#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!!!

[ticklishfiend]

Ramble On (Arcane)

(lee!jayce, ler!viktor)

Word Count : 6978

Summary : Apparently, Jayce has a lot he wants to tell Viktor, but only does so once he’s drunk on Viktor’s couch. In doing so, his outward love of physical affection makes Viktor realize some things about himself.

a/n : happy new years everybody! tysm for the love on the last fic, it meant sm to me <3 i hope yall enjoy this one bc i really liked writing it. lee!jayce is a treasure and im holding him dear to my heart rn.

this is a tickle fic! not nsfw but the ending is suggestive, so don't like don't read! :D

—

Jayce cannot be serious right now.

“Just this once? Please, Viktor. That last gala made me feel like a– like a dissected lab rat. They had their hands all over me, trying to…pick me apart and figure out my game,” Jayce cringed, throwing his hands to the side in exasperation, “I’m a scientist, not some corrupt politician looking to exploit. I just feel so out of my league…”

Viktor nodded in understanding, his insides fighting against the sympathy he felt for this man. Viktor hated those galas with everything in him. He’s been to only two so far, right at the start of their partnership, and it was hell. 

They were exactly the way Jayce described, the way it made you feel like an object to be inspected upon by those giving you the funds for your work. Like you had to let them look at you the way they do, because in some round-about way you almost owe them the right.

It’s horrible. And now Jayce is begging, pleading with Viktor to go to another with him. 

Viktor’s not even sure what difference it’ll make that he’s there. Most people there always look at him like he’s some wall standing in the way of the Golden Boy. Jayce is always pulled away and prodded at while Viktor’s left to sip on his champagne and watch as Jayce shoots ‘help me’ looks his way. 

But tonight, Jayce seems desperate. The last one must’ve been pretty bad if he’s actually begging Viktor to come. He never forgets to at least ask Viktor if he’s changed his mind and wants to attend before leaving, but this time he looks like he’s about to get on his knees and clasp his hands together.

Viktor grimaced, looking up at Jayce from his office chair in the lab. “You really want me to go that bad?”

Jayce sighed with a tired nod, “Yes. I just need your moral support. I feel better when you’re there.”

“Jayce, I’ve only been twice.”

“Yeah, and they were the best ones I’ve been to,” he said sincerely, before putting his hands on Viktor’s shoulders and squeezing. “I am asking you a favor. Partner to partner. I’ll owe you one.”

Viktor stuck his tongue in his cheek and rolled it in thought. Jayce won’t stop looking him in the eyes like that, all wide and sad and puppy-ish. 

‘When did I get so weak-willed?’

“Okay fine. Fine. But–” Viktor stuck a finger in Jayce’s chest just as the man started to smile all bright. “You owe me. I will not forget this.”

Jayce’s eyes were like stars, “Oh thank you, V, thank you. I won’t forget this either, trust me. I’ll buy you all the sweet milk your stomach can take for this,” he cheered, looking like he was about to jump up and down in glee.

Viktor sighed, pushing himself up off the chair with his cane. “Yes yes, all the sweet milk money can buy,” he pat Jayce on the shoulder as he walked towards the lab doors. “I’m going to get freshened up in my room, so I will, eh…meet you there, I suppose?”

Jayce smiled hard as he ran to open the door for Viktor in gratitude. “You got it, partner.”

—

Just as Viktor suspected. Hell on earth.

It’s so crowded and noisy, the ballroom crawling with wealthy socialites that reeked of expensive perfume and alcohol– so much alcohol.

Viktor almost wonders if there was a pre-game party before this, because the amount of times they’ve had some rich lady nearly stumble over to grip Jayce on the arm and slur weird little flirts and compliments his way was staggering. Jayce looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin the whole night with the way these people were crowding him like ants to a cookie.

As the night went on, Viktor could tell it was getting to Jayce worse and worse. And not just by how visibly stiff and sweaty he’d gotten, either. 

Jayce was drinking way more than Viktor thought he would.

Glass after glass, Jayce was downing as much alcohol as he could pour down his gullet. At one point Viktor even tried to insinuate he slow down a little and fucking relax, but it was no use. Jayce just rolled his eyes like a teenager and took another glass off the nearest tray he could find.

At least he doesn’t look so out of place, seeing as nearly everyone here was on the brink of being trashed. It was surprising to watch all these high-life classy Pilties get their drink on like this, but Viktor couldn’t say it wasn’t a little bit amusing. 

He thought after he left Zaun that he’d seen about the end of getting to watch people stumble and trip over their own feet at a function, slurring their words and laughing too loud at nothing. He supposed it wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening.

But then, Jayce walked back over to him with this look in his eyes. Viktor’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Is everything alright?”

Jayce groaned, before throwing his head onto Viktor’s shoulder and mumbling into his shirt. “W’nna go home.”

Oh shit. Jayce is drunk. Really drunk.

Viktor patted him on the back, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one could see the Man of Progress pouting like a child into his partner's neck. “I concur. But– you’re coming home with me. I’m not letting you walk home alone like this, but my leg can’t make both trips.”

Jayce giggled into his neck, and his breath gave Viktor goosebumps. “Sleepoverrrr!”

Viktor sighed, repositioning Jayce to stand straight as he led them toward the exit. “I hope you know that whatever weird things you say tonight, I won’t let you live it down.”

“M’not gonna say anything weird. You’re just– you’re too judgemental,” Jayce spoke too slow, a little slurred, and Viktor couldn’t help but grin.

—

Oh Viktor has so much to tease Jayce for in the morning. He can hardly wait.

On their walk home, Jayce couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was going on and on about how smart, how brilliant, how perfect Viktor was as his partner. Viktor couldn’t keep the blush off his face if he tried, but luckily Jayce was a little too out of it to notice. 

