#bc if he does it’ll make things weird

[cavillary]

“you’ve gotta find a way to make yourself a whole person.”

- my dad, when I told him I need to find a way to afford therapy and that I’m struggling.

[mars-ipan]

god i cannot wait to be off these steroids…

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

[goldeunoias]

Pretty little angel.

A/N: I like writing for Heeseung stans bc they always give me A+ feedback on the things i write so here you gooo~

“Never thought someone like you would want to do something so dirty angel,” Heeseung chuckled in your ear, rubbing your thighs as he spread his legs.

“Raise your dress up f’me and I’ll make you feel really good,” he cooed, leaving wet kisses on your neck.

You nodded in embarrassment and did so, Heeseung putting your dress in your mouth and dragging his index finger down your midline and past your belly button. You whimpered through the fabric and your legs twitched some, an amused grin coming onto his face as he drew shapes on your inner thighs leaning back in his seat some.

“A preacher’s daughter wanting to feel the pleasures of the flesh from me, I truly am thankful” Heeseung groaned as he saw a dark patch on your pink underwear, his knuckle pressing against the saturated cotton.

You groaned and felt yourself get nervous, tears coming into your eyes at the stress. Heeseung noticed and pulled your dress out of your mouth, stroking your cheek.

“What is it angel, talk to me yeah?”

You sniffled and shook your head, keening into his warm hand. “I-I’m nervous. They say fingering can break the...you know and I-I don’t want it to hurt,” you managed out, your chest rising a bit in nervousness. Heeseung hummed and moved your hands so they sat on his shoulders instead of digging into your thighs, kissing your cheek softly as he rubbed circles on your hip.

“It’s okay angel, I won’t make it hurt, just trust me ‘kay? You’re my good girl and I would never hurt my little angel,” he soothed. You took a deep breath and nodded, Heeseung grabbing your hand and letting you hold it, your soft fingertips against his calloused ones.

“Squeeze my hand to help you mkay?”

“O-okay,” you agreed. You rested your head on his shoulder as Heeseung moved your underwear to the side, a deep “shit” leaving him as his finger was met with some resistance, eventually making it past your sticky walls.

Your breath hitched and you whined into Heeseung’s shoulder, your breath getting heavy as you felt him press against your walls.

“Let me know where it feels best angel, talk me through it,” Heeseung encouraged in your ear, kissing it to push you along.

“A little higher I think,” you guessed, your walls spasming as Heeseung’s finger pressed against something spongy. “pressdownharderplease” you rushed out, feeling embarrassed at your own wants.

Heeseung could only grin as he followed your instructions, slowly pressing against the spongy part of your walls. The moan you let into his neck was going to drive him insane, ensuring you stayed turned on by messily licking the shell of your ear and kissing your neck; the places he knew were your favorite, even if you never said.

“Feel good angel? You’re rutting your hips into my hand and I only have a digit in,” he couldn’t help but tease, raising up your dress so he could have a better view of your untouched pussy being violated by the likes of him.

“Ngh, I-I don’t know if it feels good, it feels weird,” you panted out, feeling weird sensations form in your lower belly.

“Play with your clit and tits like how I showed you, it’ll make you feel even better,” He instructed. You nodded and Heeseung had to suck a breath between his teeth as you pressed down on the bundle of nerves and tugged at your nipples through your dress.

Your face was burning but you couldn’t deny how good it felt as you let a moan escape from your throat, Heeseung’s hand slowly starting to become drenched.

“I’m gonna slide another one in, let me know if it hurts mkay?” Heeseung softly whispered to you. He watched your face scrunch up as he slid another digit in, shaky whimpers leaving you as you felt yourself get stretched.

“Shit angel you’re gonna make a mess of me,” he groaned as he watched droplets of syrupy essence trickle down both his digits. “Does it hurt?”

You gulped and shook your head, your head feeling dizzy. “I mean it does...but it, ngh, feels good too,” you whimpered out placing your hands back on his shoulders and rolling your hips into his hand.

“canyousuck...on my chest please,” you croaked out shyly, lowering the straps of your dress and leaving your upper half barren.

Heeseung felt his member throb against his jeans as he watched you so bashfully wait for him to ruin you.

“What to do, I’m corrupting my pretty angel by the minute,” Heeseung groaned against your chest. You shuddered for a moment as you felt the texture of his tongue press against your pert nipple, Heeseung’s other hand that was holding your dress coming up to pinch your other swollen bud.

“H-hee my tummy feels weird, different than normal,” you stuttered out as you felt his teeth lightly graze over the sensitive flesh of your nipples, suckling it until marks began to bloom.

“It’s okay angel just let it happen, I got you, I’m right here,” he soothed as he sped up his fingers slowly but surely, his own head spinning as your gummy walls continued to flutter around his hand.

His palm now began rubbing over your swollen clit, your nails digging deeper into Heeseung’s shoulders as you felt something tight form in your lower belly.

“It’s toomuch, I-I can’t,” you panted out, biting down onto his shoulder as a dull ache sat in your belly and in your core.

He winced at your bite and knew there’d be a mark there tomorrow, pressing down firmer against your spongy walls and aching clit “Just a little more angel, c’mon give me what I want you can do it I know you can,” He rasped against your ear.

Your legs gave out from underneath you as the knot snapped in your belly, moans that you didn’t even recognize as yours leaving your throat as your walls uncontrollably pulsed around his hand.

“There you go, such a pretty girl for me,” Heeseung praised as he continued his fingers. You squirmed around in his grip Heeseung’s hand gripped your inner thigh firmly, making movement difficult as you struggled to remove his hand between your legs.

“C’mon angel that was only one, lets see how many more you can take yeah?”

*******************************

A/N: i'm sorry i can't stop writing heeseung as a mean dom i wanted to make it kinkier and make him rougher but i had to RESTRAIN myself

[atopvisenyashill]

Had some fun thoughts about Aegon’s sons while I was re-reading. This is the passage:

At the feast afterward, King Aenys compounded his misjudgment by granting the title Prince of Dragonstone to his presumptive heir, Prince Aegon. A hush fell over the hall at those words, for all present knew that title had hitherto belonged to Prince Maegor. At the high table, Queen Visenya rose and stalked from the hall without the king’s leave. That night she mounted Vhagar and returned to Dragonstone, and it is written that when her dragon passed before the moon, that orb turned as red as blood.

It’s kind of funny to me because Aenys is doing something normal - he’s just naming his oldest son as his heir (and also pointedly bypassing Rhaena as heir but that’s also incredibly normal behavior bc Westeros and Earth are a patriarchal hellscape).

But he always does shit like this. Every major decision Aenys makes is the one he’s “supposed” to make, almost like he’s following a script. The patriarch must have heirs, must make proper dynastic matches for his heirs, must support and defend his heir’s claim so the transition between their rules is smooth. He wants to live up to the legacies of both Aegon and Rhaenys, be decisive and strong but kind and charming as well, and he freezes right in the middle of the two into something obnoxious and indecisive.

So he takes the title “prince of dragonstone” a title created for Maegor by the lords and people and hands it to his son for funsies. He wants the titles and signals of legitimacy to belong to only him because he’s the first born so of course it belongs to him; that’s not just arrogance, that’s law. At the same time, “prince of dragonstone” was not an official title that Aegon gave Maegor as a sign of legitimacy, the way he tried to give Aenys blackfyre. See here:

Prince Maegor remained with his mother, sitting by her side when she held court. Queen Visenya and King Aegon were oft apart in those years. When he was not on a royal progress, Aegon would return to King’s Landing and the Aegonfort, whilst Visenya and her son remained on Dragonstone. For this reason, lords and commons alike began to refer to Maegor as the Prince of Dragonstone.

They call him that because he grows up there at his mother’s side instead of at his father’s with Aenys. And then not only does Aegon back down from fighting the Faith by betrothing Maegor to a Hightower, he is essentially rejecting this sign of legitimacy for Maegor by refusing to go to bat for an incestuous marriage that would make Maegor and Rhaena his heirs together. Maegor may have some symbols of legitimacy but they are not given to him by Aegon - he doesn't get Blackfyre or Balerion until after Aegon dies. He barely sees his father. He can't even give his father grandchildren. But he has this one thing, this title given to him by the lords and commoners of Dragonstone, the seat that once belonged to his father. And then Aenys takes that away. It’s his right! He’s the oldest son! Why is Visenya turning the moon weird colors when she knows her son is the younger!

