks. -What a fool… No, we’re the fools.

who else hysterically cried here

this hit me like a truck

plot 150 words bed-sharing 200 words smut 800 words projecting my fears, insecurities, and anxieties onto a fictional character 9,356 words fluff 150 words someone who is good at fan fiction please help me budget my WIP, my family is dying

beach mode Killer kun 🔪🏖️

Forever love the phenomenon of people seeing the intense burning hatred Madoka fans have for Kyuubey and asking “What did the poor little bunny kitty do to deserve this?” Then experiencing the show and proceeding to want him eviscerated.