Jayce told him how good he looked in his gala outfit, that it fit him perfectly around the waist and the ‘butt area,’ as he put it. He confessed that he started putting sweet milk in his own coffee thanks to Viktor, and he loves it, despite how much he teases Viktor for his sweet tooth. 

And the closer they got to Viktor’s apartment door, the less Jayce could hold in his excitement about their little ‘sleepover.’

“Gonna make you play Twister with me,” Jayce joked with a giggle.

“Has anyone ever told you how much of a lightweight you are?” Viktor said as he stuck the key into his door, turning it to click. 

“Yeeeah, they told me that a lot at the academy,” Jayce smiled, walking in after Viktor and gasping. “Oh it looks so nice in here!”

“You’ve been here, Jayce. Not much, but you have.” Viktor rolled his eyes, placing his keys on the table and walking toward the open area kitchen next to the living room. “I’m going to get you some water. Go sit on the couch, you overgrown toddler.”

“M’not a toddler, I have a degree…” Jayce argued, doing as he was told and plopping onto the couch. He ran his hand over the cushion’s fabric, “You got new stuff since last time. Oh, your couch is so soft.”

Viktor opened the fridge and grabbed his water filter before reaching for the cabinet of cups. “Well, our job pays pretty nicely. I figured I could treat myself to a few furniture items here and there.”

Viktor made his way back to the living area, handing Jayce his cup and sitting next to him on the couch. It wasn’t even 11pm yet, so Viktor still felt wide awake. His hours have been so screwed up recently thanks to his many nights spent sleeping in the lab, so he knows that if Jayce doesn’t get to sleep soon, Viktor’s probably on babysitting duty for the rest of the night.

Which…didn’t sound so bad, to be honest. Viktor’s only seen Jayce drunk like this a handful of times, but that was usually when Viktor had a few more drinks in him himself.

When Jayce gets drunk, he gets silly.

Even sober, Viktor’s found himself chuckling at Jayce’s antics all night. Jayce is far from a stuck-up person, but he’s usually a tad more reserved with his playfulness, especially around Viktor.

He’s sure it’s nothing personal, Viktor can be a bit of a stickler about play in the lab, but he really likes getting to see this side of Jayce with a clear head now that they’re somewhere more private.

So watching Jayce giggle around the rim of the glass at literally nothing was much more amusing to him than it was annoying. He knows how embarrassed Jayce is going to be in the morning, and it only fuels the fire to keep this going.

Viktor can’t wait to see Jayce burn red when he recounts all the embarrassing things he’s said and done over the course of the last hour.

“What’s got your giggle-box turned over?” Viktor teased, bringing his feet up on the cushions and laying back against the arm of the couch so he could watch Jayce.

Then, realizing how weird that probably was, quickly snatched a book from the coffee table to pretend-read just so he isn’t too obvious with his staring.

Jayce snickered, placing the glass down on the table. “I dunno. You’re just, you’re being so nice to me. It’s funny.”

Viktor furrowed his brow with a smirk, “When am I not nice to you? I’m a delight.”

Jayce laughed a little harder at that. “Nooo you are nice. You’re super nice, I didn’t mean that,” he reiterated poorly, only making Viktor suppress a snicker of his own.

And before Viktor realized what Jayce was doing, the man’s head was suddenly laying down in Viktor’s lap, Jayce’s eyes peering at him from under the book. 

Viktor’s brows shot up in surprise. “Oh. Well hello there.”

“Hi,” Jayce smiled before his expression quickly turned to a little pout. He groaned as he grabbed the book in Viktor’s hands and tried prying it from his grip, but Viktor wouldn’t let go. Jayce groaned, “Uugh, pay attention to me.”

Okay, Viktor couldn’t not laugh at that. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Super serious. I wanna talk, I like talking!” Jayce whined, still pulling on the book in Viktor’s hands. Viktor kept his grip tight, because it was far too amusing to watch this strong, bulky man fail to get a good tug in their little scuffle. “Viktor c’mon!”

“You’ve got to try a little harder than that to– aH! Hah- no, noho- Jayce, do not-!” Viktor’s voice pitched up without his permission, a choked off giggle escaping him as Jayce snuck his hands up over his own head to tickle at Viktor’s sides.

Alright. Maybe Jayce gets a little too silly when he’s drunk.

Viktor’s elbows crashed down to cover the area, letting the book fall off the couch without thinking, but that didn’t stop Jayce.

Now that he was latched on, he wasn’t letting go, and Viktor knew if he kept this up, he’d be giggling like a lunatic in no time.

Jayce grinned wide and proud. “Hah! You’re ticklish!” He teased, fingers pinching into Viktor’s sides with much more precision than they should with both the awkward angle and his clear inebriation. “I could tell. You look ticklish.”

Viktor shook his head, “Whahat does that even–?! gAh- okay, okahay! Enough!” He was full on giggling now, which is ridiculous because Jayce is supposed to be the one embarrassing himself right now, not Viktor.

Actually. What a wonderful idea.

Viktor gathered enough willpower to push his arms away from his sides, quickly diving his own fingers into Jayce’s very exposed armpits and digging in, albeit a little clumsily.

And yet, Jayce still screamed like a girl.

He shot his elbows down to his sides, immediately falling into a bout of ticklish laughter. His head leaned back and exposed his throat that bobbed through his cackling, legs gently kicking at the arm of the couch, more playful than anything.

“Nohohoho! Viktor!” Jayce cackled, and Viktor couldn’t help but snicker incredulously at the ridiculous situation he’s found himself in.

He’s got his fingers stuffed between Jayce’s arms, wiggling them into any muscle and bone he can that he knew would be sensitive on himself.