But of course, her son is the younger because Visenya and Aegon couldn’t stand each other, and by the time they got around to really attempting to fuck, Visenya was already a bit old. And Visenya is the oldest, maybe the least loved wife, but the original, the first wife. It doesn’t matter; Rhaenys had a baby first, Rhaenys is the one the line now descends from. And her son can’t even leave Visenya’s son a silly little title given as a nickname, a nickname he earned for being Visenya’s son, always on Dragonstone with his mother and never at King’s Landing. But Aenys stubbornly ignores this because this is how he operates. They’re the ones not following the script!

It’s exactly what he does when it comes to Rhaena and Aegon marrying; it never occurs to him that people will be angry because he has the right. Never mind the High Septon making it clear he wouldn’t approve. Never mind it’ll piss off Visenya and Maegor, the only competent generals with dragons that he has bc his kids aren’t grown.

The storm that greeted the king’s announcement took them all by surprise, though the warning signs had been plain enough for those with the wit to read them. The Faith had condoned, or at the very least ignored, the marriage of the Conqueror and his sisters, but it was not willing to do the same for their grandchildren.

There’s soooo much going on here in why Aenys acts like this. It’s not just the general royal/noble “i have the castle and the swords i do what i want” but a very specific Targaryen “i have the dragons i do what i want” and an even more specific “i have the divine right i do what i want.”

He is Aegon the Conquerer’s first born son and he can do what he wants. It’s in the script his father followed when Aegon used The Divine Right Of Dragons to subjugate most of Westeros. He completely convinced himself that he is allowed to run roughshod over social norms, politics, religion, his own family’s feelings, because he is Aegon’s son.

And Maegor takes the exact opposite approach. He is Aegon the Conqueror’s second born son of his least favorite wife and he will always have to conquer like his father to prove he is worthy of doing what he wants.

It is in effect the same problem basically every Targaryen past Aegon has had. They see him (and Rhaenys and Visenya) just as godly as the people of Westeros do. They are all demi gods aspiring to the immortality of the Conqueror while refusing to see the bigger picture surrounding him which is that Aegon didn’t do whatever he wanted and he was miserable for large portions of his life which is why he was so effective as King! He’s an annoying bitch but he’s an annoying bitch who realized that the throne was not there to make him happy!! It is only when Aenys and Alyssa give him Rhaena, and a new family to love, that Aegon lives happily again.

Basically every Targaryen ruler misses some aspect of this. They focus on how he conquered with dragons so they use extreme force and forget how often he conceded, how smartly he chose to sort his spoils of war, and put their yes men in powerful positions only to watch those dudes get eaten alive by their post. Or they focus on the concessions, on the miracle of his negotiations, the myth making around Aegon the Dragon, and do reckless, foolish shit without a thought for consequence because They Are The Blood Of The Dragon.

The Dragon was a man and not a god! He died of a stroke! Not of dragon fire or a thunderbolt sent from the gods themselves. Ultimately, what was special was his ability to know when to fight and when to negotiate and even that wasn’t always easy for him, see: the dragon’s wroth. But every Targaryen after him believes in The Dragon, The God, and makes a claim at his godhood, even his own sons. And all of them fall short because of their belief in his godhood, even his own sons.

[hotluncheddie]

high masking autistic steve snippet - a follow on from this and this

wc: 2.5k | rated: T | cw: none | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie but again this is about steve), hurt/comfort, established relationship, stimming

ao3

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Steve is spending the evening doing one of his new things. Where he takes time to just be. It’s recovering, or Stevie time, or whatever Eddie and Robin have decided it should be called. 

He’s alone basically, and it’s nice, because he’s letting it be nice. Letting it be restful. 

It’s for when he’s had a meltdown. Or can feel one coming on, because now he’s starting to recognise what overstimulation feels like on his skin. How it prickles at the back of his neck if his breaks cut short, makes his vision vignette if something too unexpected happens. 

Learned that after something like that he’ll need to rest. Needs time. 

And it’s not lazy. It’s not. (Sometimes it still feels like it is.) (Weak…that word always plays in the deep, scathing tone of his father’s voice…and selfish.)  

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing. 

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space. 

He also pauses to eat the snack he brought in. Actually tasting the food bc it’s the only thing he has to focus on. No lights, no sounds. He forgot how much he likes oranges when they’re ripe. Harder to taste if he has to listen at the same time. So, on a day like today, he lets himself do stuff one step at a time. 

It’ll probably take him double the normal run time to get all the way to the end. But who cares? It’s his time. 

The weird girl’s parents driving off; that feels like him. The jock’s Dad letting him off easy; that doesn’t feel like him. ‘No schools gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case.’ Maybe that does feel like him. Before through. A long time ago now. 

He claps sometimes. Keening high in his throat, a little happy hum that he only lets himself do when he’s alone like this. He does it after he whistles the same tune they do. And during the scene of them running around the corridors. It’s exiting. Makes his lips stretch wide and his feet flap around. He claps. Once. Twice. It feels good. 

He laughs at the characters. How they merge together with bits of his friends. He feels that swell of happy sad emotion looking at the jock when he first comes in, acting above the others, only seeing Molly Ringwald. He lives through a couple flashbacks of himself. Resigns to actually watch them, sit in them, begins to process who he was. Who he’s becoming now. Something like forgiveness tasting sweet on his tongue. He cries a little; that swelling and shifting as buried emotion finally passes. It overcomes him sometimes when he lets his mind relax.. He rewinds, and he laughs. 

“Stevie?”

Steve starts, fingers tangle in the blanket in his lap. Brain slow to process the change, the information. Eddie slipping through the door and coming over to him. Eddie dipping to look at Steve’s face, trying to catch Steve’s eye. Eddie smelling like cigarettes and crisp autumn air, it’s nice, but, it’s a lot. Panic sits bubbling somewhere in him. He wasn’t expecting this. 

“…Eddie?”

“Hey sweetheart. I know you had a shitty day, but Wayne’s at home with a headache and he needs to sleep it off. Wouldn’t’ve been able to stay quiet enough for him.”

Steve breaths in and out a little quickly. Eyes wide. 

Maybe it’s okay. Eddie knows he had a bad day. Maybe it’s okay.

“I’ll sit in the kitchen, work on my campaign, just forget I’m here.” Eddie speaks quietly, almost a whisper. 

He stares at his hand in his lap. “..You won’t, listen?” Steve feels small. Knows he’s not, his frame broad and strong. But, he needs small. Wants his world small tonight, slow. Wants to stay hidden. Him and the couch and the film and nothing else. 

Eddie just shakes his walkman and smiles (in that pointy way that makes Steve’s toes curl). 

“Kay” Steve whispers, still wary, off kilter. But accepts the kiss Eddie drops on his head, tangling their fingers together for a breath. Steve leans forward for a kiss on the lips. It’s deep, and lovely. Steve can smell Eddie’s cologne. Feels where the chill bit at Eddie’s nose. He shivers.

“No cooking.” Steve mumbles while their lips are still close. Small smile pulling at his face, eyes sharp, waiting for Eddie to get it. 

Eddie groans quietly in embarrassment but his eyes are soft and molten and Steve’s toes curl up again. “Course not baby, not again. Once you’re hungry just come through, yeah? Make us something nice.”

And the light of the kitchen doesn’t reach the couch. And Eddie listens to his walkman loud. And Steve’s safe. It’s Eddie. He’s not listening. Steve’s safe. 

His favourite scene; Bender and Claire in the stock cupboard. The way he looks so shocked, the way she bites her lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’ ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t.’ Steve whispers as they do. Claps. It’s such a good scene. He’s exited. He claps again. Rewinds to just watch her face. Rewinds to just watch his. Rewinds and watches the whole scene again. Wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes. Pauses on the kiss. He rubs his fingers agains his mouth. Giddy excitement bubbles in his belly. He hums high and happy again. He loves this movie. 

The weird girl gets a makeover, the jock really likes it. He feels like the weird girl sometimes, maybe Eddie can be his jock. Maybe he should get a makeover. Maybe keep growing out his hair. Maybe Eddie would like that. 

The credits roll. Bender’s fist in the air. Steve drifts on the couch, eyes closed. He breaths deep, his stomach growls. 

He pads through to Eddie. Squinting. Too bright. “D’you mind?” He motions to the lights, his eyes too adjusted to the dark and he doesn’t even wanna try and adjust them back. 

‘‘Cause. What we making?” 

Steve hums, goes into the pantry to see what’s easy. Eddie slips in behind him, hand on his waist. “Pasta?” Steve asks but Eddie doesn’t reply, just turns him gently. Nudging him to step back into the corner. 

Eddie looks at him, dips forward to place a slow kiss on his neck. “Why’d you do tha..’ Steve’s words dry up in his throat. 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t” and Eddie’s eyes are sparking with glee.

Eddie heard him.

He listened.

Steve’s feels himself flush hot, embarrassed and ashamed. “Ah, I, uh.” He can’t explain it, why he had to watch it so many times, why it makes him so exited. He crosses his arms over his chest. Turns back to the shelves of food and picks a can at random. Shoving out of the room. 

“Steve?”

Eddie said he wouldn’t. He listened in on him. He said he wouldn’t. He’s making fun of him. Steve knew he should’ve told Eddie to go home. 

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” But Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s so angry, So ashamed, of himself. What if Eddie heard him clap too, heard him make that high noise, like a fucking baby, like some freak. 

He puts the can on the counter with way too much force, corn, not what he fucking wanted. His hands are shaking. He stares at them, wills his tears to stay behind his lash line. He got too comfortable, he can’t do that. Why is it so hard to pretend now, when it used to be so easy. 

“Steve, tell me what I did, please.” 

“‘M fine” Steve’s insides feel too big, pushing against his skin, itchy all over. He squeezes himself around his middle again, digging his fingers in hard. 

“Don’t do that, you know I hate when you bullshit like that.” Half lovely, half scathing.

The word stinks, a stab to the gut. But Steve gets it, he does, they talked about it. He bites his lip, hard. 

Its old habits or whatever. Because Steve, he loved fine. Liked sinking his teeth into it; toxic waste green coating his mouth and lungs. Thick and delicious. Because fine gets you out of it. Fine gives you translucency. Controlled balance. Everything appearing a none issue, the perfect in-between. Steve was perfect at coming off as something to not worry about, someone to be ignored. It used to work in all situations; can’t get told off if you’re fine, cant do anything wrong, teachers didn’t look twice, his parents wouldn't shout. By staying half alive, never letting anyone too close, never filling your lungs up all the way. That was the fine Steve adored. 

“You were literally just watching a movie. I dunno what the big deal is.” and there’s frustration, confusion, in Eddie, Steve thinks. He feels himself tense up, glance over.

Eddie must see something on his face. See that scared little animal prowling around within him. Because Eddie softens, his voice gentle. “Steve.. it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before.’ And Steve’s teeth clamp together with a click. He’s done that, his clap and his high hum, in front of Eddie before? Steve tries to swallow, he can’t, a lump too big and sticky in his throat.

He can’t look him in the face, angry tears still threatening to spill “You said you wouldn’t listen.” He’s mumbling. He sounds even more like a kid. Stupid. Grow up.

“I heard a little but I was just flipping the tape over, I wasn’t trying to snoop on you Stevie… You just, you sounded happy.” 

Steve huffs. Glances at Eddie. That soft underbelly of his whining, because with Eddie, Steve yearns. Yearns for close. Yearns to be seen, and understood.

“You didn’t mean to?” 

“No, it was just when I was turning the tape.” 

Steve forces a deep breath. 

“You think I’m weird. You hate me.” He whispers it like it’s true. A big part of him believes it, his tears welling up. Feels rejected. Knows that feeling too well. Hates it. 

“Always like you Steve. Always.”

Steve grunts, a tear slips out, rolls down his cheek.

“‘M embarrassed” comes out like an ugly sob. Steve scrubs his palms on his cheeks, feeling how red hot they are. Glaring at the countertop. “I’m embarrassed!” But it’s just Eddie. It was just Eddie.

Eddie comes over, slowly draping himself over Steve’s back. “Nothin' to be embarrassed about, love.” And Eddie leaves soft kisses on Steve’s neck, squeezes his waist. “You looked cute on the couch like that. Like it when you’re happy.” Steve tries taking another deep breath but it shudders. 

Embarrassed, angry, sad. Embarrassed, confused, angry. Frustrated, embarrassed. Tired. 

Emotions wash over him. He’s learning to try and just feel them, name them, pick them apart. Some bubble back up to the surface, some only needed to be seen once. 

Steve turns to bury his face in Eddie’s neck. He sighs, rubs his face into Eddie’s warm skin. shaking his head, likes how his lips feel moving against edie’s soft parts. 

Tired, hungry, embarrassed, hungry. 

“’M tired. I dunno what to eat.” He whispers, and then because he said it it’s like there’s space in his brain. “Want pasta.” 

“Pasta it is then. And then we can sleep, yeah?” Eddie rocks them gently side to side, kisses the side of his head and slips away. Goes to get the box from the pantry, puts the corn back. Steve gets a pot out of the cupboard. 

Staring into the water, the tips of his fingers prickle. Steve fizzes with energy and emotion. All pent up and annoying him. Needs it out. He clicks the flame on.  

He starts pacing around the kitchen island. In big striding, stomping steps. “Ugh! You think I’m weird. Some weird guy who acts weird and does weird shit.” Steve grumbles. Annoyed. He smacks his palm quick and hard against the counter top. Keeps stomping. 

Eddie comes back and starts following. Stomping and prancing like some court jester. “I like that you’re weird! You know, I have one episode of the Twilight Zone taped. It’s my third one. I watched the other two so much the tapes broke.’ Steve lets a little shout slip from him “Ha!” bubbly and forceful. Dislodging something within him. Like when a tooth finally falls out. 

Feels good. 

“I only like one brand of spaghetti hoops. Wayne once bought me a multipack for Christmas. Best fucking gift I ever got.” and Steve’s laughing now. Giggling and manic and still stomping around the island.

“I like how it feels to brush my teeth. I’ve never had a filling. I fucking love brushing my teeth, Eddie.” and that makes Eddie laugh now too. Two freaks stomping around the kitchen. A king and his jester, lit up by moonlight. 

Steve turns the corner and stops short, still giggling. Eddies bent at one knee, presenting the box of pasta to him. “My liege.” 

Steve claps, hums, high and keening. The waters boiling. 

-

“How’d you feel now?’ Eddie asks around a mouthful of cheesy pasta. 

Steve curls up tighter into the corner of couch, wraps both hands around the warm bowl. Glances at Eddie across from him. “Still kinda embarrassed.”

Eddie looks so soft, so kind, across from him. “I’m embarrassed too, to be honest. You love that movie, I thought you’d like me doing that. Kinda like when we, when we kissed upside-down, like I was Spider-man” Eddies sentence get quieter towards the end, mumbly, spoked into his bowl, cheeks dusted pink.

Steve strains to hear him. Smiles once he puts the words together. 

He shovels pasta in his mouth. Eyes closed. “You are so annoying Eddie Munson. Why’d you even come here tonight, you coulda gone anywhere.” Steve sinks further into the couch, it’s really good pasta.

“Missed you.” Eddie says it like it’s simple, easy, and warmth drips over Steve’s skin. 

Eddie clears his throat, Steve feels him fidget. “Wanna maybe.. You think we could live together one day? Want you to be able to do whatever you want with me around Steve. Breakfast Club on all the time at our place, kay?” And Steve’s throat constricts, that’s a big change, living with someone, moving out. But maybe with Eddie it could be okay, if they did it together, slow. 

“Yeah, kay. One day.” Softly, bit by bit. Little bits. Steve can get there. Let Eddie in, let Eddie see. “But no to Breakfast Club on all the time.” Because some times, some days, some things, are just for him. Steve needs it that way. And that’s okay. 

He stretches out further on the couch, feeling syrupy and nice, easy smile playing at his lips. “I like it when you kiss my neck though, you can do that again.” And that makes Eddie grin all pointy, put their bowls to the side and crawl over him. 