Viktor’s never found himself in the situation of having to tickle someone to make them stop tickling him before. Actually, now that he thinks about it, this might be his first time really tickling someone. He’s poked and pinched at Jayce a few times in the lab when he’s going about his daily routine of teasing Jayce til he turns pink, though he’d hardly count that as real tickling.

He’s teased Jayce for his ticklishness for a while now, ever since that day his elbow poked a little too funny into Jayce’s rib and made the man squeak. Of course, Viktor couldn’t help but take advantage, constantly reminding Jayce that, ‘yes, I remember, and technically speaking, I could use this information against you anytime I want.’

But really tickling? Burying his fingers into the flesh and digging there with enough gentleness to make Jayce laugh the way he is right now with his head thrown back into Viktor’s lap, caught up in breathless laughter and little squirms he couldn’t control…

...Yeah, this is certainly a first.

Though, Viktor’s not complaining. It’s quite hard to beat a view as cute as this one.

“Plehease!” Jayce begged through his giggling, shaking his head side to side. He wiggled helplessly on Viktor’s lap, but still kept his weight almost entirely off Viktor’s bad leg.

This man is so sweet it’s giving Viktor a toothache.

“What are you begging for? You started this, you were practically asking for it,” Viktor teased, grinning when he saw how flushed Jayce looked at his comment.

His fingers found a spot right near the top of Jayce’s ribs, and the man under him jolted with a cackle. 

“I did nohot!” Jayce argued pitifully, still doing nothing to push Viktor away and stop his assault.

If anything, it almost looked like he was trying hard not to stop him. His fists were balled up, occasionally gripping onto his own shirt like he needed something to grab onto. He was just…taking it.

Oh this could be very interesting if Viktor’s current theory proves correct.

Suddenly, Viktor stopped the wiggling of his fingers, keeping them still and motionless underneath the man’s arms. Jayce panted through his remaining giggles, twitching like he was expecting it to start up again at any point.

His smile never left, wide and bright as ever. Viktor could feel the man’s anticipation under his fingertips.

And Jayce looked positively giddy with it.

Viktor tilted his head in curiosity as he looked down at Jayce in his lap, his face upside-down from this angle. “Are you having fun down there?” He asked, taking advantage of Jayce’s loose tongue.

Jayce’s giggles just started anew, and Viktor didn’t have to move a muscle to prompt it.

“Stohop.”

“I did stop. Almost thirty seconds ago, I might add.”

Jayce’s nose scrunched up from his snickering, “I take it back. You are not nice.”

“Oh?” Viktor’s voice tilted, giving the fingers under Jayce’s arm an experimental curl.

Jayce jerked with giddy panic at the feeling, “Noho wait! You’re nice, you're nice, you’re so nice–! Plehease!

Viktor shook his head fondly, “Are you actually this ticklish or are you just drunk?” 

“Mmmhm, probably both” Jayce smiled wide, looking through his lashes up to Viktor. They both just stared at each other for a moment, Jayce with excited anticipation in his eyes, and Viktor…well, he could only assume he looked about as smitten as he felt. Again, hopefully Jayce was too drunk to notice.

Then Jayce squirmed with a hummed, mischievous giggle in his throat, before lifting his arms and wrapping them around Viktor’s waist, locking his own fingers together behind his slender back. He was looking at Viktor with a little challenge in his eyes, as if saying, ‘bet you won’t.’

Viktor’s own eyes widened, his jaw slacking in fond shock with a curl to the corner of his lips. Jayce cannot be serious.

“Is this an invitation, Jayce?” He asked with a skeptical chuckle, lifting his fingers to hover just above Jayce’s armpits and wiggle teasingly. At the sight, Jayce giggled hard and shut his eyes back up, his elbows flinching at the thought.

“Noooo,” he said, his smile betraying his words.“Just…gettin’ comfy.”

Viktor hummed, “Could you open your eyes then?”

Jayce’s eyes scrunched tighter. “No way.”

“Why not? You don’t like the view?”

“Oh shut it, you know that’s not why,” Jayce huffed, the grin just unable to leave his face. “No, m’just comfy. And if I can’t see you then…” he pulled his lips in like his next words were crawling out of him against his will. “...then, you can just do whatever you want. I dunno.”

Oh, Viktor is going to eat this man alive.

“So that’s what this is then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you might.”

“Nope. Nuh uh. Shut up.”

“You’re telling me to shut up? In your position?”

Jayce threw his head to the side bashfully, his lips pressed together on a shy smile. “Hm?”

Viktor snickered, “You are actually asking for it. Oh you’re going to hate yourself for this in the morning, aren’t you?”

Jayce snickered, burying his face into the crook of his elbow, “I think I’ll just be glad I got it over with.”

“Oh? This is something you’ve wanted for a while then?” Viktor asked through a grin, before bringing down his index fingers to slowly, teasingly scribble into Jayce’s pits (because god, looking at Jayce like this, all inviting and practically begging for it, waiting any longer to strike would’ve probably killed them both). 

Jayce yipped, his elbows jerking inward and nearly covering his entire face. The fabric of Jayce’s dress shirt created a smooth glide under Viktor’s fingernails that he was sure felt torturous.

His arms shook with the effort to keep them locked behind Viktor’s back, but somehow he stayed put.

Not, of course, without giggling his head off at the lightest of touches under his arms, his heels digging into the couch cushions.

“Mahaybe-!” He managed through light, breathy laughter. His giggling sounded almost nervous, like he knew just how much worse this could get for him.

Viktor adjusted his jaw on his smile, throwing a look to the side like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew Jayce was a massive lover of physical affection, but good god, Viktor didn’t realize how much he’d like giving it to him.

So Viktor looked back down, getting into character. He’s never really tickled someone before, but he’s more than happy to learn with Jayce as his willing subject.