Steve’s toes curl and he hums, high and happy. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

tagging those who asked mwah! @2jug2head @lil-gremlin-things

but also people who i think might be interested (sorry if ur not lmk and i won't again) @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @steventhusiast @sugarcookiesteve @spectrum-spectre @irethsune

[deadbaguette]

I don't want to be repetitive but I love how you make the characters so tender and loving,,, so here's a weird request, do you have any scars hc? I mean, do (insert character) hide them? Or let their lover kiss and caress them? Oh, which characters I mean you say? Your pick, have fun!

It’s not repetitive at all 🥹 I love LOVE LOVE it when people describe my art as tender and loving because that’s absolutely my favourite thing to draw. But omggg scar headcannons … you just spoke to a specific part of my brain bcs I love thinking about scars, beauty marks, etc. I don’t have the time to make a fully fleshed out scar map, BUT alongside a small doodle for the character I have a definitive scar map for (Diomedes) I can share all the scars I hc and how they’re treated :D AUUGSGDH thank you for giving me the excuse to do this I always have so answering your asks <3

Scar hcs:

Firstly I think the only character I have a set in stone scar hc for is Diomedes! I draw him more often than I would like to admit, so the ones on his face are: one across his left eyebrow, one by his lip/mouth, one across the nose, one on the right cheek, one on the shoulder, one on the foot. He is the most scarred character I draw, and this is largely due to the fact that I hc him (it’s probably also to an extent canon) as reckless in battle. He’s not a pristine clean warrior, he’s all too familiar with blood and war. He carries the reckless scars he gained in Thebes with the other Epogoni throughout his adulthood, and for so long they served as a reminder of where he came from. Death and violence that’s haunted him throughout his entire life, and these scars are symbols of that. So, what’s a few more to gain in Troy? It’s not like it’ll make him look any less battle scarred if he gains a few more. He hasn’t had a good reason to care about his life until now, scars not only remind him of that but also make him feel like he can’t change it. But… I like to imagine the people that care for him (whether this be Odysseus, Sthenelus, or in an AU Penelope) treat them with such delicacy and care that it almost creates an entire other association for them. Sthenelus gently tending to a wound that will surely scar, so that when it does heal it no longer carries the association of a mistake in battle but instead a tender moment shared between them and them only. Odysseus and Penelope kissing the scars on Diomedes’ face is their favourite pasttime, because if he won’t love them (he feels indifferent to them), they absolutely will. A tender kiss to the cheek, a gentle kiss to just above his eye, a quick peck against the side of his mouth, a loving press against his nose that they would have to tiptoe to reach. Diomedes never felt any love, hatred, or feelings in general towards his scars. He never made any more to hide them, he wore what was convenient. If his new scars weren’t covered by the clothes he would wear, so be it. But in a way he’s grown to love them, or at least the memories and feelings they hold.

Will be more hcs below the cut!

Achilles is very unscarred. Like the only scar on his body by the time he was dead was the one on his heel. Patroclus is also relatively unscarred, but he has a few. There is one on his hand that Achilles loves to kiss, but like in a very specific way. I hc Patroclus to almost always the one to initiate the physical contact, and he tends to cradle Achilles’ face with his hand (literally one of my fav form of physical touch) and Achilles always leans into it and kisses the scar on his hand. Patroclus never really liked his scars, so he tends to cover them up. But I think I believe Achilles loved wholeheartedly every part of Patroclus and movements he’s spent with him and vice versa. Every scar he’s gained will have a story to tell, so even if Patroclus doesn’t show it to others, there is a story that Achilles will hear. It would be something as dramatic as gaining it in battle or something as small as “you got this when you fell from a tree? I love it.” They’re as much friends as they are lovers, and they actively choose to continue to be in each other’s lives. If this means sitting together recounting the tales of how Patroclus nicked himself carving wood a few years ago and scarred, so be it.

Hector… I need to talk about this one!!! So normal and sane about him. He’s undoubtedly scarred, what with him fighting at the front but he’s no Achilles. Hector hides his scars but not because he’s ashamed of them, it’s quite the contrary because he in a strange way enjoys looking at them, but rather that he knows it causes his family worry. Hector loves his family so much, and he sees the worry and sadness in their eyes when he comes back with new scars to Andromache. How she’ll stare at them like it’s another piece of him lost, and it won’t be long until he is wholly gone too. He hides them so she can focus on the him that’s there now, and comforts her saying that he will come back to her. When Kassandra looks at the new scars on his chest and she can’t help but sigh. She told him to be more careful, but truly in the end they’re both fighting a fruitless fight against the fates. Kassandra knows this, and she keeps count of how many her brother has until he gains his last lethal one. He’s hiding them so as to not cause his sister distress. She knows he will never believe her if she tells him what will happen to him, but she cannot help but mourn for the living man.

Agamemnon has quite a few scars. He’s the lord of men, the shepard of the people, and wealthy beyond what he needs. The scars don’t mean much to him, and if anything they’re even more a testament to his power. He’s no Achilles who can come out of battle unscarred, but perhaps that’s the difference in what makes him the leader of the Achaeans. The scars he bears are a symbol of his humanity and but don’t take away from his power and image. He SURVIVED these scars. But deep down? I do think it’s a little more complicated than this. I don’t think I’ve discussed Agamemnon that much, but I do find his character really interesting. His family name is uhh tarnished to say the least, but throughout all of it he’s had his brother with him. Agamemnon cares a lot about Menelaus, he goes to war for him, he sacrifices his daughter for him, and they endure 10 years of war together. Agamemnon maybe doesn’t care about his own, but he remembers every scar Menelaus has. Like that one scene in book 3 yk where he just starts doing all the dramatics of MENELAUS I WILL AVENGE YOU MY DEAR BROTHER and Menelaus is just sitting there… ever so slightly wounded… being like brother it’s fine and Agamemnon still goes like MACHAON DROP EVERYTHING AND TEND TO HIS WOUND IMMEDIATELY I WILL SLAUGHTER THESE DISHONOURABLE TROJANS FOR DARING TO LOOK IN YOUR DIRECTION MENELAUS. It’s just kinda silly and sweet how much he cares about his little brother. Ever scrape Menelaus got growing up I imagine it was Agamemnon tending to it, and remembers them all to prevent him getting hurt further. As an older brother, he made it his sworn duty to make sure Menelaus grew up strong and out of harms way.

[holdinbacksecrets]

Cuddling with vernon

Spending casual time with him, watching movies and eating ice cream. When you get ice cream near your lips, he'd kiss it saying "cute" It's all so sweet and lovely. Holding you, being the big spoon, playing with your fingers and hair. Kissing you hands, cheeks, nose, neck, ETC. ETC. :(

It's just so simple yet so cute

:( i love hansol so much, and he’s so boyfriend to me, but in a different way… maybe it’s all the weird in him yet he’s also so wise and i appreciate his perspective so this all just aids the boyfriend energy and the comfort that cuddling would bring

he’s definitely someone i imagine doing lots of ‘spending time in the same room doing different things’ bc he just wants to soak up as much of you as possible, and he’ll eventually push away whatever he’s been working on and capture your attention through a soft touch or call of your name. maybe he motions to your room or the balcony if the weather is lovely, and sinking into his arms is an unbeatable experience. you can feel any pressure on your bones release. anxiety in your mind is softened. your heart warms.

maybe you continue to exist in the same silence as before, just closer. maybe random thoughts are shared, interrupting the quiet peace in gentle waves. perhaps you talk for hours now, recharged by your solo activities.

his fingers card through your hair. your hand is on his chest, a leg between his own. the ceiling fan creats a rhythm that would certainly lull you to sleep if you weren’t so engaged by hansol’s words.

kisses meet your forehead. an i love you fills your ears. he tells you a story—shares a memory that isn’t in your catalogue from years ago, from those early days when you were still figuring each other out.

it’s always a strange sensation that embraces you when a loved one shares a past experience of you, coming to know about the way you’re left in another’s life, the way your energy, your smile, your gaze feels to someone else—the way it’s often different from what you imagine: oh, that’s the shape of my imprint.