“There’s no way you’re going to be able to keep your arms up. I’d bet money on it.”

“You hahave– aHk-! Suhuch little faith in mehe!” Jayce joked, doing a much better job keeping composure under these circumstances than Viktor ever could.

Ignoring his comment, Viktor moved his hands lower on Jayce’s torso to pinch at his ribs meticulously, plucking at each one at the top. He got quite a rise out of the way Jayce’s giggles raised in pitch and panic, his legs kicking on their own accord.

Jayce’s desperate smile looked like it was going to burst at the seams.

“Ohoh no fahair!” Jayce whined, his eyebrows pinched together from frantic laughter. His face was so flushed, hair a tousled mess from his squirming, and Viktor felt himself growing warm at the sight. 

Shit. Viktor really likes this.

“How is this not fair? You knew I was going to tickle you, so why does it matter where I do it?” He asked, and though he used a teasing tone, he was genuinely asking. 

Weirdly, now that he’s realized how much fun this was, Viktor wants to approach this from a scientist’s perspective. Test theories, make conclusions, and above all, experiment.

“Becahahause!” Jayce threw his head to the other side, like he’s trying to block his face from all angles. “It– gghaAHha noo!– it’s wohorse!”

“How, Jayce?” Viktor paused his fingers, keeping them poised sharply against Jayce’s top rib. Jayce pouted, letting out another one of his famous whines. “I want you to tell me.”

“Uuugh,” Jayce groaned, looking pained in the best way that Viktor’s prying this information out of him. “It’s just…when you get all pinchy…it feels worse.”

Viktor hummed. “Worse in a bad way?”

Jayce just stared back at him with pinched lips like he’d been caught.

So Viktor grinned. “Ah. Worse in a good way then, hm?”

Jayce’s eyes shut tight, his mouth spreading into a bashful smile that looked impossible to fight back.

“So if I were to, say, do this-” Viktor pinched harsher at Jayce’s ribs, staying near the top and really letting his fingers dig in between the bone, practically vibrating into the flesh.

Jayce immediately arched through a cackle, his chest bouncing with the force of it. His face looked gleefully desperate.

“Noho don’t-!”

“-It would tickle worse than if I were to do this-?” He switched tactics quicker than Jayce could process the feeling, his fingertips softening along the ribs and skittering over the smooth fabric of Jayce’s shirt.

He could still feel the bones under his fingers through the thin fabric, feeling the way Jayce’s body jumped underneath him, and the sensation made Viktor’s stomach flip in excitement.

The change in tickling made Jayce stumble over his laughter, keening through the feeling as his laughter morphed from something deep and desperate, to a lighter, bubblier sound that made his ears turn pink.

“Gghk-hah- aha shihit!” Jayce could barely speak, so visibly flustered by Viktor’s teasing. It made Viktor feel something powerful yet caring surge through him. He was controlling Jayce’s reactions, forcing torturous sensations upon him and pulling humiliating sounds from his throat, and Jayce was loving every second of it. “I– I cahan’t!”

Viktor cooed, “Aw, but you are Jayce Talis. You can do anything you put your mind to, no?” The words flowed like butter off his tongue, the teasing coming so natural to him. He’s spent so long messing with Jayce in their lab, it’s like he knows the exact buttons to press now that he’s got him hysterical under his fingers.

And when Viktor began moving his hands inward, fingers spidering towards Jayce’s bouncing stomach, it seemed that was Jayce’s breaking point. With a frantic shriek he shot his arms down to protect his middle, his knees folding into himself as he quickly curled onto his side, still on Viktor’s lap. 

Viktor’s brows shot up in surprise at such a reaction, biting his lip on an amused smile. He brought his hands up to comfort a still-giggling Jayce, smoothing over his shoulder as he caught his breath in Viktor’s lap.

Viktor clicked his tongue. “I’m guessing the stomach is an off-limits spot, then?”

Jayce huffed a chuckle into Viktor’s thigh. Even drunk, he’s kept his weight entirely off Viktor’s bad leg through the whole ordeal, and even now brings a hand down to massage into the flesh the way he knows soothes Viktor’s aching muscles. Viktor felt his heart clench at such a caring action, wanting to lean down and kiss all over Jayce’s head and the mess of hair that covered it.

“Not off-limits,” Jayce started, his words mumbled into the fabric of Viktor’s pants. “There’s just no way I can keep my arms up if you’re there. It’s pretty bad.”

“Noted,” said Viktor, “I’ll remember to get you nice and secure next time.”

Jayce shot his head up, looking at Viktor with wide, nervous eyes. “N-Next time?”

God, Viktor wanted to just squeeze Jayce until he popped. “What, you didn’t like it? You looked like you were having a ball down there.”

Jayce flashed another shy, closed-mouth smile, his eyes darting away. “Well, I– I just thought that it wasn’t something that…well, something that you would wanna do again,” Jayce shrugged, “You’re not usually playful like that.”

And he’s right, usually Viktor wouldn’t indulge himself with such an outward display of childishness. He’ll tease, oh how he teases, but getting too physical always felt like some barrier he’d have to forge a long path toward tearing down.

Turns out, that barrier was a lot easier to cross when Jayce made it so clear how badly he wanted it from Viktor.

“Well,” Viktor started, smoothing his thumb over Jayce’s shoulder and feeling warm when Jayce leaned into his palm, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself so much. I expected you to push me away, and then…you didn’t. Once I realized you seemed to like it, I found myself enjoying it too,” he said, before chuckling softly, “As odd as it may be.”

Suddenly, the top of Viktor’s hand was enveloped with Jayce’s own (Viktor knew his hands were smaller than his partner’s, but good god, it pretty much wrapped entirely around his own), and it didn’t seem like Jayce even realized what he was doing. He was just savoring every bit of affection Viktor gave him, and indulged himself as he pleased.