he tells you about the vacation he took to see his family two weeks after your fifth date, and he talked to his sister about you in the kitchen. she’s a better cook than him, but he helped by cutting veggies and measuring ingredients. her entire face lit up as he told her about you. about the skirt you wore with oxfords and a university sweatshirt—your mom’s with fading letters and a distressed collar. about the tea you ordered but waited for twenty minutes to drink because lukewarm is better than a burnt tongue. he told her about the sun’s glow on your skin and his surprise to see your eyes stay wide open even when the brightness found them. he wondered how long it’s taken you to do such a thing—be able to handle it. he called you that night and packed a t shirt he wanted you to have and a cd too, one kept from middle school. you whispered on the phone. it’s something you’ve only done with him when the telephone rings at night. he asked you why, and you said something about a tree outside your window—staying quiet for it or else it’ll call on the wind to make its branches bang your glass. that was the moment he knew.

you peer up at him through long lashes, hazel eyes holding love and surprise and a sprinkling of awe for the man who’s nearly beneath you. he’s about to be as hands guide you to straddle his waist. hansol hums like he doesn’t understand your expression, but he does. he just wants you to say it, wants you to look at him like this for the rest of the afternoon while tracing the lines on his face.

what your heart is doing, the way it’s swelled, is sweeter than moonlight. the wanting is all over you. the wanting to know every other thing he’s kept with him. wanting to share moments your mind clutches and unravel memories, realize which are shared or only known by one. you find yourself wondering if this will be a forever routine. hopefully

[auckie]

Neil gaiman is such a fucking hack. All he does is ride off Terry pratchets coattails, gets. I really hate the word cuck but idk how else to describe the Amanda Palmer situation. Cucked by women and regurgitates that into flat one dimensional characters. Queer baits and panders to trashy online YA level drivel types. He’s the definition of the word fandom. If men like his garbage they’re always the kind of guy who has a beard and lets you know he has a beard. He probably owns a kilt despite not being remotely Scottish. Funko pop owner for sure, has a mini tardis and probably that dr who scarf. A pentagram tattoo, maybe some runes.

And like. Neil gaiman is a capable writer do not get me wrong. But his idea of creative writing is theorizing about how the afterlife is all bureaucracy bc that’s never been done by a bitter atheist. It’s always secularly Christian too isn’t it? I mean i guess that’s what he knows.

So im saying this knowing that he’s not solely responsible for it, really, and having read the comics and not enjoyed them at all but continued to have done so out of some weird sense of obligation, I’m very angry to admit that I’m enjoying the stupid Netflix production of dead boy detectives. It is absolutely a mishmash of other similar cw-type shows, but that’s just the thing. I eat that shit up. Riverdale, Sabrina, teen dramas with obnoxious editing and low brow production value. I even liked the second season of good omens despite like, hating a solid 40% of the secondary character and plot direction. It’s sorta like eating little Debbie cakes yknow? Or binging reality tv.

DBDA is better than all that, like it’s a crust above but it’s wrapped in the trappings of really shitty things, and whenever it manages to be a bit better it’ll sink a smidge lower by referencing its ilk or doing exactly what you’d expect of it.

Whenever I see the ‘two skinny whitish boys with obvious sexual tension and an annoying women in the middle’ I stop and ask myself— does this writer have a track record of making the same dynamic.

An obnoxious woman is not a bad thing. She can be a good thing even, but if she’s a mirror image of a million other toxic characters that indicates two things: projection, or a formula. Especially when paired between two male characters that clearly interact in ways that urge the audience to say ‘they should kiss!’

Then she becomes an obstacle. It’s rare for a character in this role to rise above the narrative, and even rarer for authors to try and write one capable of that.

A lot of fans will see people hating on her and cry ‘misogyny!’ Instead of asking why she was written, and why hundreds of other past iterations and future clones of her continue to be written. A similar character is the empty lesbian who stands in both popular media and fanfiction to prove that the author is not just obsessing over gay men and throws a bone to the supposed lesbian audience as well.

And then you have the flat poc or other LBT, sometimes disabled characters who serve to act as a tick mark off a checklist. It’s lazy, it’s annoying. But that’s a whole different can of vaguely related worms

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Can you do a fluff with slash where the reader has a bad day at work and feels dizzy so slash tries to comfort her ??

A/n: As someone who's low iron I can understand the getting dizzy so I kind of based this off of my own experiences, hope others can relate, even if not I hope you still enjoy it <3

Warnings: None, just fluff

I love pictures of slash where you can see his eyes bc he looks just as surprised that he actually does have eyes, also looks mildly insane but that’s ok ☺️

Your head was killing you. It wasn’t even so much of a headache as it was this weird feeling you just couldn’t get rid of. Your body was freezing but you were sweating, your hands were shaking and your knees felt weak. Like a deer on ice.

You told your boss how you were feeling, she took one look at your pale face and sent you home. You sat outside on the curb until Slash could come pick you up. It was fall, winter just coming up. It was too cold to stay out for long but it felt nice for you right now.

Slash pulled up and barely stopped the car before he rushed out to get to you, sitting beside you on the curb and throwing his leather jacket around you. “Jesus, fuck, what happened?” He asked, wrapping his arms around you.

You shrugged and leaned into his touch. “Didn’t feel good.” You mumbled. Slash kissed your forehead.

“No shit.” He helped you up and got you into the backseat of the car so you could lay down.

Upon arriving at your shared home he got you into bed, putting on your favourite movie. “Wait here until I get back, alright?” He kissed your forehead and cheek before turning to leave.

“Where-where are you going?” You asked, voice carrying hints of exhaustion.

Slash turned again and came right back to your side. “I’m just going to get some things.” He brushed your hair out of your face. “I’ll be right back, okay?” You nodded, your eyes already starting to close. He kissed your forehead again and left.

When he returned you were all sprawled out on the couch with the TV all a channel that was pure snow. Slash dropped the bags and rushed over to you in fear that your condition had worsened.

“Hey, hey. What’re you doing out here?” He asked, shaking you gently. You stirred, slowly blinking your eyes open, a wide smile pulling at the corners of your mouth when you saw the curly haired guitarist.

You reached for him and he scooped you into his arms, sitting on the couch with you in his lap. “Hey, baby, how did you get out here?”

Your head rested on his chest. “I woke up and you weren’t back yet.” You said, reaching up to play with his hair. “You said you’d be right back.”

Slash sighed and gave your arm a quick rub. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I just went out to get some snacks and stuff to help you feel better.” You hummed in understanding. “How about you go crawl back into bed and I’ll make you some tea?” You smiled and nodded, slowly standing and heading to the bedroom. “Just call for me if you need anything.”

You curled up in bed. Your body had mellowed out, no longer sweating, no longer freezing. Your chest still felt heavy and everything was a little foggy still but you were doing better.

Slash came in a while later with a tray of food. He was never one for cooking so you watched him carefully as he approached. There was a cup of tea, a sandwich and a muffin. He handed you the tray with such a proud smile of what he’d done. You smiled up at him. “Did you make the sandwich?” He nodded as he got in bed next to you.

“Yeah, sorry, I tried.” You kissed his cheek.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It wasn’t a half bad looking sandwich, mozzarella cheese, bright lettuce, juicy tomatoes. Slash fumbled with the remote until he found a good channel to watch, horror movies, of course.

Slash didn’t leave your side the rest of the night for more than a few minutes. It took some convincing to even get him to let you go to the bathroom alone.

He held onto you as much as he could, repeatedly asking you how you were doing, if you needed something for the pain, food. He made sure you were well taken care of. He brought some cats in to give you cuddles because he’d seen somewhere that they have ‘healing qualities’.

To a point you could understand it but you were pretty sure he just wanted the cats to sleep with you guys. They craved the warmth of your bodies on the bed, one or two even crawling under the blankets and licking your toes.

“Feeling better?” Slash whispered in your ear, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You nodded, nuzzling into him.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” Slash kissed your forehead.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

[chasthewriter]

Rgb x human reader drabble things and headcanons

There are like none for this dude

-sfw rating-

-gender neutral reader-

.

.

.

.

.

He doesn’t necessarily remember how you met, you weren’t someone he had hoped to make a hero. He would’ve remembered you if it were that. However he just doesn’t..

He actually met you in his negative form, although he himself regularly met you in the tree that he and hero slept in for a night. And despite his reservations, he was infatuated with you.

He never was a real romantic guy, he had his share of relationships but they never worked out due to him being a coward. Though you never seemed to care

When this guy tries to flirt, hes about as smooth as sand paper. He does his best but you make him an absolute mess, his bared mouth is basically a running waterfall when he tries to use his middle aged man rizz. (Hero makes fun of him, even though shes an 8 year old, she knows his rizz SUCKS)

Please grab his face with both hands, he might just die in a /pos way

He likes kisses, but gets flustered when his weird teeth sludge gets on you (he will however find it oddly attractive if you just do not care…like…hello??? Thats basically blood????)

His negative form is an absolute guard dog, hes scary yes but he would literally kill for you and hero

Its like scary dog privileges, you think its crazy when Hero cries and it gets on him? When you cry and it gets him out, it’ll be a death sentence for whatever danger in in the vicinity.

His negative form also likes kisses, but he enjoys hugs more. Those make him understand that you wont go anywhere anytime soon..

Both are the same person with different sides and both sides love you.

.

.

Short yet sweet, hope you all don’t mind!

In case he does get a fic, tell me how canon these seem bc i wanna write him well :p

[heygirltimeformorning]

@playinginthunderstorms tagged me in wip Wednesday so here’s something I’m working on that is, incidentally, all her fault.

(if I owe you emoji responses, I promise I’m working on them, but sweaty crop top Buck currently takes up all the real estate in my brain, so if you’re mad about it, you should talk to Charlie bc it’s her fault.)

Putting most of this under a cut 😌

It was the crop top’s fault. That’s what Eddie’s telling himself, two beers and a shot deep, Buck’s arms around his neck, hips moving. He doesn’t know how he ended up here, but he does know that Buck -- Buck can’t dance. He can move, but he can’t dance and there’s a fundamental difference, but Eddie stops caring (he barely cared to begin with) when Buck drapes his long arms around Eddie’s shoulders, dimples out in full force, curls sweaty and tumbling over his forehead, and Eddie’s hands go automatically to Buck’s waist, bracing himself. To Buck’s bare waist, bared by the crop-top he’d shown up to Eddie’s house in, glitter on his cheeks, curls loose and wild. Eddie hadn’t wanted to go out. He’d been in sweats when Buck showed up in jeans and a fucking crop top and glitter, but Buck had refused to take no for an answer, herding Eddie through getting dressed and then dragging him out: C’mon, Eds, it’ll be fun, we’ll have a good time, it’ll get your mind off things - we both need this and if Eddie had, at any point, told Buck no and meant it, he knows Buck would have backed off, but he also knows that Buck is (at least partially) right - Buck needs this.

Things with Tommy had ended relatively calmly - according to Buck’s retelling, they’d ended over coffee when Buck had asked Tommy to move in and Tommy had declined. But Eddie knows Buck’s always felt like too much for anyone to hold - like the weird detour people took to figure out their forever - and this was just confirmation of that. Eddie’s seen it in the set of his shoulders, the way he carries it around too much, too much, too much. So Buck needs a night where he can wear glitter and a crop top and not think about Tommy Kinard, and he wants Eddie there, so Eddie will be there. Eddie is there, smirking a little as Buck does whatever he considers to be dancing, sweaty arms around Eddie’s neck, smelling like bodywash and sweat and deodorant and something distinctly Buck.

Buck’s smile turns a little wicked at the brush of Eddie’s fingers against the bare skin of his waist, and something about the bar, about the buzz of alcohol, about the way the music curls into his spine, about Buck’s arms, heavy, around his neck makes him brave, and Eddie tightens his fingers against Buck’s sides, pulling him in a little closer. Something shifts in Buck’s expression, changes a little, and his eyes are on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie’s eyes are on Buck’s lips and -- maybe --

“You can.” Buck’s voice is surprisingly quiet in the din of the bar. Eddie isn’t sure if he feels it or hears it, eyes flickering up from Buck’s lips to meet his eyes. “If you -- I -- you can -- you can kiss me if you want.”

Eddie knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is a terrible idea, driven at least 50% of the way by the crop top and the glitter -- black and sleeveless, baring Buck’s stomach. Probably more like 75%, but if Eddie’s being honest, he’s wanted to kiss Buck much longer than just tonight - the crop top is just making those thoughts a little louder.

There’s something a little vulnerable in Buck’s expression, something a little wounded and unsure, not unlike when he’d come out to Eddie and Eddie, like an idiot, had encouraged him to call Tommy. Buck is confessing something, is coming clean, is opening himself up and saying will you love me just like this, and Eddie isn’t sure he has the capacity for that, isn’t sure about dragging the ragged corpse of his heart back into this (his heart is already in this, but things are only real in the naming) and it’s just a kiss. What’s a little making out between friends?

They aren’t moving to the music anymore. Buck is so still under him, and it would be awkward if either of them were aware - they’re just standing in the middle of the dance floor, the rest of the bar dancing, moving around them- and then, before he can think his way out of it, Eddie leans forward and presses his lips against Buck’s.

Buck tastes like whatever he’d been drinking - something sour - and Buck, and it takes Buck a minute to react, like he’s surprised Eddie had actually taken him up on the offer, but then Buck shifts, his hands cupping Eddie’s face, sliding his fingers into Eddie’s hair, gasping into the kiss, and Eddie takes the moment to tilt his head, deepening the kiss, and maybe it would be gross - maybe it should be gross - they’re both slick with sweat and he’s pretty sure the glitter on Buck’s cheeks is actively transferring to Eddie’s, but he’s overwhelmed with the Buck of it all - with the smell of Buck and the bar in his nose, with Buck’s tongue in his mouth, Buck’s fingers in his hair, Buck’s body pressed up against his on the dance floor, the music pounding through both of them, or maybe that’s Eddie’s heartbeat, or Buck’s, or maybe it’s all of the above.

(more coming to ao3 soon!)

[ref pic for the crop top if you’re a visual learner like me]

ETA: @oshaskell DREW BUCK IN A CROP TOP & Buck and Eddie being FREAKS on the dance floor????? this is actually legitimately insane.

ETA: now on AO3!!

Not tagging anyone like a party pooper but if you wanna do it, you can say I tagged you - I won’t mind!!!

[froggibus]

When You’re Feeling Sad - Cassidy, Genji, Lucio, Ramattra, Zenyatta

Pairing: Cole Cassidy x gn! reader, Genji Shimada x gn! reader, Lucio Correia dos Santos x gn! reader, Ramattra x gn! reader, Zenyatta x gn! reader

Genre: fluffy headcanons

Summary: how they would treat you when you’re feeling sad

CW: feelings of sadness, hormones, feeling down, talking about feelings, emotional intimacy, the boys trying to cheer you up in their own ways

having a bit of a rough day and I needed some fluff with my favorite boys so here we are :) kinda similar to this, but oh well

————

Cassidy:

honestly isn’t great when it comes to feelings

but especially not great with his own

one of his biggest love languages is gift giving so whenever you’re sad he’ll just give you stuff 

a cupcake from that place you’ve been wanting to try, a limited edition of your favorite book 

he’s not against some quality time sitting down with you either 

if you want to talk about your feelings, he’ll listen, but he probably won’t say much in return 

not that he’s not listening, because trust me, he is

he just isn’t sure what to say and doesn’t want to risk upsetting you more

so instead he’ll respond with slight touches 

a squeeze to the hand for reassurance, a kiss on the forehead 

once you start to feel better, he’ll propose a pyjama party and movie marathon 

and he’ll watch whatever movie you choose with a smile on his face bcs he knows it’ll make you happy

Genji:

pretty well adjusted when it comes to emotions 

he learned from the best after all

insanely good listener 

like can sit there and listen to you talk for hours to try and understand what you’re feeling 

very good at empathising with you too

will hold your hand and rub his thumb against your palm 

makes sure to keep you well hydrated and well fed

he’s not the best cook given he spent most of his youth on more important things (like being a slut) 

so he’ll probably just order you your favorite takeout 

he’ll tell you stories of his youth just to make you laugh even if he’s embarrassed as hell about it

makes sure you feel loved and understood because he never wants you to feel alone