As it seemed, Viktor could learn a thing or two from Jayce, and he really, really wanted to.bx 

“You caught me, I liked it,” Jayce mumbled, his words slurred and sleepy as he made himself comfy over Viktor’s lap, leaning his weight on the good leg. “But…I just really like when you’re like this. It’s fun.”

Viktor was glad Jayce’s eyes had slipped shut, because the look on his face had to be painfully obvious. He felt so warm, his insides turning gooey when Jayce snuggled the side of his face into Viktor’s thigh. 

Jayce is so honest. Too honest. Viktor loves and envies him for it so deeply. He can’t understand how Jayce is able to roll those words off his tongue like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, like it isn’t painful to admit.

Viktor wants to learn how for Jayce. He’s a smart man, they both are. Maybe it’s not as hard as he made it out to be in his head.

He turned his palm up to squeeze Jayce’s, exhaling shakily when Jayce squeezed back gently, tired. “I like when you’re like this too, Jayce,” Viktor practically whispered, hoping his kind words were the last thing Jayce heard before falling asleep. 

—

Jayce woke up to the smell of coffee.

And just as soon as that warm smell hit him, a pounding pain behind his eyes seemed to hit even harder.

Jayce groaned. As he slipped his eyes opened, he realized the sun had a fucking vendetta against him this morning, its rays shining through the window directly into his eyes and going straight to that source of pain in his head. He threw his arm over his face with another groan. 

“I think I’m dying.”

“Well good morning to you too.”

Jayce huffed, suddenly remembering where he was. “Coffee’s on?”

He heard a little hum of confirmation from the kitchen, slumping further into the cushions. Jayce sighed, “I don’t think I even drank that much last night. I don’t know why I feel like actual death incarnate.”

“Oh no, you definitely drank too much. You had some of the punch, yes?”

Jayce peeked over the arm of the couch, sparing Viktor a furrowed brow. “Yeah?”

Viktor smirked, grabbing the coffee pot to pour into their respective mugs. “I suspect it may have been spiked. Everyone that touched that bowl went home slung over someone else’s shoulder.”

Jayce buried his forehead in his arm with a frustrated sigh. “That explains…so much.”

He heard the familiar click of a cane coming his way, lifting his head to meet Viktor’s gaze with a tired chuckle. Viktor handed him his coffee before seating himself down next to Jayce, blowing the steam off the top of his own cup.

“So…” Viktor started, not even glancing at Jayce as he grinned down the rim of his coffee. “...tickling, hm?”

Jayce choked on the coffee he had been trying to swallow down.

Viktor took Jayce’s cup and sat it down on the table to pat his back through the coughing fit, that calm and collected look on his face never wavering. Jayce felt himself burning to the touch.

“I– uh, I don’t– heh, it wasn’t like that–”

“Jayce,” Viktor commanded Jayce’s gaze with his voice. Jayce’s eyes were wide, biting down on his lip in embarrassment.

Viktor just smiled warmly. “I know how you are about physical affection. I’ve received more hugs from you in the past few months than I probably have in the last decade.”

Jayce nodded to show he was listening, but felt himself sadden a bit at the passing comment. How could anyone not want to hug Viktor?

Sure, he’s a bit bony, and is maybe a little intimidating when you first meet him, but Jayce had Viktor in a tight embrace within their first few months of acquaintance. Jayce can’t help but throw an arm around him any chance he can get. He’s just…touchable.

Still, Viktor continued, “And though I’m not one to usually give out such affections myself, you seemed…very happy last night.”

He twisted his lips, thinking of how to word it. “I’m unsure if the whole tickling thing specifically was just a manifestation of your intoxicated state, or if it’s something you also crave when you’re sober,” he tapped a nervous finger against the mug. “Nonetheless…I found myself enjoying it as well.”

Viktor shrugged, but looked a bit embarrassed at the admittance. “I’m sure you don’t remember details, but you told me last night that you had been hoping for something like that to happen for a while now,” he said, giving Jayce a hard, concentrated stare that made him nearly shiver. “Was it just my offering of physical affection that you wanted? Or…the specifics of how I handed it out last night?”

God. Jayce isn’t sure whether to be elated or mortified by how scientific Viktor was handling this.

He loves how Viktor’s accent curls around the words and makes them sound so clinical and professional, but he could also feel how hot his face was burning at the sound and was frankly a bit too embarrassed to answer in the same dignified manner.

“Um…” he started, cringing at the sound of his own wavering voice. “Sort of…both? I think?”

Viktor nodded, his face set in concentration on Jayce’s. Jayce felt so observed, and it made eye contact very hard.

“I do like the, uh…the– y’know-”

“The tickling?”

Jayce huffed, bringing a hand to his face. “Yeah. That.”

Viktor grinned. “You struggle to say the word?”

“In this context? Yeah. A lot.”

Viktor just pinched his lips on a smile. “Please, continue.”

Jayce sighed, “So, I do like that part specifically. Like, kind of a lot.” He shrugged shyly, bringing a knee to his chest to lean on, “But, you’re right, it isn't just that. I…do really like when you touch me in any way,” he said, before stammering, “Wait– that sounds weird but, you know what I mean.”

Viktor nodded once, “I do.”

Jayce exhaled like he’d been holding his breath, picking at the fabric of his pants anxiously. Shit, he never changed clothes last night. His shirt’s probably wrinkled to high hell right now. He must look like a mess.

Jayce ran fingers through his hair and looked down at the cushion of the couch. How is he supposed to tell Viktor how much he wants to touch him, to be touched by him, to feel every fabric of Viktor’s being under his fingertips and have the same done to him, without it sounding as romantic as it feels? 