Lucio:

silly little music man 

he will do anything it takes to cheer you up

probably plays you a song on his guitar or something and changes lyrics to be silly/fit you 

his first instinct is to always make you laugh 

but he realizes that isn’t always what you need 

so he’ll put the guitar away and settle down with you

grabs your hands and says something like 

“let’s talk this out” 

let’s you vent whatever you’re feeling (or not feeling) 

and does his absolute best to listen even tho he isn’t always great at it 

your ability to express emotions has always been something he’s admired about you

and is one reason why you’ll forever be his muse 

and he makes sure you know it so you’ll never feel embarrassed to cry in front of him 

Ramattra:

he’s an absolute brick wall when it comes to human things

but especially feelings 

he can’t experience the full calibre of emotions that humans do so it’s hard for him to comprehend them 

still, he hates seeing you upset and in pain, so he’ll try almost anything to cheer you up 

he can’t exactly fight your feelings so he settles on a more…pacifist approach 

probably asks Zen what to do lol 

treads very lightly with you and is super careful not to invalidate whatever you’re feeling 

goes for physical comfort before anything 

wraps you up in a blanket and holds you in his lap

he’ll even put his work away and let you cuddle up to him for as long as you need

weird but I feel like he would rock you?? 

just something soothing he’s seen other humans do and figures it might help 

it does

once you feel better he is super flustered about being so vulnerable 

Zenyatta:

as soon as he notices you getting sad and mopey, he’s on it 

brews you a kickass cup of tea and probably makes you some comfort food 

even tho he’s an omnic he’s a surprisingly good cook 

brings you a mug of tea and a steaming plate of momos and settles in bed with you 

even if he can’t feel emotions to the calibre you do, he’s still an empath and hates seeing you like this 

let’s you lay on his lap and relax and talk it out 

probably reads one of your favourite books with you

or if you can’t focus you guys will watch something in bed 

strokes your hair and talks to you in his soothing voice 

will comfort you through whatever you are dealing with 

whether it’s something silly or something serious, your emotions are not something he takes lightly

[swtnrcmnt]

୨୧ — s.r x singer!r; headcanons (2)

some more to feed into your daydreams ! thank u to honeybeespam for making the funniest reblog 😭🤍 enjoy !

- i left the other one off with hearing a sad song, but if you release something like “pov” by ariana grande (which lyrically is so beautiful it makes me wanna cry bc why can’t i have that) like because it gets so popular it’s playing everywhere and the team is having a field day teasing spence :((

- it’s basically canon that he mainly listens to classical music, imagine reader puts strings in her music and he’s just like I LOVE THIS

- mathematically breaks down the chords, beats, and tempo of the song lol

- singer!reader is rich as hell which = big house. he comes over and just sees this massive space that could be transformed into a library and is like “i’m moving in.”

- showing him red carpet outfits asking for his opinion but you still can’t choose because he thinks every single one is stunning >:(

- kittens everywhere because he finally has enough space to adopt some and somebody to watch them while he’s on a case (he’s a cat person, idc what anyone says)

- also as i said in the previous hc’s, she most likely moves in with him in dc, simply because it’s possible for her to work in somewhere that’s not la and would prefer to be home when spencer’s home

- elaborating on the freaky sound bites 🤭: picture those tiktok edits with reid’s breathing and whimpering in the background but she uses it in the instrumental of a song and only he knows about it ehehehehe

- if singer!reader does some acting on the side, best believe he watches every single movie she’s in the second it hits theatres ! supportive bf things

- lmfao her showing him edits or tiktoks her fans made of him and again, he’s flattered but extremely confused and concerned by their comments and captions. bless his heart :’)

- she probably has a lot of celebrity friends and penelope screams at spencer like “:o why didn’t you tell me that you were meeting a whole group of a-listers???”

- hates hearing people talk crap about you. he knows you’re numb to it because it’s the part that literally comes with fame: hate. but he can’t help it because he knows you personally and it hurts his feeling to hear people dislike you :(

- mr technophobe who buys all your album vinyls and gets them for free from you

- sending the team pr packages of merch and new stuff you launch !! and spencer wearing the hoodies you send him 24/7 and taking sm pride in it !

- filming tiktoks with him. even if he’s not exactly in the frame it could just be him adding a little cute comment to whatever you’re wearing :)

- is super super careful about telling people personal stuff about you especially because you’re globally known and have paparazzi on u left and right

- anytime there’s a particularly sadder song on an album he’s like “is this about me :(“ because he’s so so scared of fucking up and losing you

- the fear is also like 10x worse because he knows that if you two break up, it’ll be publicly displayed and he will literally see your face everywhere and hear your name all the time if you get with somebody new

- no no no cause, prison reid… and he has to take you off the visiting list because the guys around him keep making weird comments about you :’(

- a lot of really good angsty songs came out of those three months though hehe 🤭

here’s part one ! part three

that’s all i can think about right now ! hope u like :)

again, this reblog is everything to me 🫂🫧

[straw-beri-jam]

Drrr-kuramerukagari post ketsu swap au

Basically iseya/eiwajima switching places with izaya/shizuo

I’ve never really posted abt things before and this is the first time I’m attempting to write abt something in such detail, so please bear with me🥲

I want to emphasize that this is all post ketsu but prob before sh and sunset novels bc I’m literally ignoring some characters.

Iseya is shocked to find himself in a wheelchair, looks for the one person he knows and trusts, eiwajima, only to find someone slightly different, in appearance and also behavior. When they meet he looks at him like he’s grown a second head, the wheelchair shocks him too but he also wasn’t expecting izaya to just appear in front of him with no purpose. Iseya just looks at him, comments on the hair that while he does look good blonde he prefers his natural brown.

Shizuo thinks he’s playing games so he shouts and takes a step closer and they’re both shocked to see izayas body tremble. Iseya gets glimpses of the battle in his head, his mind repeating the events over and over again and he understands. They’re not together, they’re hardly even friends. They’re enemies. How he can’t even begin to understand, how he could come to hate this man? He’s so much like eiwajima, just with sharper edges.

He takes a look around people are staring and whispering, some recognize them both and think they’re gonna get into a fight. He doesn’t like hearing them talk, despite his love for people he doesn’t really want to be seen right now, not in front of him like this when everything’s so complicated but also not. He doesn’t really know what to do now. He wanted to confine in the one person he knew he could talk to, but that person doesn’t exist the way he does in his memories.

Shizuo doesn’t understand what’s going through the fleas head but he can see him thinking. He almost looks sad, which is weird because izaya would never show emotion, especially not to him.

Iseya understands their rivalry more or less because despite everything it’s still them, so he tells him that he remembers him differently but he doesnt want to hurt him. He wants to learn more about him. He doesn’t know how long he’ll stay here or even how he came here, but he knew from the start that something was different. And so if he’s gonna have to stay here it’ll be with this alternate version of eiwajima, whatever their past may have been.

Shizuo is dumbfounded but agrees bc this guy, whoever he is, seems much easier to get along w than izaya, or maybe it’s just a side of izaya he never got the chance to see. (Or maybe in the very back of his mind he’s actually still playing games w him)

After talking (he realizes that this being a lie is too much of a stretch even for izaya) he feels sad to find out that they exists somewhere and they’re together, they’re friends they talk and laugh and are happy. Iseya, he calls himself, tells him about eiwajima and how he is, what his life is like and he is so jealous of his alternate self because he really is living the life he’s wanted since he found out he had this cursed strength.

He feels this loss, that he could have had that if he tried hard enough. The voice in his head telling him that eiwajima makes iseya feel good while he put izaya in a wheelchair. Eiwajima has wooed iseya while he scared izaya away. He really wonders if he has anything in common with the guy, but he must because iseya is staring at him like he’s holding the sun.

Iseya kisses him at some point and shizuo finds he doesn’t know what he’ll do when this guy leaves because he’s really enjoying their time together.

Alternatively if it’s eiwajima switching places, he’s rather confused at the hair and doesn’t like hearing people talk abt him while he walks, it seems they have nothing nice to say and they all avoid him like he’d crush them with his glance.