He doesn’t want to scare Viktor off by admitting how he’s felt about him for the past…god, who knows how long by now, but with the way this conversation is going, it doesn’t seem like he’s getting out of it any time soon.

Jayce bit the inside of his lip. “I do remember last night. Not every detail, but I do remember bits and pieces,” he glanced at Viktor through his eyelashes. He looked so focused on Jayce, hanging onto his every word. “You seemed like you were having fun too.”

Viktor’s expression remained unchanged, but Jayce swore he saw his cheeks flush. “I was. I’ve told you that, you putz,” he taunted, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “You’re trying to change the subject— that subject being you.”

Jayce chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Okay, fine. What do you wanna know then?”

Viktor took a sip from his coffee, eyeing Jayce down over the mug the entire time. Jayce suppressed a squirm at the lingering gaze. When he swallowed, he sat the mug down in one swift movement, before leaning back himself.

“Is it a kink thing?”

Jayce thought his own eyes were going to bulge out of his head, his body suddenly running dangerously hot. Okay, now he’s squirming.

“Uh–” he stammered, chuckling nervously. “I mean, I guess it can be? I’ve never…tried it like that before or anything, but I don’t think I’d be opposed.” He scratched the back of his neck just to do something, anything with his hands. 

Viktor just kept watching him, and the realization that Jayce might be implying something with his words made him fumble.

“But that wasn’t– that’s not how I felt about it last night, if you were wondering. Not that I wouldn’t– I mean…god, I can feel how red my face is right now, you are the worst.”

Viktor couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that. He leveled his stare with a smile. “I’m not sorry. It’s quite amusing to see the Man of Progress squirm through such a confession,” he said, before giving a little shrug like this conversation wasn’t picking Jayce apart at the seams. “And, for the record, if it had been a kink thing…I wouldn’t have been opposed.”

Jayce’s mouth hung open slightly in shock. “Wha—Are you serious?”

Viktor smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course it’s not! I’m just… a little surprised, is all. That you’d be willing to, y’know, do something like that with me,” he said, greatly underexaggerating the feelings coursing through him right now. 

If the butterflies in his stomach were real, they probably would’ve eaten through Jayce’s body and infested the entire house by now. He can feel his own heart hammering in his chest, and he’s trying very hard not to get shaky. 

Jayce bit his lip. “I mean. I’m not saying no, but maybe…maybe sometime in the future is all.” 

No one has ever known this about him. He’s open about his love of affection, sure, but the tickling part? For some reason, that had always been kept close to his chest, something too vulnerable and embarrassing to say out loud. 

So for Viktor to know, and be so clearly fascinated by it, was eating Jayce alive. He’s loving every ounce of this humiliating attention, but he doesn’t know how much more he can take of not having Viktor wreak havoc over every sensitive spot he’s hidden for so long.

Viktor hummed, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He wasn’t looking at Jayce anymore, and his demeanor seemed almost…nervous now.

He was biting the inside of his lip the same way he does when he’s cutting it close on an important deadline, and his thumb tapped impatiently on the knee of his bad leg. And Viktor being nervous made Jayce feel nervous, almost hearing the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Viktor clicked his tongue. “I think it’d be stupid not to say something at this point,” he started, and Jayce felt his heart stop when Viktor leveled an anxious glare his way.

“Last night made me realize that, though I don’t like giving affection away to just anyone…” he smiled something warm and sweet. “...I like giving it to you. When I do, your face lights up something vicious, yet calm in me. I enjoy the feeling very much, and I can only hope you feel the same.”

Jayce felt his breath leave him. He smiled hard, reaching a hand out to grip Viktor’s. Viktor chuckled at the gesture, and squeezed back.

“I do, V. So much, you don’t even know,” Jayce breathed, scooting close to gather as much warmth from the man as he could. He tucked his face into Viktor’s neck, feeling light knowing Viktor enjoyed this just as much as he did. “Anything with you makes me happy.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh through his nose, bringing his free hand up to smooth up and down Jayce’s back. “You know…” he started, leaning his head back to look at Jayce properly, “I’m quite glad you’re such a lightweight, otherwise I don’t know if we’d have ever gotten to this point.”

Jayce snickered into Viktor’s neck, making the man scrunch slightly on a smile. “Yeah, me too.” 

And before he could stop it, Jayce found himself kissing softly at Viktor’s neck, slow and nervous but still so sweet with intent. He heard Viktor gasp, his head scrunching slightly against Jayce’s own.

“Ah– Jayce-”

“Is this okay?” Jayce whispered, his voice breathy with nerves. He kissed again, this time even softer and more hesitant with his question in mind.

And Viktor giggled.

Jayce smiled against the skin, “What are you laughing at?”

Viktor pushed at Jayce’s head, his own voice light with joy, “Your stubble is dreadful Jayce, stop!”

“Oh it’s dreadful is it? Bet you’re just full of dread right now–” Jayce grinned, very purposefully rubbing his mouth and chin all over the sensitive expanse of Viktor’s skin, smiling even bigger when Viktor fell into choked giggles and squeaks he was clearly trying to contain. “What’s wrong, V? Can’t take your own medicine?”

“You are a menace!” Viktor’s voice was so pitchy, Jayce couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. He couldn’t help but nip gently at the spot under Viktor’s ear, squeezing his arms around Viktor’s waist affectionately when the man cackled and pushed against him half-heartedly.

“No-! Horrible! You are–ahaha-!” Viktor melted into helpless giggles when Jayce’s fingers started pinching at his sides, soft and sweet and torturous. “F-Fuhucker!”

Then, Viktor seized Jayce’s wrists with a sudden urgency, and Jayce pulled off with a small look of concern. “Sorry, I just– I thought-”

“You are fine, Jayce,” Viktor panted through a little leftover smile. He brought his face closer to Jayce’s, so close the tips of their noses brushed, and Jayce’s lashes fluttered. Viktor grinned all smug, “I just figured, you may wish to kiss properly instead.”

Jayce breathed, nodding like an eager puppy, “Yeah. Yes, please.”

Viktor hummed in agreement. Then, finally, he closed the gap with intimate softness, brushing his lips teasingly against Jayce with a little breath of his own. Once Viktor had their lips locked together, he pushed forward with a sudden neediness Jayce had never seen in him.

Jayce made a pitiful sound into the kiss, letting Viktor lead their way through it. Viktor cupped his hand around Jayce’s cheek, and the other man eagerly placed his own on top, desperate to feel any and all of Viktor’s warmth.

And Jayce couldn’t help it, he was completely unable to keep quiet about just how much he was enjoying this. 

He panted little gasps when they broke apart, moaned when Viktor finally let his tongue slip through and grazed Jayce’s teeth. He felt Viktor’s hand slip up his shirt, and with how hot everything had been getting, was expecting a different kind of touch than the one he got.

Fingers curled softly at the back of Jayce’s ribs, wiggling soft and featherlight at the sensitive skin. Jayce made the most humiliating sound into Viktor’s mouth, a noise between a giggle and a moan, and Viktor hummed all smug in return. The sound made Jayce’s mouth tingle as his back instinctively twitched away from the soft touch, though Viktor’s fingers always followed.

“V-Vik–”

“You’re so sensitive, Jayce. Ticklish,” Viktor drawled, and Jayce felt himself shiver at the word. “And, if you’d allow me…” he leaned into Jayce’s ear, making sure his lips brushed feathersoft against the skin just to make Jayce tremble. “I’d like to find every spot that makes you tick.”

Jayce felt his entire body flush red hot.

“You are way too good at this.”

Viktor just kissed him again, mumbling into his lips, “I remember something about you owing me? Does this ring any bells?”

Jayce whined through a smile, hiding his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck. “You are evil. Pure, pure evil.”

Viktor chuckled, pinching his fingers into Jayce’s ribs, then not moving his fucking fingers. Jayce felt like a live wire, entirely tense and way, way too excited. 

“Yes, yes. So evil,” he teased, crooking his fingers just slightly to make Jayce whine through a giggle. “Now. Try to stay still, yes?”

Jayce was never going to live this down. 

He’s never been happier to owe anyone anything in his entire life.

…

a/n : tysm for reading! ik this was long but i couldn’t help myself they’re so cute and i just kept needing to write more and more LOL. hope u guys enjoyed and again, happy new years to everyone!! luv u guys MWAH <3

[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

[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.

[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.

[slowcatsisland]

Some physical headcanons for Zoro 🥰🙏

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Roronoa Zoro; Physical Characteristics Headcanons

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A/N: yes

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His pre timeskip color palette was PERFECT

His hair genuinely looks like a mint chocolate chip green and it’s because of the sun. The more sunlight he receives the lighter it makes his hair look (it got really dark during the timeskip because of Muggy Island’s climate but is progressively getting lighter currently)

When he was young his hair was more of a grassy color

His hair is really thick and surprisingly soft despite how spiky it can look, Luffy likes messing with it when he’s bored (yk when a guy gets a buzz and when you run your hand over it one way it’s soft and then the other it’s prickly? That’s kinda like Zoro’s hair no matter how long he grows it-he also doesn’t ever grow it that long)

His hair takes a long time to grow in general he cut it all off once, never again

(Yosaku, Johnny, and himself all shaved their heads together once when they were growing up. Prolly something to do with touching their mental fortitude and trying to become with the sword or smth. Zoro found out that he has a weird, rectangle head shape without hair to frame it and refuses to lose all his hair ever again)

His hair can’t hold a curl for shit

He smells like steel and iron. He also probably had a strong natural musk bc of his hygiene (bro needs to shower more)

His facial features are so sharp. From his defined temples, the bald patches of forehead along his hair line, his jaw, nose, even his eyebrows and cheek bones all collectively make his face full of sharp lines and cuts

(I’m so not a fan of how rounded he looks post timeskip, especially in Egghead and I mean u could argue that it makes him resemble a tiger more but just guyss)

He actually has more Asian facial features than shown in the manga/anime imo

His eyebrows are either the same light mint green his hair is or they’re a green so dark they look black from afar I just can’t tell which it would be

He has serious threaded eyebrows. Law might have 90s eyebrows to an extent but Zoro is on a whole other level. He never does anything to them either, he’s actually had a whole conversation about this with Nami (she’s envious)

Zoro has a slight concern about accidentally getting his eyebrow hair shaven off somehow and them never growing back

YALL THE HAIR ON HIS EYEBROW PART OF THE SCAR STILL HASNT GROWN BACK-

He has long eyelashes but they’re straight so you don’t see them from the front (his side profile is beautiful-)

His eyes look like they turn upwards but it’s subtle

His eyes are a shade of gold I tell you!! It fits with his whole ‘tiger’ as his animal thing so well

Also also yk how guys in One Piece don’t rlly get their eye color shown unless it’s a specific frame in the anime at least? That happens with Zoro during his fight with King I’m like 90% sure

They’re a type of gold that matches the darkest shade of his earrings

I’ll forever believe his eyes were meant to be gold

He’s got that epicanthal folds trust

He under eye also has that slight puffiness to it too trust trust trust

I heard a theory abt how in his closed eye post timeskip is another soul (one of his swords) and if/when he opens it it’ll be ringed I feel like that’s worth putting here

His scar along his eye is actually a really clean cut with minimal texture differences I guess? If you run your finger across it you feel the ridge of the scarring but it isn’t messy like how Luffy’s under eye scar is