Of course he seeks out iseya only find a wheelchair bound man who feels like iseya but has a very unsettling vibe. He is obviously wounded if the wheelchair wasn’t enough to go by but apart from that the man freezes at his appearance and is trembling.

He immediately realizes that they don’t share the same relationship and past he knows to be true. What’s more they not only don’t get along but things have escalated between them so far that he’s managed to traumatize the man before him.

He doesn’t know what the best course of action here is, he doesn’t want to speak for alternate him because he doesn’t quite understand the extent of their situation, but “iseya” looks at him with such hatred and demands answers that he quite frankly doesn’t have.

He decides to come clean bc he couldn’t pretend to hate him even if he tried. He explains who he is and what he actually wanted by coming here and alternate iseya is so confused. He starts ridiculing him and it does kinda piss him off but when he accidentally punches a hole through the wall in frustration and “iseya” freezes again all his anger goes away.

He tells him that he cares about him. That despite what they’ve been through here he misses iseya and wants to see him. He tells him that they’re alike in some ways and he finds them endearing and wouldn’t trade what he has w iseya for anything. That they’re happy.

Izaya looks so bitter and hates that what this fake Shizu-chan is saying actually makes him want it, he realizes that he might be jealous and gets pisses bc as if he’d be jealous. He tells fake shizu that fake him is prob just lying to him and actually hates him but he’s hiding it to use him for his own advantage, bc that’s what kind of person he is really and if they’re anything alike then that’s what’s gonna happen.

Eiwajima just gives him a sad smile (which pisses izaya off even more). He knows what the words mean, that the world he’s describing, his home, is making the other man emotional. He strongly and confidently says that iseya loves him and he knows it. It’s not possible to fake their kind of love, and he doesn’t mind being used by that man, they love eachother and that’s all that really matters.

Izaya has never hated anyone more than this man before. He’s so much worse than shizu-chan bc he doesn’t get angry, he doesn’t react to anything he just sits there, spouts all this nonsense and looks at him like he’s actually in love w him and he really doesn’t know how to get out of this situation, he doesn’t want to be here but he’s so incredibly curious abt their life. He knows this guy is telling the truth but he refuses to believe it bc it seems so dreamlike and unreal, he can’t fathom being happy as described, much less with this man.

Eiwajima wants to stay with him, despite the fact that he didn’t actually do anything to bring this man such pain he still sees the emotions swimming around in his eyes and he wants to help him. Despite the fact that it’s not his iseya, it’s still this worlds version of him and that’s enough for him to try and fix whatever they have going on, or at least help in some way. He tries to get close, as close as he’s allowed and talks about whatever he remembers from his home, all things almost always leading to iseya of course. He tries various topics hoping the other will come in at some point and they’ll have a normal conversation, as normal as it can get anyways.

Izaya eventually does, they talk like they’re friends. Izaya can’t comprehend what’s happening but he’s trying not to think about, fake Shizu-chan is interesting, he likes hearing about this world of theirs and his life there, he realizes that he’s having a casual conversation and it’s easy too he’s easy to talk to and listen to. He’s enjoying this more than he originally thought he would. He wonders if his Shizu-chan is this nice to be around when he’s not throwing things at him, which he knows is probably true, he just has never been on the receiving end of shizuo’s kindness. However this “eiwajima” he’s very charming, and he can’t seem to look away from those eyes.

Idk where this is going but yeah I just want them to find out abt their alternate lives separately and cry abt how miserable they are. Maybe they would try to find each other and start over (in a sense) after this happens so they can actually make a happy ending for themselves (or a happy new beginning)

them actually swapping places makes it hurt more since they’re inserted into this foreign world. They would both be shocked to find their supposed enemy sleeping next to them and the ppl around them liking them, I don’t think they’d ruin anything, well maybe izaya would try depending on what would happen but I don’t think he’d would want to make these ppl hate alternate him even just to spite him bc they prob wouldn’t, I mean they know what he’s like and they like him so…

shizu would be so shocked to see ppl liking him random ppl not afraid of him but wanting him around, he’d be afraid to talk to them so as not to hurt them. And then as far as their relationship goes they’d be happy but also sad that they can’t have it.

Overall it would mostly be sad (bc as it seems I love angst), heartbreaking really, to see what they could have had but weren’t as lucky as the other two. There’s a lot of reasons as to why the two of them never really got the chance to get along (which I’m not gonna get into now bc that’s a whole other story and lots of ppl have already made theories on it) but I think that seeing versions of themselves happy and well is like a slap in the face bc had their circumstances been different they could have had that, had they tried to do things differently they could have had something similar.

This has been in my head for a while (post ketsu usually is on repeat) and I really had to get it out bc it’s too much, and it turned into a whole ass essay🥲 this is the first time I’m attempting this tho so pls don’t look into it too much, it’s a mess of thoughts that I can’t quite put together. I apologize if there’s any mistakes or holes in it, it’s def ooc so yeah…

Thank u to anyone who decided to read it and made it this far! If theres anything anyone wants to add pls go right ahead I’m starving for these boys. Thanks again for reading! 🥰

[meganslife]

Slanted floors - TASM!Peter Parker

summary: you and peter finally get an apartment together. peter loves it. you hate it.

tasm!peter parker x gn!reader (pls let me know if i made a mistake!!), pure silliness tbh

heyyyoooo i said i would make a peter fic!!! this is very loosely based on that one episode from how i met your mother (2000s romcom) bc i was thinking about it and it’s so peter. anyways! enjoyyy:)

“This is the address, right?” You ask, looking up at the apartment building.

Peter nods. He’s overjoyed.

“Uh-huh. Let’s go!” Peter smiles, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the apartment you both chose.

This apartment was it: you and Peter’s home. He had looked at it during a showing and sent you pictures. You were sick and couldn’t make it. The place looked amazing in the pictures, and you were also pretty happy.

May was happy that Peter was moving out, and even more happy that he was living with you. The apartment itself is small and had some maintenance problems. you knew this already. It’s all you both could afford. But, it was enough.

“Okay… Number one, two… Three! This is it,” Peter beams, squeezing your hand and looking at you.

You look at him, amused. He’s so happy. “Yeah,” You smile, hugging him.

“I’m excited,” Peter says, “We’ll finally be together all the time.”

You smile, “You’re attached to me, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it,” He whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you.” You whisper back.

Peter smiles from ear to ear and opens the door to the apartment.

He gasps a little, letting go of your hand to run around and see everything.

“Babe!” Peter screeches, “There’s a chandelier! Look at it!”

“That’s an overhead light, Peter,”

“Oh,” His eyebrows furrow. “Well. It’s still cool.”

You sigh, looking around the kitchen and living room. When walking around, the floor felt weird. Almost uneven? Peter was still frolicking throughout the rooms, he was so happy. You, however, were not. The walls looked different in the photos he sent. They looked weird in person. The bathroom had the smallest shower you’ve ever seen. The bedrooms were fine, but the carpet across the apartment was weird, especially in the bedrooms.

“Pete?” You call.

A hum, “Yeah?”

“Does the floor feel funny to you?”

Peter touches the floor with his hand. “Feels fine,” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, “No, Peter. Does it feel uneven when you stand on it?”

“I think you’re imagining things,” Peter laughs.

“This isn’t funny,” You scoff, “We just spent a lot of money on this place! And- I don’t know if I like it.”

Peter’s tone immediately switches.

“Honey,” He says gently, “You don’t like it?”

You feel tears prick in the corners of your eyes. “I dunno.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. If you don’t like it, we can figure something out.”

His hands rest on your hips as he smiles at you. It was an assuring smile.

“But you like it,” You cry.

Peter wipes away your tears, “If the floors are slanted, and you don’t like it, then I hate it.”

You laugh. Even if this wasn’t your home with Peter, at least he was still here with you. He still loved and cared for you.

“The floors are kinda slanted, though,” Peter winces.

You shrug, smiling. “Immediate dealbreaker. What’ll we do when we spill a drink? It’ll just run away from us.”

Peter shakes his head, almost like he’s angry that you made that joke and he didn’t.

“All jokes aside,” He smirks, “A slanted bed sounds fun as hell.”

You smack him, knowing you just created a monster of slanted floor jokes.