His nose is like, idk sturdy I guess? Yk his live action Mackenyu’s nose is a perfect reference imo

His lips downturn so it looks like he’s frowning or brooding a lot even when he’s not (Sanji’s threatened to fix his face countless times)

He has a scar on his bottom lip going to the end of his chin from getting cut by Kuina when they were using real blades against each other (one time Franky thought Zoro was really messy when they were eating a type of pasta that Sanji made and told him to wipe his chin..nothing came off)

He also has a cheek scar from Kuina on his right cheek going from the center of it to just below his ear (it’s really faint)

His neck has uneven flexibility because of his lack of visibility on his left side (he can turn it around like an owl to the left)

He’s naturally tan but he also soaks up sunlight like a sponge and almost never burns

Pre timeskip Zoro was obviously more lean but he was still the most jacked person on the crew. His muscles were probably more noticeable pre timeskip due to his tighter clothing than they are post timeskip even though they’re bigger now

He’s pretty well proportioned torso and leg wise, not like some of the other characters such as Sanji, Law, or Nami that are mainly legs.

Yk bros back is a holy sight

Pre timeskip he had defined abs but post timeskip he has a healthy layer of fat covering them slightly (Sanji has him on a meal plan, Zoro’s unaware he’s on said meal plan)

Bro lowkey everything about Zoro is just big post timeskip

He’s still the same height, but pre timeskip Zoro looks taller than post time skip Zoro (the muscles and baggy clothing make him look more blocky)

I feel like comparing him to 2000 Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine in Marvel’s X Men or Mackenyu for pre timeskip 👌

Then post timeskip Zoro is more comparable to say 2014 Dave Bautista’s Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy

His stomach scar is actually rough like Luffy’s under eye scar because of how it was healed and it’s probably pretty sensitive I’d assume

Bros legs are built so sturdy. If Sanji’s legs are like pillars of steel then Zoro’s legs would be bricks of iron if that makes sense

His hands are plenty calloused along his palms

He also has a good amount of smaller slash-esque scars from training with real blades along his hands, arms, and quads

It was easier for him to move around quieter pre timeskip but he’s still considerably quiet when he’s walking around

I feel like he’d be ticklish or skittish, mainly around his sides just cause he doesn’t receive physical affection that much

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I feel like I could talk abt him forever

Mwah 😽

[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

[chasthewriter]

Rgb x human reader drabble things and headcanons

There are like none for this dude

-sfw rating-

-gender neutral reader-

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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.

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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

[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.”

[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! 🥰

[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!!!

[gloriousburden]

how do u think Loki feels towards and acts to children, babies, and animals?

idk how canon i would take the tdw promo thing with the kids bc it was like supposed to be a comedy, and also it's him at not his nicest yk? -🔎

Lolll yeah I think he would be a bit playful with children. Less harsh than in the Comedy Central promo, but still playful.

How does he feel about babies… I’ve kind of always thought that he’d look at them, and think of his own past. He’d think about how he was abandoned as a baby. Which I’m sure he thinks is a very cruel thing to do. It would hurt him to think of. I think he may have a slight aversion to them, because that’s all he sees. That, or he’s quite neutral about them. He’d act very casual with them. He wouldn’t be the type to cutesy baby talk to a baby. “Aww you’re so cute 🥹🥹🥹” he wouldn’t do that. But, I do think he’d find them cute. His view on babies might be a little complicated. He wants to smile at them and be “normal” about them, but it’s hard because he remembers that he was abandoned when he looked just like them. When he was that little.

He’s not cruel towards children in any way. He’s just not lovey dovey with them in the way most people would be. He finds them cute and thinks it’s funny to trick/play around with them. He was a child once, and I think he was a bit of a sensitive one. Maybe that helps him empathize with them. He wouldn’t be too harsh with his tricks, just very playful. He’s always been one for mischief, and he figures most children like silly things, similar to how he did as a child. I could see him doing silly illusions for them, and making them laugh. But, this is a rare occasion. He’ll look at two siblings, and it’ll remind him of how he and Thor were as children. Lots of angst potential there. Or, it could be a positive thing for him.

I might be projecting a bit with this one (though it genuinely seems reasonable to me) but I see Loki as the kind of person who gets very overwhelmed by noises. He prefers silence, and obviously babies/children can be noisy. I do think that could get to him. When around REALLY noisy babies/children, he wouldn’t think “aww such silly children being noisy while playing… cute baby crying..” no, he’d become overwhelmed and excuse himself. I think he’d have those sort of sensory issues. He’d be a little weird about noises, just like me 😁

With animals… he appreciates their beauty, and he likes observing them from afar. I don’t know if he’d necessarily love them? But he’s not at all cruel or harsh towards them in any way. Though, I feel he may be grossed out by certain animals. He can be a bit “uptight” about certain things lol

He likes the symbolism certain animals have. He’s always looking for meaning in everything. He has a horse (which actually has horns just like Loki’s on it’s armor LOL) who I could see him being more gentle with. Loki being brains over brawn, I could see him being a little more considerate than most (when compared to his peers) with his own horse.

I could see him being fascinated by snakes. The way they move, and how “sly” they could be. As well as the patterns they can have. He’d appreciate their design lol

He’d have a bit of a dislike towards less “hygienic” and less “sophisticated” types of animals. He’d be grossed out by them, and he wouldn’t be too intrigued by them.

He’d dislike certain types of harm done to animals. Specifically hunting for sport. He’d see it as very simple minded thing to do, and unnecessary. Loki isn’t the type of person who enjoys violence for the sake of being violent. There always has to be a motive behind it.

Yeah he’d be quite neutral towards children/babies and animals most of the time.